Sunday, October 12, 2014

Self Encouragement in Writing


Are you interested in the Japanese writing curriculum?

There is not much to talk about for the Japanese writing curriculum.  The writing techniques, such as organization and descriptive writing, surely appear in their language arts textbooks, however, they are not systematic.

How do Japanese students improve their writing with such limited resources? 

Although specific writing lessons seem limited, there are students' samples within them.  These examples have writers who are the same age as students and inspire young Japanese writers.  As an American teacher, I rely heavily on the mentor texts that professional writers crafted.  Just recently, I noticed the power of peer writer's writing pieces.  Back in Japan many years ago, I remember myself dreaming that one day my writing piece was going to be in the text book....

Another writing tools can be seen in the science, social studies, and math text books. 

There are always some sections where the student's reports.  For instance, social studies text books share the voices of student's interview report, the science introduce student's science inquiry, experiments, and results in every chapter, and in math, there are two students' voices that compare different solutions.  The Japanese text books wisely use student's work/writing samples throughout all content areas.  Students are encouraged to perform their writing responses based on the students' sample.

It sounds like the Common Core State Standards-ELA.  That is what I noticed. 

Our students need a lot of writing opportunities.  One way we can motivate students to write for different purposes, audiences, and topics is to show them other student's writing as  mentor text.  "If that 8 year-old can write this, I should be able to do this," someone like me mumbles. 

Young writers can encourage themselves with proper guidance.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Summer Special Memoir vol. 13

French Style Muse
Dreaming about being French as I eat my sandwich at school, I pour sweetened tea into my cup and take a sip.  French people speak French.  I don’t speak French yet, but I will as soon as I become a French person.  Even now, I have confidence that I can communicate with any French person because I have creativity, which is shown in the arm waving dance that I created in music.  French people eat French bread.  It should be similar to the white bread I eat every morning.  No problem.  I assume they drink sweetened tea.  I easily get over another hurdle.  I continue the self-taught private lessons on “French” at home, which are far from authentic.  I play a LP record disc on the turntable.  This is Swan Lake by the Russian composer Tchaikovsky.  My arm flapping act is like nothing that someone else has done in my school.  My choreography expresses the elegance of a swan that is contemplating which way she is going to swim to and fly to.  I become closer to being French with each graceful movement of my arms and tip toes.  Maybe, one day, I might be on the stage in France.

When my mother takes me to Yamaha Music Academy for the first time Tuesday after school, my heart starts jumping.  Yamaha sounds French to me.  (I learn later that“Yama” means mountain, while Ha means “leaf” in Chinese characters)  “I’m sorry but I can’t play with you today because I have to go to Yamaha,” I apologetically brag to my friends in the school bus.  Yamaha Music Academy rents the space in the Lutheran Church in the town where my grandma Fumi still resides.  Lutheran church sounds French to me, too.  I am so ecstatic to be back in this church where I used to play everyday, and even go to Sunday School.  We push open the heavy glass door, painted, “Lutheran Church”.  The floor has hard and shiny tiles that are gray and black.  I proudly lead my mother to the left and step up the red carpeted stairs as if walking on a cloud.

There is a large room, and in it there are more than ten fantastic looking electric organs with double layered keyboards.  These amazing looking instruments have a bright oak brown color, ands are shining.  A right hand goes onto the top keyboard and a left hand goes onto the bottom keyboards.  I am in shock when I notice that this already-too-amazing-organ has another keyboard just for the feet!  Ms. Nagaya tells me that it is called an Electone.  She guides me to the Electone that is closest to her piano.  I inhale a strong scent from her which is like a clean restroom.  She must be from France.

I look over the back of the room.  There are another ten regular, terribly poor looking organs.  They seem very pathetic without the luxurious functions that the Electone contains.  They have an air pump for your feet, and don’t have double keyboards.  You simply need to pump to make these instruments sound.  It is totally unfair for these tedious organs to be compared to the fancy Electone, but it’s hard not to.  The organs’ height are way shorter than the Electone, too.  Their color is grayish, and it brings back unpleasant memories of rainy days.  I am so relieved that I am not on that ugly, low-function, single keyboard.  I determine that I will never ever be late for Yamaha so I will not miss the Electone.  I have to claim the Electone before all of them are taken by the fellow Yamaha kids.  Everybody must be thinking the same thing that I’ve been thinking.  I don’t think I can control myself if I have to sit with the regular organ.  I  already have had enough bad experiences in my life.

