Cover letter

To whom it may concern:

This summer, I spent several weeks participating in the Summer Institute at Marshall University. I like to consider myself a life-long learner, and looked at the Institute as a venue for professional development that would enrich my teaching, and in turn, my students’ experience. I have always enjoyed writing, and as a teacher, have made it a top priority to include writing assignments in my curriculum. As a social studies teacher, I think it’s important to have collegial relationships with other educators from different disciplines. Their experiences, whether at a different grade level or subject, can only help to encourage and focus my goals. Summer Institute has continued to develop and improve my writing skills, allowed me to interact with a host of educators and leaders, and given me many new ideas to use in my own classroom and in my personal journaling.

While I have stated that I use writing assignments, I have learned new technologies and best practices that I have either been ignorant of or simply feared. The expertise shown by the other teachers and facilitators has given me confidence to try new projects. In the future, I know I can call on them for a comment, a suggestion, or a push in the right direction.

Several items in my e-portfolio are there as a requirement, such as the ethnography, which is a description of one day’s activities, and a document describing my demonstration, entitled “Integrating Writing into a Social Studies Curriculum”. The other class requirements allowed me to choose particular writings.  As my personal piece, I chose an experience that showed a turning point in my life, when I had to break some bad news to my mother. I used that piece for deep revision, using my mother’s perspective that day. My professional piece was on the topic of why I wanted to be a teacher. I focused on the less professional side of teaching in which the personalities and events of the class often take precedence over the material, and are many times just as crucial.  I was also impressed by a particular demonstration by a fellow who suggested a strictly aligned poem to teach grammar. I determined to write about a blue heron that I saw recently.

I chose three technology pieces as well. I reflected on my technology experience so far in my career, which is marked by frustration and a feeling of incompetence. Another article was in response to digital storytelling. Though skeptical, I enjoyed making a digital story which had a modicum of expertise, and I quickly realized how much my students would enjoy making such a story as well as it being an important learning conduit.  I also wrote a piece about a chapter in the William Strong book, Write for Insight. He advocated using blogs as “digital file cabinets” for assignments, transferring more responsibility to the student.

Four pieces were less formal than the aforementioned. I included a story about a teacher who served as my informal mentor, and eventually became my colleague. A vacation in Las Vegas was the subject of the second one, with my impressions of this adult playground. As my third informal piece, I decided to use a very personal recollection of a dinner with someone from my life. Because I teach history, I’m often asked what eras I like, what lured me into my career. So I have also expressed my feelings on this subject in a piece entitled, “Why I love history”.

My experience at the Summer Institute was invaluable. I grew as an individual and writer, and I have expanded my vision of what I would like to see in my classroom and my students. I hope my e-portfolio serves as a good example of what the Summer Institute can accomplish in a short period of time.

 

Sincerely,

 

Mary Frances Near

Why I love history

I love history. I’ve loved it ever since I could read. I read a series called “Bible History” that mom bought from a traveling salesman. While I can’t say that I’ve read every word of the Bible, I know the history thoroughly. My taste in history is fairly consistent. In the Bible story books, I loved kings and queens, and wars, and family tales. When I had my first history class in fourth grade, it was U.S. History, and I was fascinated with presidents and wars, and the rhythmic flow of events. I am interested in power and how different leaders wield it, both for good and bad purposes.

I can’t remember going to the library for the first time, but I was a frequent patron. I read lots of fiction, but I read so many junior biographies in grade school. When I was a safety patrol in sixth grade, my favorite duty was in the school library. Few patrons came in, and so I spent my hour reading voraciously the dusty biographies of Martha Washington, Dolly Madison, George Washington Carver, and the like.

And so it continued. I fell in love with French history in tenth grade when I read a biography of Marie Antoinette. This became a pattern for me. I read every biography, every history I could find on a particular period. I extended my interest to novels set in that period, or writers from that era. For example, I read Candide because I was obsessed with eighteenth century French history,  and Pride and Prejudice when I was became fascinated with nineteenth century England. Most of the novels I’ve read have to do with a period of history that I’m learning.

