Sometimes even the best of us need a day off, or we get sick and can't make it to work. That's when we call in those unsung heroes who do the work of the weary... the substitute teacher! I know there's a special section in heaven for these folks. God knows I couldn't hack it as a sub, lo those many years ago. One of my fans, I mean my friends, offered this little gem to me as an example of the overzealous sub. I've, of course, offered my commentary alongside of the actual document. Need I remind you that I couldn't make this stuff up. Behold this thing of beauty:
Mr. Jones,
I was your sub for Friday; SEMS has me as having subbed for Smith but the office switched as often happens. (It's always good to throw the front office under the bus when subbing.)
I left the yellow attendance sheets and the sign-in sheets in your mailbox along with a few notes regarding "who did what when" so you can address their behavior as you see fit. I left the tests in the cardboard box on your desk.
You will see that I used the sign-in procedure differently than other subs. (because I am a trained professional ) I setup a blank page to become a seating chart and then, walking down the aisles (proximity!), (and I know my educational jargon) I asked for the student's name and alpha according to their seat location. This procedure that I call "Silent Roll" (I'm glad he didn't call it the silent but deadly roll) serves several purposes.
As soon as I start walking among the students to fill out the chart, they became quiet. Period 7 was the exception, but a few notes about that below.(Oh.. a cliffhanger)
Another purpose is that we get class started faster than if I were to call roll, and there are fewer chances for outbursts, etc. I use each interaction as an opportunity to at least say "thank you" to each student. This interaction helps later on. Depending on the class size and temperament,(like that of ill-tempered badgers) I sometimes say "Good Morning/Afternoon" and/or "Hi! or How are you today?" This small increment of interaction helps personalize "the sub" and makes additional requests easier.(don't we all appreciate common courtesy? why would kids be any different?) For example, a group of students in 3rd or 4th period were talking. I did the "kneel in front of the desk with one eye on the room" thing (Ohh that's what it's called) and asked a student which alternative outcome he would prefer: Keeping quiet - or - changing seats and then keeping quiet. He was quite the role model after that.(This is an example of "Morton's Fork" rather than Hobson's Choice.)(forgive me, but what in the sam-hill is he talking about?) Choices work.
Whenever I saw a cell phone out, I would ask them to let me hold it for ten seconds. After hesitation, they almost always said "Yes" which would give me the opportunity to say "If I see this again, it's a referral." Holding the phone while saying the necessary words increased my credibility. Quiet tones, personal and private conversation, strong impact.I was not as severe w/r/t/ ipods for several reasons, but often I said "No" and later relented for good behavior.(i.e. HE CAVED) Dr. Johnson at Local Community College told a class I was in that digital natives (how can you tell when digital natives are restless? they give you the finger! Get it, digital natives? finger?) actually work better when they have the noise on and I agree. (well if you agree, then school policy be damned.) ours is a progressive county (stop laughing) and I think there will be an official policy change in the future. (Thank you, Nostradamus) BTW, hats were not allowed (respect) and neither were sunglasses (blood shot eyes, etc.)(his or their's?)
Finally, the ad hoc seating chart becames (I didn't edit this... it really does say becames) useful if intervention was required. When the students saw that I knew their names and that I was writing notes on the seating chart, this was usually all that I needed to do to keep them from doing whatever they should not have been doing, because the loss of anonymity was unexpected, and because they believed the regular teacher would deal with whatever needed to be dealt with the following day.The procedure worked Periods 1,2,3,5 and 6. One period (2nd or 3rd - 20 student total) looked as though it might be full of behavior problems, but as soon as I started taking names(and kicking ass)/locations for attendance, it stopped. Period 5 was chock full of "cute remarks" such as "What's the answer to question __." I explained to all students that a diagnostic test is a formative assessment (? correct term)(I know Morton's fork and Hanson's choice but I don't know if I've correctly identified formative assessment) and by giving their own answer, Mr. Smith would then know what to cover.
Even so, Period 5 eventually calmed down somewhat. The only class which did not calm down was the last.A student in 5th asked me if I lisped, but I told her I program in LISP (List Processing, the macro language for AutoCAD and AI). (Dazzle them with bullshit) Her inability to offer a witty retort led to her subsequent ability to focus on her work. Period 7 had a few hardened cases who were disrespectful and obstinate. I identified them as "drawing pictures."
