Lillian
Lillian naturally comes to mind when I plan a lesson. She eats it up. She goes above and beyond. She’s thoughtful and appreciative. She shares her thinking with the class in mindful and modest doses. She smiles quietly at my jokes. I wish I had a copy of all her math work — especially her written reflections — because each and every piece holds the joy of my teaching. Here’s one:
At the Continuation ceremony last year, Lillian delivered a succinct and grateful valedictorian speech.
A month ago, on March 11, I got an email from her.
I was looking at old pictures on your Twitter and in my camera roll, and I could totally see how much I loved your class. I was tearing up. I’m moving up to Math 3 Honors next year, yet I’m not sure I’ll ever be as excited about math as I was in your class. My current class is something of speed and prior knowledge… Not my favorite environment for growth, but you live and you learn to deal with it.
To this day, I remember so many little things about your classes. You truly changed the way I saw the world. I think my intense activism and political vocalness is in part your doing. I use my voice because you gave me one. I’m not a shy little sixth grader anymore. I’m beginning to come into my own as a badass bisexual intersectional feminist. I’m learning, and you pushed me to do so. There’s a lot of work for me to do on myself and the world around me. Maybe my first pattern equation wasn’t so far away (You told me “just because her equation is right, yours isn’t any less right”).
I miss being her teacher. I miss watching her persevere and hearing her explain her thinking in number talks.
Then, last week on April 7, late in the evening, I saw this video of Lillian posted on Twitter by her friend, Sam. I asked Sam for a copy and got Lillian’s permission to share it here.
I cried hard. Not because her poem is eloquent and powerful and makes me so goddamn proud, but because her message is all too real and urgent. The expectations placed on students by parents and teachers — on top of self-expectations — can be and are enormous.
We talk a good talk — about respecting the child and letting her learn at the speed of learning, about persevering and playing with mathematics, about nourishing critical and deep thinking in problem-solving, about ensuring access and equity, about cultivating a voice grounded in truth and heart.
But I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t always walk the walk. I’m bound to a system that requires me to issue a grade at the end of the quarter. I have to do this for each child four times a year. Because that’s just how it is.
At what cost?
Be Brave or Be Desperate
I had lunch with a former colleague — I”ll call her Laura — whom I hadn’t seen for some 20 plus years. She’s now retired and was in my town for a wedding.
I got into my car, entered the restaurant’s address into my phone, Google Maps said I’d arrive at 12:05 PM, and I was upset for thinking I lived closer. I texted Laura to let her know I’d be 6 minutes late. She texted back, “No worries!” (I hate being late, it’s rude and arrogant.)
I instantly recognized her. Of course, she was wearing an Oregon Ducks sweatshirt. We hugged, and the waitress showed us to an empty booth. Laura reminded me that she still needed to get a pair of TOMS after lunch because of the blisters she got from walking all day yesterday in her new shoes. I then reminded her that 20 years ago, we were in Nordstrom for her to buy new underwear because she was too lazy to do laundry.
She handed me two gifts wrapped in The Sunday Oregonian COMICS — one dated November 8, 2015, the other July 3, 2016.
We both regretted that neither one us thought of the Dammit! Doll. I mean, Jesus, just look at its mishappened head and scraggly yarn hair. I could have made that.
I really wanted to order a thick juicy burger because this place could put together a great thick juicy burger. But Laura said she wanted to order something healthy, so I opted for the turkey sandwich instead. (Who goes out and orders a turkey sandwich when it’s readily available in your own fridge at home?!) Then Laura ordered, lo and behold, a goddamn burger with two strips of bacon! (For a split second, I wanted to tell her that there was a burning car outside right behind her, so when she turned to look, I could steal her bacon.)
When we were colleagues in Oregon, Laura was teaching math, and I was teaching science. We became friends on Facebook just this past year, and she learned from there that I’ve been teaching math and giving talks at conferences. She used the word “brave” to describe my speaking at conferences. She said it at least three times, “You’re so brave.”
I told her I was terrified each and every time that I accepted a keynote or featured speaker assignment. She looked puzzled. I told her that the honor of being invited was always bigger than who I was, so it was hard to say no. And I didn’t want to say no. My father, a math teacher his entire career, would want me to accept. I’d told my own three children that doing the easy stuff ain’t worth their time, so I accepted because I could hear my own voice preaching. I accepted the invitation to speak because I wanted to bring the voice of classroom teachers and students to the forefront. There are stories to be told, and they are fresh and alive.
I’m not brave, I’m desperate. I’m desperate in wanting to share what’s happening right now with the 100 students on my rosters. But I’m terrified that I might get their stories wrong. I’m terrified that I may inadvertently amplify our small successes and diminish our big failures. I must get it right — the-truth-and-nothing-but-the-truth-so-help-me-God kind of right — or I’ll die a miserable death. Back in December, at CMC-North, Dan Meyer had invited me and two other teachers, Shira and Juana, to be part of his keynote. I’m grateful to Dan for the invitation and was excited that we teachers got to share with a wider audience.
So, if you’re in the classroom, I hope you’ll consider speaking at conferences and workshops because the number of students you currently have is the number of reasons you have to say YES. Consider co-presenting with someone if it would be your first time; it is less scary that way. My first gig was with this tall white dude. Be brave, or be desperate, I think one is just a glorified form of the other.