Ms. Nagaya looks a little bit like a French.  I have never seen a face that has such an impact.  Her eyes are huge, and underlined with black ink and painted with blue powder on the top.  Her mouth is the biggest and reddest I have ever seen in my life.  Snow White might have the same color  lips; however, I doubt that they are the same size as Ms. Nagaya’s.  Her hair is short and a reddish brown that is a bit too strong.  It almost looks like a helmet.  Maybe French ladies look like her, I conclude on the first day.  It almost scares me.  I keep telling myself, “I am very lucky that I’m with a teacher who might be from France,” with a little suspicion.

------A little bird is listening to my music by the window and shaking his booty.  Mama is listening to my pretty beautiful sounds.  We learn at Yamaha Music Academy---- It is easy enough for me to sing the opening song at first time.  I see Ms. Nagaya’s large mouth and nostrils very well from my seat.  As soon as she sucks up some air, she announces, “Let’s stand up!  We will march around the room.”  A big circle of little musicians start walking around the high-tech Electones and the old fashioned organs.  I step forward, my legs going one by one proudly.  Right, left, right, left, I march in synchronization with the marching song that Ms. Nagaya plays on her piano.  Nothing sounds better than the piano playing of Ms. Nagaya besides Fur Elise from the speaker that plays after lunch in my school.  And how lucky I am to be able to march with the rhythm of the beautiful sound!  I act like a soldier stepping consistently with the beat, right, left, right, left.

As the consistent rhythm gradually fades out, a soldier spots an obstacle.  There are a bunch of kids soldiers stuck up in one area.  Are you nuts?  You shouldn’t be.  You should be a Yamaha music soldier.  You are supposed to be appreciating Ms. Nagaya’s sophisticated music. You must keep walking with it.  Right behind me, more people start piling up.  But the line doesn’t go any further.  It completely stops.  I am sandwiched!  All of a sudden, I become the General of Yamaha Army, yelling, “Move!”

At the next second, both of my hands push against the girl’s back.  I just want her to move.  If you don’t respond to my verbal communication, I have to use some physical force.  That’s what happens.  As she falls, a boy before her falls.  The Yamaha soldiers’ domino glissandos to another person, up until one third of the circle of soldiers totally collapses.  A girl points her index finger at me, and cries, “This girl pushed me! Waaaa…”  I quickly apologize without any remorse nor eye contact, “I am sorry, but you have to move when you are supposed to.”  The fellow Yamaha kids look at each other, including Ms. Nagaya.  I then realize that this first terrible impression of me has just been etched into the Yamaha kids’ innocent minds.  I optimistically hope that everybody will forget about this incident by next Tuesday.  This place could make me connected to France.  I must survive.  I bite my tongue.

-----Good bye.  This is all for today.  Good bye----- The ending song’s tune sounds pretty mellow.  Ms. Nagaya whispers to my ear, “You will get along with your friends next time.”  “Yes ma’am,” I sigh.  Am I still lucky?  Yes, of course.  I have not been kicked out yet.  I am ready for the same routine plus a different adventure next Tuesday.

Every week seems like there is a totally different atmosphere.  No one talks about their previous friends or events concerning the Academy.  Only our routine songs are sacredly preserved; the Little Bird opening song and the Mellow-You-Down closing song.  Each Tuesday, learning new tunes and songs is fascinating to me.  The only thing that I am disappointed about is that there has been more marching around the room with music since Day One.  I refuse to think why.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Common Teaching Using Common Core State Standards



"Our district will be teaching Common Core and Smarter Balanced Assessments," my friend sighed.  "Really?" I gasped.  Teaching Common Core was something I was aware of, but not the State Assessments.

The Common Core State Standards are clear benchmarks focused on each grade level.  They are coherently aligned and require students' rigor.  This system gives teachers some freedom, flexibility, and creativity within their teaching practices.  In order to deliver effective lessons and outcomes where learning takes place from students, the teacher must use their  deep content knowledge, repertoire in teaching style, and lesson studies.

I agree that test preparation is important, however, the state assessment should be only one piece of the student's evidence of learning.  In other words, if the student masters a certain skill at the level of 85% or above, they should be able to perform their comprehension of that topic in any format of testing, e.g., bubble filling, short answer, long answer, oral answer, etc.  Test taking skills like cramming will destroy the primary purpose of Common Core and therefore college & career readiness.  If our instructions and expectations of the students' performance in each lesson are rigorous, high achievement should follow.