Because the facilities guy was pestering me all day to have the students do a desk exchange (What is he paid to do? Can I have that job?),(now we're casting aspersions on other people's jobs) when it became clear that 7th was not working, I had them carry the desks out. Facilities Management guy said they just made it more difficult. Not your (specific) problem. Not my (specific) problem, though of course, we should all seek ways to go above and beyond to enhance the experience for everyone. (my experience has been enhanced already) If we had done the desk exchange in an earlier period, then obviously there would have been problems in later periods because the replacement desks still needed to be brought in. These desks stack and there are special handcarts for moving them. As it happened, no classes were unnecessarily disrupted.
On the subject of facilities, I removed a buzzing and humming bulb from an overhead light and replaced it after 7th period. Contrary to student belief, the electric potential of 110V is not sufficient to travel through glass, my hand, my body, my rubber soled shoes, the plastic chair seat, the floor, and then to ground. The rotation friction of the bulb socket ends poses no threat if the bulbs are handled near the ends such that the theta angle (shear resulting from torsion of a thin-walled cylinder) is less than 45 degrees, meaning that the glass in the tub is stressed in direct tension rather than shear. It is shear that would allow the glass stresses to exceed Tau-max. Sigma-max for tension is not possible. I would have explained this to your kids,(but they are far too stupid to understand it, as are most people who have a life) but since many of them are still at "how many inches per foot" stage, it would have been a bad idea.
I am qualified to teach Math, Physics, and apparently, Introduction to Mechanics of Materials (Civil Engineer, you see). There was no health hazard. Improvement is a good thing. Next time I would waste no time introducing myself. The agenda was on the board and they knew how to do their tasks. Some classes, especially higher level, like me to at least say "Hello" (again with the common courtesy thing) but other classes work better when we get right to the work.
***I did not answer many of their questions during the diagnostic test. There were questions about how to answer and how much information to provide. I told them "just put the letter down" for multiple choice and "just the answer, not your work" for the other problems.Some other questions were of basic knowledge such as "how many inches in a foot." I listed them on the sign-in sheets, on the back.
***Please excuse my sloppy (and incorrect) derivation of the formula for the volume of the solid of revolution (cone). I chose to integrate A(y)dy from y=0 to y=h. It was done on the fly while walking around.(FOR SHAME) As soon as I sat in peace, here at home, it was easy. :-)(Oh, I'm sure it was...easy peasy)
***It was good to see a former student (C.S. - 7th period).
***I am preparing PowerPoint macros for my portfolio. Pick a subject and I'll do some for you.I would be happy to sub for you again. (no, really, use me. I mean it.)
I live in very close by making the commute easy to do. If you call me (That's a plus... if he's not at school in 30 minutes is the pizza free?)
Now, please don't misunderstand. Each time we have a substitute teacher in our classroom we're thrilled that no one bleeds, things get done and they leave some coherent notes. This diatribe, which I think it's safe to call this a diatribe, is overkill. I don't have time to read through the first volume in "How Great I am as a Substitute Teacher" by Joe Blow. Cut to the chase. I am not in a position to hire or fire you, although your inability to solve the equation outside of the peace and quiet of your own home does make me wish I could! Duh! I know this may not be as funny as I think it is...but you have to admire this guy's effort. He's a trooper from the word go and Dear Lord, please do not put this guy in my classroom!
Monday, December 15, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Homeroom...what is it good for...absolutely nothing.. say it again...
It's time to meet some of the young men and women who give me such a wealth of material... the motley crew that is my homeroom...
We only have homeroom once a week at my school, but believe me that's plenty of time. We're utilizing a program developed by Stephen Covey, which in and of itself is a good program, but it's rather lame. How in the world am I supposed to teach decision making and character education to a bunch of kids I see once a week for 30 minutes? Sure, I'm a super teacher and all... false modesty aside for a moment, but it's darn near impossible. This morning we focused on how well we know our parents. There was a survey for students to fill out regarding their parents, information like eye color, hopes and dreams... you know really easy stuff. Duane, who you may know from a previous entry, looks me in the eye this morning when I hand him his survey and says, "What's this shit, Miss?" Which was exactly what I wanted to know but was afraid to ask.
A word about Duane. Duane is the reason there is a stereotype of the African American gay young man. He's small so he's got a lot to prove, i.e. "i ain't never been no bitch, bitch" and he's snippy. Duane is the man you want in your corner in a "yo mamma" battle. The kid is good. He's got a rapier sharp wit and biting sense of the well timed come back. He's also a swishy as they come. I enjoy Duane. He's real.
