The Independent’s schoolteacher / diarist and her students wrestle with Shakespeare and modern language.
March 30, 2006
My interview to teach in Japan did not go so well. I was disappointed with the company and have thus withdrawn my application. The interviewer was not at all interested in me, nor was he interested in who I am as an educator. As far as I’m concerned, I have no interest in working for a company that has no interest in my ability to teach.
But I’m pursuing other pathways to teaching abroad next year. I’ve given my notice to the district, so I’m out any way you look at it. I’m hoping to work at an international school, but those commitments are sometimes for two years. Two years would certainly give me enough time to get comfortable in my new environment (I’d hope so, anyway — ¬¶I’ve been here for two years) but damn, it’s a long time away.
I guess with any kind of big change, there are pros and cons. I am really excited about the possibility of making some changes — ¬¶but at the same time, this kind of change goes against everything I’ve ever done. I’m actually going to leave a job without any solid plans for what comes next. I think I like it.
So we’re reading Titus Andronicus, and my kids are kind of puzzled and fascinated by Shakespeare’s words. When I ask them to write a reaction, or to translate the Shakespearean into modern day English, they can’t help but use bizarre versions of “proper” English. When we read The Hot Zone or The House on Mango Street, they just used their own regular words. But now, in their responses (both written and verbal) they speak with attempted eloquence.
So when we read The House on Mango Street and I asked them to step into the shoes of a girl named Sally and write from her perspective on being raped, they wrote very emotional, tear-jerking responses. They used the words they’re familiar with, the ones they use everyday. And that made their writing powerful.
Now when I ask them to write from the perspective of a boy getting “sacrificed” (read: murdered) by another boy, you’d think their language would be like the words they used for House on Mango Street. But it’s not. It’s full of “musts” and “shalls” and missing contractions. It’s the funniest thing. And I wonder why reading Shakespeare evokes in my students a sense of a need to use standard grammar.
For instance, Adam, the boy with autism, walked into my class after school last week as I finished up some paperwork at my desk: “My fair Ms. Coggio,” he said to me, which quickly got my attention. “Your day to stay after school is Wednesday. Why is it you are staying today, Thursday? Do you not wish to go home?”
I giggled as I tried to tell him that I was just finishing up some work, that he was right — my day to stay after is indeed Wednesday.
As he walked out the door, he called back over his shoulder:
“May thou get some sleep so thou can come to school looking fair again tomorrow.”
April 3, 2006
It is April now, which means the official countdown to my birthday has begun. I’ve been prepping my students for this celebration (April 22 — also Earth Day) since October.
Last year, I gave all my students a pop quiz all about me for bonus points.
Here are some of the responses:
What is Ms. Coggio’s middle name? “Shorty” “Hay-Feather”
What is Ms. Coggio’s cat’s name? “Buttons” “Midget”
Where did Ms. Coggio grow up? “Vermont” “You grew?”
How many brothers and sisters does Ms. Coggio have? “26” “?”
Where did Ms. Coggio go to college? “Harvard” “Short University”
How tall is Ms. Coggio? “2 feet 4 inches” “100 decameters”
What is Ms. Coggio’s favorite food? “Strawberry Shortcake” “Pastrami Soup”
What is Ms. Coggio’s favorite color? “Chrome” “Green”
I can’t wait to do this quiz again. One of my students, Ramon, has been reminding me of my height all year, since at the beginning I told them flat out, “You’ll need to remember this: Ms. Coggio is 5 feet 1 and √Ǭæ inches.” Ramon wrote it down and he tells me all the time.
The 9th graders are brutal this year though. I can’t go 25 minutes without someone referencing my height in some way. This morning, a 9th grader shouted hello to me down the hallway; just after I waved, his friend said, “You can see her all the way down there?”
And so on.