These Twenty Things
I get to wake up without an alarm clock going off for the next 14 days. I will eat leftover grilled ribeye steak for breakfast and Cheerios for lunch. I will drink IPA for dinner and go to my mailbox in my pajamas. I will take a luxurious bath.
As we wrap up 2016, I’d like to humbly share these 20 things that I have done — or will/want to do — and suggest that you too may want to do some of these things as a human and as a teacher.
Find a reason to make caramelized onions. You can add it to your favorite pasta sauce or mashed potatoes.
Call a parent to let her know how much you appreciate having her kid in your class. Maybe the kid is struggling in your class, but nonetheless, he is kind and laughs at all your jokes.
Listen to country music to realize that your pain ain’t so bad after all — not the country from Garth Brooks and Tim McGraw or any of them pretty boys — I mean outlaw country music from David Allan Coe and Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson.
Lie to your students that they were always on your mind during winter break, then let them hear Willie Nelson’s Always on My Mind.
Watch La Maison en Petits Cubes by Kunio Katō. It won the Academy Award for Best Animated Short Film in 2008.
Make hot chocolate for each kid in your favorite class. Seriously. (Point out to your non-favorite classes that they’d done a poor job in sucking up to you, hence going forward, they ought to try harder.)
Stop consuming products with the label “lite” on it. Sure, it might mean 1/3 fewer calories and 1/2 less fat, but did you know it also means 1/10 of the taste?!
Ask your students, “Did you know that diarrhea is genetic?” Let them ponder that for a few seconds, then say, “Yeah, it runs in your jeans.”
Buy the latest book from #MTBoS: Tracy, Christopher, Mike, John and Matt, Edmund, Malke. (I’m sure I’m missing some people. Please help me out.)
Treat the entire 180 days of school as flu season, spray bleach on everything in your classroom. Avoid the students’ eyeballs.
Finish reading The Sound of Gravel. (For God’s sake, make time to read a non-nerdy book!)
Lie — yes, again! — to your students that you’d graded all their papers over winter break. Then know that you’re fucked and must skip dinner [and life] to grade papers like a squirrel on crack that evening.
Make something from scratch that you’ve never made before, like a baguette. If it comes out looking and tasting like shit, toss it immediately and buy frozen. (Ashli‘s number will be on speed dial as I attempt this.)
Remind students that kindness trumps everything you do in your classroom.
Be kind to yourself. Buy that item you didn’t get for Christmas from your favorite person who is now no longer your favorite. If you sleep next to this person, scream, “I hate you!” in the middle of the night like you are dreaming, except you aren’t.
Connect with your students. Stand up for them. Speak up for them. Difficult decisions aren’t so difficult when we all put children first.
Go to church, go to counseling, go to a friend. Reach out to someone because talking about stuff helps. Writing stuff down helps too. But it’s best to meet up with that person because a good hug is worth the drive.
You are part of a team. Find the rest of your team and collaborate and share strategies and seek solutions. Leave the whiners and downers in the teachers’ lounge.
Let’s not make a list of New Year’s resolutions. It’s like the goddamn pacing guide, sets us up for failure every time. Just repeat #15 above — minus the psycho screaming part, do that just once. Okay, twice. Definitely not more than three times.
Critique the effectiveness of your lesson, not by what answers students give, but by what questions they ask.
Happy Thanksgiving!
On Sunday, I wrote a longer-than-usual email to my siblings about my intentions to begin gathering facts and etching memories for a bucket-list item of writing a book. I told them it could take anywhere between 3 to 10 years, meaning I have no clue.
I have three reasons to write this book: Nicolai, Gabriel, Sabrina.
My sister, Kimzie, replied:
I never forget how I got here, but being reminded of how I survived makes me eternally grateful for my children.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
7 Deadly Sins of Teaching [Maths]
‘Tis the eve of FDOS (first day of school, duh), and I’m no longer nervous or anxious. I’m washing these laptop covers for my homeroom students only because that’s what some of my colleagues did with their kids’ covers. I will not let a kid taunt me on FDOS with, “How come Mrs. So and So gave her students clean covers?” Oh yeah? Well, did you ask if she’d adopt you for the next 180 days?
I committed all 7 sins at one time or another, but there’s no shame involved — says a recovering Catholic — instead, it is a reflection of sorts.
Giving extra credit. I don’t care where you teach, how old your students are, what your zodiac sign is, you’re going to have at least one kid who’ll ask for extra-credit “work” at the eleventh hour of the grading period. Don’t do it. Say no and walk away because the tears might come streaming down his/her face and you have to ration the use of Kleenex. And you should be ashamed of yourself for giving students extra-credit points for bringing in copy papers, sticky notes, dry-erase markers, tissue boxes, doughnuts. Yes, you should send me some.
Giving timed multiplication drills. Maybe there’s a well-documented success story behind this madness that I’m not aware of, but to me, it perpetuates the myth of faster-is-smarter. This practice raises self-doubt and affirms the why-should-I-even-bother mindset.
Giving out the equation. That’s like giving away life’s secrets to someone who flies to Paris to have lunch. Meaning, they don’t need it, nor did they ask for it. Your students’ conversations, their conjectures, their models — are all at the heart of a math class. To give away the equation is to passively (and aggressively!) dismiss our students’ abilities to think for themselves. It’s okay to eventually give them the equation in due time, just don’t start with the equation. Imagine if I just gave my students the equations for slope and area of a circle.
