Bachelor Kitchen Word Problem

Mr. Walker has an old can opener from his family’s garage. Since all of the food in Mr. Walker’s Bachelor Kitchen is in cans, he uses the opener quite a lot. You might say he’s developed a relationship with it. Anyway, as a result of the excessive use, the can opener’s “cutting disc” (the rotating metal disc that cuts into the top of the can) developed a tiny––but promiscuous––bend in one place. Since Mr. Walker is too cheap, and is obsessed with conserving resources anyway, he will not replace the can opener. Since Mr. Walker is a math teacher, he’ll instead torture his students (and blog followers) with a math problem.

Now, instead of cutting completely around the circumference of the can without a hitch, like a can opener should do, the bend in the disc causes this slacker can opener to dislodge from the edge and run itself off of the can. Tonight Mr. Walker noticed with intrigue that it runs itself off of a can exactly pi times (that is, if the disc is positioned with the bend against the can so that it starts cutting into the lid right at the bend in the disc, so that the disc rotates once fully before hitting the bend again and running off the can, it will run off three times with .14159... left over of the can’s circumference to cut.)(This is true) Mr. Walker quickly opened every can in the cupboard to make sure that his observation was correct (which it was), and as smells of butternut squash soup, green peas, and petite diced tomatoes wafted from the kitchen he measured the diameter of the can to be exactly 7.5 cm.

So now the question is this, my friends: What is the ratio of the diameter of the can to the diameter of the can opener’s cutting disc?

The first to answer correctly in the comments section wins a prize! (Maybe a can of already-opened butternut squash soup?)

An Honest Look at the Dark Side

One of the biggest challenges of this experience is deciding how to describe my experience to people outside of the city. I had this challenge living and studying abroad in Costa Rica as well––everything is so different in such complex ways I always found it difficult to express how a semester abroad had changed how I look at the world. Living and teaching in Chicago is just barely more familiar than Costa Rica, and is still like living in another world.

Some cultural differences I’ll never be able to describe, but there are some that are worth taking a crack at. The cultural aspect that I want to write about is one that is all too well known in the public, media-driven sphere; the phenomenon of violence. It is a not a judgement to say that, in my part of the city, it is prevalent; this is an objective observation. It seems to permeate into nearly every realm of social interactions at school, ranging from playful (though rough) fighting among true friends to undeniably brutal fights that result from anger, gossip, drama, and failed communication. These fights are alarmingly common, and, as far as I can tell, result from issues like “she bumped me the hall and is always instigating it” to “well, since we both like so-and-so...” to “So-and-so said that she said that I...” All of these are stated reasons from my own students who were involved in fights. More often than not I find out why they were fighting after they return from a three-day suspension.

In March, Michele Clark was on the local evening news channels because of a fight among students after school on the street that got so out of hand that a student hit a police officer and was tased. Her family protested outside of the school for that week with megaphones, encouraging the other students to walk out of school, and implored that they “don’t tell the cops NOTHIN!” Yesterday, two of my students, and 8th grader and a 7th grader fought after school––the result of (unknown to me) long-pent-up animosity between the two girls. Many others joined in, all my students. Today my first period was like a ghost town because of so many suspensions.

This is the type of violence that goes on, according to the students, frequently. Last week I asked one student how his Spring break was.

“Horrible!”

“No way! Why was it so bad?!” I knew the weather had been awesome in Chicago over the break and, knowing this student to be an enthusiastic athlete, was surprised that he wasn’t three shades of green from all the grass stains he would have after a week of playing outside.

“They kept shooting all the time outside our apartment, so we couldn’t go outside and play football. I was so bored!”

I tried to hide my horror, but I must have let out something about his safety, because he reassured me, “No, I was alright because my cousin still runs with that gang so he told us when to look out because he knew when it was coming.”

“I’m really glad you’re ok, LaDarion,” I responded lamely. I didn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah, Mr. Walker, I’m good.”

