Purple pen

How many times have you been asked to think of your favorite teacher? I put mine, Mrs. O'Malley from my 4th grade year, in my back pocket years ago to avoid the uncomfortable mental sorting I'd do through the ones who scared, embarrassed, ignored me. I know they didn't mean it--in fact, I bet they all believed their style was the right one.

Times have changed--no more paddles or noses in the corner--but teachers are still human, and we still have the power to ruin a child's day. About two hundred papers are stacked on my kitchen table this weekend, essays that students have written, one analytical and the other personal, and it's my aim to assign a grade to each one. I have been noting successes and difficulties in the kindest way possible, but as we all know, it's tough to be on the receiving end of judgment.

There was an English teacher at my high school--the legend was that the first essay grade you got for the year would be the same grade you would get until June. Two students allegedly proved the theory by trading names on their papers. I shared this anecdote with one of my classes last week, and I was encouraged to hear a couple of students say, "No way does that happen anymore." These were the days before rubrics, I pointed out, and instead of a detailed explanation of strengths and weaknesses, we just got a big red letter on the corner of the page. Today I call myself "coach" to my students, guiding them to better writing. Do they see it that way? Does my pretty purple pen and occasional smiley face make the news any easier to take?