Skip to main content

The "Write" Stuff

The kids are writing right now.  They are taking their Unit 3 writing test.  As I look up I see a sea of pencils moving back and forth, people adjusting themselves in their chairs.  Some kids are deep in thought only to quickly jot down those thoughts.  I see kids "mouthing" the words they are writing, then turning their pencils over to erase something that doesn't seem right.  Every so often one of them gets up to sharpen a pencil.  Occasionally they will stretch, take a bite of their snack, or a drink of their water bottle.  At times, they will get e fresh piece of paper as they have much to say with this prompt.  

The room is quiet.  The tapping of my computer keys as I write this reflection is one of the only sounds that float across the room.  The sliding of a chair every so often accompanies it.  The familiar sound of pencils scritch-scratching along the paper provides a soothing hum for the room.  Heads are scratched, necks are craned in a stretch, and feet tap to some internal rhythm of the writer.  With some irregularity students will find their way to the shelf that contains the Thesaurus and take one...searching for that "perfect" word.  

I enjoy reading their writing as they have shown themselves to be creative in their approaches.  It's not easy taking an expository prompt and turning it into a piece that is both enjoyable to read as well as informative, yet this group seems to take the challenge and run with it.  


Mr. Casten
Dec. 7, 2012

Copyrighted material of Michael C. Casten

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Looking Out

Looking Out Originally written May 27, 2015 Lightly edited for clarity in August 2026. Just hours ago, my students left. They are on their way to summer adventures, family time, and friends. Just as quickly as they walked into my life, they walked out again. Yet each of them will always be a part of my life. When a school year begins, my new students are just that—students. They arrive as a group, and at first there is little that distinguishes them beyond their physical appearance. They are quiet, reserved, and and still unknown to me. During those first few days, I snap a picture of each one, not yet knowing who they really are. I work to learn their names and match each one to a classroom number. I try to figure out who knows whom from the neighborhood. I share pieces of my own life, hoping they'll eventually share theirs. Time meanders on. Slowly, they begin to let their light shine. Slowly, they begin to share what's important to them. Slowly, I'm afforded the opportu...

Art & Science

     The familiar winds of autumn blew rapidly through the playground.   Ponytails flying, unzipped jackets flapping, and soaring playground balls all took errant paths.        Just as fall has briskly left so has trimester one.   Reports cards were sent home today and I plan on placing the final touches to each student’s conference narrative.   The practice of filling out the narrative for my students has become one of my favorite “at home” aspects of teaching.   I look forward to retreating to my little office in the basement, surrounded by the faint noises of my family upstairs, and writing.   I seem to enter into a world only my students and I really know; the life of Room 211 on a daily basis.       My mind pictures each student as I am writing about them.   Their faces make an entrance into my thoughts followed by the smile I see each day.   I travel back in t...

Running...

Running... Original post written on August 18, 2012. Minor changes for clarity made in Aug 2026. Twelve years. That's how long I have been teaching at Lincoln. Twelve years. That's how long I have taken the same route from my house to school. In that time I have seen many houses for sale, then sold. Some were torn down to make room for a new house, a new family, and new students. I've seen the streets that I traverse through Elmhurst being ripped apart and rebuilt to make them safer and more driver friendly, not to mention more car-friendly. Twelve years. I've seen high school kids standing on corners, waiting for the school bus to pick them up for school. Some of them recognize my car while others recognize me as their former teacher. Most of them, however, probably do not pay much attention to me as I pass by. Among all that I see, Monday through Friday mornings there is an unmistakable figure, usually two blocks ahead of me on Fairfield. He is a man. He has slightly ...