Instead of worrying about the state tests, it is significant for each school in our country to plan a comprehensive and systematic instruction and assessment schedule to meet standards among students.  For instance, studying and sorting different instructional models for certain learning objectives will enhance teaching skills.  You can determine the focused instructional model each month and discuss it.  Along with the instructional plan, determine the assessments that give data that will help understand the individual student's achievement, the norm, and the effectiveness of the selected instructional model.  Not only will the grade level and the whole school team benefit from these kinds of professional developments, but the results will also reflect on the state test results.

It sounds like "Smarter Teaching and Learning" is a common requirement in the 21st century education.


Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Summer Special Memoir vol.12



My Lunch Obsession
Opening the lid of my lunchbox is one of the highlights of the day, in addition to making my teacher laugh in the school bus.  I can’t stop thinking about lunch today because I know what is in my lunch.  My lunch box is not even an unfashionable aluminum bento box.  It is a fancy yellow plastic basket wrapped by a pink handkerchief.  My mother was halfway through her sandwich project when I came down to the kitchen this morning.  Many pieces of fully sliced, seven millimeter thick white bread were waiting to be sandwiched.  Last night, we stopped by the Andersen Bakery.  Picking up the fresh-from-the-oven bread is our routine whenever we visit Grandma Masu.  Margarine and strawberry jam are thinly pasted onto each side of the bread.  It is too thin that you hardly taste any sweetness.  In fact, what I mostly taste is the salt from the margarine.  It will be a jackpot moment when the red chunk of jam hits my tongue.  I know she doesn’t cut any crust off but I still dream about the joyous surprise of having no crust, just white sandwich bread lines in my lunch basket.  Unfortunately, that dream will never come true.  For now, at least I have something special in today’s lunchbox rather than a tin lunch box with a red sour plum inside. 

Besides, I bring sweetened black tea in my thermos instead of green tea.  One of the few simple lunch rules here is that green tea should be the accompaniment of rice.  Black tea should be sweetened and accompanied by bread.  You can also enjoy your sweetened black tea with your breakfast toast.  No other optional beverage is available, even water.  Elders in the family always say, “You cannot drink water from faucet.  You must boil it first.  Otherwise, you will have a stomachache.” Once you boil the water, my mother cools it off, then puts green tea leaves or other Eastern Medicinal tea leaves into the water.  When you want to drink refreshing and keenly cold well water from the faucet, the best you can do is to sneakily snatch the water.  But again, a water glass cannot be seen on the dining table in my house, because water is not an official drink for a traditional family like us, if you call my family traditional that is.  If you are courageous enough to bring out a pop can or a glass of milk for your meal on the table, you will be shunned or even be declared a criminal for the rest of your life.  Our refrigerator doesn’t have a variety of resources anyway, so none of us have ever been shunned.  A few weeks ago, I was overjoyed when a waitress brought a glass of water to each of us at the restaurant, because it was my first time receiving it during a meal.  The restaurant serves water because it is a fantasized pleasure that differentiates from our “traditional” real life.  Maybe they boiled the water and cooled it off without tea leaves for people like us. 

Lunch menus at home have some nonnegotiable regulations, too.  You never have any opportunities to eat sandwiches for lunch or dinner at home.  By the way, American Hamburgers are not considered to be or categorized as sandwiches in Japan.  Bread is allowed in exclusively three occasions, such as breakfast toast, a breakfast sandwich, or school lunch.  As breakfast toast has grown to be modern, my parents try to implement this modernization at home at their level.  Here, Mother stirs Japanese traditional Miso soup along with toast every morning to serve her husband.  The mixed up Eastern and Western fragrance from our kitchen confuse my senses in the early morning, every day. 

Old folks in my region think rice gives you more power and a smarter brain than bread.  If you saw the endless green rice fields in the countryside during summer, you would agree with these folks that rice is the best for the nation.  Nothing really can be a substitute for rice, especially for older people.  Bread is the food that the Western enemies eat.  Even the young hamburger generation created the “RICE Burger” with a Teriyaki taste at the recently opened fast food restaurants. 

