SSI Intervention: Day 1

It started a little rough 

I couldn't sleep last night thinking of how today would go.  Would they show up?  Would they participate? Would they rebel?

Then of course when it was time to drag my sorry butt out of bed, I was slow, which imperiled my plan to leave early.  I heard some rodent scratching underneath my kitchen cabinets, so I kicked the cabinet willing it to stop.  It didn't.  

Then when I slid into my driver's seat exactly one minute ahead of schedule, I felt the unpleasant damp sensation through my pants which alerted me to the fact that we had left my sunroof open overnight when a rain shower rolled through.  My son likes to stand on the console through the sunroof in order to survey his dominion. This was the first time we forgot to shut it, and the evidence was all over the back of my clothes.  I ran back inside, grabbed a Tinkerbell beach towel, hoping it would absorb most of the moisture.  It didn't.  

I get to school and I've left my lunch on the kitchen table and my coffee in the fridge. Oh, and of course, several colleagues walk in with me, so I feel compelled to tell them the sunroof story. Awkward? Why yes, it was. (Silver lining: Admin fed us today! Yeah, Funyuns!) 

I get to class, and I've forgotten to print some graphic organizers for my partner teacher in case the copies didn't make it in time.  They didn't. She can't access the attendance in her Google Drive, so that needed to be printed, too.  And, oh crap, I just knew I had some more index cards.  I don't.  All of this before 7:25 when the bell rings and our first students start to arrive. 

So I flip the switch

Good morning! Did you have a good weekend? Oh, yes, I have ear buds you can borrow during your break. Yes, you're in my group first. Nope, you don't need a pencil unless you don't like writing with scented markers. You can sit at any table, just grab a book off the cart before you sit down.  Oh, yes, thanks. I'm doing great! I'm excited that you're here.  

Guys Write for Guys Read

The Lesson

Today's lessons were from my favorite collection of short stories to use in intervention, Guys Write for Guys Read, edited by Jon Scieszka. I love using this book because it's written exclusively by male authors, poets, illustrators, news & sports writers and editors, and all of the stories revolve around the theme of what it means to be a guy. Not surprisingly, guys slightly outnumber girls in reading intervention, but even girls love reading about the crazy things guys do.  

My lessons all have a kinesthetic element because I will lose them if they don't move around, so today's lesson involved centers.  They read; they answered individual open-ended questions on an index card and then placed their card in the box.  Then they moved to the next station at their own pace. With about 15 minutes left, I divided the students evenly among the centers where they would take on the role of teacher.  They could use their own entry or select any entry from the box to use as the basis for their answer.  They would then in turn remind the class of the answer and present their best answer to the question.  We listen; we evaluate using hand-signals, and we celebrate. Repeat until every center has been expertly taught.  

A "recipe box" center from a 7th grade rotation, pre-SSI

The efficacy

Over 15% of the students missed all or part of their intervention.  On day 1.  Some kids had missed so much of last week that they hadn't been notified yet. No one likes having to get or give that kind of information on the fly. As far as behavior problems, I'm fortunate to already have relationships with the vast majority of these kids because I could see them resisting the temptation to rebel.  

To know their personalities is to know what motivates them or what will shut them down.  I know that if C starts to complain, then I can start singing to shut him up.  I know that I can appeal to J's desire to be a leader. I know that it would be more effective for A to do three centers well than to rush through six. I know that V & G will work if they aren't together, but N works best if she has a partner like B. I was asked to arm wrestle a student more than once today.  One kid asked me if I still kept the video from two years ago of me falling in the hallway that my principal was kind enough to copy from the security footage. (I do)  And I did have to sing, "Do You Wanna Build a Snowman", but only twice. 

It would be ludicrous to only hire a temporary tutor attempt to make progress in this system because they would only be address cognitive deficits, not the socio-cultural or affective domains. I feel for kids who have to go through this process with virtual strangers.  We're teaching kids not empty vessels waiting to be filled with the right knowledge. '

I'm glad these kids don't view me as a stranger.  This might be my best Day 1 yet.  