People ask me what I read, they might as well ask me what music I listen to. I am all over the canvas of history. I try to read a book or two each school year concerning the subject I teach. With access to the internet, a whole new literary world has opened up, viewing websites on historical events. I am a avid, never satisfied reader. I also keep up with various news sites on the internet and subscribe to two newspapers. So it’s not just past history that I’m interested in, but history in the making.

My students know this. I freely reveal what presidents I’m obsessed with, and often express my anger at long dead monarchs and leaders who pursued the wrong course. For me, teaching history is like teaching a very long story. There are layers, and each layer contributes to the next. In scientific terms, each action creates a reaction. I love to see how something that happened centuries ago affects life today. Last night I watched a program on PBS, “The Ascent of Money”. Now I’m sure the ratings equaled the Jackson memorial, no doubt. But anyway, I took what I learned on the program and attached it what I already knew, and gained by it. That is what I love about history. It’s really more intrinsic that practical, though I teach history. Sometimes I think I should change jobs and be a tour guide. Alexander the Great and Napoleon generally do not come up in normal conversations. That is a reason I enjoy teaching history, I can talk about it every day! But I love it, and no matter what goes on around me in this crazy world, I can always retreat blissfully into whatever century I choose and settle in.

Exit Slip – 7/8

Five lessons that I’ve learned and will be taking back from Summer Institute to my classroom:

1. I’m not alone out there. There are friendly colleagues willing to lend a hand, an ear, or give supportive advice.

2. I need more creative writing assignments for my classes.

3. Some writing doesn’t need to be graded, it can just be discussed in class, for example.

4. I can now throw around lingo like “blogs”, “links”, “copy and paste”, “jump drives”, Ctr + a, and others with confidence bordering on arrogance.

5. Working as a community rather than “lone rangers” results in effective work.

Transitions – Deep Revision

Does it ever stop raining in Columbus? It seems like every time I come here in the spring it is a downpour. I’m glad I remembered to bring my umbrella today. Still, it’s just a short walk from the hotel to the shopping center, and I have time on my lunch hour. These meetings are necessary, I know, but I’ll be glad when the afternoon is over and I can head back to Ironton. I wish I had more time to visit Mary Frances, but I’ll see her soon. This is the cutest shopping center. Look at those baby clothes in the shop window. I still have trouble believing that I’m going to be a grandma. I wonder if I look like a grandmother? Fifty two is pretty young, and what elderly woman would wear my bright pink raincoat? There are so many baby things! I know it will be hard to resist them. I am burning to know if it is a boy or a girl. If it is a girl, I will bankrupt us! But the blue clothes are just as adorable!

I better watch my time. I hate to be late. And of course, it’s still raining! I hope it lets up for the trip home. I hope Lou wants to go out for dinner. I think he is excited about being a grandfather. I know he has worried about whether Mary Frances is ready, but I notice that each day he talking more about it. It will be fun to babysit!

What a dreary day! Not a hard rain, but steady drizzle. As I cross the street, the door of the hotel beckons as a dry respite from the weather. Surely the afternoon session will pass quickly. These government types never know when to shut up!

Finally, inside the door, I shake my blue umbrella of excess moisture. Someone catches my eye, and I look again. It IS Mary Frances! What is she doing here? She must have come to surprise me. Oh, and she is wearing a maternity top, and she looks so cute! But……something is wrong. I feel frozen to the floor, but my feet are moving. A shudder, and then I wait for the blow. Mary Frances takes both my hands and says, “I have some bad news.”

Blue Heron – Poem inspired by Lori’s demo

Heron

Bird

Lake

Young heron, tall heron

Blue heron, watching heron, listening heron

Heron, standing by the lake

Heron ,on the edge of the wood

Heron, wading in the water

Eagerly watching the water

Quietly posing by the lake

Impulsively flapping his wings

Looking at the boats,

Scanning the water for prey

Listening for danger

Watching us sail by

The blue heron, dweller of Greenbo Lake.

