Thesis

Like many of my colleagues, I’m working on a Masters of Education. For mine, I chose to focus on Curriculum and Instruction, and I chose to write a thesis. Most people I know don’t go the thesis route – instead, they take 10 courses, and get the good ole M.Ed. (and the $2000 a year pay raise that goes along with it.) I have taken three classes so far, and have two more to finish. After that, thesis time. However, I am working on my thesis right now. I collected data on the project we did last year, and spent the last few months (part time) and the last few days (full-time) reviewing literature relating to project-based learning, “at-risk” youth (the youth that are called urban youth if you read American research, inner-city youth if Canadian) and case study methodology. Needless to say, the good times have been rolling for some time, now. However, today I finished draft #1 of my summary. 55 pages of APA-style glory. The reading has been really interesting – this is why I didn’t do the course route – I can’t imagine spending (wasting?) time doing research that doesn’t directly relate to something I’m doing. Perhaps this is a comment on my lack of abstract thinking ability. Either way, the process thus far has been great. And time consuming these last few days. However, with the draft on ice until the 16th (when I get back from the social justice summer camp I work at) I am feeling rather accomplished and relaxed. Now, to install the new Energy Star front and rear doors…

Dinner Theatre: The Night

Well, if you’re a regular reader, you probably know that our Dinner Theatre Project came to an end on Thursday night. By 11:00 the five main staff involved were sitting in the cooking lab, eating left-overs, feeling a sense of great satisfaction, but also great loss at the end of such an amazing, engaging, enraging, tiring, exhilarating ride. We had a great time working together with the students, and aren’t too anxious to return to our separate, isolated classrooms, which we will the week after next. I’d imagine the students feel the same.

Wednesday was the dress rehearsal for the collective, entitled “Looking In, Looking Out.” The show was a compilation of the students stories and reflections on life in their neighbourhood, one that is regularly vilified by local and national media outlets – but more on the show later. The students were very nervous, and it showed at times. The audience wasn’t hostile, but they weren’t particularly supportive – Middle Years students are notoriously hard to please. One student videotaped the show, and students were quite proud, spending time after school watching the show on the little viewfinder on the camera.

At the same time, the gym was being converted into a dining space for 260 people. Thirty-two round eight person tables were crammed in, leaving just enough room for the two stainless steel bars, silent auction tables, podium, and buffet lines. It was tight. Table settings were picked up (donated by a local performance/banquet venue) as well as a deep fryer, heat lamps, and linens, to name just a few things. The Commercial Cooking students were cooking up potato lasagna, and preparing to take it to a different high school to be chilled, as we didn’t have space. When the five staff left the school at 6:00, we were tired, but excited for the next day. (*note: I chose Wednesday as the first day I’d ride my bike to school. What was I thinking? It was +2 in the morning, and the 8km ride was brisk. On the return ride, it was +5 but I was pushing a headwind. It wasn’t a particularly fast ride home, but I made it. I drove on Thursday and Friday.)

Thursday was a go-go-go day. Silent auction items were arranged, lamps set up in the gym so we wouldn’t have to use the overpowering fluorescent lighting, tables set and double-checked (saucers look remarkably like bread plates to grade 10 students, we learned), hand-written thank-you cards were placed on each plate, chocolates lined up on each table, waiting for the guests, tables numbered, and hosts and hostesses changed into tuxes. And probably 39 things I forgot. The drama students watched the show from the day before, did a quick run-through, and a thorough sound check. Next thing we knew, people were piling into the gym, and the actors were waiting nervously in the basement green room.

The show begins (began, I suppose) with the theme music from Mr. Rogers (minus the station identification, and plus random gunfire and dogs barking.) Our Mr. Rogers entered from the door beside the stage, unfazed by the gunfire, gladhanded with the audience, waved, smiled, and made his way onstage to a coat rack and chair, where he changed from a buttoned jacket into a zippered sweater, and from his outside shoes to inside slippers. The audience laughed at his antics, and this just spurned him on more. He welcomed everyone to his neighbourhood, and with a sweep of his arms, the curtains opened as he said, “Let’s show you around!”

Upstage right was a 8′ by 8′ flat with a map of the neighbourhood painted on it. The name of the neighbourhood was graffitied around the map. Students came out and introduced the audience to parts of the neighbourhood. For example, “This is Bonanza, where I work to help my mom pay bills.” or “This is the library, where I use the computer.”

