Seniors experiment with writing groups

Perhaps my expectations were a bit lofty—taking English IV students with the type of full-blown senioritis May tends to inflict and thrusting them into writing groups. (See my previous blog entry—It all started with a budgeting activity in English class—for more about what prompted this.) As with anything in life, my students got out of this collaboration what they put into it. 

On a Pre-Writing Groups Survey, students assessed how comfortable they were giving constructive feedback to others using a Likert scale on which 1 indicated cool confidence and 5 deemed the activity tantamount to torture. Of the 29 students who completed the Pre-Writing Groups Survey, 37.9% reported feeling moderately comfortable providing peer feedback, and 48.2% indicated a higher level of comfort. (See Figure 1.) And, of those surveyed, only 37.9% recalled having participated in peer writing groups previously.

Forms response chart. Question title: 9. How comfortable are you giving constructive feedback to others?. Number of responses: 29 responses.
Figure 1

Before we began, we discussed (in our groups, then as a whole class) our initial concerns about sharing our writing. Students echoed sentiments of the vulnerability in sharing a piece of writing—the risk of being judged—and brainstormed ways to address this fear when their writing groups meet.

Then, we dove in. First, descriptive paragraphs. Then, poems. Finally, we worked on what we dubbed their “Senior Projects,” for which they had three options: a time capsule, a vision board, or a high school survival guide. Each Tuesday and Thursday, they brought a different piece for their projects—reflections, explanations, letters, top ten lists, text for infographics, and articles—to their writing groups.

A few embraced it wholeheartedly. Yadissa, a natural born leader, took her group’s participation to the highest level. Some of these conversations were the most heartwarming, hearing her work one on one with Angel, an English language learner, when the third member of their group was (frequently) absent. Yadissa guided Angel, helping him better understand the vision board option and how best to approach it. She encouraged him to elaborate and complimented him on his willingness to make himself vulnerable in his writing. In turn, Angel posed a couple of thought-provoking questions and made some practical suggestions for Yadissa’s high school survival guide.

Some kicked around a few compliments as well as constructive criticism. Madi’s group was the most boisterous, providing a balance of helpful feedback, such as sincere appreciation for the details and depth of Aiden’s writing, with shock over the length and impressive (intimidating?) quality of Madi’s writing. They had fun with it.

Some did the bare minimum, but even those kiddos were sharing their experiences, their dreams, their wisdom—and their writing. While their feedback may have been superficial at best, several groups had rich conversations at times, even though the response forms they filled out may not have reflected it. 

On a Post-Writing Groups Survey the last week of school, every response indicated a positive feeling toward writing groups, declaring it “fun” or “good,” noting how nice it was to receive feedback from peers. All also indicated they would recommend participating in writing groups to other students. Aiden commented, “Yes, it is very eye opening. It is always good to look at something from a different perspective.” 

Keyonna indicated the most beneficial part of participating in writing groups was “having multiple people giving advice or compliments.” Yadissa noted, “It made me open and considerate to others more than before. We would push each other into making the best out of our writing pieces. I was very fond of the self-motivation aspect of working in a writing group.”

Yadissa also offered interesting insight into what she considered the most challenging part of participating in writing groups: “Every now and then, some of us would get indecisive before wanting to submit and talk about our work. So sometimes we would try to revise and change our work completely before we reached that step. So as much as I’d like to say we leaned on each other for feedback, we sometimes pushed for it before it was time to.” Others cited the difficulty in providing quality feedback, struggling to come up with suggestions for improvement. 

Of the 14 students who completed the Post-Writing Groups Survey, 21.4% indicated an average comfort level when it comes to providing peer feedback, and 64.3% reported a higher than average comfort level. (See Figure 2.) Thus, in the mere weeks we experimented with writing groups, the average level of comfort with providing peer feedback increased approximately 16%.

Forms response chart. Question title: 3. How comfortable do you feel now about giving constructive feedback to others?. Number of responses: 14 responses.
Figure 2

We definitely could have benefitted from more time and more coaching. Nevertheless, these young adults entered the struggle of awkwardly navigating peer writing groups. However late in the year we began, and however half-heartedly some may have approached it, we were building a community of writers.

When a teacher chooses to write instead of ‘eating her feelings’ …

Today, I found myself waiting outside the principal’s office in tears for the second time in my life. The first time, I was in fourth grade. After finishing my classwork, I would talk to students around me. Regardless of where my teacher moved me, I seemed to have an insatiable appetite for talking to my peers. When my teacher’s patience waned, for which I cannot fault her, sweet Ms. Sebring sent me to the principal’s office. For some time, I stared at my plaid polyester uniform in anticipation. Fear and shame wrestled inside of me like two bloodthirsty beasts. I don’t know which was worse—Ms. Holy’s long, wooden paddle or the disapproving look etched on her face. I got swats, after which I never got in trouble at school again. That is how we rolled back then.

Flash forward nearly five decades. The difference extends far beyond the silver streaks in my brunette locks and the lack of plaid pleats. This time, I was not sent to the principal’s office—I fled to the principal’s office.

Early in my teaching career, children incapable of accepting accountability for their actions were the exception—not the rule—and their efforts were relatively benign, while their parents tended to be reasonably supportive. Within the last few years, however, the paradigm has shifted. As the number of students who struggle with owning their part began to rise, another phenomenon gained momentum—resorting to abusive tactics in an effort to avoid accountability at all costs. 

As a survivor of domestic violence, I recognize abusive tactics such as blame shifting, gaslighting, and harassing when I see them. In recent years, their foray into my professional life has been perplexing at best. For someone diagnosed with complex PTSD, they are downright triggering.

I worked hard to learn to overcome the effects of previous trauma, cope with triggers, and refuse to tolerate unacceptable behavior in my personal life. Rising up in resistance in the professional realm, however, is trickier to navigate. And the apples do not fall from the trees these days. Typically, when I encounter a child clinging to victimhood at all costs, a parent lurks in the shadows like a copperhead waiting to strike.

That was the case today. A young man refused to leave my classroom, refused to stop attempting to argue long after I quit participating in the conversation. No matter how many times I told him to leave, no matter how many times I told him to wait until we could conduct a conversation with an administrator and his mother present—as she requested (demanded?) in her emails this morning—he stood in my classroom during lunchtime, attempting to wear me down. He rationalized, justified, minimized, and flat out denied his behavior, all the while demanding that I explain myself. Ultimately, he called his mother and tried to force a conversation with her in the moment, claiming I told him to do so. I stared at the phone in his hand, envisioning the woman on the other end of the line. The woman who has made it clear she believes I am the problem—not her son. I felt harassed and outnumbered.

“I told you I am not doing this with you right now,” I said as I walked out of my classroom and headed toward the front office. When I reached the seat outside of the principals’ offices, I plopped down and felt the magnitude of the moment. Despite my best efforts, tears leaked down my freckled cheeks.

I wish I could say this was a one-time occurrence, that I had not experienced harassment at the hands of students and their parents previously. Sadly, this is the third school year I have encountered such bad behavior. 

It is age appropriate for children to struggle with accepting accountability. It is my job to facilitate this, and I have patience with students enduring this struggle—even eighth- and ninth-graders. But when parents perpetuate bad behavior and engage in it, my patience wanes. 

I spoke with three different principals today. Each one was compassionate, encouraging, and supportive. I know how fortunate I am. Nevertheless, today was one of those days that makes me question why I remain in education. Despite all of the challenges educators face, if I ever decide to leave the profession, it will be because of dysfunctional dynamics invading my workspace—the ripple effect of parents whose toxic tendencies trigger me.