Teaching punctuation and grammar (the write way!)

Posted on Oct 22 2009 at 11:18 AM

By Mollie Dickson

“When bankers train to identify counterfeit money, they study authentic bills. For it is in knowing intimately the genuine, that one is able to identify the false.” ~Deanna Eaton

Picture this:

You shuffle into Algebra just before the bell, slide into your seat, and search for a blank piece of paper for today’s notes. Mr. Matthews wastes not a moment, immediately delving into a complex quadratic equation for you to ponder—gaze upon—as your brain visualizes the process and connects how the given formula leads to z=0.25.

Now, science:

You whisper one last question to your partner as you prep for today’s lab. Ms. Sanders calls everyone to attention and your eyes are fixed, staring intently as she demonstrates the proper pouring of lithium nitrate. She models precisely how to measure, mix, and melt, to ensure your success in achieving that bright red glow.

And finally, the last period of the day:

Dragging your feet a bit, you take a deep breath to boost your energy—you’ll need it—as you slip into your seat in the back row of Mr. Landon’s Language Arts class. Already glaring from the whiteboard is an incorrect sentence. You stare in silence, trying to make sense of such a jumbled mess: “allison hasnt no food for the potluck and she hasnt chose to bring nun” You repeat this line aloud in your head. Over and over and over. Studying it. Absorbing it. Digesting it. Now, you take out your red pen to make changes—to fix it—because that’s the routine. You mark capital letters, apostrophes, spelling, commas… when you’re done with it, it just looks like a red blob. But hurry, raise your hand. Too late. Mr. Landon tosses Sarah a watermelon Jolly Rancher for proclaiming that “Allison” should be capitalized. Don’t worry, you still have a sure bet by announcing that “there needs to be a period at the end”. And yes, a bright blue fruit chew lands in your hands. Mmm raspberry.

****

Does this sound familiar? Was this the Language Arts class you sat in? Is it the one you teach? If you’re nodding your head, you’re not alone. In fact, most English teachers have used this strategy to “teach” grammar and punctuation. But why? Come take a closer look. Ponder the purpose. Reflect on the unintended consequences. Consequences? Yes. Consequences. Let’s break it down: students come into class and the first thing up on the board is punctuation. Now, for many students, this glaring incorrect sentence, day-after-day, acts as a gatekeeper, blocking any chance they have to ever enter into writing. Imagine: before Johnny has a chance to delve into his thoughts and explore ideas that may awaken his voice and lead him to fall in love with language, he’s stopped (by a screwed-up sentence). He stares it. Stuck. “I suck.” “I can’t do it.” “I’m not a good writer.” But he hasn’t even tried writing yet! This jumble of words to correct… this isn’t writing. But now he thinks it is. So he checks-out the rest of the period. And what did he absorb from the day’s lesson? A wrong sentence.

Day-after-day, seeing and saying aloud in their head the wrong way, this is what becomes ingrained. Come time to write or take a test, it’s all the incorrect examples that look and sound so familiar. No wonder students become confused over punctuation and grammar! And here’s an ironic situation: one morning the teacher decides to display a correct sentence on the board; students come to class, sit down, stare at it for a moment, then whip out their red pens and start making changes. Because that’s what they know how to do. That’s how it works. No wonder some students can quite confidently fix-up these sentences, yet still flounder when attempting to transfer these rules to their own writing. I’m sorry, but two wrongs do not make a right. In no other subject do we present the wrong way in order to teach our students how to master a concept. Take another look at the snapshots I described from a math and science class. Can you imagine, instead, starting the day with an incorrect quadratic equation displayed on the board? Or Ms. Sanders bringing lithium nitrate (a strong oxidizer) into contact with reducing agents, in order to demonstrate how not to ignite a hazardous fire? No. This would never happen. So why has it become so commonplace in a Language Arts classroom?

Many people will counter, “Well this is how it is on the test,” so I must clarify. #1) No. This is not how it is on the test. On tests, if they ask you to correct a sentence, there is only one (or no) error(s). You are not staring at a jumbled mess of words and told to fix it. #2) The format of tests are not intended to inform instruction. Just because we test that way, does not mean we are supposed to teach that way. Instead, teachers must recognize the knowledge that is required to answer particular types of questions, and use teaching strategies that will allow students to acquire such knowledge.

Okay, enough of what not to do (after all, that is exactly what I’m arguing against). So settle in, and now imagine this Language Arts classroom: you pull out your writer’s notebook and gaze at the beautifully crafted sentence displayed on the front board. Your task? Not to fix it. To admire it. After a minute to reflect, to write it down, to re-read it aloud in your head, the teacher asks, “What strikes you? What do you notice about this sentence?” Students point out everything from punctuation to figurative language; some discuss the tone and effect of the author’s voice; others notice patterns in structure; and one requests to read it aloud again, just to once more hear the rhythm. Next, it’s your turn. You are invited to play with language—to imitate the structure and style of this sentence—as you compose your own. Without hesitation, pencils hit the paper, bodies lean forward, and heads hover. The focus is intense. As you play with different words, dots, and dashes, you get to feel firsthand the effects of punctuation and grammar—how one comma can shape meaning, one dash impose a pause, three words create rhythm—it’s power. Hands shoot up, eager to share. Although there’s no Jolly Rancher this time, your arm reaches high, waving frantically. Only ten minutes into class, and already you are diving into writing and discovering your voice. Time to celebrate your efforts and creativity—sentences are posted on the walls, displayed on the teacher’s website, and read-aloud—okay, it’s official: you are a writer.

*****

Friday, I had the opportunity to attend Jeff Anderson’s workshop for teachers. His books (Mechanically Inclined and Everyday Editing) are filled with creative, engaging strategies to teach grammar and punctuation authentically and in context. My favorite? Using well-written mentor sentences (as an alternative to modeling incorrect sentences for students to fix). Before we broke for lunch, I committed to beginning each work-time, in my own classroom, with a beautifully crafted mentor sentence—an invitation for students to notice, to imitate, and to celebrate. This teaching strategy encourages all my students to be writers, simultaneously boosting their confidence and competence. So my challenge for you? Give it a try! Here’s one to start:

“His room smelled of cooked grease, Lysol, and age.” ~Maya Angelou

What do you notice? What else? What’s the effect (in other words, what’s that comma doing?)? Now, using her structure and style as a guide, try crafting a sentence of your own. Here’s the sentence I composed, thinking of my sister:

“Her car smelled of stale Starbucks, ballet slippers, and stories.”

Go ahead, and try it. You’ll be hooked!

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Comments

Prepositions By Unknown on Oct 16 2009 at 10:48 PM
You know what's interesting? I was just thinking the other day about how I never followed the rule of "no prepositions at the ends of sentences!" until I had read several sentences following that rule (well, really, I read several good books that contained several sentences which followed that rule).

The more I read "good" grammar, the more it seemed natural, and the more I internalized it.

When presented with a grammar concept as a stand alone principle, without practicing it, there's no way for it to feel natural.

I guess it's kind of like learning a dance - you know there's a proper form and proper steps, but the first time you do it, it feels weird. The more you do it, the more it gets retained in your muscle memory, and the more natural it feels. Suddenly one day a piorette is easy.

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