For months now I’ve been puzzling over the idea of a single class. This is a class I’ve never taught before with a population that is so mixed in level as to be unrecognizable as a single class. I loved it for the first few weeks. The raw energy that came out of these conversations was enough to power me through the difficult early weeks of the semester. None of my other classes matched this level of passion. Yet that passion wasn’t sustainable. It felt like the age old story of the torch that burns too bright only to flame out too early. Once the class flamed out and the weight of the content sank upon them, the class took up another meaning in my head: Massive failure.
I have a tendency (one that must be corrected) to base my class around the level of the mean. The kids who represent the average student level get the attention. In worst case scenario (which is where I am) the kids who are the lowest are the ones who dominate the class and content. This is where I go wrong. This is where I went wrong this semester and continue to struggle. I mentioned in an earlier blog that this course steals more of my passionate energy than all of the others combined. This problem is exacerbated by the level of content not at all being congruent with the level of the course. I’m asking students to digest, understand, and interpret the entire history of the African American literary diaspora in 17 weeks. I am asking this of kids whose english and reading comprehension skills range from developmental to advanced. Moreover their specific attention spans are limited to fully engaged.
The important lesson I’ve taken away from the class is this: don’t teach it till you’re ready. I wasn’t and the result is obvious. I let my tendencies make a bad situation worse and the result is a class I’m not that pleased with. In other news the rest of the semester is incredible and uplifting in many ways. I’m ready to be the teacher I can be.
I am also ready to be the writer I can be.