Teaching from one source. No one source is that good. The creators of that source would be fools to not concede that point. It’s like eating out at the same restaurant or boasting that you can make chicken 50 different ways. No you can’t, and nobody cares. Let one or two sources be your structural outline, your mainstay, then supplement it with your favorite lessons or other teachers’ favorite lessons. Remember, any well-crafted lesson outside of the textbook that you can bring in is your gift to your students. Tell them that. And with our prolific #MTBoS, you cannot afford not to supplement.
Talking, talking, you’re still talking. I pretty much end every workshop with this reminder: The more you talk, the less your kids learn. I plan each lesson using this as my go-to guiding principle. Math is a highly social endeavor, so for the love of Ramanujan and Lovelace, please stop talking so much so your kids may talk! Every question you pose is an opportunity for your kiddos to ponder [quietly by oneself first] and share their thoughts with peers. Every question! If you fret that your kids don’t talk in class, then I wonder about two things, 1) Do students feel safe enough to talk in your class? and 2) Is the question you’re asking interesting/worthwhile/challenging to even bother? (I must have asked hundreds of lame, boring, worthless questions, but I’m not giving up. I practice and get better.)
Keeping up with the Joneses. That colleague whose hair and complexion are always perfect is just not as funny as you are. That teacher whose students all adore her probably owns a cat that wants to kill her. And that “amazing” teacher whom everyone talks about probably sucks at everything else in life! And he might be a compulsive hoarder of all things creepy! So, don’t mind them. We’re not here to compete with one another. We’re here to make mathematics rock for our kids. There is one you and 24 hours in a day. Make time for yourself, make time for your family. We all have shitty days that rob us of our wits and sensibilities, but recognizing that and committing to having a better day tomorrow are worthy endeavors. Our students need us more than they care to admit.
Being an asshole. I already stated from the beginning that I’m guilty. No one wants to learn from someone who’s mean and angry and bossy. When we try to establish authority in the classroom, we may inadvertently end up being perceived as this person. The meaner we get, the less students want to have anything to do with us, so the angrier we get. It’s a vicious cycle, and everyone is losing. We’re the adult in the room, charged with a magnificent duty to establish a learning culture, which will not happen if we don’t behave like an adult. Children are said to be resilient, but they are also impressionable, and their impressionable minds are vulnerable — vulnerable to criticism, to shame, to false praises.
Let’s pray for more patience, more kindness, more badass. Here’s to us — and to a great school year!
Growth vs. Proficiency
I usually take copious notes when attending conferences. It’s more of a self-discipline gesture to make me sit up straight and pay attention. I even try to sit in the front row. (The only time this backfired was in Psychology 101 when the professor had to talk about herpes and I was sporting a gargantuan one of the simplex 1 type on my upper lip. Not cool.)
I’m sharing the following notes from last year’s SDB Conference because we passionately voiced and argued — and confirmed and challenged — one another’s thinking and teaching practice.
Before discussing the topic of “growth vs. proficiency” within our small groups, we were asked to answer these two questions individually:
What is the difference between growth and proficiency?
How can we measure both accurately?
I wrote:
Growth is individual progress, whereas proficiency is achieving some set of standards. One can grow but not achieve proficiency.
Not sure. Can we ever measure these two things accurately?
Then the conversations began, and I jotted down some stuff:
Growth is more social, proficiency is more academic.
Both must be motivated.
Both cannot be fostered if the classroom culture and teacher mindset are not in sync.
Both must address how a kid learns best.
A young child appreciates nature, but knowing the golden ratio is cool and requires knowing division.
No one is born proficient, without growth, there’s no proficiency.
We need to let growth and proficiency be time independent.
It’s wrong that a kid can’t get a high school diploma when she’s a brilliant artist and can’t do algebra 1.
We need to teach kids to reach their own goals instead of ours.
To achieve proficiency, we should have standards, and we should agree on them.
Types of tests should not be designed for the ease of testing.
Proficiency: report card for the school, reputation of the institution, snapshot at that time. Growth: distance traveled over time, point A to point B can be a dramatic growth.
Story archived on NPR: A teacher brought up a low group of kids to meet standards and was awarded, but she was penalized when she had a high group of kids and they didn’t see growth.
Students think they are what their grade is.
When you measure proficiency, you can see growth over time.
Proficiency ≠ Excellence
Setting the bar is not a teacher thing, it’s an admin thing — if you don’t make proficiency, you go to PI, and PI is hell.
We teach to a bell curve, and we teachers are a bell curve. One size does not fit all.
Growth is more individual, many different aspects of that kid, such as attitude, mindset, social behavior. Proficiency is more measurable, toward a whole group, show mastery, attach a number to this measure.
Suggestions: students track their own progress, journaling, blogging; teacher is transparent in their expectations.
Some questions:
What about teacher proficiency?
Can we combine growth and proficiency? Can they be quantified?
Growth is effort, how do you measure that?
How do we strike a balance between growth and proficiency?
How do get politicians out of this process?
Who decides what proficiency means? Do students have a voice in this? (Teachers grade differently.)
How can we communicate with everyone else to put equal weight between growth and proficiency? (We’re on a constant treadmill to keep up with the changes.)
Portfolios are good, but how do you implement and grade them?
Project-based learning has pros and cons, how do you give a grade for that?
Are students learning social interactions, problem solving, communication, collaboration?
