Today was the last real day of classes for the term. Tomorrow is the day that I'll be spending at school grading papers and preparing the final exam.
The term went by, as is usually the case, far too quickly. This term seems to have been sped on its merry way by a marked abundance of special schedules, accelerated days, and approximately twelve hundred assemblies and Masses and whatnot. I know that my original syllabus had far more time spent on Shakespeare than what actually occurred. Next year I will plan for four weeks of Shakespeare and perhaps get the three that I want.
The students presented their live performances of scenes from Henry V in class yesterday and today. Some were better than others. Some were amazing. Some were heartbreakingly rough. One chose not to do hers at all. I haven't decided whether or how to respect that choice, since it will mean a failing test grade and possibly a failing grade in the course.
I'm always surprised by what this assignment reveals about the students. It's not that complicated: memorize and perform 30-60 lines of Shakespeare. There's a written component that consists of turning in a copy of the script with the blocking written on it, a few sentences about their costume/production concept, and a rewriting of their lines into their own words. Not, to me, a massive assignment.
Some students embrace it wholeheartedly. Others fear it worse than they'll fear anything else in their whole high school experience. Students who like to "play the game," as it were (figure out the Magic Combination to the Teacher's Brain and Make an A!) go all to pieces over this assignment. Students who don't find much redeeming value in test-taking and paper-writing suddenly produce amazing results.
Every year, a few kids get stage fright so badly that they just freeze and forget their lines; I let them come and get some points back by reciting for me alone. Usually, if the student knows the lines, he or she will be able to do it for the audience of one with no stress.
I had something different this year, though. A student had a real mental block with the assignment. I've had him in class for twelve weeks, and he's always been a very quiet, reserved young man. He came in this afternoon after school to try to finish his speech for me, and he just couldn't do it. After a few abortive attempts, he suddenly started talking about how he was having trouble with the memorization and how it was confusing and frustrating for him, not like math which comes easily to him. He kept talking about how he "sees" what he has to do in a math problem, and he couldn't see anything in the lines he had been desperately trying to memorize for the past week.
We had a great conversation about math and English, different learning styles, what was happening in the lines he had to read, and what's interesting or important in Shakespeare for a modern audience. He finally read his lines (not entirely correctly, but with a smile on his face) and left.
I'm still not sure why I decided to go back to my classroom this afternoon instead of racing to beat the Friday afternoon rush hour, but I'm glad that I was there for him when he stopped by.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
This is in fairness to the one who chose not to do her bit in public:
Sometimes one forgets that an assignment is due.
Sometimes, when confronted with the fact, one refuses to do something less than one's best.
I was in much the same position on one occasion, due to my youth, my forgetfulness, and my foolishness.
My teacher then later allowed me to recover from my foolishness.
At this point, it appears that there are two possibilities available:
One can either say, with the poets and the prophets, that to err is human, and to forgive, divine.
Or one can say, with the pedants and the paedagogues, that to err is human, and to forgive is not our policy.
It really is a matter of choice, isn't it?
By the bye, lovely weblog you have here. I do hope that you do not mind if, from time to time, I befoul it with my comments.
Post a Comment