Ebjournal Revisited.

IRA–>No, Not That

(warning: Stuck: It’s long.)

You may have noticed a gathering taking place in Chicago.  Planned for months, demonstrations, exhibits of free speech, and camaraderie for the fellow human took center stage here in downtown Chicago.

The immigrant workers’ march?

No, the International Reading Association Annual World Convention.

The 51st  Annual Convention, to be exact.  You see, gentle readers, I am a lucky dog.  This year I am participating on our district’s literacy framework committee, a group of overzealous teachers who are interested in the future of how reading is going to be taught in the district.  Adoption is still three academic years; this group is focusing solely on the philosophy of what should be taught.  Because of this, I heard about the IRA annual convention early, and asked my principal if I could go.  She said yes.  So here I am, between sessions, relating to you the innerworkings of these fancy conventions.

I started out my day at McCormick Place, or as we in Chicago like to call it- “McCormick Place—Hey, we still have conventions! Ignore our hotel and convention taxes, and come here! To McCormick Place!” I was greeted by a throng of humanity— at least 5,000 people, 85-90% of them angry women. Why were they angry?  The line.  Most of us had pre-registered—we just needed to pick up our ultra-spiffy lanyard to mark us to the pickpockets as a rube/out of towner/lost tourist. Lord, the line.  It wound around most of the exhibit hall— horror stories of teachers waiting in line for two hours, just so they could be stamped and allowed in the door.  Thankfully, I overheard one of the only people directing human traffic say, “You don’t need your lanyard to go into the general session,” which was the only reason I would have stood in line.  This was the first of my good fortune of the day.

The next piece of good fortune came when I walked in the huge exhibit room where the opening address was taking place.  Ten people after me, they closed the door—it was full. Who are the first people I see? Three administrators from the district, and they have an extra seat in the second row!  Of course, since I’m friendly (I’m not always snarky—you should see me at school…) they offered me the extra seat.  I made it in time for both the IRA president (who said teachers rock) and Jonathon Kozol (who also said teachers rock, and made me feel bad for teaching in suburbia).  I ducked out of Kozol early, and found the line (yes, another one) for the shuttle bus.  On  the way, I ran into another teacher in my district.  She’s only here for the day, so she was VERY angry about the lines. As I’m standing in the bus line, I hear a voice call out my name.  I turn around and see a teacher I used to work with in Champaign!  Crazy, considering all the people.  She joins me on the bus, and we chitchat about our changes in life.  I get to the Palmer House, where my next seminar is, and find the pre-registration line, with all of four people in it.  I pick up my lanyard/homing device, and head into a symposia on responding critically to literature.  Seven presenters in under three hours.  It was a whirlwind.  Another boon granted upon me by the teacher gods- the meeting room had wireless, so I was able to look up the websites the presenters gave in real time, a good use of technology.  Unfortunately, my laptop died after two hours, and I was unable to reconnect to the web because the user/pw I used to get on expired (or the Palmer House figured out I was “using” their wireless connection).  So here I am, writing to you, because Past Me thought ahead to plan both sessions in the same room.  I should have brought a book.  Instead, I wrote one for you today.

My next session is entitled: Designing Reading Lessons for Diverse Learners.  I hope it doesn’t suck.  More updates soon!

RSS Trackback URL 1. May 2006 (18:05)
Filed under: General, School Daze