I hesitate to bring this carnage up in describing my experience because I don’t know if it’s helpful. I don’t mean to say that it’s not a huge part of my experience (it obviously is) but I feel like I carry a certain ambassador status for all my friends and family who don’t know anything about the city. By no means am I an “authority” on city culture or city education, but I’m spending a whole semester here – something most of my friends and family have not done, and by living and teaching in this community I have a clear window into the living culture. I’ve found that there is part of certain people with whom I talk about my experience – maybe not a rational part – that makes it seem like they’re holding their breath to hear first hand accounts of how bad the cities are, like they’re only listening long enough to confirm what they think they know about city education systems: that they’re hopeless.

My friends often joke with me, “Have you been shot at yet, Mr. Walker?” or “Don’t give a kid an F, or he’ll jump you!” And I’m not surprised when I consider how much information about the inner cities are circulated to the non-city public, and what percent of that information deals with crime, drugs, and violence. I try to use to the jokes as an opportunity to bring up how diverse the students are, acknowledging that there are some “troublemakers” (to put it lightly) but to point out that there are also tons of great kids, too.

So why a whole post about violence if I’m worried that the violence is the only thing that other people will see? Because I think that to ignore its existence, and it’s hugely negative effect on the lives of my students, is as useless as depicting the city only as a battlefield. I want others to know that the violence is real, but also that the lines between victims and perpetrators are blurred here; when kids are growing up in a culture of daily violence, everyone loses, even (or especially) those who are involved in the fighting.

My students sometimes share their work from other classes with me, and today during a lunch a group of 8th graders shared some of their poems from english class. This is a poem by one of my students, Rae, published with permission.

I’m all alone

Pow Pow

Gun shots go off

OMG this is where it starts

May 15 is when I started 2 believe that

The whole world was after me.

OMG he was only 16

Why wasn’t it me, he had so many dreams

Gun shot wound straight to da chest

Dear God please do your best

He was my 16 year old brotha

It’s not time for him to rest

He was doing his best,

And nothing less.

Da medics are here, they rush him to the hospital

As I sit in dat quiet waiting room I think to myself

No way he can be dead he was just getting ahead

The nurse comes out and say I have some bad news

Your brother is gone, here’s a tissue

I peek into the room and see that flat line

All I could do was start to cry

My brother is gone, and I’m all alone.

-Rae L

I was shocked by the straightforwardness of the poem, and even more shocked when she answered my unasked question, “It’s true,” she shrugged, “my brother died two days before my birthday two years ago.” She said it without drama. Other students nodded and then, like the script of life gone wrong, they started listing the other family members (all boys) who had been shot and killed. One student exclaimed, “Everyone’s getting shot these days” and shook his head, eyes looking beyond the room.

I think to bring light to the subject if violence here also serves as a testament to these students’ resilience and perseverance. I find it difficult to cope with the emotional stress of constant violence even as an adult, and I stand in awe of my students who can make it through, and even thrive, in a school an community that is sometimes torn apart by physical aggression. Rae (honestly) is one of my brightest and most engaged students, popular and good-intentioned, with a great sense of humor and a drive to succeed. She is one of many who fit this description.

One of the veteran teachers at my school who has been a small but crucial part of my mentoring told me never to be too proud of teaching in the city. “It’s not a badge of honor to teach here,” he said, “or at least it shouldn’t be. Everyone should be entitled great education. These kids have the same right to it as the kids in the burbs.” I understand this idea more as I gain experience and learn more about my students and their lives. When I consider the violence that swirls around and sometimes inside of our school, and I reflect on my role as a teacher, I am undoubtedly proud, but not of myself; I am proud of my students.

Meet My Students

On the first day in the middle school – what seems like so long ago, only in the beginning of March – I had students fill out information cards for me. The classroom management professor at Miami champions these: the all-powerful information cards. You give each student an index card and ask them to put down everything from their names, parent’s names, and phone numbers, to their favorite subject in school and hobby outside of school. You also ask for after school commitments and their class schedule. The goals are these: to know a little about your students, to know (if they disclose them) some obligations that would make it hard for students to always keep up with work (like taking care of a grandparent or younger sibling), to be able to contact their guardian for good or bad, and to know what other teachers have each students so that you know with whom to collaborate if you have a problem or something to share. Not a bad idea, all around.

