The Literate Teacher's Manifesto

Growing up in North Carolina, it was understood that as soon as the Super Bowl was over, we began the countdown to March Madness (which was more important than football anyway). If you are not a follower of college basketball, you might not be aware that North Carolina is a hotbed of college rivalries, most notably between the Duke Blue Devils, the UNC-Chapel Hill Tarheels, and the NC State University Wolfpack.  My family is mixed--my dad's sister attended Chapel Hill, my mom's brother went to NC State, and we even have a few Duke fans mixed in (though  most don't admit to it)-- and the NCAA tournament was a sacred cow in my home growing up. There was to be no changing of the channel from Sweet Sixteen to Final Four! Fast forward to 2017. I hadn't cared about or watched basketball in years, but early in January some friends invited my husband and me to go to Chapel Hill and watch the Tarheels take on the Wolfpack, and it only took one game to tumble us both right do

Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match Find me a find, Catch me a catch. Matchmaker, matchmaker, look through your book, And make me a perfect match! Yesterday was Valentine's Day. I have little regard for this holiday, and would just as soon ignore the tacky and garish trappings of Pepto-Bismol pink that festoon the aisles of every store during this season, but if you've ever been in a middle school on Valentine's Day, you know it's impossible to pretend it's not happening. The hormonal soup the average 8th grade brain stews in on a daily basis gets turned up to a rolling boil in the week leading up to the holiday, and by 2:15 on 2/14, education seems a lost cause. This year, Valentine's Day got me thinking about my role as a matchmaker. It's kind of what I do. I'm not sure that my algorithm is as sophisticated as Match.com, but at this point in the year I am pretty confident in my matchmaking capabilities. In first period, I know that I can ma

"Mrs. J, I'm mad. I finished my book." Megan was glaring at the cover of Paper Towns by John Green like it had just insulted her mom. Up to this point, I had been the initiator of any conversations with Megan about her reading, so I was willing to put off my intended conferences for a few minutes to chat with her. I replied, "So tell me about it. What are you upset about?" She looked thoughtfully down at her book, then launched into a furious diatribe about expectations and let-down, about missed signals and clues, about lost love and disappointment.  I listened, bemusedly, surprised at the unexpected passion gushing forth from this reticent student. At our first conference, she told me she had "maybe read a book or two in sixth grade, but nothing I remember," and that she pretty much hated reading. As recently as Thanksgiving break, she was still standing firm in her anti-text stance. Everything she had read so far had been “just alright.” In pr