Posts Tagged ‘Student Teacher’

What Goes Around…

bballMy student teacher, Mr. Z, played on the teachers’ team in this year’s Faculty/Student Basketball game during our final pep session of the year.  He is fast, tenacious, and, most importantly, young, which means he can keep up with the 8th graders on the court.

Sad to say, but our teachers lost this year.  We were beaten for the first time ever by an 8th grade team lucky enough to hit two three-pointers.  Even so, with the clock running down, the score was 6-5 and the teachers had the ball with every reason to think we could pull off a come-from-behind victory.  Mr. Z went to the left while Mr. D threw up a long three-point attempt that missed from the right.  The rebound happened to go right into Mr. Z’s hands.  But as soon he made a move toward the bucket for an easy lay-up and a win, Ashley, a member of the 8th grade girl’s team, flagrantly fouled him.  And there was no whistle!  Every student in the crowd knew what had happened, but it was too late.  The clock ran down and the 8th graders flooded the court for a huge celebration.  Our long string of victories was brought down by a blown call.  Oh well… life goes on…

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The next day Mr. Z called the 8th grade General Music class to attention.

“I hope you remembered that we have a quiz today,” he said.  There was general acknowledgement, with only a few surprised looks.

“So, please take out a pencil and put away any notes you have out.  And be sure to write your names on the papers I’m handing out.”

With that he began moving around the room distributing tests.

“Mr. Z, you forgot me,” said Ashley.

“What’s that,” Mr. Z asked, turning toward her.

“I didn’t get a quiz,” she said politely.

“Oh,” he replied, with a mock look of surprise.  “I wasn’t sure you should get one.  I mean, how do I know you won’t cheat on it, like you cheated in the game yesterday,” he asked with a hint of a grin.

Ashley looked stunned, and then put her head down and broke into a big smile.

“Here,” he said, handing her a paper.  “But I’m watching you…”

Eggs & Gas

My friend Wayne pointed out that if you rearrange the letters of the word “Listen” you get the word “Silent,” which is what you need to be in order to listen.  Excellent advice.  Here is some of what I have heard at Backpack Middle School lately.

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After a BandLand rehearsal a few days ago two girls were having a lively conversation in which they kept finishing each other’s sentences.  Amazed, one of them turned to me and said, “Wow, Mr. Shaver.  It’s like we can read each other’s minds.  We must be psychotic or something!”

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During another rehearsal, I was feeling frustrated with my 6th graders because they wouldn’t respond to my conducting.

39e3f_funny-pictures-kitten-hates-your-swearing“You need to watch me more,” I said.  “I’ve been conducting with really big gestures, but I’m hearing only the slightest differences in your playing.  It’s sort of like driving my first car – a VW diesel station wagon.  Even when I pressed the pedal all the way to the floor, the engine only went “putter, putter, putter,” like it didn’t have any fuel in the tank.  So, come on – get some gas in your tanks and be more like sports cars!”

To which Violet smiled and said, “I have lots of gas.”

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Two boys in my 7th grade music class kept making wisecracks, trying to get people to laugh.  After they had ignored several of my warnings to settle down and get quiet, I asked them to wait for me in the hallway.  A few minutes later, I joined them for a talk.

“Look, Gentlemen, I know you were just trying to be funny.  And, actually, some of your comments almost made me laugh,” I said, and they both kind of grinned.

“But, every comedian knows that timing is everything, and this just isn’t the right time,” I continued.  Upon hearing the word ‘comedian,’ Robbie brightened right up with a big smile on his face.

“When I grow up I want to be a comedian!” he said, but seeing the look on my face, the smile quickly vanished as he softly added, “…but not today.”

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Another of my music students could have been listening more closely when I told the class about Amy Beach, one of the few women composers of the 1800s.  He came up a little short on the next quiz when he wrote “Sandy Beach.”

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Jon, an 8th grade trombonist, was invited to last month’s school board meeting to receive a certificate of honor for making this year’s Jr. All-State Band.  This was a big deal for a student from a small country school like ours.

His father, being a county sheriff’s deputy, was on duty that night, but managed to come by the meeting to watch.  While waiting in the audience, his cell phone rang with what sounded very much like the theme song from the old TV show, “The Dukes of Hazzard,” to which someone wryly remarked, “Must be official police business.”

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Two boys were doing some friendly trash talking in the hallway when one said to the other, “Don’t mess with me, man.  I know where you live.  And my parents own your house!”

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“Where’s the new banner, Mr. Shaver?” asked Caleb.  He had seen me working on a banner the day before that said, “DON’T BE LAZY!”  Now he was looking around the room to see where I had hung it.

“Oh,” I grinned, “I didn’t feel like putting it up…”

“Ah…” he said, raising his eyebrows and smiling. “I get it!”

