Trading access to the internet for access to ghost crabs, cabbage head jellies, dolphins, Harpoon Henry's, Pee Wee, Tiny Tim, brandywine tomatoes, oystercatchers, skimmers, and isopods.


See you next week!

READ MORE - On the way to Cape May...

A preface:

When I still practiced medicine in projects and homeless shelters in Newark, we had a parade of folks come visit us on our medical van. Administrators, politicians, potential donors, medical students, local community groups, pediatric residents, the press, and an occasional NBA star or two (one of whom gave away OUR toys while showing off to ESPN).

Most had good reasons to be there, but many gawked with a look-at-me-I'm-actually-in-the-'hood, and my occasional offer to tour the neighborhood was usually turned down quickly, as though I'd just asked them to step off a cliff.

I grew a bit weary of folks observing us as though we were some sort of archaeological dig site, gawking at a bullet hole, taking photographs of cute children dancing amidst the rubble, then (people just can't help themselves) offering advice on how to improve things.
So now, after teaching for less than three years, I'm going to be one of those people....

End of preface

I stumbled upon Teaching in the 408 a bit late--TMAO's profile ends "I am no longer a teacher." In his latest post, he notes that:

Instead, I’ll get to do a wide array of work in both practice and policy realms, straddling that great divide, and harnessing the experiences of the last six years in countless new ways.

Ayep. Beats harnessing the colts in the classroom. I'm not being fair--TMAO did wonderful things in a tough environment with a ridiculous commute, and he showed what's possible. But...(come closer, I need to whisper)...he doesn't teach in public school anymore.

I recently read Erin Gruwell's "Teach With Your Heart: Lessons I Learned from The Freedom Writers." I haven't seen the movie, and likely won't any time soon.

Ms. Gruwell did good work, but the dog and pony part led her to leave. I don't want to jump on the Stomp Erin Gruwell bandwagon. She did wonderful things, changed lives, and has been knighted by Oprah. But...(come closer, I need to whisper)...she doesn't teach in public school anymore.

For every Erin Gruwell, thousands more struggle in classrooms, fighting the good fight, doing what they can to improve a life. Quiet miracles occur daily.

I call them Dawgs. I'm proud to be a Dawg. Put me in the classroom and let me teach my puppies how to howl cogently.

And as I was drifting off to sleep last night, I smugly tossed all the erstwhile educators out of the Dawghouse. Let them spew forth in books and on blogs and on Oprah how to improve education. Let them be rich and famous, free from the red pen--they're not true Dawgs.

So this morning I was ready to fire up the puter, write a smug treatise on Dawgs while drinking my smug coffee from my smug mug, creating a list of requirements, bulleted and bold, the first of which is:

• You must be a teacher in a public school who actually faces gobs students every day, every week, every year. ("Day", "week", and "year" are loose terms in this industry,but you get the idea.)

I'd show them!

Clay Burrell stopped me dead. He has a very interesting blog Beyond School, despite the incongruous Yoda inside the scrambled eggs (perhaps yet another pop icon I fail to grasp). Where'd it go? In "On Leaving Teaching to Become a Teacher" Mr. Burrell presents writes a very short post; it elicits a wonderfully cogent discussion, well worth the read.

I would love to get John Gatto and Clay Burrell in the same room, and just listen.

READ MORE - On being a Dawg

I told myself I'd get the first two weeks of lesson plans done by August 1st. I also told myself I'd lose 10 pounds, floss regularly, and stop cussing, too, so my lesson plans will be in plenty of good company of things not done. Still, it got me back to thinking of how to introduce science.

I'm not a big fan of the scientific method as a springboard for high school science class, at least the dogmatic form presented in textbooks--smacks of religious fervor, but I'll save that for another day.

I want to hit the kids with some version of this: how do we know what we know? (Do not call it epistemology, you'll only frighten the children.)

I don't want to go the existentialist route either, I'll only feed this generation's version of Trent Reznor fans.

In the past I gave a quiz involving a variety of scientific myths, and while it's fun, and it's big on the "Oooo..." factor, I get the sense that it the myths return into their universes before the exit bell rings.

So here's my vague notion of what I want to do. Pick something they "know" all about, then ask them to "prove" why it's true. (I have a sudden infatuation with quotation marks.)

I'm generating a list of questions. I want to know how the students know the answer beyond appealing to a source beyond their senses and their brains. I want questions that can be at least partially solved without leaving school grounds.

• How do you know the world is round?
• Might take a few months to develop the data, but I think we can do this in class
  
• How do you know something is alive?
• I need to bring critters and plants in early this year, first day if possible
• How do you know how old you are?
• This could get interesting if I outlaw birth certificates--could lead to a good discussion about sources (parents) and how reliable they are ("My Dad says evolution is devilspeak!")
• How many toes are in the room?
• Don't think I'll allow them to go for direct observation here, don't want to embarrass anyone, but does make for a good discussion on inductive inference.

I'm open to suggestions....

READ MORE - How do we know stuff?

I'm a float, which means I wander from class to class just like the students do. Since my travels take me to 3 different stories, I need to travel light. (I occasionally lug bowling balls--I only have two--so "light" is a relative term).

Still, toys remain on my list of science class essentials--I'd toss the textbook before I give up marbles, Jacob's ladders, drinky birds and the like.

I have a magic stone. Oblong and deep gray, smoothed by years of massage by a local stream, the stone nestles well in a worried palm. That by itself makes it special, but not magical.

One day, while idly spinning it, it awoke. It spun a few circles, shuddered to a stop, then reversed itself and spun in the opposite direction.

I spun it again. Again, it rattled to a stop, and spun the other way. Spin. Wobble and rattle. Counterspin. I found myself a rattleback.




Rattlebacks have a long history. Stones of similar shape have been found buried in Egyptian tombs (hey, a good toy helps pass away eternity), and people have played with them long before anyone understood Newtonian physics.

The rattleback is also known as a "wobblestone" (for obvious reasons), and as a "celt." As per the OED Celt comes from the Latin word celtes, meaning stone chisel, and is used to describe certain chopping tools used by prehistoric peoples.

I imagine a bored archaeologist spinning a celt as she sat in her tent during bad weather at a dig site. "Why, look, Professor James, this bloody implement is possessed!" If anyone has an idea of the real etymology, I would be much obliged.

You can find rattlebacks sold as scientific toys, sometimes at outrageous prices. Some rattleback merchants wrongly tout the toy as a model demonstrating the coriolis force. Even physicists have a time wrapping their minds around the toy's mechanics. Sir Hermann Bondi wrote: "Many people, even trained scientists, find it hard to understand that the behaviour of the toy doesn't violate the principle of conservation of angular momentum."

When I lend them to students, I try not to tell them what to do. Just let them play.

READ MORE - Classroom toys: rattlebacks