Looking back on the year so far, I’ve decided to write about some of the best lessons I’ve done in the hopes it will give you ideas you can use in your own classrooms. I’ve made a category for it called “Lesson Plans.” My plan is to fill it with lessons that went well in my English classroom where the students were completely engaged, and the end product was something we could all be proud of.

During the first week of school, I was doing a bunch of community building stuff- trying to convince my kids to love and fear me at the same time. This year I’ve really focused on getting them writing, no matter how, as long as they have a large body of work they can point to and say, “I did all that,” I’m pretty happy. So in the first week of school I was trying to help them get over their fear of writing and begin thinking of themselves as writers. So I had them write poetry.

Poetry? Sounds crazy, I know.

I wanted to show them writing doesn’t have to be scary, and is actually quite simple. So I came up with this lesson I call “Back-Pocket Poetry.” Now, at the time I was doing a bunch of stuff with family photographs. We read two poems that describe a  photograph in detail.*My plan was to have them bring a family photograph to write about. Out of a class of 25 kids only one kid was able to pull that off (bringing a photograph to class I mean). It is a 9^th grade class where the kids are super ghetto and read at a 6^th grade level. The only thing they do well consistently is spell their names wrong.

Okay, so no homework, I thought. We’ll use our imaginations instead.

So I had them envision a meaningful photograph in their head. They closed their eyes and called up their favorite family photo. Then they made a list of everything they saw. I had them use imagery, and note any smells, colors, textures. They made a list, you know, basic prewriting. Then, I told them I would make good on my promise that turning this into a poem was going to be easy, and that I would write a poem on the board to show them. I even asked for a volunteer from the class. The idea was that the volunteer would describe to me the photo in their head, and I would turn that into a poem. I had never done this before.

Just as I call on Aaron, who is the only one with his hand raised, the new Assistant Principal walks in my door and stands at the back of class. It is not a formal evaluation, as she told me later, just a friendly drop-in to see what everybody is up to. Now, I have an open door policy, and regularly say anyone can come into my classroom at any point. I am confident in my abilities, but this is a touchy moment with a brand-new class of tough kids. I plow ahead.

“Okay Aaron, tell me who is in the picture,” Aaron is an African-American boy who is the loudest kid in the class.

“My entire family,” he replies.

I write those exact words on the board, you know, trying to use his own words.

“And where does this photo take place?”

“In a hospital room.”

I skip a line and again write his exact words.

“Who are you there to see? Are people crowded around someone?” I ask.

“Yeah, my grandfather. He in the middle.”

“But you don’t call him grandfather do you, Aaron? What do you call him?”

“Pops.”

On the board I write, Pops is in the middle.

“Describe Pops to me Aaron.”

“He got hecka tubes in him. His hair white, but he smiling.”

I write:

tubes in his arms

white hair

still smiling

At this point the Assistant Principal’s walkie-talkie begins chattering. The kids lose focus momentarily, but they’re with me. They’re more than with me- they’re down with it. Aaron is especially hooked. I continue as the AP begins talking loudly in the back of my class to security.

“Where are you in the picture Aaron?” I ask.

“Right next to him. He got his arm around me.”

As I write I ask Aaron how old he is in the picture. I also ask how his grandfather’s skin felt on his arm. I write:

That’s me to his left

his scratchy arm around me

I’m eight years old

I have a feeling about where this is going, but the AP’s walkie-talkie keeps blabbering, and she keeps answering it.

“Why did you choose this photo Aaron?” I ask.

“It was the last time I ever saw him.”

For one glorious moment there is dead silence.

I write Aaron’s exact words as the last line.

The rest of the class is cowed with Aaron’s response. I don’t know what I was expecting, it was something like that, but not so…emotional. Then the Assistant Principal starts squawking into her walkie-talkie as she opens the door and heads out of my classroom. I don’t even think she heard anything that actually went on with my lesson.

With the door closed, the kids are back with me. I read the poem in its entirety out loud to bring them back fully. It goes like this:

My entire family

in a hospital room

Pops is in the middle

tubes in his arms

white hair

still smiling

That’s me to his left

his scratchy arm around me

I’m eight years old

It was the last time

I ever saw him

It may not be T.S. Eliot, but I think it’s pretty good. The students still aren’t sure how they feel about all the emotional vibes running through the air, but they’re all paying attention (things would have been even more powerful without the damn adult in the back of the room messing up my whole thing without even really seeing it). I tell them to start working on their own poem. I talk them through it. I tell them to start with who is there and where they are. Then describe the main person. Describe some sights and smells, and then say what is so important about the photo they chose. And I tell them to keep skipping to the next line after every thought.

Every student did it. As they wrote, I walked around and prodded them along. This is intensive, high maintenance work. I literally stop at every kid’s desk and help them individually. When they didn’t know what to write, I told them. I would ask them to describe the photo in their head to me verbally, and then tell them to write down the exact words that just came out of their mouth. Other times I just gave them entire lines myself. I didn’t care if they used words from my mouth, or even from the poem on the board (many of them used the exact same phrases- “that’s me on the left/ I am ____ years old”), as long as it was ten lines long and described a photo it was all good.

Oh, and I also made a promise to them at the beginning of class. I told them they would not have to share their poem with anyone. I also told them I wouldn’t read them either. I just told them to get points today, all they had to do was show me they had written a poem.

I was delighted that every kid wrote a poem. Not only did they all write, but they really seemed to enjoy it. They weren’t intimidated, they got words on paper, and accomplished a task in my English class in the first week, and got points. I even sat at my desk and let them watch me give them ten points in my computer gradebook as they safely held up their finished poems from ten feet away.

At the end of class, I told them to fold the poem up and put it in their back pocket, and then I said something like this: “Put it back there and forget about it. Go to your next class. Slap your friends during passing period. Light something on fire. But later on today, I want you to bust it out and read it. After that, I don’t care what you do with it. You can save it, throw it away. I don’t care. Just know you wrote a poem today, and I want you to start thinking about the fact that you are a writer. Yes, each one of you. You know how I know that? I have proof, you each wrote a poem today, look. And if you forget about it and your mom washes it, that’s cool. But see if you can remember to just glance at it today at lunch, or after school, okay?”

Then the bell rang, and they all walked out of my room with a poem in their back pocket. That’s what I call a good lesson.

—————

*Instructor’s Note

I begin this lesson with two poems: “Ode to Family Photographs” by Gary Soto, and “My Wicked Wicked Ways” by Sandra Cisneros. I take them through both poems, and look at imagery, strong lines, and other things I am focusing on at the time. Looking back on this lesson I think it needs to be said it went so well because we went through those two poems first.