Today was my first day at the PLC, and may I say that simply walking through the doors caused the knots in my stomach to untie themselves. I had a lot banking on this morning. It was an experience I had no frame of reference for, only the handouts and hints that the first day of Dr. Smagorinsky's class had supplied along with a success story from the one girl in class who had tutored at the PLC a semester prior. But instead of nervousness upon signing in at the reception desk, I was washed clean with relief. Due to an email that had gotten lost in the first-week shuffle of the semester, I had not been able to start tutoring the week prior. Returning to class to hear my classmates talk about dispelling their own first day jitters was torture. They spoke about kids who had natural curiosity, whose potential they thought they could unlock...oh, a little something called English 2020, a computer program that sounded like it could dispel the possibility of either of those things.
What is PLC? It's a tiny school—one of three in the county—and it is unlike the traditional high school. Meant to recapture the kids who didn't fare well in your basic high school setting, it caters to people ages sixteen through twenty who have at least one year of high school under their belts. PLC stands for Performance Learning Center; it focuses on the completion of mostly online programs which are done at the students' own pace. Should they not show up for a day, it's no hassle to anyone but themselves, and they set the pace for how quickly they finish each course. Should they show up ready to work every day, there is nothing stopping them from graduating sooner than possible from your average high school.
Sounds like a plain n' simple model, doesn't it? But this PLC gave me pause...because prior to LLED, “PLC” was a favorite phrase in my vocabulary, but with a very different definition. I have focused on hip hop culture as a means of self-expression. I am enthralled by the idea of “spitting” words relevant to our everyday lives, words that shed light on social issues and vent the frustrations and beautiful little moments of urban life. Spoken word poetry is my favorite facet of hip hop, and in the spoken word community, we use PLC as an acronym, too. It stands for “Participatory Learning Community.” In this other PLC, each poet is encouraged to better his or her self and ultimately achieve literacy in a safe, supportive setting. Writers discuss a “read and feed” tactic in which everyone is keyed into delivering their own pieces and then providing feedback on the pieces of others. Everyone is given respect, and students are intended to act a co-teachers...an awesome leap for students who want some sense of authority and teachers who refuse to be staunchly authoritarian!
In a participatory learning community, there is no way to sit back and passively learn. If you refuse to chip in, your colleagues suffer. It's about making students feel empowered and heard. It aims to make all of students' experiences feel valid, and the recognition of students' unique way of communicating as an art in itself. It does not force colloquialisms down students' throats or tell them they are “wrong.” It is a new way of introducing Language Arts that focuses on the ways people actually USE language in addition to traditional English studies. I am so passionate about THAT PLC, because I've felt it. I am familiar with what it is like to hear an audience snapping and humming in agreement to the thoughts that you've written down. It is a feeling worth chasing down time and time again. I know I want to integrate the functions of THAT PLC from the moment I am given charge over a classroom. But I have to admit that given my bias, my first day at THIS PLC made me saddened that the acronym had two meanings.
When I first walked into the school, Mrs. Mimi, our supervisor, showed me around the compact campus. We walked down a stout hallway with classrooms anchored on either side by classrooms full of computers. Bright posters and examples of student work hung on the walls. In the hall, as students returned from lunch, teachers mingled with them, referring to every student by name and personably ushering them to class. A police officer lingered at either end of the hall, but despite the suggestion that control was necessary, students held playful exchanges outside the classrooms. A girl rode by on piggyback, a boy muttered back something about “fashion discrimi-hatin'” after he was asked to pull his pants up. But when I entered a classroom, the mood shifted. I saw students plugging into their own computers, logging into the English 2020 program I had heard only bad things about. I could hear the bass boom of music coming out of several pairs of headphones, and every few minutes, someone seemed to be tinkering with a phone in their lap.
On one side of the class room, three white kids lined the computers against the wall, all dressed in black. They whispered between themselves. As I passed behind them, I caught the smell of smoke. The rest of the class was African American, save a new Latina girl who sheepishly selected the computer closest to the door. Most students called to each other from across the room; they oozed confidence and a nonchalance, despite the fact they were in class. All of the students were withdrawn once the period started, however, and that for me was a new thing. In my high school experience, English classes were all about being plugged in with each other. We held conversations and engaged with our teacher. Here, it seemed the teacher's main function was to remind students to put away their phones, lower their music, stay on task. And what was going on on their computer screens? Multiple choice questions and lots of 'em.
