Introduction and Establishing Hope as the Cornerstone of an ELA Classroom

    My name is Michael Gaudreau. I have been an elementary and middle grade teacher for the last twenty years and am working to get certified to teach secondary English.  To that end, I've created this blog as a space to express my thoughts as I prepare for this endeavor.

Establishing Hope as the Cornerstone of an ELA Classroom

 

            Considering the thoughts of Cornel West, Duncan-Andrade’s “Note to Educators: Hope Required When Growing Roses in Concrete”, Sieben’s “Advocating for the Affective: Writing Hope into School Spaces”, and Christensen’s Teaching for Joy and Justice, there can be little question that effective teaching requires a deep commitment to the belief that every child has a story worth telling and the ability to tell it in their own voice. As a teacher, it is our job to know our students well enough to challenge them appropriately while considering their interests, struggles, and experiences. These are all beliefs that I hold dear, which you would see in practice if you were to walk into my high school ELA class, pull up a chair, and observe.

            The first thing you would see to start off most class periods would be a short session of journaling. I start class this way as a natural and predictable transition into the period, but I do it for many reasons beyond this.  “I begin my teaching with the understanding that anyone who has lived has stories to tell , but in order for these stories to emerge, I must construct a space where students feel safe enough to be wild and risky in their work,” (Christensen 1).  A typical journaling session is always low-stakes writing; each student keeps their own journal that is never submitted or graded. Rather, it becomes a place for students to begin to collect and cultivate their own stories which inevitably become the foundation of our writing curriculum. I always have several potential prompts available for students who struggle to find ideas, (eg. Write about a time you felt helpless, If you were President of the world, what’s the first thing you would change?, Write about how you define the word courage). I always include the potential prompt “Write about what you need to write about,” which often results in the best journal entries. I set a timer, take out my own journal, and remind everyone of the expectations; we write until the alarm sounds, if you get stuck, pick another topic and keep going, and no talking during writing time. Then we all write. I always insist that my students see me engaged in the task I’m asking them to engage in. It establishes clear expectations, but also allows them to see me in a more human light.

            When the time is up, I invite, but never require, students to share their work. Quite often there is hesitancy, which is why I am always ready to share my work if need be. Once I have been willing to be vulnerable with my students, they are much more likely to share their own thoughts. These sharing sessions are essential to establishing a culture and climate of acceptance in my classroom, but they also offer my students an opportunity to write in a wholly free manner, often exploring things that they are struggling with. This type of writing “can help our students to imagine scenarios in which they could feel happy or fulfilled when perhaps they are not, and with support, students can write their ideas into existence. Hope gives students ways of writing plans for a better future, whatever that means for them,” (Sieben 21).

            Journals are never fully packed away in my class, just set aside at times, because the stories that my students write in their journals invariably become the work that they will revise and polish over time through a series of mini-lessons geared to student needs. When it comes time for a formal writing assignment, we mine the journals for ideas that the students feel they want to explore further. Then they approach the work in the way that best suits them. Some students prefer to work alone while others would rather work alongside a peer. Some prefer working on paper while others prefer working with a digital platform. I let their needs and desires drive the work, often offering opportunities for collaboration and feedback.  It makes writing a much more communal process. “In many ways, creating opportunities for students to be seen and heard can be just as powerful in healing and validating the human experience,” (Sieben 22).

            As far as grading written work, I am a big believer in the use of student-friendly analytic rubrics. My district created a rubric based closely on the Six Traits of Writing which allows us to give very specific feedback on various aspects of writing to help them see their strengths and formulate goals to help them address their relative weaknesses. This approach allows me to teach concrete skills in isolation rather than focusing on the “errors”. “He doesn’t have to learn everything in one draft. If we write frequently enough, he can practice and improve his writing, one essay, one narrative, one poem at a time,” (Christiansen 4).

            In terms of the reading curriculum, I am a firm believer that there needs to be a flexible approach as it relates to text, and student choice needs to be at the center of the instruction. That isn’t to say that I never practice whole-class instruction of a single text, but whenever possible, I try to ensure that students have some choice in their reading. Not only does it help to foster a love of reading, and turn my students into life-long readers, but it’s another opportunity to use my students’ experiences at the center of my curriculum, making their reading experiences that much more personal and meaningful. For example, I could recommend Patricia McCormick’s Cut to a student struggling with self-harm, Emily Danforth’s The Miseducation of Cameron Post to a student struggling with their sexuality, and Elizabeth Acevedo’s The Poet X to a student struggling with an overbearing parent.  The flexibility to differentiate instruction to this extent is one of the things that make an ELA classroom such a wonderful learning environment if it’s structured correctly.

            That being said, I know that there are times when whole-class instruction around specific novels or themes is required, and in these cases, I do my best to use a multi-modal approach. For example, imagine I am required to teach about slavery, and Colson Whitehead’s The Underground Railroad has been chosen as the text to be read. Before we begin to read the book, I might show them a related piece of performance poetry, such as Khary Jackson’s “Carolina” as a means to introduce the topic and establish the level of background knowledge that they have on the topic.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=59ym6AZpQSI

 As our reading of the book progresses, I might introduce relevant music, such as Billy Holiday’s “Strange Fruit” and Richie Haven’s “The Klan”. Rather than reading straight through the novel without interlude, I prefer to break up whole class instruction with extension concepts that deepen the students’ understanding of the overall concept beyond the scope of the novel. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-DGY9HvChXk

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tsr_VdtsWfs