Okay, before we start I would need to set some context. The following was a reflection that I wrote back when I was a resident teacher grappling the intricacies of classroom teaching.
I’ve had plenty of experience working with kids; sports and classroom — on field, off field, inside classroom, outside classroom. However an IB school was something different and uncharted till then.
As part of the PGDLT course I was pursuing at that time from IAAT, I was interning with Ascend. I was co-teaching Grade 5 with two wonderful Homeroom and Co-Homeroom teachers.
The course assigns the homeroom teacher as a Collaborative Teacher (CT) who is practically a guide, mentor, and North Star.
This is a very different type of writing I have attempted and so if you feel a bit lost or confused — remember that movie inside out where different ‘parts’ of brain assigned with different functions and feelings keep conversing inside the head — this is similar.
Oh and it’s about a Math lesson on fractions which I was preparing to conduct (almost my first class where I would be taking the lead on teaching)
23rd Nov Post Session Reflection
Even though I had not planned for the lesson, the previous day I had thought about different ways to engage the students in the learning and also how we could have used the manipulatives. In the morning, the CT asked if we could take Math first (it was scheduled for the latter half of the day). While we were talking; I opened the cupboard which was behind me and found these chart paper strips which had three lines drawn on them on one side and a single line on the other side.
Within 5 mins I got the fraction tiles (manipulatives) out and quickly checked with CT if the method discussed was appropriate. She said this is exactly how she was thinking about it too. She said we can use this paper itself — pointing to the chart paper strips.
And so we found more of those strips. She took them to the stationary room and cut them into appropriate sizes. Her idea was to let the kids stick this strip to their workbook once they are done using it. I get to planning — we have about 5 mins left until the kids come in.
She starts her morning ritual. The ritual of a welcome message on the TV screen followed by a request to sign-in and then grab math worksheets and find a chair near the table. Clock reads 8:29:45.
That strange feeling surfaces.
Kids are all in. I’m up. I glance across the room. I sense a bit of restlessness. Thoughts jettisoning in my mind. More like those welding sparks.
I drop all that I had planned on how to begin the class.
And I ask, “How do you feel about doing math today? Excited (show thumbs up), Not Excited (thumbs down), and Neutral (Ronaldinho double shake)?”
Barely one thumb points upwards.
Well, that didn’t work. Now what?
So I blurt, “What about math does NOT excite you?” Suddenly, the room comes alive. A sea of hands. Some say it’s too repetitive. Some say it’s just numbers. CT steps in, replying to a few kids she knows from previous grades. Co-teacher, Mr. J, chips in and talks about how we are also learning math every day.
Once he finishes, I say, “I hated math!”
Some faces show mild shock, some are still not bothered, some are curious to know what comes next. I talk about how after 10th grade I started liking Math but by then I did not understand so many concepts, so I struggled. I found Math so exciting but it felt like some distant cousin you once knew everything about and suddenly time turned that cousin into a stranger. Then you meet the cousin after years but you can’t recognize the parts you once saw.
My CT appears eager and animated and starts to talk about her schooling and how Math was for her. How back then — when math tables were not prayed properly then the palms were to be presented — palms facing down. Whack! The ruler strikes the hands. Not a plastic one but a wooden one. Kids find it amusing.
Her storytelling takes us back in time.
CT tells the class how lucky they are to learn Math in such a fun and exciting way and looks at me — as if on cue. I respond, “How we wish we were taught Math like this.” We share a warm smile and nod. Kids were engaged and some hands are raised. Two kids talk about their previous school and how math was taught there. CT leaves the class.
So now, is this class mine?
If I say this class is mine then am I not being narcissistic?
Whose class is this?
How can I do both — think of autonomy and also call it my class? How can I say the spotlight is on me and then pretend to be a co-learner at the same time?
Where do we draw the lines?
That fuzzy feeling. Just about two seconds had passed. So now I turn to the board. Maybe this helps me gather my thoughts.
Maybe if they don’t see my face they won’t know I am still traveling through time and space.
I scribble, “What is a fraction?” I turn. I ask what is written. Some hands are up. Some say the eponymous thing. Fractions are fractions.
Wow, how insightful, an engineer in the making.
I change the question. “How many operators are there in math?” Hands spring up. Some say half answer, some say it with a descending excitement- like throwing a firecracker and then quickly putting a blanket on it. Not enough conviction. Some are doodling.
Pick a doodler.
I find a doodler. Ask the same question. Get an answer. Now what do I do? Wasn’t prepared for any of this. Wrist starts vibrating. The 5 min timer from the watch alerts. I reset it to 3.
“So are Fractions same as divisions or are divisions the same as fractions?” Some eyebrows start pointing towards the ceiling. Some say fractions are divisions and some say some divisions are fractions.
How interesting! But this is not philosophy 101. Get back on track. Steer the ship out of the fog. The mist is tempting.
So now I call another doodler. “Can you tell me how many people are in the class?” Someone else also counts. I hear 17 then someone shouts 18. “I say what about Mr. J and Myself?”
Some kids chuckle. Some are still engrossed in something else. “So we’re gonna have some pizza. One Pizza serves 4 and we are 20. How many should we order?” Someone quickly says 20! Impressed. I write the same thing said above on the board. I ask how’d you calculate that? “It’s simple.” Someone said that. “Multiply 4 by 5.”