When I asked my students to write these I also asked them a few extra questions that picked their brain about who they are as learners and people. The funny thing about the cards is that they are, at first, completely meaningless for me! In the very beginning I have no idea who goes with each name on the cards, and, even if I can match a face and a name, knowing an index card of information about them before I develop any relationship with them is not very insightful. It’s a hilarious and intensely fascinating exercise to go through now and re-read these cards. They provide deep insight in some cases, comfortable confirmations of personality in others. Either way, they are the stuff of blog posts if I ever saw them, and I quote some of their answers to my questions here.

What is your favorite part of Ms. Dean’s class?

“The discussions”

“Test day”

From one of the bookworms: “learning new math terminology”

“N/A” (ha!)

“The middle of class when the lesson is intense” (quite a lot for me live up to!)

“sleeping” (then again...)

What languages do you speak and/or are learning (other than English)?

“Spanish”

“Spanish and Slang”

“Spanish and Chinese”

“Spanish, and my uncle speaks Italian”

“Spanish 1 (learning) and Ebonics (know)”

If you could live anywhere, where would you live and why?

“Miami, because it’s hot”

“Florida, because it’s hot there.”

“Texas, because it’s hot there and it’s a different world.”

“I would live in Arizona. Because it’s HOT there.”

“Miami, because I like the weather and the wemon.” [sic]

“Wisconsin, because it’s fun there.”

“Wisconsin, because I like mixtures of the weather.”

“California, because you can meet stars.”

“Hollywood, and also Florida, because that’s where I dream of living.”

“Mississippi, because my grandma lives there.”

“Arkansas, because my grandad lives there and my aunt was born there.”

“I would like to stay in Chicago because there are less blizzars [sic] and no earthquakes.”

“Paris, because it is a beautiful place.”

“Egypt. It’s weird.”

“In the subs because it’s nice and quiet there.”

“Suburbs because I can be in a different environment and around new people and learn new things.”

“I would live in Los Angeles. I would want to live here or New York because I love the city and would like to live in the Suburbs for family ressons.” [sic]

“The sky, so I could look over things.”

What do you want to do when you grow up? Why will you choose that course?

(I chose this wording because I didn’t want to use the age-old “what will you be when you grow up” so that I had more chance of getting something other than a formulaic answer. Alas, I had to explain what I meant by “course,” and invariably a student would ask, “You mean, ‘what are we going to be when we grow up?’” At first I resisted, saying that not everyone had to “be” something, and then backpedaled as I thought of students interpreting that as “do nothing!” so I just said, “yes, it’s like ‘what do you want to be when you grow up.’” and a student invariably muttered, or thought, I’m sure, “why didn’t he just say that to start?”) Anyway, their answers:

(all are sic)

“Football player because I was born to play.”

“Football player, because I started playing when I was 5.”

“Football or basketball player because I love sports.”

“Veternarian or animal cop so that I could train and help animals.”

“I want to be a lawyer or therpist because I like helping people out with there problems and I like winning cases.”

“I change what I want to be every now and then but now I want to be a doctor/nurse or teacher or something where I can help people.”

“A doctor or a hair styleist.”

“I want to be a doctor or professional chef because it’s my dream.”

“Entrepeneur.”

“Astronomer.”

“a model/singer/dancer because I like to take pics, sing, and dance.”

“I want to be a teacher because I love to help kids learn.”

“Lawyer - because I love to prove my point and no going to stop arguing until I wen”

“Lawyer because I’m a good lair.”

“When I grow up I would like to be a lawyer because I love to find justice to people who have been done wrong.”

“An ultrasound technician because I love watching the developing babies.”

“When I grow up I want to be a designer because I can make my own clothes.”

“Teacher because I want to Egnolage others.”

“I want to be a basketball player and engineer to support and help and be a good man.”

