Magic: The Art of Practice and Being a Cheerleader

      In our second snowcation of the month of January, my kids treated me to a magic show. Honestly, the only magical thing about the show was that all three kids were playing together and getting along. The show began with Jack pulling six things out of his top hat including a quarter and a glue stick. Pure "magic." Then my girls held playing cards upside down on their fingers. When I asked how they did that, I was told, "A magician never reveals her tricks." And then Jack made Katie disappear. Here is an excerpt of that moment:

Jack: And now I will make Katie disappear. (He waves his magic wand in the air over Katie's head. Katie "magically" diappears).

Me: How do you bring her back?

Jack: We haven't practiced that part yet.

     I laughed at that moment as a few minutes later Katie emerged from the closet. As enjoyable as the magic show was, I learned two things from that moment: 1) practice is an important part of what we do in life and 2) everyone needs a cheerleader.

     I grew up under the motto, "Practice makes perfect." Anything I've ever done in life where I've been successful has been because of practice (and maybe a little bit of magic). About a year ago, I had to give a speech in front of a room of around 300 people. I was petrified. For those of you who know me well, I hate the spotlight that public speaking brings. So, I practiced. I read over that speech every day daily until one day I was driving in the car by myself and all of the words of that speech were in my head. Somehow, I had memorized the entire ten minute speech. On the evening I was to give that speech, I delivered it with much more confidence than I anticipated. I still did not love the spotlight, but I did it. Just like how Jack couldn't make Katie magically reappear because they hadn't practiced that part, I don't think I could have delivered that speech without practice.

     Juniors in Room 211, we've been practicing since September. At the start of the school year, some of you told me you never would be able to speak about a poem for eight minutes for your Individual Oral Commentary (IOC). And you couldn't. This assessment is hard. I know because I had a class several years ago challenge me to deliver a commentary in front of the entire class. I said "um" 14 times. They counted. I needed practice. WE have practiced. Every time I asked you to speak in a Socratic seminar, we were practicing. Every time you timed your partner delivering a commentary, we were practicing. Every time we answered questions about literature, we practiced. We even played musical chairs to practice. So many of you went from speaking for less than a minute to being able to deliver a full six to eight minute commentary. How? It has nothing to do with magic. It was all practice.

Sometimes we took a break in our "practice."

     Seniors, you've been practicing as well. Since September of junior year when I introduced you to the idea of what a knowledge question is, you've been practicing how to write good ones. You've mastered what a REAL life situation is as well as how to write these knowledge questions without necessarily beginning with "to what extent."

     Both groups are ready for your IB assessments. Juniors, you are ready to give your IOC next week. Seniors, you are ready to write your prescribed title in Theory of Knowledge. And I am ready to be your cheerleader.

     When my kids performed their magic show last week, I realized how much the success of their show depended on my enthusiasm and engagement. So, I asked questions. I marveled when Jack pulled a glue stick out of his hat. I was in awe when Katie "magically" disappeared (even though I knew she had just went into the closet). I was their cheerleader and greatest champion.

     I never was a cheerleader in high school. Actually, we didn't even have a cheering team. I think this picture of me at age 4 is probably the only moment I dressed as a cheerleader. Yet, I find myself a cheerleader on a regular basis, especially when it comes to my own children and my students.

Last year, my principal, Dr. John Wheeler, showed us a video clip of Rita Pierson at a faculty meeting. This is one video that changed my teaching. Ms. Pierson argued that every child needs a champion. Here is an excerpt of her words that really moved me:

I realized from her motivational speech that I have the power to change not only minds by teaching content but the ability to change mindsets. Some of the most nervous students last year became my greatest challenges and my greatest successes. My juniors and seniors I currently teach, I want you to know I am your champion. I am your greatest cheerleader. Over the next week and a half, I will be out of the classroom for six days to hear individual oral commentaries. Many of my colleagues have told me how awful that must be to have twenty minute conversations with every single student (77 of you this year). This year I will spend 1,540 minutes listening to commentaries. That's over 25 hours of listening. That's over a day of listening. Yes, it's a lot of listening. Yet to me, it is magical. When else as an English teacher do you have the opportunity to talk to every student individually about literature? There's no better moment in my teaching when someone comes in to do his commentary, and he is brilliant, and I get to cheer him on as he goes.

     So, as you begin your assessments--your IOC and prescribed titles--let me be your champion. You've done all of the practice you can. Don't tell me you can't do this. Don't tell me you don't want to (I know no one really wants to complete an IB assessment). Instead, remember the cheerleader who is in your corner, excited to see your every move. Remember you deserve someone in your corner.

     Next year, you will come into Room 211 as so many of the seniors have and will tell my current juniors the commentary is not that bad. And when someone next year hears your commentary as I am demonstrating what a good commentary sounds like and asks, "How did they do that? There's no way I can speak for 8 minutes on a poem." I will simply smile and reply, "A magician never reveals her tricks."

Good luck, my students. Remember you've got a champion in me listening to you speak and reading your words. I'm excited to sit back and watch the magic.