In Other Words

  • Megan Miranda (FRACTURE) Says 'Yes' to Learning Across Boundaries

    BEST OF ENGAGE
    BY MEGAN MIRANDA
    Jan 7, 2013
    This post originally appeared on the Engage/Teacher to Teacher blog in January 2012.

    Before I was a writer, or a teacher, or a scientist, I was a student.

    And for the most part, I was a pretty good student. In math and science, I was a great student. In English, I was a great student if I liked the material. But in history, I mostly just memorized the information I needed in order to get by. I enrolled in Latin because speaking a foreign language was a mystery to me. And in art and music, well, mostly I was just seized with the panic that someone would realize I had absolutely no idea what was going on.

    I’m assuming that’s how my school-years would’ve continued had it not been for the slew of amazing teachers I encountered in high school. I’m not sure if they were paying extra attention, or maybe I was just really outspoken about my interests by then, or maybe they were just really, really clever. More than likely, they understood that there were not only different types of learners, but—more to the point—different types of kids. I was a kid who loved science.

    Regardless of the reason, I started high school and suddenly found myself looking forward to history, and art, and all the classes I used to be somewhat indifferent toward. It’s not that I suddenly remembered historic dates or developed a previously unknown artistic ability, but I started to see that no subject exists in a bubble. That there is science in everything, and writing in science, music in language, and art in history. Subjects are not so strictly defined, and neither are we.

    It was my teachers who showed me this. They reached me.

    When it came time to select a research topic in American history, my teacher asked me if I had heard about the influenza outbreak of 1918, which is how I ended up writing a paper on how the most deadly pandemic in American history affected said history.

    And the next year, in Western Civilization, when we needed to pick an empire for a project, that same teacher let me pick NASA. Yes, NASA. As long as I could back up my case.

    A music teacher suggested I might enjoy music theory (he was right). An art teacher pointed out the angles in art. I saw the math in it—how altering the angles could change the dimension, maybe even change the whole meaning behind it.

    I memorized and performed The Raven in drama class—a class that previously terrified me—because I loved the darkness and the cadence, and my mother had put that poem in my hands years earlier.

    Somebody else put JURASSIC PARK in my hands. Writing and science blurred—art and science blurred.

    So here’s the thing: I don’t remember the date of the Magna Carta (wait: 1215? Hmm. That was weird), and I can’t list the presidents in order, but I know how to research. I understand how empires rise, and then fall. And I understand how one event can affect government, policy, science, and war.

    I only taught for 2 years before staying home with kids of my own. But I did learn a lot in those 2 years. Things I didn’t do, at first, until I remembered what my teachers had done for me.

    I had to remember that there is science in sports and in cars, and that there is history and art in science. And I had to remember to say yes. When a student wants to take a field trip to the parking lot to show off his new sound system? Say yes. Make him prove to us that sound is a form of energy, and that it can be transferred. Someone wants to build a clay model of a cell instead of listing the components? Yes. Write a poem on the properties of water? Yes.

    I had to remember to let my students pick their own diseases to research. They all had one that affected their lives, and everyone was much more interested in listening to their classmates present the information than in listening to me spout facts.

    I had to remember that there’s a history to science, just as much as there is science in history. That there is writing in science, and there could be science in writing.

    And that reading ties everything together.

    When I was young, my mother gave me books when I had science questions, which is why I believed, and still believe, that answers come through reading. And I’m not just talking about nonfiction. I discovered a lot of truths through fiction, too, though mine may not be the same as someone else’s.

    It’s the feeling that resonates—for me, or for you—the one that makes us think: yes.

    Megan Miranda was a scientist and high school teacher before writing FRACTURE, which came out of her fascination with scientific mysteries—especially those associated with the brain. Megan has a BS in biology from MIT and spent her post-college years either rocking a lab coat or reading books. She lives near Charlotte, North Carolina, where she volunteers as an MIT Educational Counselor. Fracture is her first novel.

    © 2013 Megan Miranda. Please do not reproduce in any form, electronic or otherwise.


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  • In Other Words: Paying it Forward with the Rockefeller Christmas Tree

    IN OTHER WORDS
    BY DAVID RUBEL
    Dec 21, 2012
    As the child of anthropologists, I learned about origin myths at a very young age. For those whose parents may have been molecular biologists, let me explain that an origin myth is a story developed by a culture to explain how a particular aspect of reality (or reality itself) came into being. Origin myths typically describe the natural world, but they can also be used to describe the social world. I like to think of my book THE CARPENTER’S GIFT as an origin myth.