Spring Vignettes

(Note: My first attempt to spell my title prompted Macintosh Pages to suggest “Spring Vinaigrettes” as the closest match. If only this were the food network...)

Books

I finished Brooklyn, the “One Book, One Chicago” selection, about three weeks ago. I'm looking forward to a public library book discussion close to my neighborhood. It felt so good to finish a non-school-related novel for myself. I felt like I hadn’t done it in ages. Thirsty for more, I tackled Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections and, after many late nights this past week, finished it four minutes ago. I triumphantly threw it to the floor, pondering all that is a novel. I come away with much to consider, but at the forefront of the wake left by this masterfully-written novel, I find myself pondering the navigation of transition from one huge chapter of life to the next. I also find myself realistically grateful for my family––if you’ve read The Corrections, I think this is easily understood.

Spring Time

Broken glass is the first sign of this season of renewal. I noticed the barefoot-nightmare before any other sign, at the first hint of warm weather. Before the grills roll out or the lawn furniture, or the seasoned Chicagoan Eskimos downgrade their parkas for jackets, I was walking around pools of glass shards glinting the early morning sunlight all along the sidewalks in my neighborhood. The trees have caught up, though, and the new buds provide such a sense of relief and cautious joy from the relentless drudgery of Chicago winter.

Discipline

Ms. Dean is a traditional disciplinarian, favoring sets (multiplication tables up through twelve, three times each) and tough love for student offenses. She has better control of the class than any teacher I've seen in the school, so I'm hardly criticizing her. For the sake of continuity I have been using similar methods for the very few students who were (past tense I hope!) in the habit of challenging/outright disrespecting me. It is, as a fellow blogger has eloquently noted, not very effective, at least not in the long run. While I mean no disrespect to such disciplinarians, I am looking forward to my own classroom where students will realize that math is not a punishment but a right and a privilege. Anyway, I’ve been building relationships like mad, and I have several students totally with on board with me (student-teacher allies, I might call our relationships) and my crazy singing, dancing, math-ing, and vegetarian-ly correct grammar.

Vegetarianism

It’s a pretty great life choice for me. Several of my students exclaimed when they found out, “I ain’t never seen a vegetarian before!” I guess there’s a first time for everything. My 6th grade class was shockingly fascinated in my meatless existence and asked me a whirlwind of questions that each deserved paragraph answers (in the least!) but I fielded all with carefully accurate brevity so my class would not turn into a nutrition class or an environmental sustainability lecture. One of my students, fascinated to the point of action, tried a vegetarian diet for a week. I encouraged him to talk with his family about the decision so that they were in support of this new lifestyle trial (just like I...didn’t) and he reported later that he and his mother made salads and, one night, spinach lasagna together. The overall experience was “hard but good.”

Improvement

This deserves much more than a vignette, but for now, I’m focusing on asking specific questions to specific individuals, playing to their strengths (to build confidence) and weaknesses (to challenge them). This takes a lot of knowledge of my students, and I have to ask students with their names first so that “no one” (aka only 4 instead of 14 others) shout out various answers before the student has a chance to think. I’ve been doing a lot of explaining to the whole class, and having individual conversations with repeat offenders or shameless know-it-alls, about the importance of letting students think on their own and answer their own questions. “When you shout out it takes away the opportunity for the people still thinking to come to their own conclusion, and we ALL need to be able to think for ourselves. Agreed?”

At the same time, I’m encouraging certain hermits and recluses to lend their voice to class lessons. After class today I snagged one. “I was really hoping that you would contribute more to our discussion today.”

She looked away, thrown off and a little embarrassed that I brought it up. “I don’t know. I don’t like to be wrong.”

“I completely understand that...but sometimes we learn the most from our mistakes. And when you’re having trouble––and you’re real bright (she is)––I’m positive that there are other students who are probably struggling with the same thing, so when you bring it up you benefit yourself AND the rest of the class.” It was my version of a sincere pep talk.

“I guess...” She smiled a tiny, tiny bit as she thought about this. As she left quietly I got the impression that she was surprised and happy that I simply recognized her existence in my class.