Two thoughts precipitated from this discussion for me, then and now. It might be that our schools are set up to measure proficiency, but they misinterpret those scores as measures of growth. And however we choose to define growth vs. proficiency, how do we ensure equal access to promote growth and proficiency? Professor William Tate, earlier in April at NCTM Annual Meeting, gave the Iris M. Carl Equity Address, he said, “The greatest threat to math instruction is the empty seat problem.”
Catching Up
According to my online Social Security account, my earnings record shows:
24 years of full-time teaching
2 years of half-time teaching
1 year of subbing
It also shows this not-so-fun fact:
And this, which I find morosely funny:
Had I known ahead of time how depressing these numbers would be, I would have become a farmer instead. Grow cannabis or something.
Anyway. It’s been a busy summer. I attended my first TODOS Conference in Scottsdale, AZ. I facilitated for NCTM’s Deep Dive for three 2-hour sessions on Ratios and Proportional Reasoning. Then I presented for CUE in Brentwood, CA, on Computational Thinking.
Thankfully I managed to squeeze out some time for a week-long camping trip at Shaver Lake and a trip to Oregon for my niece’s wedding.
I have three big commitments for the remainder of the year:
BCAMT in Vancouver (BC) in October
NCTM’s Innov8 in St. Louis in November
CMC-North in Asilomar in December
We have a new principal this year, and I have a new math colleague (she and I make up the math department). My teaching assignment this coming year remains pretty much the same — 6th and 8th grade maths — except I’ll also teach an elective period of computational thinking (problem-solving) to 6th graders. What’s new is our block schedule which I have mixed feelings about as I’m not familiar with it. Kinda nice not having to see the brats every day though. :p
In summary, I need to work until I’m 104 just to afford rent on a two-bedroom in drought-stricken southern California. But hey, where else are you going to get summer-like weather year-round?
Jewish Mother
I had some friends over for dinner a few evenings ago. I made pho, but 2/3 of my guests had never had pho before, so I made another soup to make sure no one went home hungry. (We would later have pound cake and four different flavors of Ben & Jerry’s for dessert.)
As I got up from the table to get more food for my friend Rob, he said, “You’re like a Jewish mother.”
I smiled, it was not the first time I’d been paid that compliment. I love to cook only because I love to feed people. Originally this blog was meant as a food blog, my first post on fawnnguyen.com was about our Thanksgiving dinner in 2011.
Cooking and eating — acts that would save me from my miserable childhood.
The shame of being poor was all too obvious. My own body betrayed me, how would you hide your bones from threadbare clothing, how would you tell your tummy to stop growling. How would you hide your hunger.
My parents worked very hard to make sure there was food on the table — make that the floor, we ate sitting cross-legged on the floor — but there was never enough food. I had feelings of resentment toward my parents for having so many damn kids that they couldn’t fully feed. Thank God my younger brother died at birth or else there’d be eight children to feed.
My childhood memories, if I were brave enough to revisit them, would revolve around being hungry and craving for this food and that food. I now wonder if my siblings have the same memories. If they don’t, then they are big fat hairy liars. Or they were the culprits of my childhood hunger as they ate all my food.
I remember the two young boys’ faces and bodies as if I just saw them yesterday. My childhood self observed their plump faces, their bodies filled out their school uniforms, their suspenders stretched taut against their bellies. They were not hungry, they were fat, they were happy, their grandma beamed with pride.
I wanted to be like them. Fat and full of food. They knew no shame because their bones were not showing, their bellies did not grumble while doing school work. Of course they went to bed full.
Then I came to America. My 6th grade classmates called me chicken legs. I ate and ate until no one called me chicken legs any more. This is my freezer right now, not because I like ice cream all that much, I have them just in case you come to visit.
Making a Difference
Why it’s so hard for me to leave the classroom. I’m making a difference here and now.
Half Century Plus One
I remember reading Shireen’s wonderful post last year when she turned 50 and thought, We’re the same age, and I want to celebrate turning 50 too! Well, I missed my chance to write something last year, but it’s never too late, so I’m stealing Shireen’s prompt “50 things I’ve learned about teaching” and broadening it to “51 thing I’ve learned about teaching and growing” because I turned 51 last month.
De-clutter. When Megan and her hubs visited me in my 2-bedroom apartment in February, she looked around and asked, "Where's all your stuff?"
Smile and say hello to strangers.
Tell students how awesome you are.
Buy fresh flowers for yourself. I get whatever is on sale at the market, like right now I have two bunches of gladioli for $1.99 each.
When a kid is rude or mean, stop everything and point that out. Then you can add, “I care about you and everyone in this room, and I need you to be kind.”
You don’t have to continue with a bad lesson.
Share with your students your hobbies and maybe your adulthood fear.
Commit to listening to someone without interrupting and judging.
Call a parent to tell him how much you appreciate having his child in your class.
Add butter to your cooking. To sauté anything, I heat up equal amounts of olive oil and butter, add a ton of garlic (and/or shallots) and cook until fragrant, then add your food and toss everything up. Season with just salt and fresh ground pepper.
Plant some fresh herbs and eat them! I’m always growing rosemary, basil, and mint.
Tell people you love that you love them. Say it all the time, even when you’re slightly mad at them.
Catch students being good. Go overboard with praising them.
Ask students to pick up any trash around them, and model this.
Tell students how much you respect and appreciate a colleague.
Splurge on something for yourself. I have a set of high thread-count sheets.
Always leave a place neater and cleaner than how you’d found it.