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Finally today comes this story from my student teacher (see “Mr. Z” at http://wp.me/p2fXmE-cm), as he told it to some BandLand students:

250px-White_chicken_egg_square“I wanted to boil an egg for supper last night,” said Mr. Z, “but I don’t have a stove or oven (or TV or computer) in my apartment.”

“Bummer,” said a student.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Z.  “Anyway, I do have a microwave, so I used my phone to Google, “Boiling Eggs in a Microwave,” and followed the directions.  I put an egg in a bowl of water and set the timer for eight minutes.  At about the five minute mark I bent down and looked through the window to check the egg’s progress, but just as I did this, the egg exploded!  And I don’t mean that it just went “poof” inside the microwave.  The force broke the glass tray under the bowl, and actually blew the door open in my face, sending broken glass, boiling water, and bits of boiling egg everywhere around the room!”

Pulling his sleeves up a little, he showed the students a couple burn marks where the egg had stuck to his skin.

“I even have a little burn on my eye lid,” he told them.  “And since I was barefooted, I got a small cut on my foot when I stepped on a piece of broken glass while I was jumping around the room!”

“What did you do?” someone asked.

“I spent the next 30 minutes cleaning up the kitchen.  There was even egg on the wall behind the microwave.  Then I took a shower to clean myself up.”

“Mr. Z?” asked Caleb, “Don’t you know that you can’t believe everything you read on the internet?”

Mr. Z

medalsThe past three weeks have been about as busy as any I can recall.  Before Christmas break, I felt like I had everything under control; the job even seemed easy.  Since the break I have been scrambling just to hold it all together from day to day.

Primarily, we have been in a mad rush to prepare for the annual Solo and Ensemble Festival in which students earn medals by performing individually and in small groups in front of judges.  Preparations include daily after-school practices, which are done before plans are made for the next day’s classes.  This means my school days are much longer than normal this time of year, so it has been tiresome, to say the least.  However, all the extra time with the students is well worth it as this is the month of the year when they make the greatest progress on their instruments.  The festival was last Saturday, and overall the students did a fantastic job.  For starters, this is the first year I can remember when everyone showed up.  No one even got sick.  Secondly, the number of Gold awards we received far outnumbered the Silvers.  So all in all, it was a good effort.

Our success this year was due in part to the extra help I’ve received from my new student teacher, who the students call Mr. Z, since his last name starts with a Z, which they think is cool.  I always wanted a nickname.  Occasionally, a student calls me Mr. S, but it has never really caught on.  One year the high school band students were getting sweatshirts with their names on the back, so they got me one that said, “Mr. S.”  I thought it was great, until a student commented that from a distance it looked like my sweatshirt said “Mrs.”  Since this was decidedly not cool, I stopped wearing it.  But I digress…

As I was saying, Mr. Z has already made a significant contribution.  We were able to divide up the after school rehearsals and give the students a lot more attention than I could have given them myself, so most of the groups were well prepared for yesterday’s performances.

Mr. Z has also been a big help in my general music classes teaching rhythm counting, note naming, and guitar playing.  The students there have taken a quick liking to him, as well.  Each day after 6th period he and I have to walk from the Band room to the General Music room.  Since it takes a couple minutes to make the switch, the 7th period students have to wait in the hallway outside the music room until we arrive.  Lately they have taken to forming a tunnel through which Mr. Z can walk to unlock the door.

Normally, I would be concerned that a student teacher who is so well liked is going to have trouble controlling his classes, but that hasn’t yet been the case.  He seems able so far to maintain a rapport with the students while also earning their respect.   Case in point:  a couple days ago Mr. Z was teaching the 8th grade music students a new chord on the guitar (by the way, he is quite a good guitarist, which they also think is cool…).

“Here is how you play a simple G chord,” Mr. Z told the class.”  Just place your third finger on the third fret of the first string and play the first three strings, like so…”  At this, he demonstrated playing a G chord.

“Now, everyone strum a G chord one time together so I can see if you’ve got it,” he continued.

At this point, the students proceeded to play numerous G chords, producing a predictably chaotic mess of sound.

“Whoa.  Stop,” he said.  “Not good.  ‘Strum once,’ means you play one time.  So… if you’re counting, you go… ‘One,’” he demonstrated with a single strum and a deadpan delivery.

I thought this was hilarious, and told him so later.  He told me that he had felt quite frustrated at the time he said this.  If so, he covered it up very well.  Instead, it came across to me as a perfectly appropriate use of humorous sarcasm that made the point.  The next time the students tried playing the chord, they played it one time.  They had gotten the point without losing their respect for him.

It has only been three weeks, but yes, I think Mr. Z is going to work out just fine.  And I’m thinking of taking guitar lessons…