    When I began working on THE CARPENTER’S GIFT, I visited the archive at Rockefeller Center to learn as much as I could about the most famous Christmas tree in the world. I found out that the first tree went up in 1931, while Rockefeller Center was still under construction. It was erected by workers, presumably because they were deeply grateful to have jobs during the depth of the Great Depression. The tree was decorated with strings of cranberries, garlands of paper, and a few shiny tin cans. How that particular tree came to be at the work site and who specifically put it up are details lost to time. But wouldn’t it be fun to know?

    Contradicting none of the (few) known facts, THE CARPENTER’S GIFT offers one possible explanation, in which Henry and his out-of-work father give the tree to Frank and the other construction workers on Christmas Eve. Perhaps there are more likely theories, but this story attracted me because it embraced a truth about why people have flocked to the tree in Rockefeller Center these past eighty years, and why Tishman Speyer, the owners of Rockefeller Center, now donate the tree annually to Habitat for Humanity so that lumber milled from its trunk can be used to build a home for a family in need.

    I tried to imagine what those workers in 1931 would have been feeling, and I kept coming back to gratitude, especially the kind of gratitude that motivates a person to pay his good fortune forward. The story of THE CARPENTER’S GIFT couldn’t have ended with the erection of the first Rockefeller Center Christmas tree because Frank and the other workers wouldn’t have let it end there, not without doing something for someone less fortunate than themselves—such as Henry, whom they learn lives with his family in a drafty, dilapidated shack.

    As you’ve probably guessed, I actually slipped a second origin myth into the book—one for Habitat itself. The story of how Frank and his friends visit Henry’s family on Christmas morning to help them build a new, decent house evokes my own feelings about the organization—that no matter how much you give, you always get more back.

    Screenwriter Randall Wallace, who won an Academy Award for BRAVEHEART, called Habitat “a perpetual-motion miracle,” and I think this chain of giving and receiving is what he had in mind. It takes Henry a little longer than it does Frank to realize this, but eventually he pays “the gift” forward, too, and the miracle moves on.

    David Rubel is a nationally recognized author and speaker whose work focuses on making American history accessible to a broad audience. His children's books THE SCHOLASTIC ENCYCLOPEDIA OF THE PRESIDENTS AND THEIR TIMES and THE SCHOLASTIC ATLAS OF THE UNITED STATES have become grade-school standards, selling more than half a million copies each in multiple editions.

    © 2012 David Rubel. Please do not reproduce in any form, electronic or otherwise.


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  • In Other Words: Language is Our Heritage, But Will it be Our Legacy?

    IN OTHER WORDS
    BY BETTY G. PRICE
    Nov 29, 2012
    It is disheartening to read the headlines that permeate the media enlightening us that reading scores in America remain flat—or worse, that no significant improvement has been noted since the ’70s. And yet, those of us in this field know full well that READING is the magical key that opens the door into the mind of any human being; it establishes the fundamentals and foundation for whatever he wants to be—or will be. It is the basis for all learning.

    However, English, to kindergartners and first- and second-graders, is a foreign language—as German, Italian or French might be to an adult. Speaking a language is not the key for learning how to read it. During a recent lecture I gave to several dozen graduate speech/audiology students, I asked how many had studied foreign languages. Each had studied one or more but not one stated that he learned it the way he learned English: by first memorizing high-frequency words from lists that also went home for further practice. Some admitted to having had difficulty with learning to read, and some stated that it still was not their favorite thing to do.

    Having taught college linguistics some years ago as an offering for teacher recertification, it was exciting to see the sparks when teachers learned intriguing nuggets about this powerful and international language called English. They wanted to know the answers to questions that plague both students and teachers (why is CAT spelled with a C and KITTEN with a K?). They were eager to learn how two vowels could be long in TRAIL, make a wiggly diphthong sound in TAUT, and yet split into two different sounds AND syllables as in TRI-AL and LI-ON.

    Teachers love to learn new things, but not all of us learn the same way any more than children do—yet, what is really different about what we are doing in the classroom today that we were not doing in the ’70s? Not much, sadly. Special education has been added, but all too often this is a slowing down and trimming of what goes on in our regular classes.

    Remedial teaching, however, means the need to take a different tack.

    Most any language entails five linguistic facets in order for one to learn it: phonology, morphology, etymology, orthography, and philology. But in English, the largest language in the world (more than a million words), changes occur daily, and it is mind-boggling to consider the many variances that are updated approximately every six years in our dictionaries. To buy a new dictionary and compare it with “old faithful” sitting on a shelf somewhere in our home or classroom will elicit shock. (Go on. Do it.)

    photo: alexbrn via photopin cc
    For example, as a child, I rode to school on a “buss” (“bus” was chipped off the Latin word “omnibus” and my “buss” now simply means a kiss). When I got stung, I got a big “whelp,” but today, that would be a young animal/child or the pre-teen version of the interjection “well.”

