Wahi Pana--"O Kaloko"

(Wahi Pana)  

“O Kaloko”   

by Doreen Kaleiwahea 6/20/11

The walled heiau witnessed the people of

Hawaii diminish to almost extinction.

An ‘ahu kai (altar) overlooks the calm fishpond,

the evidence of the past within the present.

The wind voices the oli of my ancestors,

surrounded by need to secure the future

Pehea kou make make (where are the things I want?) (*expand) 4 more

Black ‘Iwa bird greets the day with the ominous warning

Keep away destruction,

the nalu malie (gentle waves) lick the sand longingly

the ashes of the many souls wash into her bosom,

Time is pau, us no live here anymore

Inquiry Chapter 5

Doreen Kaleiwahea 6/15/11  The Art of Classroom Inquiry

In Chapter 5, The Legacy of the Distant Teacher

This chapter opened my eyes to exploring a new area that I have to teach from.  I have determined that in my classroom, my students need special

motivation to write.   The element of music has always been there, and I have seen some results.  I used it to set an atmosphere of peace and tranquility.  I’ve used it as an auditory cue for a specific time to correlate to writing.  I have not received notable responses. I have also used it to make my students happy, the latter is my basis to present this problem solving suggestion.  Could motivation be linked to music, and if so, how, what, when, where and why.  Chapter 5 focuses in on familiarity to the new teaching area.  I have no background in using music very effectively. I need to learn how by first using research.  I like the points of “Extensions” that I’d  like to paraphrase for my own use:  1) create an inventory of articles from reputable sources.  Use articles that have been reviewed by peers in the field. 2)  Let my group or partner know that I see a pattern emerging.  My previous experience has had me seeking the articles bibliography to see the sources that the author themselves were studying; reoccurring names may be consistent.  3) Question the validity of the information—who are the surrounding scholars, what are the common areas of concern…Using designated time wisely to search information and “sift through information”,

determine reputable and non-reputable.  I'd like to Make a Master list reference articles to save time and keep an inventory of the information and critics and how usable the information is. In a nutshell, good research is time well spent, rewarding efforts with answers to questions that help validate my theory. 

Research Question 6/15/2011

Is Place-Based Writing motivating for students?

Critical Teaching Incident 6/14/11

6/14/11      Critical Teaching     “Mr. Oguro”

He seemed rather out of place in a school where children were running amuck with runny noses.  Often the mountain weather in Kalihi Valley wreaked havoc on the children of this area.  It rained so often and we neither had the ability to play in a covered area or had supervision to understand that playing in the rain was not the best for a young child’s health.  Yet, in his finely pressed linen slacks, crisp white shirt and maroon striped tie, he sat perfectly in his teachers’ chair as the bell rang every day at Kaewai Elementary School.  He spoke in a low tone, with a slow and purposeful rhythm that seemed to hypnotize me.  He walked around the room and read from books that never displayed pictures instead they contained words that rolled off his tongue like bait on my grandpa’s fishing pole.   As he read eloquently, he swept me away from my daily anguish of seeing my mother as the “The Living Dead.”  Hurriedly, I would file through the kitchen for something to eat for myself and my little brothers and sisters, run as fast as I could through the raindrops with children flailing like wind socks, just to see that man again and again.  After months of being swept into the Islands of Crete, I began to walk into uncharted waters.  I dared to walk into the library. 

I never walked into the school's library before, a place I only heard about while eaves-dropping on teachers. The lady there took a look at me and immediately shooed me away like a stray dog.  I ran out as fast as I could.  Confused and bewildered, I imagined myself standing at a pier as the ship I just missed went voyaging into a new land; it knocked the wind right out of me.  I could not believe that reading a book alone was something I could do.  You see in those days, the library was a voluntary service.  The teacher was not obligated to go there with his/her class.  The students went on their own in special circumstances, but it was mostly reserved for the teachers. I was convinced that it would cost more than I could pay.  So I opted to listen and dream, Mr. Oguro was my only chance, how prophetic was that thought. 