I have twins in my class. One of them I taught as a junior and the other brother, well I didn't have him. Thank GOD! These two goons are constantly bickering with one another. It's like a lame Smothers brother routine. Mom likes me best. No, she likes me best. One young man wrestles and this has earned him the pleasure of his brother telling anyone who will listen that his brother is in fact, "a queer who rolls around with other guys." Naturally this doesn't go over well. It's a wonder to me how their parents can stand them. After all I only see them once a week for 30 minutes. I had no idea that 17 year old boys fought like 2 year olds.
There is a group of really good kids, i.e. in IB and AP classes, really smart and talented. They sit in the back of the room-near my desk and talk about things like which Shakespeare play they are reading and how each other's college application process is going. They're a really self-sufficient group of kids. At times I am sure they are afraid for their lives in that classroom.
There's another contingency of really good kids who come every Wednesday morning and ask me to help them with their English IV assignments. I do. I have some colleagues who believe that if they load a kid up with 50 vocabulary words a week they are TOUGH and their course is CHALLENGING. I can't quite figure out the logic behind this assumption and I don't have the heart to tell them that volume doesn't equal rigor. It just makes you an asshole. I'd also wager that they themselves don't know half of the vocabulary words they assign but that's a story for another day.
Then we have James. James is a young man who singlehandedly convinced a large portion of the class that Barack Obama was a secret Muslim and when he was elected President he would, in fact, bring over and I quote, because to not quote would lead you to believe I was making this up, he would "bring over all those BALALALALALALALA people." While I am certain that most days I am going deaf and genuinely don't hear half the crap they say, on that day I said, "I'm sorry. What did you say?"at least 3 times. I finally isolated the offending portion of the declaration, "James, what is BALALALALALA?" to which he replied innocently enough, "the towel heads, camel jockeys, you know, Miss." Should I point out that James is an African American young man? Never being one to fear pointing out the obvious I say, "James let me get this straight. You're an African American man..." I am interrupted at this point by Duane, whose two cents is always offered, "Miss, James think he's white. He ain't black, Miss." "Excuse me Duane... now, James, you're an African American man who is continuing to spread racial stereotypes?" "Miss, " he says, "It's true, they are towel heads." At this point my head exploded and I don't recall the rest of that day.
Last, but certainly not least, is Lynnetta. Lynnetta is a lovely young woman. She's tall and striking. Her weave is always impeccable, clothing is immaculate, heels are always at least 4 inches tall. Lynnetta is a knock out, except when she isn't. Most days Lynnetta is dressed better than most of the teachers at my school. She's a fashion plate from the word go. Her efforts are appreciated by the male population of the school. Young men really do clamor to carry her books. I thought that was a myth of days gone by, but they really do carry her books to class for her. It's amazing. She's also completely aware of her power. Lynnetta is the what the Spice Girls had in mind when they chanted Girl Power! She owns it and works it. I admire it really. On days when she's not on her game Lynnetta is unrecognizable. She'll sport old, baggy sweatpants, BEDROOM SLIPPERS, some hugely oversized t-shirt and her hair will be wrapped up in some sort of bandana thing. The first time she came in like that I didn't know who she was. I asked her if she was new to the class! She was offended. Imagine that. Lynnetta is Frack to Duane's Frick. She is his back-up when they tag team James. Duane will usually make a comment on James's blackness and Lynnetta is his "Amen" choir. It's really a beautiful thing. It's like a carefully choreographed dance. Duane sweeps in with a barb, and Lynnetta adds insult to the injury.
At the end of the 30 minutes I am just happy that no one is bleeding and no one got their feelings hurt, too badly. The kids at the back of the room file out and say good-bye, the vocab. crew gives me an appreciative "thanks, Miss" and the others well they just run out as fast as they can as if somehow I've been torturing them.
We only have homeroom once a week at my school, but believe me that's plenty of time. We're utilizing a program developed by Stephen Covey, which in and of itself is a good program, but it's rather lame. How in the world am I supposed to teach decision making and character education to a bunch of kids I see once a week for 30 minutes? Sure, I'm a super teacher and all... false modesty aside for a moment, but it's darn near impossible. This morning we focused on how well we know our parents. There was a survey for students to fill out regarding their parents, information like eye color, hopes and dreams... you know really easy stuff. Duane, who you may know from a previous entry, looks me in the eye this morning when I hand him his survey and says, "What's this shit, Miss?" Which was exactly what I wanted to know but was afraid to ask.
A word about Duane. Duane is the reason there is a stereotype of the African American gay young man. He's small so he's got a lot to prove, i.e. "i ain't never been no bitch, bitch" and he's snippy. Duane is the man you want in your corner in a "yo mamma" battle. The kid is good. He's got a rapier sharp wit and biting sense of the well timed come back. He's also a swishy as they come. I enjoy Duane. He's real.