Get to know all the dogs in the neighborhood.
Avoid all mean people. Because mean people suck.
There’s probably a reason why certain people are mean.
Be the first to say sorry, especially to your family and students.
Let the person you love have the last word.
Find humor in self-deprecation.
Find strength in self-love.
Remember that fibbing is lying.
Show gratitude daily. Remind yourself of all the things you do have.
Tackle a challenging math problem. Make this a regular thing.
Tell that one person to fuck off because he/she had hurt you for the umpteenth time. Then walk away and stay away.
Laugh out loud with your students. Be funny. Have fun.
Create a classroom environment that your younger student self would want to be in.
Reach out to your colleagues for guidance. Reciprocate generously.
Try to keep your classroom tidy and clean. Sanitize all surfaces!
Always put children first. Feed them first. Take care of their needs first. (Your students are these children.)
Sing loudly in your car when driving alone.
Most of the time, it’s not about you. Be okay with that.
When people need to vent about their family member, they really don’t want you to agree with them.
Always be on time. Update your ETA if you’re running behind.
Don’t underestimate students’ abilities. Don’t overestimate their sensitivities.
It’s likely that whatever topic you’re teaching is not the student’s top priority right now. It’s only school. It’s not for everyone. It’s not you.
Have more last-minute picnics.
Only your opinion matters when it comes to how that outfit looks on you.
Go hiking more. Rachel does it best.
Make time for your friends. Sam does it best.
Deliver a plate of homemade food to your next-door neighbor. Make it pretty and include the recipe or list of ingredients. (Not cool should they die eating your food.)
Eat a new food. Thai? Moroccan? Persian? I think it’s the only way to truly know its people.
Give less homework or give none at all. (I’m working on this.) Encourage children, big or small, to play outside.
“Feelings are boring. Kisses are awesome.” David has this t-shirt.
Ask for help. And be willing to help because it was probably not easy for the person to ask for your help.
“Forgive but never forget.” Like the tattoo on my daughter’s arm.
Be the teacher you’d want your own child to have. Teach hard. Teach true.
Consider stabbing yourself with a sharp pencil before committing to writing a list of 51 anything.
They Save Me
Like all mornings, the alarm on my cell phone pays no attention to my slumber and goes off anyway. I’ve changed the default ringtone of Radar to Ripples — it’s still annoying and elicits the same expletive from me.
Another Monday. Just three more Mondays.
Like going to the gym, the hardest part is getting there. Once I arrive at school, my mood is buoyant from the exchanges of greetings and smiles with the students.
I’m finishing up my 26th year in the classroom. Yet no two moments have been the same. Each kid unique, each class different, each interaction idiosyncratic. The kids are all lovely. They are all crazy. They ask great questions. They ask dumb questions. They know a lot more than we think. They know nothing. They are very kind. They are rude. They say funny things. They tell the worst jokes.
The briefest exchanges let me know that I’m in a good place.
Sometime during 2nd period:
At the start of 5th period:
Me: Please draw a rectangle, any size is fine.
J: You want us to do that now?
Me: No. Two hours from now.
K: Hehe. I love your sarcasm, Ms. Win.
It’s been a rough year in my personal life. But I get to escape from it through these light moments with my students. They make me laugh. They make me fart. They save me from myself.
Baklava and Euler
Some 20 years ago. Two colleagues were talking in the hallway outside my classroom when I approached. Guess they were talking about food. He turned to me and said, “I bet Fawn doesn’t know what a baklava is.” I said, “I do know,” and walked away.
What I really wanted to say: Hey asshole. Why did you assume that I didn’t know what a baklava was? You could have just asked me if I knew.
Some 5 years ago. A math professor was visiting our math project because he was one of the regional directors (or in some similar capacity) overseeing the project. At the end of the workshop, he decided to tell me about dead mathematicians, scribbled their names on the whiteboard, and then he pointed to Euler’s name and said, “His name is not pronounced like what you might think.” I said, “I say oiler, how do you say it?”
What I really wanted to say: Hey asshole. Why did you assume that I didn’t know how to say Euler’s name? You could have just asked me if I knew.
I shared two instances, sadly I have many more.
I hadn’t heard of “mansplaining” until just a few years ago.
These various encounters were always unfortunate, and I’d walked away from each one without saying what I really wanted to say. I was probably thinking, I don’t have time for the likes of you. And my anger dissolved into boredom, almost as if I’d accepted it as part of life — an element in the period table, in the inert column.
But that might be a lie because I’m reactive to it — even for the briefest moment — by being made to feel small and vulnerable, intellectually inferior and naive, dismissed and categorized.
I shall speak up next time.
A to Z
I’m just following Annie’s lead.
Here goes — just whatever word comes to my mind starting with that letter and how I might use it in a sentence.
A — Attorney. I should have been an attorney so I may charge my unfortunate client in increments of 1/20 hour.
B — Buttercloud. At Buttercloud Bakery & Cafe, you can order french toast made from buttermilk biscuits, like they do in heaven.
C — Cow. I have a memory of a cow.
D — Dick. Stop acting like a dick. Don’t be a dick. You’re a dick. (Why does dick get all the bum rap.)
E — Everett. Dear Everett, You left this world too soon, but I will forever see your big smile.
F — Family. I can’t stand services that claim “We treat you like family here.” No you don’t, because if you did, you wouldn’t charge us.
