Sunday, January 19, 2014

The Language of Me

My mother has so often and so fondly told the story of my first sentence it is embedded in my brain. Even though I was there and I said it, I have no actual memory of it. However, her recall is enough for me to feel as though I do.

We were outside one warm summer afternoon. My mother chatted in the backyard with our next door neighbor, Colette while I scampered about delighted by the vast yard and green grass tickling my feet. I was twelve months old.

Colette had two teenage sons, Donny and Ronny. As any teenage son will do, they often annoyed her with their mischievous antics. On this particular day, Donny had driven Colette to the point of grief and she hollered at him. Pausing my play, I turned, looked at the adults and said as clearly as this is typed, "Damn Donny, anyway." Colette, Donny, and my mom hooted with laughter as I had perfectly mimicked one of Colette's favorite phrases. (Some might also consider this sentence a prelude to all the swearing I would do later in life, but I do not.)

I have not stopped talking since.

My memories of childhood are laced with memories of conversation. My family was always talking. Always. My mother and grandmother sitting at my grandmother's kitchen table, steaming cups of hot tea in front of them, talking. My mother and her younger sister in her lilac bedroom, talking. My mother, father, and younger sister gathered around our dinner table each night, talking. My entire family- aunts, uncles, cousins- sandwiched in a living room or family room during the holidays, talking.

I thoroughly enjoyed the conversations of my youth. I loved the banter back and forth, the hushed tones when the topic became not one for young ears (like mine, always listening), the rise and fall of the voices, the words- big, long, fancy, hard to pronounce words or simple, sweet, musical words. I loved the hand motions and facial expressions matching the words. The hands in the air when someone was exasperated, tears in the eyes when someone was sad, the arms that would open for a hug when someone would hear happy news; I simply loved it all. I took it all in and let it fill me up. Conversation meant comfort.

Besides being part of conversations with my family, my language developed through play. My sister and I played our way through childhood. Barbies, Legos, house, school, church, dollhouse & restaurant were among our favorite pastimes. When playing, we "talked" for the Barbies, the Lego people, the pretend mom and daughter in our pretend house, the pretend teacher and students and pretend patrons at our basement restaurant. Each pretend person had a voice. I remember the stern tone for the teacher and the raspy-from-cigarettes tone for the cook at the restaurant. The dialogue grew more sophisticated as we grew. We mimicked the dialogue of TV shows we watched and of people we came across in real life. Our play was endless and thus our language developed greatly.

Having been talked to and read to all my life, grade school was relatively "easy". Therefore, I talked. A lot. At many parent/teacher conferences, my mother heard, "Sherri needs to stop talking to her friends." I didn't talk on purpose, I talked because I craved the interaction it brought.

Technology was a long, long way from smart phones, social media sites, and interactive video games, so my friends and I had nothing else to do but actually talk to each other. Face to face. Aloud. Every day. Therefore, because of language and the interactions I had with it, I became a social person.

By the time I was in high school, the phone was my favorite household appliance and it was the first time I remember discussing social issues. Through long... long phone conversations, I developed ways to articulate the beliefs I had in my heart and head. I learned one must support their beliefs with facts and therefore, I slowly became more interested in the world around me. I learned you could not just spew out emotional rants, but rather must argue with a sensible tone and a wise mind.

This knowledge and language development would deem very important in college. At Concordia, I was an outsider. My beliefs, words, and ideals were constantly challenged. My language was often considered offensive. It wasn't until my senior year of college that I realized I did not really know how to listen.

My senior year of college had enough room in my schedule that I was granted permission to take graduate level psychology courses. One course was a counseling course. With the exception of my education classes, it was the college class I learned the most in . I learned how to listen to people. I learned how to not just hear the words they were saying, but the words they weren't. I learned how to read their body language. I leaned how to ask them better questions, ones which would allow them to give me better answers. All of these things paved the way to better conversations and a better understanding of my role as a teacher.

I have to admit, part of the reason I became a teacher is because I like to talk. I am paid to talk. All day. I love it. Throughout my career, I have learned a teacher must have the perfect balance of simple and sophisticated language when speaking to their students. A teacher must be able to articulate the rudimentary steps in a process with a hint of challenging vocabulary so the student is always growing, always striving for that next bit of knowledge.

Early on in my career, I realized my students' language was... well, not very stellar. Many of my students lacked the knowledge of and appreciation for conversation. They also lacked vocabulary- they had no words. This is still true today.

It deeply saddens me at the end of the year when a student tells me, "Ms. Hope. You were like the only teacher to ever just talk to me. To us." I've heard it too many times.

From the first to the last day of school, I talk to my students. Sometimes I ask them what they had for dinner last night, sometimes I ask them what they did in a certain class, sometimes I tell them an anecdote about my own children. Other times, I share a news story with them and ask what they think of it. Or we talk about incidents that have happened in our school. Or we just talk about what celebrities they think are really cute. I really don't care what we talk about, I just want them to talk. I want them to feel that their voice has value. I want them to know that their words matter.

We also do weekly vocabulary challenges. The students are given ten words to learn on Monday. They have a worksheet with practice exercises that is due on Thursday. They are tested on the words on Friday. By the end of the year, my students are exposed to over 200 new words. (Admittedly, some of these words were "new" to me, too.) As we learn the words, I post them in pocket charts. They can see their learning. Their vocabulary worksheets are filed in their English Reference Folder (a folder kept in class which contains all the class handouts). The words are always available to them. For each and every writing assignment, the students must correctly use a certain number of Challenge Vocabulary words in it. Mid year, I start telling them the words they most often use (elated, dejected, gregarious, admonish, etc.) will not count for points. They must select other words, thus forcing them to expand their word usage. They all groan and gasp in horror, but they do it. However, this is not my favorite part of their vocabulary knowledge and development. My favorite thing is when students rush into class gushing, "Ms. Hope! So, I was reading my book last night and, Ms. Hope! There was a Challenge Vocabulary word in it!" or "Ms. Hope! When I was watching TV last night, they said a Challenge Vocabulary word!" My response is usually, "Get out of here! or No way!" But, nothing makes me more proud than that.

As for my future language development, I do not want to ever stop learning to be a better speaker, writer, and listener. I hope to always embrace new words and terminology. I hope my love of language is passed to my daughter and son. Maybe one day my love of language could be shared with college students- potential teachers and the next generation of students will come to appreciate this thing we do sometimes too little- talking.

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