Performance learning seems to be exactly what we student-teachers complain about when we talk about stringent standard testing. Tests, tests, and more tests do not indicate that meaningful learning has taken place! It causes students to stress over “what English 2020 is looking for” as opposed to what sparks their interest. And while I can see the allure of retreating to an online program—that feeling of independence and the reduction of teacherly nagging—where's the fun in that? These are kids who were often bored by what their old high schools had to offer, who perhaps don't see the use in taking English, and here we are making it feel more and more like something they have to satisfy, when English is truly something that can satisfy them
But we'll put my English 2020 rant on the back-burner, because I did not get the pleasure of its acquaintance today. Instead, I met Mrs. Green, a young English teacher who told me she's been at the PLC for six years. The wall behind her desk showed the fruits of her dedication; it was coated with thank you notes and signed posters. “You're gonna want to save 'em all,” she told me after class, referring to her students, “and you won't always succeed. But the desire to has kept me here.” Throughout the class, she wandered behind the students with a light-footed step. She asked them how they were doing and if they had any questions, and after a short listen, it became obvious that she knew exactly where each student was in the course. “Melissa, how are you liking Jack London? Depressing stuff, huh?” she asked one girl. “Brenard, I need you to finish up those topic questions on theme today, alright? Look back at your notes if you need some help.” The kids responded to her just as conversationally, but with a dash of added respect. It made me think there was something to be said about the book my group has begun to read, Jocks and Burnouts. The book is all about how you get out of your students what you put in. If your students authentically believe that you think they are beyond hope, you'll get an unmotivated student. Engage them and expect them to do what is asked, and you'll get a mumble or two, maybe, but they'll ultimately get back to what they were doing. Mrs. Green seemed well-liked to a fault, too. Twice in the time I was there, she had stray students knock on her door and come in to chat.
“Where are you supposed to be right now?” she'd ask.
“Oh, across the hall. Stuff's boring. I miss you.”
Today, all the students open to tutors were paired up in another classroom. So, Mrs. Green asked me if I wouldn't mind observing a “table talk” instead. I nodded, and soon kids were shuffling into place at a table situated in the center of the room (Believe it or not, she had to tell some students twice to pause English 2020). Six students gathered around. They were the last to receive this lecture. Mrs. Green led a talk about mood versus tone and how one begets the other. She emphasized how the subject matter may be the same, but the stance the writer takes in discussing it impacts what we as readers feel. To exemplify this, Mrs. Green challenged students to compare how Michael Jackson's “Man in the Mirror” and a Tupac song approached the topic of social reform.
The kids lit up—she was using music, something native to their lives outside of school. When asked to read MJ's lyrics, one student snickered “Can I sing it?” “Hey, whatever floats your boat,” Mrs. Green grinned. The kids were eager to offer commentary, but at the same time, they were hesitant to answer any posed questions. It seemed to stem from the fear they'd be wrong in front of their peers, and in an environment when students are not working on the same material with their classmates, I'd imagine this anxiety goes undiffused. Kids nudged each other, hinting that they should volunteer. The kids would sheepishly shake their heads or laugh it off. “I dunno, ask Curry. Kassandra, you wanna go?” But every answer was met with positive reinforcement from Mrs. Green, right or wrong. “Yeah, Antoine. Tone definitely has something to do with what words to writer picks. What else can you tell me?” Or, to get the students moving, Mrs. Green would simply ask that they go up to the board. “So, mood and tone work together, right? Would someone mind drawing a Venn diagram for me?”
I respected the effort she was taking to reach her students. With the connection she made to everyday culture, no one dare raise a hand to ask “When am I gonna use this stuff, anyway?” They realized that these were the sort of thoughts they entertained while kicking back with their friends. These were the sort of decisions made before they put new music on their mp3 players. As the students slumped in their chairs, nodding, I looked at the students and wondered who I'd be paired with. I wanted someone who didn't see the spark in themselves, someone with a hard shell, someone who would challenge me as much as I would challenge them.
That day before I left PLC, I thanked Mrs. Green. “We'll have you with someone next week,” she said, “Promise.”