G — God. Are you there God? It’s me, Fawn, not Margaret. Screw her, I need You to work on me.
H — Happy. Be happy, anything less hinges on self-hate.
I — Ice cream. My kid ate all the ice cream, like all 12 bars and 8 pints, I shit you not.
J — Japan. This same kid is going to Japan for who-knows-how-long. I’ll wait until he leaves to restock the freezer.
K — Kaplinsky. I love Robert Kaplinsky more than I love kale, and I really like kale.
L — Lemons. Yes, freshly squeezed lemons, not limes, and lots of freshly squeezed oranges (or juice from a carton that’s NOT from concentrate), together with a shot of tequila = yum.
M — Matt. Matt Vaudrey just sent me a few texts today that brought a big smile to my face and his words felt like a warm hug. Thank you, Matt.
N — Nevaeh. I have a student named Nevaeh, and it’s only recently that I learned it’s “heaven” spelled backwards.
O — Open House! Yes, tonight is Open House, but I have no student work on display at all. Nada. That’s because we do almost everything in Google Classroom and on whiteboards, and whiteboards get wiped! I had my students write various PS [problem-solving] problems on large white boards for parents/guests to work on. Then on the big TV, I have slides on loop showing the kids’ work on Desmos, visual patterns, and other fun stuff.
P — Pride. Sometimes pride may be mistaken for arrogance. Your pride should elevate others around you, whereas your arrogance aims to diminish them.
Q — CUE. I had a great time presenting at the first ever CUE Rock Star MATH camp last weekend in Los Gatos. (What? Qantas??)
R — Rosemary. After you grill a steak, finish it off in a hot pan with butter and sprigs of rosemary.
S — Sorry. [6/2/16: I took out what I originally wrote here. Anyway. Never be sorry for being you, for existing, for trying to do your best with what you have.]
T — Teachers. Teachers are my heroes, the same way that kids are my heroes.
U — Uterus. My, what a lovely uterus you have.
V — Vagina. Victory. Vegan. Megan sent me vegan jerky, and it tasted like shit.
W — Weed. Weed is that green crumbly leafy stuff that you can snort. Or am I thinking of dandelion.
X — Xtra. If you allow students to turn in Xtra credit, then I don’t think we can be friends.
Y – You. Annie would say, You do you.
Z — Zits. I shouldn’t be getting zits at age 51.
An Update
It’s been a while. Thought I should post an update.
I moved out to an apartment back in October, four days after breaking my foot. I planned the former, and the gods of stairs planned the latter. The foot is much better, but I’m walking with a discernibly cautious gait. I have two colleagues who broke the same [fifth metatarsal] bone; they healed completely after four weeks, and I’m still limping after four months.
My son — who just turned 21 — moved in with me. He has a part-time job and is my biggest cheerleader. Even when I’m attempting pull-ups, he cheers me on, You’re a champion, Ma! One more for Jesus!
I’m really happy. No, not 24/7 happy — these folks, if they exist, need to be punched in the face. I’m happy to still be in the classroom teaching mostly adorable middle school students. I’m happy that I’m healthy, eating and sleeping well.
I continue to present at workshops, always grateful for the opportunities to engage with and learn from other math educators. My schedule looks a bit crazy, starting with NCTM in April, but I’m excited to contribute a little bit and gain a lot at these conferences.
Around Christmas time I entertained leaving the classroom for a math coach position, but then I thought better of it. Maybe the same opportunity will come up again in the fall, I’ll worry about it then. As I write this, I’m thinking there ought to be at least 112 damn good reasons for me to leave the classroom because that’s how many students I have. God knows how much I love these kids.
Last weekend I got to play host to Megan Schmidt and her husband Scott. What a gorgeous couple, even if one of them is a Nebraskan.
Here’s hoping I’ll catch y’all soon at a nearby conference.
A Love Letter to MTBoS (a.k.a. my #TMC15 keynote)
Thank you to Lisa Henry for asking me to talk at TMC and for believing that I could pull it off. Thank you to Baylor for the letter below that kicked me in the gut and said, “Stop whining and finish the slides.”
I looked out to the audience and began with this ad lib.
And off I went. Here are the slides for my keynote.
Thank you for being the kindest and most gracious audience.
Much love,
Fawn
Heavy Heart
But we would not have you ignorant, brethren, concerning them that fall asleep; that ye sorrow not, even as the rest, who have no hope. (Thessalonians 4:13).
The Rev. Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, 45
DePayne Middleton Doctor, 49
Cynthia Hurd, 54
Susie Jackson, 87
Ethel Lance, 70
The Rev. Clementa Pinckney, 41
Tywanza Sanders, 26
The Rev. Daniel Simmons Sr., 74
Myra Thompson, 59
The math task can wait. The lesson on polynomials can be postponed. I want to talk about racism in America. Now. I think about the many interactions I have each day with my students. Each of my colleagues has as many. There are 600 students here. There are over 2,000 at the high school a few miles away. We teachers see many students all across cities and suburbs. I want today's conversation to be about love and humanity.
I want tomorrow's conversation to be about kindness and tolerance.
Eventually these conversations don't need to happen every day because love, humanity, kindness, and tolerance have become part of our breathing -- they are in our blood, in our black, white, yellow, purple skin. This is my prayer.
Busy Summer and Beyond
Another two weeks and I will have completed 22 years of full-time teaching. Time flies when you're grading papers and having fun. Says no one.