    Once our class got underway, it was stimulating to hear the questions: Why do we hear a “d” in WATER, METAL, and SWEETISH/SWEDISH? Why does TU work just fine in TUNE and TUG, but “sneezes” in CENTURY, TARANTULA, NATURE? Why does METER sound sensible, but when put into the word SPEEDOMETER, it sounds so different? How can I tell when to “sound” the G as a /guh/ sound versus a /jjj/ or a C as an S or a K?

    Great questions! All answerable!

    One of the most “fun” pronunciation and spelling oddities I have ever encountered is WHEN to spell with a C versus a K, or how to know the hard sound of G in GAS versus the soft sound in GERMS. (C and G were both called “gamma” by the Greeks and, thus, follow the same rule.) That is great for those of us who teach.

    Write down the six (yes, six) vowels in lower-case form: a e i o u y.

    Note that the a, o, and u are nice and chubby in appearance while the e, i, and y are formed by first making a straight (stick) stroke. When trying to remember whether or not to spell a word with a C or a K, use C when followed by a “chubby” (or round) vowel or a consonant as in CAT, COAT, CUT, CRIB, CATTLE, SCOTCH. But, if one wants to retain the hard sound of C (K) when using a stick vowel (e, i, or y), the “stick-consonant” K must be used as in KITTEN, KISS, KEEN, KETTLE, SKETCH; otherwise, the “stick” vowels turn C into an S sound as in ICE, CITY, FANCY.

    This wonderful rule will let one down so few times that it is not worth trying to memorize the multitude of C/K words. It is interesting to note that C is the only letter in the alphabet that has no sound of its own; it borrows from S or K.

    G, on the other hand, has a hard sound that it makes in MOST words that have a ROUND vowel or consonant following, such as GAS, GOAT, GUM, GRASS, while the “stick” vowels allow the G to become the soft J sound as in GERMS, GIANT, and GYM.

    Learning why the ARR makes an air sound in SPARROW but an R sound in SPARRING is helpful for spelling rules; learning why we cannot hear SCIENCE in conscience or SIGN in signal is also helpful for unlocking unknown words. We also have to know why there is a T or a sound before CH in BATCH, ITCH, BENCH, and INCH, but none in BEACH, TEACH, and LEECH.

    How I wish I had known so many of these language goodies when I was in elementary school and not had to wait until graduate school to learn the majority of them! Including speech science and audiology in my training certainly made the English language the most exciting one on the planet for me.

    A fun exercise for teachers and young students alike is the task of spelling the alphabet. Unlike America, where it seems to be a pre-requisite to reading success to know the alphabet in order, in foreign countries where a command of English is often the indicator of an educated individual, frequently the naming of the alphabet is the last thing learned. However, it is necessary in order to spell anything aloud or to be able to alphabetize. Think about it. Spell H, Y, C, G, J—aich, wie (why), see, jee, jay.

    Students, too, love learning oddities about their language. The more engaged they become in its forms and complexities, the more likely they are to increase and develop yet more skills.

    Teaching reading to students beginning at age four all the way into adulthood is my life’s work, and I consider it the most exciting of all vocations. How could I not? Is there anything more exciting or self-fulfilling than looking for a previously struggling student who is now hiding in a closet reading a book instead of doing his homework?

    Sadly, like fog (to borrow an image from the Carl Sandburg poem of the same name), illiteracy “sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches…” and keeps moving “in” instead of moving “on.”

    Teaching, by definition, means imparting knowledge. Anything memorized can be forgotten; anything that is learned and internalized sticks with us more readily. As our educational standing on the global scene steadily slips, it is still true that we, as teachers, hold the key to bringing us back to NUMBER ONE; we just need more reinforcements.

    Betty G. Price is a reading remediation therapist with Professional Reading Services in Roanoke, Virginia. She has also taught in the classroom, conducted seminars and workshops, worked for the Virginia Department of Education on special projects, and provided linguistics for teacher training at college level for those seeking recertification credits. She is the co-author (with Dr. Claude Cauolle, professor emeritus, Hollins University) of SEE ME READ, a large, comic-cartoon laps book for preschoolers (ages 3- to 5).

    [The views and opinions expressed in this blog post are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the International Reading Association or its Board of Directors.]
    © 2012 Betty G. Price. Please do not reproduce in any form, electronic or otherwise.


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