After a few minutes of this, Mr. Rogers returned, saying “Now that you know a bit about my neighbourhood, let’s see what the evening news has to say about it.” From here, the newscasters took over. Two brilliant young women read found poems created from newspaper articles about the neighbourhood. They told the stories in a factual manner at first. After one about a youth who committed many arsons, the lights dimmed and an actor stepped forward and spoke from the point of view of the young man. This was in an effort to give a voice to someone whose voice went unheard in the local media. The show continued like this, monologues offered in response to the stark facts presented by the media. As they went along, the newscasters became more and more animated, and, well, almost ridiculous in their reading of the news. For example, when telling a story about the increase in break and enters and property crimes, the newscasters stand up, and dance, singing, “Break and enters, property crimes! Break and enters, property crimes!” They then sing “Robberies, robberies, robberies!” each word being an octave higher than the one before, and the final being sung in unison. For a particularly graphic description of the living conditions in the neighbourhood, there is a blackout, and the newscasters pull out flashlights, as if telling a ghost story. The audience, those from the neighbourhood and those not, responded with laughter in some spots, and stunned silence in others. There was some more mapping, but this time with more stories attached to the locations: “This is B’s Convenience Store, where my friend was attacked by the clerk. He still works there.” or “This is where I wanted a better bond with my dad, and sometimes no bond at all.” From here, the newscasters returned and bemoaned the lack of positives about the neighbourhood in the news. They then highlighted some positive things that are going on, but aren’t in the news. The show ended with three of the actors performing a rap song they wrote addressing the attitudes people have about their neighbourhood. They got a standing ovation, which continued through Mr. Rogers final words: “Remember, we don’t get to choose where we were born or where we grow up, but we get to choose where we’re going.” All in all, the show was a blur of laughter, applause, sighs, and stunned silence. I couldn’t be more proud. I’m working on editing the video of the show, and will hopefully at some point put it on youtube.

We received very positive comments on the show — many people told me they cried the whole time. Two parents were being interviewed by a University who is doing a documentary on changing education in the 21st century, and they were so proud as they described their child’s role in the show. The response was moving.

After the show, the students knew they had nailed it. They were so excited in the green room. Later that night, one actress confided that she didn’t know she could do it – and actually asked a teacher, “Is it alright that I feel so proud of myself right now?” I didn’t hear the comment, but as I related the story, a friend came up with the perfect response: “What isn’t right, is that you’ve never had the chance to feel proud of yourself like this before.” I basically have been on a permanent high since the show – we still have four more days with our students to wrap up their classes, and I can’t wait to see them tomorrow. I think we’ll all go through some withdrawl come the end of the project. Hence, we spent lunch of Friday planning what projects to begin next year with. We’ll do something to re-engage these grade 10s (who’ll be 11s by then!) I can’t wait.

Reality Check

Two interactions over the last two days caused me to take a step back from my middle-class world, and appreciate everything I have that I take for granted.

In drama class, we were reading an abridged version of MacBeth. While trying unsuccessfully to help a student understand the idea of “theme” I was caught off guard when he asked me what I knew about welfare. I told him not much, and asked why. He said, “Well, I want to see if they can set me up with an apartment, so that I can keep coming to school.” Then the whole story came out – he is 17, has been kicked out of his house for months and is currently staying with a cousin, but is feeling like a burden, and not wanting to outstay his welcome. He is still in grade 10, with no high school credits, but has a desire to complete school. The significance of theme vanished immediately, and I took him to our Student Services teacher, who referred him to an Elder we have on staff to work it out. He came back to class later that morning, and seemed in better spirits, assuring me that he had a plan. Oh, and he suggested that a possible theme for the play would be that power corrupts.

The other interaction occurred yesterday, when a student tracked me down in the hallway and apologized for missing my class that morning. He explained that he had an appointment with Social Services to see if he would qualify for Social Assistance. He told them that he wants to quit his full-time job, so he can focus on getting through school. However, when he was there, he didn’t have all of the identification required, and so he had to walk back to his house (a 45 minute walk in -30 degree Celsius temperatures) and get it. He stopped in at the school for a minute en route back to the office to tell me why he was absent, and why he had to leave again right away, and would miss the rest of his classes for the day.

Moments like these remind me that teachers at my school are fighting an uphill battle against poverty and its myriad of side effects. So much affects our students that is beyond both our, and their control. I am also reminded of the privilege afforded me through no doing of my own – my white skin color, my middle-class upbringing, my literate family, my supportive parents – I could go on, but you get the point.