I have a handful of commitments that I'd like to share -- maybe you'll be in attendance or in town and we can say hello!
Now: I'm working with Max Ray-Riek, Rafranz Davis, and Elizabeth Statmore on a writing project that if-I-told-you-I'd-have-to-kill-you-so-please-just-eat-a-cracker. I'm just honored to collaborate with these three amazing people.
June 5-6: I'll be at NCTM Headquarters -- in Reston, Virginia -- to attend my first meeting as a new member of the Professional Development Services Committee (PDSC). We'll meet again in August and November of this year.
June 25-26: Ashli Black has invited me to speak at the Oregon Math Network conference. I wonder why. :) I'm grateful that Ashli thought of me. Elizabeth will be there too! I'm planning to stay in Oregon for an extra week to visit with family. Actually that's a lie because I really just want to hang out in all 56 breweries in Portland.
July 23-26: Twitter Math Camp! On Friday, 4:00 to 5:00, I'll be co-presenting with Matt Vaudrey on Barbie Bungee and Desmos. (Matt is the presenter. I pass out the rubber bands.) On Saturday, 1:30 to 2:30, I'll be giving a keynote. Lisa Henry rejected my request to have the talk at the local karaoke bar. #killjoy
July 27-29: The day after #TMC15, I will be one of the presenters at NCTM Interactive Institute in Anaheim, CA. My 3 sessions (over 3 days with the same attendees) will focus specifically on ratios and proportions. Andrew Stadel is the other presenter on the same topic, but he'll have his own attendees in a different room. Guess the demand is higher for this topic thus they're offering two concurrent workshops. [Update, July 10: Due to lower than expected enrollment numbers, I'd volunteered to cancel my part in this. Andrew will rock this!]
August: I need to carve out some time to fulfill my role as one of the judges for the Item Writers project.
August 6: I'll be doing a full-day workshop in Santa Barbara. It's the 3rd Summer Institute of Teaching Beyond Textbooks.
August 12-14: The UCSB Math Project is my favorite probably because I've been at it the longest (5 years?) and it's local and the people whom I work with know how cranky I get when I don't eat. We are putting on a leadership retreat at the beautiful La Casa de Maria.
August 21-23: I'll be back in Virginia for the NCTM PDSC meeting.
October 22-25: Chris Hunter had invited me to present at the Northwest Math Conference in Whistler, Canada. I'm honored and excited to hang out with these familiar faces and meet new people! With any luck, I might finally get to meet Timon Piccini.
November 6-8: I had a wonderful breakfast with Brian Shay on the last day of NCTM Boston. Told him how busy life had become and that I needed to say "no" more. A week went by and I got an email from Bruce Grip asking me to speak at CMC-South. Guess who told Bruce to contact me. (I said yes only because this presentation will be a repeat from the Whistler one above.)
Anyway, have a wonderful summer if you're already there. Hope to see you at the next gathering! xox
What song was it?
I miss having time to read and write. I miss my kids. Nicolai is graduating from college in two weeks. Gabriel has decided, after freshman year, that college is not for him. He thought about being a truck driver because he likes to drive. I once wanted to be a truck driver too. Contemplating the life of open road and truck-stop diners — and realizing that only one of these is appealing. Sabrina finished her sophomore year and went right into doing research this summer, I won’t see her until late August.
—–
A few weeks ago my students took the SBAC Performance Task (PT). We had to do a classroom activity prior to them taking the computer-based PT.
The main purpose of the classroom activity is to ensure that all students have a common understanding, at a minimal level, of the contextual elements of a PT topic so they are not disadvantaged in demonstrating the skills the task intends to assess.
One of my 6th graders sounded rhetorical, “Don’t we all know what a video game is.”
I heard the unspoken agreement among her classmates. This was unfettered privilege, I thought. Then I remembered something and told them this quick story.
I was already two years out of college and teaching middle school science. Our large district offered a 3-day science workshop — retreat style at the breathtaking Silver Falls Lodge. Two deer came out as if to greet me when I pulled into a parking space. Our first meeting was an evening of social gathering in the cozy Smith Creek Meeting Hall. I knew fewer than a handful of people. The program director took the mic and welcomed us. He said we should sing a song together to begin our fun-filled days of science workshopping. As a way to bond, he added. Everyone agreed and almost immediately broke into chorus. Everyone but me. I just didn’t know the words to the song. Nor have I ever heard of the song. The singing seemed to have gone on for much too long while I stood small and insignificant. I felt like a foreigner. All over again.
One student asked, “What song was it?” I replied, “I don’t know. I didn’t know it then, so…” I ended by telling my students that the director had assumed everyone knew the song. Who we are and what we know are our privileges. Everyone in here may know what a video game is, but we shouldn’t always assume that.
Gabriel — my possible future truck driver — reminded me once that not all his friends lived in homes and apartments. His friend was living in someone’s garage.
Let's Not
I knew I was in trouble when the principal needed to talk with me regarding a parent complaint. The parent said I used the word crap in class often. The parent also said that I told students to memorize PEMDAS as Please Excuse My Dumb Ass Sister.
I admitted to my principal that I said crap enough times. And the PEMDAS thing… Well, it was really a ha-ha joke that my high school students from the previous year taught me, and I never actually wrote out the word Ass, I just wrote down A__, so technically my clever middle schoolers deciphered that on their own.