My Mentor, Mr. G.

A  Mentor or Teacher who had an impact

There have been many teachers who have had an impact on me, but most probably has no idea of what they did for me. That differentiates a teacher from a mentor, at least for me.  Therefore the first teacher that I can recall that way was my government teacher in the twelfth grade. I had always loved my history classes but never really had a close relationship with a teacher until this class.  The first day, Mr. G. was asking lots of questions and nobody was willing to answer.  I was sitting in the back, contemplating this new young teacher. Something in his desperate face touched my sixteen year old heart, because I tentatively raised my hand to bail him out.  His arm lunged out to call on me like a man grabbing a life preserver. The next day, I was moved to the front of the class. Mr. G. took the time to inquire what my interests were, what my plans included, and listened. Soon, he was recommending books to me at a fast clip. I read everyone, even Darkness at Noon, which was so depressing for a lively teen age girl to read, but it shaped my world views that lasted until this day. Some books I absolutely hated, such as the Vonnegut selections, but I understand now what he was trying to do, stretching my intellectual interests. He was even shouting out a book title as I was walking away from graduation ceremonies!  He was skeptical about my desire to be a high school history teacher, but he helped me whenever I asked for recommendations. He didn’t realize that HE was my model, he was my hero of history.

Flash forward fifteen years, to a the outside office of the principal of my high school. There I sat, nervously waiting for an interview for a job. I had stayed out of the workforce until my youngest child was in school, so this was to be my first teaching job. In walked Mr. G, a little grayer, a little balder, but something so comforting and familiar on such a day! We were so glad to see each other, and of course he was mightily interested as to why I was there.  I got the job, and I learned later that Mr. G. lobbied vehemently to be hired. There were political cross currents roiling about me between superintendent and principal, but my mentor, my advocate never stopped arguing that I was the best candidate.

 I would work alongside him for then next sixteen years until he retired. Along the way, he counseled me, laughed with me, encouraged and sometimes commiserated with me. He even still recommended more books! He taught all three  of my children. After a very troubling time in my life, he proclaimed that not only had I survived it, I was looked “youthful and effervescent!” Few compliments do I treasure more. Today I teach in his former position, as senior government teacher. I miss having him jostling me in the hall, saying, how’s it going kid, as if I were 17, not 50, but our relationship stands longer than many, as it evolved from teacher to mentor to colleague to friend.

Exit Slip 7/7

When the term “blogs” began to be thrown around at SI, I wasn’t sure about the whole thing. My daughter in law was all excited, demanding to know my address. I hated to tell her that I had was a piece on techonology! but once I had the method down, how to post, publish, make comments, read comments, it was fun. It was so  nice to see comments pop up on my email, and each was encouraging, and it encouraged me to read other blogs, and make comments. The blogs helped me get to know my fellows here at SI. That segues into how blogs can be used effectively in the classroom. I have always envied my English teaching comrades, as they seem to know their students so much better. I always believed that to be the result of writing. Our students will put into blogs what they would never say in class, and let us know what they are desperate for us to know. Academically, I would think it would also identify problems not easily recognizable in a class of 25-30.

I think the e-portfolio will be a professional finish on all my blog entries. They are random right now, except in my mind. Sorting and organizing them into some semblance of order will give me a sense of what I’ve accomplished in the past few weeks. The same applies to students. I think they would be surprised, when studying their final portfolio, at how much they have accomplished as well. So many, with their short attention spans, claim that they ‘didn’t do anything all year’ in a class, when in fact the portfolio proves otherwise. It is a good syllabus for future students, who are contemplating a weighted or AP class. Evidence of work makes a larger impression than a list of proposed projects.