With book in one hand and orchestrating with the other, he left me spellbound. The hem of his slacks landed evenly upon the heel of his shoe as he strutted slowly with an intentional rhythmic tone.  Looming vocals of loud to soft, Greek names rolled off his tongue, “Antioch”, “Poseidon”, “Andromedes”.  His pursed lips bearly moved with each pronunciation.  It was obvious that he belonged anywhere else except this classroom.  Slowly and mechanically, he completely erased the profile of his face as he turned his head without the evidence of a neck.  His hefty build commanded attention in the room as his slanted eyes darted though out the room and into each students’ soul.  With the silouette of Alfred Hitchcock, he mysteriously weaved through out the desks revealing the secrets of a far off land.  His shirt pocket protector held three colors of pens; red, blue and black which influenced his students’ rituals for their lifetime.  Though capable of terror, his judgement was withheld.  Each color represented his authority within the classroom; red for errors committed, blue for encouragement and black for the darkness of hell unleashed.  Mr. Oguro was neither frightening nor scary; he was inspiring.

The teacher that changed my life now read from the Book of Prometheus and dared to explain to 5^th graders how vanity is the downfall of every talented and gifted son.  After reading yet another story of bravery and self-sacrifices, Mr. Oguro asked us to write a story to show what we had learned from our own literature.  I began to write about a young brave who cared for his sisters and brothers in their tribe, whose mother had been shunned by their village for choosing to marry a white man.  Mr. Oguro taught me how to use my own life stories as I wrote.  During this time my mother was marrying a man who didn’t seem to mind having another man’s child in his house.  When Mr. Oguro read the story, he wept and put his hand on my head.  He looked at me with his piercing eyes and immediately slouched over to tell me he found someone to represent our school in the annual Hawaii State Writing competition.  I had no clue what he said but indeed went through an experience that I would never forget.  It forever changed my life.  I remember in one of our writing sessions to revise and edit, Mr. Oguro said to me, “Someday you will become everything you want to be.”  I was never able to show him my First Place award medal since he died before the school year was over. I carried his encouragement with me all my life.

Critical Teaching Incident 6/14/2011

6/14/11      Critical Teaching Incident:     “Mr. Oguro”

He seemed rather out of place in a school where children were running amuck with runny noses.  Often the mountain weather in Kalihi Valley wreaked havoc on the children of this area.  It rained so often and we neither had the ability to play in a covered area nor had supervision to understand that playing in the rain was not the best for a young child’s health.  Yet, in his finely pressed linen slacks, crisp white shirt and maroon striped tie, he sat perfectly in his teachers’ chair as the bell rang every day at Kaewai Elementary School.  He spoke in a low tone, with a slow and purposeful rhythm that seemed to hypnotize me.  He walked around the room and read from books that never displayed pictures instead they contained words that rolled off his tongue like bait on my grandpa’s fishing pole.   He would read eloquently and take me away from my daily anguish of seeing my mother as the “The Living Dead.”  I would file through the kitchen for something to eat for myself and my little brothers and sisters, run as fast as I could through the raindrops with children flailing like wind socks in the wind just to see that man again and again.  After months of being swept into the Islands of Crete, I began to walk into uncharted waters.  I dared to walk into the library. 

I never walked into the library before, a place I only heard about while eaves-dropping as teachers talked secretly.  The lady there took a look at me and immediately shooed me away like a stray dog.  I ran out as fast as I could.  Confused and bewildered, I imagined myself standing at a pier as the ship I just missed went voyaging into a new land; I was hopeless.  I could not believe that reading a book alone was something I could do.  You see in those days, the library was a voluntary service.  The teacher was not obligated to go there with his/her class.  The students went on their own in special circumstances, but it was mostly reserved for the teachers. I was convinced that it would cost more than I could pay.  So I opted to listen and dream, Mr. Oguro was my only hope. 

He spoke eloquently, book in one hand and orchestrating with the other. The hem of his slacks landed evenly upon the heel of his shoe as he strutted slowly with an intentional rhythmic tone.  Looming vocals of loud to soft pronunciations, Greek names rolled off his tongue, “Antioch”, “Poseidon”, “Andromedes”.  His pursed lips bearly moved with each pronunciation.  It was obvious that he belonged anywhere else except this classroom.  Slowly and mechanically, he completely erased the profile of his face as he turned his head without the evidence of a neck.  His hefty build commanded attention in the room as his slanted eyes darted though out the room and into each students’ soul.  With the silouette of Alfred Hitchcock, he mysteriously weaved through out the desks revealing the secrets of a far off land.  His shirt pocket protector held three colors of pens; red, blue and black which influenced his students’ rituals for their lifetime.  Though capable of terror, his judgement was withheld, unabated.  Each color represented his authority within the classroom; red for errors committed, blue for encouragement and black for the darkness of hell unleashed.  Mr. Oguro was neither frightening nor scary; he was inspiring.