Personal Note:  When I drove home on my still-damp seat and made my son cry because he will no longer be surveying his dominion from the sunroof, I did find a lovely surprise in my mailbox: I have been selected to receive an academic scholarship to help pay what I lack in my masters courses.  Two-thirds done! Hooray!

What does SSI stand for, anyway?

April, sweet, April.  

While most teachers are breathing a collective sigh of sweet relief that testing is finally over, I'm gearing up for another intense round of S.S.I., or Student Success Initiative to the uninitiated.  It really is my favorite time of year but also the toughest.  

In Texas, 8th graders must pass the STAAR Reading test to be eligible to move on to high school.  In most years, they must also pass the math, but thanks to some shifty-shifts in the state standards, math is off the hook this year.  My friends A & R are very happy about this stroke of luck.  So am I, come to think about it, since I don't have to try to remediate around math's intervention schedule. (IOW, we can do what's best, not just what's most convenient.)  It also means that student who failed both tests won't have to spend literally their entire test day in intervention.  You can imagine what that does for morale.  

Phase 1:

Of course the first step of SSI is notification. Our student notification process is admittedly a bit complicated, involving a holding room, grade level teachers, an inclusion teacher, two intervention specialists, and the counselor, not to mention the APs who were calling parents.  We explain their results, tell them what to expect for the immediate future, let them ask questions, & hand them a summer school application.  That's right: if they are unsuccessful a second time, then they are heading to summer school.  We're not worrying about that yet.  They are assigned a small intervention group and told they won't be in a few of their classes for the next two weeks.   

The Demographics:

A few of them thought they were in some sort of trouble receiving a discipline action. Several are no strangers to the principal's office for tardies, absenteeism, disrespectful behavior or classroom disruptions.  Ultimately, they were happy to be out of class and caused a ruckus in the holding room.  A few kids in this group come from unspeakable circumstances, so the results of this test rank right up there with the ozone layer in terms of the "I couldn't care less" radar.  Others have no parental support, no bedtime, no one telling them to go to school, no one making sure they take their meds.  No one to be disappointed. 

A few were crestfallen even emotional.  Too sad to even talk. They knew they struggled, but they'd hoped that just maybe they had eeked out a passing grade.  Now their hopes for the summer and beyond were put on hold.  Some kids in this group have parents who expect great things for them, who make plans for vacations that may now have to be postponed, who have best friends who are "gifted and talented" and receive academic awards.  They feel as though they have disappointed everyone.

The largest group of them knew why they were there.  They'd had been in an intervention class for years. We weren't telling them anything they didn't already know. They are Special Ed students who have never passed in the six years they've been taking standardized tests.  They are the immigrant students who came from tiny impoverished schools and whose time in the country could easily be calculated in months, not years, but still are expected to take and pass the exact same test.  They are the ESL-lifers who try, really try, but just can't shake the label.  They're not disappointed because this is who they've come to believe they are.  

What's next?

Bright and early Monday morning, small groups of frustrated eighth graders will trickle down to my little corner of the school and begin a regimen of intervention.  I've picked the absolutely best partner teacher whose expertise perfectly complements my own. We've been given top-notch support staff who bring both energy and experience.  I've got a principal who loves kids first and lets everything else come second. I've got administrators who trust me to do what's best for kids. They haven't saddled me with any unreasonable expectations or forced a workbook down their throats.  I've got a school full of teachers who are writing personalized letters to each student and not compounding the problem by forcing them to make up the work they're missing. I've got a team who have shared their own lessons with me on top of their regular responsibilities and who put up with a fair bit of inconvenience to accommodate this intervention, and still their response is just, "What else to you need?" Yes, I feel very lucky.  

This weekend, I'm gearing up, as I have been in my mind for weeks.  I'm bringing my A-Game: I'm busting out the smelly markers, the personalized folders, the PINK Starbursts, the music, the picture books, the literacy centers, the videos, the rolly chairs, the comfy couches, the technology, the stickers, the novel choices, the puppets and the brain breaks.  But mostly, I'm bringing the positive; I'm bringing the relationships; I'm bringing the engagement.  Maybe, we can bring back that swagger.