SOL13: Writing on the Island of Misfit Toys
Today's quickwrite prompt in class was to write a breakup letter to failure. My 8th graders stared at me. In second period, M said, "A breakup letter to failure? But I just had to write a thank you letter to pain Monday!" (We've been working on metaphorical thinking.) In third period, A protested, "But I've never had a failing grade!"
So we had to discuss types of failure: academic, athletic, relationships, changes, trying new things... I wanted them to think about the ways failure had affected them, and to reject it. Not because I don't believe there is value in failure, but because it doesn't have to become our constant partner. Just because we fail at something doesn't mean we have to be in a life-long relationship with failure, and I find that many times middle schoolers internalize failure like that. If they have ever been bad at something, they will be bad at it forever and ever, amen. I want them to be prepared to move on from failure.
I wrote with them, as I always do, and I found my letters in each class were affected by the quick conversations I heard around me as we prepared to begin writing. In first period, Z had so many questions it felt like he was just trying to put off getting started. I know what that looks like, and I know it's one of my own failings, so I wrote about my failure to beat my procrastination tendencies.
In second period, L and I discussed the frustrations of being nerdy and uncoordinated. Her struggles in PE reminded me of my own, so I wrote about my athletic failures, which are all-encompassing and epic. Fourth period found me chatting with B about artwork, so I broke up with failing at painting. Not that I didn't do okay at it, I just hated every second of it. It's not you, it's me.
But my third period inspired me most of all. I refer to my third period as the Island of Misfit Toys. It's full of quirky kids with interesting personalities, and it's definitely a strange brew of giftedness, weirdness, athleticism, and pockets of quirk that I don't even have a name for. It contains some of the brightest students I have ever taught, but it also contains myriad kids for whom the system is just not working. (These are not mutually exclusive.) And as I looked around that room full of these expressive, funny, interesting, strange, frustrating and occasionally mystifying humans, I found myself counting the ones that the system will most certainly label failures as we enter testing season.
My heart hurts for them. I have watched them grow and change so much this year as readers and writers, and I am constantly challenged and pushed to be a better teacher for them. They are a difficult group to deal with, but when I think back to the beginning of the year, it amazes me to think how far they've come.
They are most definitely not failures, but many of them will end their 8th grade year feeling like they are. It's that part that I want to break up with. I want out of our toxic relationship with test scores.
So we had to discuss types of failure: academic, athletic, relationships, changes, trying new things... I wanted them to think about the ways failure had affected them, and to reject it. Not because I don't believe there is value in failure, but because it doesn't have to become our constant partner. Just because we fail at something doesn't mean we have to be in a life-long relationship with failure, and I find that many times middle schoolers internalize failure like that. If they have ever been bad at something, they will be bad at it forever and ever, amen. I want them to be prepared to move on from failure.
I wrote with them, as I always do, and I found my letters in each class were affected by the quick conversations I heard around me as we prepared to begin writing. In first period, Z had so many questions it felt like he was just trying to put off getting started. I know what that looks like, and I know it's one of my own failings, so I wrote about my failure to beat my procrastination tendencies.
In second period, L and I discussed the frustrations of being nerdy and uncoordinated. Her struggles in PE reminded me of my own, so I wrote about my athletic failures, which are all-encompassing and epic. Fourth period found me chatting with B about artwork, so I broke up with failing at painting. Not that I didn't do okay at it, I just hated every second of it. It's not you, it's me.
But my third period inspired me most of all. I refer to my third period as the Island of Misfit Toys. It's full of quirky kids with interesting personalities, and it's definitely a strange brew of giftedness, weirdness, athleticism, and pockets of quirk that I don't even have a name for. It contains some of the brightest students I have ever taught, but it also contains myriad kids for whom the system is just not working. (These are not mutually exclusive.) And as I looked around that room full of these expressive, funny, interesting, strange, frustrating and occasionally mystifying humans, I found myself counting the ones that the system will most certainly label failures as we enter testing season.
My heart hurts for them. I have watched them grow and change so much this year as readers and writers, and I am constantly challenged and pushed to be a better teacher for them. They are a difficult group to deal with, but when I think back to the beginning of the year, it amazes me to think how far they've come.
They are most definitely not failures, but many of them will end their 8th grade year feeling like they are. It's that part that I want to break up with. I want out of our toxic relationship with test scores.
❤ the description of the island of misfit toys! I get it! What a great metaphor/allusion!
ReplyDeleteThis sounds like such an interesting letter assignment. I also giggled when you wrote about the student asking questions, maybe to put off getting started. This happens to be all the time!
ReplyDelete