The parent found me in my classroom after school shortly after. She brought up the aforementioned, and I apologized. Profusely. I was genuinely sorry that she found the word crap offensive. I told her that I then realized it was unprofessional and would not utter the word again in class. I promised I would apologize to all my students the next day.
But then she had more to say, Mrs. Nguyen, we’re a Christian family, and we raise our children to be…
The rest of her words — I don’t recall exactly — were condemning. She could have just punched me in the face. The effect felt the same. I looked over to the other side of my classroom where my own three children — then ages 8, 9, and 12 — were doing their homework. Our eyes met. My kids attended the same school.
I apologized to my students the next day.
Then after school I went to my principal’s office because what the parent had said to me in front of my children continued to anger me. She had projected her Christianity on me in front of my kids as if I were amoral and indecent for saying crap. I told my principal what happened and concluded with — and I remember my words verbatim because I was really upset — “If she ever comes back and speaks to me like that again, I will tell her exactly what I think, and then you’d have to fucking fire me.”
*****
Maybe it was the very ugly custody battle I went through that has made me crazy protective of my three kids and my role as a parent. You don’t get to judge me from a distance. You don’t get to judge me based on what 4-letter words I say. You certainly don’t get to judge me through a religious lens.
I’m pretty much this crazy protective when it comes to my students and my role as a teacher.
We talk about the bad policies crafted by people in thick-carpet land, so let’s not have those policies trickle down into our classroom and adversely affect our students’ learning or their love of learning. Let’s not follow that textbook that we hate — so what if the school had adopted it. Just because we inadvertently bought spoiled food does not mean we should consume it. We talk about spending too much time reviewing for tests, so let’s stop reviewing for the goddamn tests.
Let’s not believe for one second that we don’t have a voice.
Let’s smile and nod and gather up all the handouts in our next meaningless PD, then throw them out when we get back into our classroom and do a Math Munch or 3-Act lesson.
I go batshit crazy when I hear of teachers doing things that they know are not good for their students. Why are we doing it then?
I’m afraid I know the answer to this already: We don’t want to lose our job.
But. But. Did we not get into teaching because we love teaching and our subject matter and most of all we love our students? How can we justify implementing poor pedagogy and delivering contrived content to the young people whom we promised to give our best and be their advocates? Why are we wasting their time?
We — classroom teachers — make a direct impact on our students’ learning. This impact is not unlike that of a parent-child relationship. And for some students, we are the missing guardian in their life. They depend on us to make the right decisions when administrators and policy makers do not. They depend on us to be the voice that they don’t always have. They trust us to work toward fixing a broken system instead of being a part of it. We would do all this and more as a parent. We should do all this and more as a teacher.
I’ve always needed a job, an income. I don’t have the luxury of shooting my mouth off and doing whatever I fancy in the classroom. I shared the opening story because it happened in my first year of teaching at Mesa and I was well aware of my probationary status. But when a parent crosses the line, or when an administrator/mandate goes too far or does too little, I need to speak up. It’s not bravery or arrogance, it’s duty.
This Friendship
There are still a few minutes left in my Math 6 class when four 8th graders rush into my room. They hurry along the side of the room toward the front. They don’t interrupt me as I wrap up the lesson with my 6th graders. I can tell how excited they are to tell me something. And as soon as I dismiss the class Isaiah stretches his eyeballs and tells me, “Guess what Mrs. H said about you?! She said that your head is so big that it’s a miracle you can walk through the door!! And Mr. H (our principal) was there, and he laughed!!” The three girls who have come in with him — eyes equally wide — nod in unison, proud to bear witness to this most fantastic story. I suppress a smile, “Oh, she did, did she. And Mr. H laughed too? I see.”
Somehow the kids have picked up on the bantering between me and Erin, my next-door colleague of five years. They want to be a part of it, and we don’t want to deny them of the fun because that’s what it is.
Mostly the kids hear of our genuine respect for each other. I normally say, “Mrs. H is amazing.” And Erin, “Mrs. Nguyen is the best.” They see us laugh and observe our friendship. I think our students know how much we care about each other because they know how much we care about them.
Nothing is kept safe with these kids. I go over to Erin’s room to get something, and she tells me, “The kids told me you said shit in class today.” (1. It was not during class, and 2. You would too if you reached into a kid’s bag of chips not knowing what kind it was, and it turned out to be Takis Nitro.)
Whenever my class hears clapping next door, we want to clap louder, and we do. It’s deliciously juvenile, and I don’t stop until she gives up.
For 10 years I’d never missed a staff meeting if I was on campus, but on that day I did. I just went home because I forgot it was the second Tuesday of the month. Since then, Erin has always come over to fetch me for the meeting.
My desk at school is always a mess. Erin’s desk is neat and tidy. She remembers and meets every deadline. I run to her in panic, “Hey Erin, about that assessment that’s due tomorrow? What did you do? What’s the website again?” I’m convinced she has some sort of OCD to explain for all her perfection.
She wears not only a green top but also a green cap because it’s Friday and it’s Oregon’s color. We talk about opening up our own business — something that involves lots of wine and beer — when this teaching thing no longer works out. We talk about this plan in more detail, as if it would really happen, when we have a particularly bad day at work.
Erin is the colleague I wish for all of us. Someone who’s a friend outside of school. Someone who makes us look good. Someone who gives us more credit than we deserve. And that’s okay. Because there are always days when we deserve the credit, but no one is around to tell us.
It’s her fault that my head is so big.