Multiplication? But I am supposed to talk about division. Where am I going?
I ask, let’s first consider how many people? I answer it myself. Not sure if I heard but I could faintly feel the echo of what I said. Twenty. Okay, so 20 people and 1 Pizza serves how many people? Again, I answer it myself.
(I’m standing there like I’m in 5th grade and doing the whole process out load in my head).
Great, this is going exactly how I didn’t plan it at all.
Four. So people 20. People. 4. 20 divided by 4. What does this look like?
“Fraction!”
Finally, someone said this. Alright, so then how many pizzas now? 20/4 is?
Wait. Wait for them.
Someone answers. 5. Great! So did we divide and did we use fractions? My wrists were vibrating for so long, it felt natural.
“Alright, so now we are going to plot fractions on the number line.” Mr. J, ever helpful, ever smiling, ever cool — starts distributing the strips cut by CT. “Now we are going to use the square panel(the fraction tile manipulative ) to plot the line from 0 to 1.”
Model it. Model it.
So I pick a strip and I pick a panel. I ask where would you place a zero?
Make sure my right is their left.
Barely see anyone’s responses even though I am looking straight. “So one will be marked here”
I purposely point it away from the panel. One kid gives me a disappointing look.
Mom? Is that you?
The rest have cranked the chaos engine. All pointing out that I’m wrong. They still react by shouting. So it’s a win. “Alright, instructions clear?” Half hands show thumbs down. Expected.
I say okay, start doing I will help. I turn one last time, to look at my notepad where I had the lesson plan outline and start writing 4 fractions that they need to plot on the strip. I exit the stage.
Enter the dragon.
Time for my biggest strength. I go to each table. Some have done it well. Some have plotted it entirely differently. Someone used a ruler to plot despite asking to use the square tiles.
The CT enters, asking what took so long? They haven’t started plotting yet?
I wished the floor would collapse.
Good thing my mouth doesn’t say what my brain says. I respond that I am starting it now — I have given instructions and they’ll start now. Some kids called my name while I was with another kid. The kids who were perceived to be really good at math were struggling. Some were able to but waited to see if they were right. Some are already done. So I move again to board.
Use another color!
Thank you brain. I write 4 more fractions — these are all multiples of the fractions of the tiles they have. One of the brightest kids. Looks around. I move near him. So I see he’s stuck at solving 6/8. He acknowledges my presence. Smiles.
Sometimes, nothing on this earth is more soothing than a child’s smile. I look at the workbook. He asks, “How do I do this?”.
Okay no problem. What does this feel like? He says, “scary”. Alright. So it looks scary and it feels scary. But look again and look closely. Can you find something else? Can you break it down? Scarier looking things become less scary when you try to see parts of it.
Someone travel back in time and tell this statement to my 8-year-old self please.
He says, it’s ⅛ but 6 times.
There! The chink in the armour.
All it needs is a ray of light. A crack. Soon what felt like being caved in now felt like burrowing outwards. So he plots.
Now I ask can you see 6/8 as something else? /
¾!
Wow that was quick.
Can you show me how?
The earth was caving in again.
He looked like sinking.
“Okay so, how many times 3 is 6?”
Two!
“Great!”
How many times 4 is 8?
2.
So what did you do?
Can you show me in the workbook?
2x3 /2x4 (written in the workbook)
Hmm. So now you’re saying that 6/8 is the same as ¾. Interesting. The math seems right. How can we confirm?
Can you plot ¾ on the line?
Starts looking for tiles. I interrupt.
“If the math is right what do you think will happen?”
He wasn’t listening. He places 3 tiles of ¼ and says it’s the same point!
“So does the math check out then?”
Yes. The head bobbing nod is evidence enough.
Another voice.
“Mr. Zubin!”
Who’s that?
Onto the next one. Another kid, who reminded me of a younger me. Never trusted me. Never acknowledged my presence. Never would greet me. Never would look to check anything with me. This kid lately starts coming up to me to check his work. Let’s call him Kay. I am engrossed in my self-proclaimed Socratic dialogue with a kid. Kay arrives springing towards me. The action is too animated so my peripheral vision captures it. Skills of the trade.
One day at a time.
He’s done all of them. I say great! “Let’s challenge you then. Show me ⅜ and 6/12.”
And so forth we kept moving. Somewhere between all of this the class ended.
No more timers vibrating on my wrist. Tempus Fugit! I move out and find one of the kids sitting on the couch outside still trying to figure it out. She has a frown on her face. I sit next to the couch and reach into my cerebrum for the questions.
The storm has passed. The ship didn’t reach its destination.
Several hours later. All three. CT, Mr. J, and I engage in discussion. We discuss what happened. The gaps in learning were exposed. The number line was a good idea — it showed where the conceptual standing was. Gentle waves of energy awash as all three of us are talking about the kids and their learning. This is what makes sense. This is why we do what we do.
This is why we teach together, we learn together.
Back to reality. Another change in plans. What lesson was to happen four days later is now going to happen tomorrow. I pick the colour sketch pens and a bunch of rough paper. After a few minutes, Mr. J and I are near the TV screen and we are back to discussing fractions.
New day, new battle, same intent, same yet different people.
