FTP in Blue: When, Why, and Whom to Teach Procedures To

Tiara holds a pencil high above the conventional grip.  Her pointer, middle, and ring finger wrap around to the front with a strained elasticity in their curvature.  Every day I correct her grasp, and the moment I step away, she snaps back into her custom.  When I reposition her fingers, they feel like soft clay,  varnished with a moist layer of stress. I’ve started reprimanding her for her grip from across the room, because at this point, I know she is capable of self-monitoring and repositioning. “Tiara! You know how to hold a pencil correctly.” Alongside her pencil grip, she insists on a handful of stubborn writing habits.  First, the only topic she writes about is riding the bus to school.  Next, she only writes in blue crayola marker when given a choice of colors, and finally, the only labels she attaches to her pictures are the capital letters “FTP”.  Regardless of the writing prompt, she takes her blue marker, draws a rectangle with two circular wheels, draws herself in the middle, and writes FTP.  Thinking about this from a distance, her resistance is hilarious. In the moment, it is infuriating. And ultimately, it is unacceptable because it is blocking her development as a writer.

Tiara is one of a handful of students who is causing me to question the time, place, and delivery of teaching procedure to students. Students who repeatedly display the same writing habits that lack meaning, not because of a lack of skills, but some refusal that they are not articulating, are challenging my understanding of how to balance the conflicting interests of time and empowerment. She is part of a subset of students who I am in a power struggle with : a few boys always write about race cars; one girl writes a string of letters that aren’t attached to a picture and have no meaning; another boy continues to claim that his outlandish police chase tales are true. When I see these displays, out of impatience and fear of slipping time, I either reprimand students, or just given them a direction. “Tiara, don’t write about the bus today.” “Kristia, draw a picture before you write letters.” “Kendall, you’ve already written about racecars, pick something new.” However these what-to-do’s deflect the fears, disempowerment, and disconnect that their recurring habits could represent. Telling Krsitia not to write a string of letters and draw first, tells her what-to-do but doesn’t address the deeper issue that she doesn’t see her writing as a means of communicating her thoughts that she and other people can make meaning out of. I could tell Kendall not to draw and write about race cars again, but that doesn’t address the issue that he doesn’t feel empowered to write about topics he knows about. These are all moments when the “what to do” is easy to produce, but afterwards feels inappropriate, and ineffective.