One bread company is so desperate for clearing the negative image off of their face.  The company composes a song to put into their TV commercial and plays it over and over during kids’ golden time consisting of watching cartoon shows.  …We’ve grown up with bread so we are healthy and smart.  We always get 100% on tests, no problem…  I am contemplating these claims and thinking about myself.  I am somewhat smart because I eat a couple of loaves of toast every morning.  Am I supposed to get smarter if I increase the bread consumption and perhaps eat more sandwich lunches than rice balls, or substitute bread meals more often at home?  Am I just seeking the validation of which is the more appropriate carbohydrate energy source for my body including my brain?  Maybe my dilemma is not superficial.  I wish I could choose what I eat because I justify it, not because old folks have believed in eating it for a long time.  Either way, I am simply and heavily influenced by the bread company’s “Eating More Bread” promotion ads, as they expected.  I love bread!  I am smart!  I am one of the easiest targets among all afternoon cartoon generations even though I don’t have much opportunities to eat bread anyway.

My mother keeps spreading butter thinly onto a pair of bread.  Because the butter is too hard and the bread is too soft, she often makes unpredictable holes on the surface of the white bread.  She picks up a piece of almost transparently thin ham and a couple of cucumber slices, then, lays them over the miserable looking holes on the bread.  The orderly lined sandwich in the yellow basket will make my day.

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Summer Special Memoir vol. 11



On the Lotus Leaf
It is not a perfect day on this specific Wednesday.  To be honest, I have been a total loser all day today, however, my life goes on, just like elegant melody of Beethoven’s Fur Elise.  All kids put their heads down on the desk and appreciate its mellow tune and melody coming from the classroom speaker.  Every time I hear a sharp note, I feel like my brain is lifted up for half an inch.  It is a unique and a kind of “mini” sensation that my brain responds with D sharp and G sharp, particularly.  Therefore, while other kids might fall sleep with this calm Beethoven’s piano piece, I am always swaying between my dream (often about being a French) and semi-consciousness.  My brain doesn’t go away from my glorious moments of a day that should have happened.  These moments, literally, could have been glorious.  Unfortunately, life is not fair.  Sometimes, it’s almost brutal.

Good news is that my final chance to shine is still on my way.  Ms. Aoki sits in front of organ and starts playing a good bye song.  All Moon class classmates sing riotously.  In other words, they technically yell to say good bye without fine tune along with the pedaled air powered organ.  The cord progress is simple enough, the repetition of I, IV, I, V, and I.  At the end of the song, with even more uproarious yelling echoes in the Moon room, “Good Bye Teacher, Good Bye Friends!”  Kids swarm like ants gathering around the dead worm, toward the entrance hall to change their shoes.  I am in the middle of group being guided by fellow ants toward the hall.  One by one, gets their shoes and takes off to the bus.  I grab my rain boots from the shoe shelf and sit down.  It is extremely tight as if I have grown two inches longer in last three hours.  I continue putting my effort to put my boots on. 

All of a sudden, I realize the last person is gone.  I am the only kid in the entrance hall still struggling with stupid boots.  The sun is peeking through the cloud.  I hope my bus is still there.  With the strongest forth, I finally put them on.  My right toes are not touching to the end.  My left heel is in the air inside of a boot.  But at least I have them in both of my feet.  I dash to the ground.  A bus is gone.  My eyes start filling with plenty of water.  My eyes are big, but not as big as to hold up all tears that keep coming.  I missed the bus!  I start hiccupping.  My nose starts running.  I repeat, “I missed the bus, I missed the bus, I missed the bus.”  That means I have missed my only and final chance to shine on this unlucky Wednesday.  Nobody is going to listen to my jokes after all.  I don’t know how to swear.  I don’t know S-word or F-word.  That frustrates me more.  Turning around, I walk back to the building.  I see one teacher.  Ms. Aoki!  My eyes are welled with relief.  “Teacher, I missed the bus.  The bus is gone without me.  I don’t know how to get home.  My house is kind of far away from here.  Should I start walking?”  She replies, “Principal will make an extra route just for you, don’t you worry.” 

Thank you Buddha, I humbly receive your compassion right here right now from my Snow White.  This is how my “ordeal” Wednesday is compromised.  I ride the special bus trip all by myself with principal.  Principal’s high pitch husky voice was somewhat soothing. That is the first conversation with the principal. My vision is myself transferred to the large lotus leaf floating on the water.  I even see the beautiful pink lotus flower by the leaf.  After all, there is always the flipped side of coin.