The teacher that changed my life now read from the Book of Prometheus and dared to explain to 5^th graders how vanity is the downfall of every talented and gifted son. 

After reading yet another story of bravery and self-sacrifices, Mr. Oguro asked us to write a story to show what we had learned from our own literature book featuring the Plains Indians.  I began to write about a young brave who cared for his sisters and brothers in their tribe, whose mother had been shunned by their village for choosing to marry a white man.  Mr. Oguro taught me how to use my own life stories as I wrote.  During this time my mother was marrying a man who didn’t seem to mind having another man’s child in his house.  When Mr. Oguro read the story, he wept and put his hand on my head.  He looked at me with his piercing eyes and immediately slouched over to tell me he found someone to represent our school in the annual Hawaii State Writing competition.  I had no clue what he said but indeed went through an experience that I would never forget.  It forever changed my life.  I remember in one of our writing sessions to revise and edit, Mr. Oguro said to me, “Someday you will become everything you want to be.”  I was never able to show him my First Place award medal since he died before the school year was over. I carried his encouragement all my life.

Poem-Metaphor Lesson

6/14/11  Poem …….“Mr. Oguro”

He seemed rather out of place in a school

where children were running amuck.

His finely pressed linen slacks, crisp white shirt

sat perfectly in his teachers’ chair. 

His eloquent speech, slow and purposeful.

Its rhythm hypnotized me,  like the beckoning beat of a pahu drum.

Eloquently words rolled off  his tongue,

like bait on my grandpa’s fishing pole.

Read and take me away from my daily anguish.

Sister and brother flailing like wind socks,

sweep me into the Islands of Crete.

Walk into uncharted waters,  my window into a new land, never  going.

With a book in one hand and orchestrating with the other,  looming vocals go loud to soft,

his hefty build commanding attention.

His pursed lips bearly moved as he influenced his students’ rituals for their lifetime.

Obvious that he belonged anywhere else, he mysteriously weaved an intentional rhythmic tone,  

revealing the secrets.

Color represented his authority, 

darkness of hell unleashed

vanity is the downfall of every talented and gifted son

another man’s child in his house,  he forever changed my life.

Chapter 1 and 2 6/14/11

6/14 Chapter 1 and 2   Writing Workshop/Time and Space

Doreen Kaleiwahea

Writing Workshop, The Essential Guide, Chapter 1, Writing Workshop, describes writing as one of the most “powerful tools imaginable”.  It requires a “bundle of skills”, skills that can become rituals within the classroom so each student has access to be supported to develop these skills.  Along the way, improvement of fluency, vocabulary and comprehension are by-products, as well as building confidence and higher thinking skills (my interpretation). Required is a rigorous learning environment that supports the “flow” of writing.  Having tools in place, environment and time set, the optimal learning condition will assist your students into the “flow zone”.  Much like the zones we have been sucked into during our own “sacred writing time.” The tools may vary from class to class and may include; notebooks, laptops, writers word choice lists and/or idea lists, in the effort to create a “hothouse condition” for your new writer.  These metaphors help the teacher to look at the student writer as a new plant having optimal growing conditions.  With the temperature right, supports in place and realistic expectations, the experience of writing can fruit into the ability for a child to express his and herself; to be heard.  Isn’t that what children want?  Listen to ME!!

In Chapter 2, Essential Time and Place, the focus is magnified onto the optimal growing environment for the young writer.  Time can truly influence your young writers.  Choosing a time after lunch or before lunch may or may not be the best time to write.  Crucially, all things must be considered.  The rhythm of writing should be the new experience when regular and predictable time setting promotes growth.  The ever-revealing mini-lesson should pin-point a new skill. Give time to practice and positive feedback should be served often to encourages the “flow” (my interpretation).  A consistent meeting place makes a difference. The time and place with carefully arranged desks provide the optimal setting for the writer to exercise their new-found craft.  One-to-one conferences with personal and specialized comments encourage your student to see that errors are accepted and creatively solved.  Often, we can jump start ideas by recommending that they re-read their notebooks, browse through literature, talk with a friend (about literature), and/or revisit old drafts (pg. 18).  Don't forget to value and show-off their writing, surround yourselves (in your classroom) with a representation of each students' creation.