Flyer for Demonstration

Writing across the curriculum

Writing across the curriculum

Writing across the curriculum

Writing across the curriculum

Writing across the curriculum

Writing across the curriculum

Writing across the curriculum

Writing across the curriculum

Writing across the curriculum

Writing across the curriculum

Hearing that from your principals? Can’t ignore it any longer?

Come to an professional development seminar designed just for you:

“Integrating Writing into a Social Studies Curriculum”

Presented by: Mary Frances Near

November 4, 2009                          Ironton High School

June 23

June twenty-third would have my thirtieth wedding anniversary. I had been musing about it for days. My former husband emailed, and mentioned it, saying that it made him feel sad. On a whim, I suggested dinner.

We met at a restaurant overlooking the Ohio River. Sitting on the deck in the waning sun, we spoke of many things. The children are always a topic. How proud we are of Eric, our hopes for him. Rachel is a gem, and she worries too much about us.  Our concerns about our youngest, and some of the life changing decisions she is facing and what would be the result.  He said he had decided that worrying about her was not going to rob him of the joy of the rest of his life, and I silently agreed. We’ve fretted so much over the children. Though we are not done.

Our pizza comes, and the waiter adjusts the table umbrella to stave off the reflected sun in the water. We talk of the incomparable grandchild, Lili.  No child ever born can rival her, not to her Gang and Goomah. We marvel at this little girl, born because two people met, fell in love and married thirty years ago. We gaze at the river, flowing away from us.

We stayed off controversial topics, as we watched a barge making its way down river, barely rippling the calm water. We relax over our food, enjoy the quiet companionship of the moment. He shades his eyes to make out the name of the tugboat pushing the barge, and a thought surfaces in my mind: what if he would die?

He speaks of how insane we once were, and I comment that we are in our right minds now, in a more peaceful existence. The hurt has faded, the anger gone, leaving  bemusement; how did it all end up like this?

Rachel says she doesn’t know how we ever got together. Today, I live in my neat city house, with my cats, my friends, my books, my teaching. He lives in a country setting, with pond, dogs, garden, and his theater work. But we remember.

Shadows lengthen on the deck. The river is quiet. My watch tells me I have articles to read, pieces to write. We walk to my car, his truck, and hug. He says, “I’ll always love you, Mary Frances.” I smile, and we part.

Vegas

Hot, dry, the first impressions of “Sin City”.  Slot machines greet the eye. Glittering, side by side, alluring with flashing lights and promises of jackpots. A quick dollar inserted, sorry, game over.

“Welcome to Las Vegas”, the sign from so many movies is real. Can it really be 107 degrees?  Luxury hotels, framed by palm trees, stand side by side, each with a theme. Roman statues, the Empire State building and the Great Pyramid gleam at passersby. L’Tour Eiffel! L’Arc du Triomphe! Fake wonders of the world entice in an American city.  Marble entrance welcomes, the gracious doorman entreats guests to enter. Lobby fountains, polished floors promise more pampering. Signs point the way are to the Mecca of the establishment, the casino. Intriguing games call for attention. Roulette, blackjack, craps, poker and the ubiquitous slots beckon as far as the eye can see. The carpet is woven in a complicated pattern, designed to force eyes up to the gambling devices.

The blackjack table lures. Basic strategy is the defense for the amateur. The knowing dealer obligingly exchanges money for chips. With a wave of his hand, the cards are dealt. Each player examines the array of cards and contemplates the next decision. Small stacks of chips are but a handspan or two from small fortunes.  The pauper and prince are equal for this moment, relying on shrewdness and luck.

The nighttime Strip is a playground for vacationers. Accomodating doormen fascinate, each with a particular style and charm in signalling for taxis. Whisked away to a smorgasboard of entertainment, from Broadway musicals, circuses, premier talents on the rise, to scantily clad showgirls, singers in the nadir of their career, to one club with a simple name and promise, “Totally Nude”.

Las Vegas! As American as Mount Rushmore, well known and visited. Gleaming metropolis of the desert, built by greed, for greed. You leave your mark on those who sample your wares. Til we meet again, bonne chance!