I have twins in my class. One of them I taught as a junior and the other brother, well I didn't have him. Thank GOD! These two goons are constantly bickering with one another. It's like a lame Smothers brother routine. Mom likes me best. No, she likes me best. One young man wrestles and this has earned him the pleasure of his brother telling anyone who will listen that his brother is in fact, "a queer who rolls around with other guys." Naturally this doesn't go over well. It's a wonder to me how their parents can stand them. After all I only see them once a week for 30 minutes. I had no idea that 17 year old boys fought like 2 year olds.
There is a group of really good kids, i.e. in IB and AP classes, really smart and talented. They sit in the back of the room-near my desk and talk about things like which Shakespeare play they are reading and how each other's college application process is going. They're a really self-sufficient group of kids. At times I am sure they are afraid for their lives in that classroom.
There's another contingency of really good kids who come every Wednesday morning and ask me to help them with their English IV assignments. I do. I have some colleagues who believe that if they load a kid up with 50 vocabulary words a week they are TOUGH and their course is CHALLENGING. I can't quite figure out the logic behind this assumption and I don't have the heart to tell them that volume doesn't equal rigor. It just makes you an asshole. I'd also wager that they themselves don't know half of the vocabulary words they assign but that's a story for another day.
Then we have James. James is a young man who singlehandedly convinced a large portion of the class that Barack Obama was a secret Muslim and when he was elected President he would, in fact, bring over and I quote, because to not quote would lead you to believe I was making this up, he would "bring over all those BALALALALALALALA people." While I am certain that most days I am going deaf and genuinely don't hear half the crap they say, on that day I said, "I'm sorry. What did you say?"at least 3 times. I finally isolated the offending portion of the declaration, "James, what is BALALALALALA?" to which he replied innocently enough, "the towel heads, camel jockeys, you know, Miss." Should I point out that James is an African American young man? Never being one to fear pointing out the obvious I say, "James let me get this straight. You're an African American man..." I am interrupted at this point by Duane, whose two cents is always offered, "Miss, James think he's white. He ain't black, Miss." "Excuse me Duane... now, James, you're an African American man who is continuing to spread racial stereotypes?" "Miss, " he says, "It's true, they are towel heads." At this point my head exploded and I don't recall the rest of that day.
Last, but certainly not least, is Lynnetta. Lynnetta is a lovely young woman. She's tall and striking. Her weave is always impeccable, clothing is immaculate, heels are always at least 4 inches tall. Lynnetta is a knock out, except when she isn't. Most days Lynnetta is dressed better than most of the teachers at my school. She's a fashion plate from the word go. Her efforts are appreciated by the male population of the school. Young men really do clamor to carry her books. I thought that was a myth of days gone by, but they really do carry her books to class for her. It's amazing. She's also completely aware of her power. Lynnetta is the what the Spice Girls had in mind when they chanted Girl Power! She owns it and works it. I admire it really. On days when she's not on her game Lynnetta is unrecognizable. She'll sport old, baggy sweatpants, BEDROOM SLIPPERS, some hugely oversized t-shirt and her hair will be wrapped up in some sort of bandana thing. The first time she came in like that I didn't know who she was. I asked her if she was new to the class! She was offended. Imagine that. Lynnetta is Frack to Duane's Frick. She is his back-up when they tag team James. Duane will usually make a comment on James's blackness and Lynnetta is his "Amen" choir. It's really a beautiful thing. It's like a carefully choreographed dance. Duane sweeps in with a barb, and Lynnetta adds insult to the injury.
At the end of the 30 minutes I am just happy that no one is bleeding and no one got their feelings hurt, too badly. The kids at the back of the room file out and say good-bye, the vocab. crew gives me an appreciative "thanks, Miss" and the others well they just run out as fast as they can as if somehow I've been torturing them.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
When the thrill is gone I hope someone tells me
School is the great equalizer. We've all been and therefore we are all experts on the subject. So when I tell you that there are teachers out there who are dead, and like Bruce Willis in the 6th Sense they just don't know it yet, you probably already knew that. These are the folks who hate kids. I cannot imagine why I'd continue to go to a job that requires me to deal with children if I didn't like kids, call me stupid. I just don't get it.
I had a colleague, let's call her Mary, who was just such a creature. I don't think she'd ever admit that she hated kids, but she did. She'd say things to students in the hallway that on first hearing them they sounded innocent enough but if you really listened you realized that they were just awful pot shots at the kid's expense. Things like, "Oh Ashley, are you trying out a new hair style?" and the unsuspecting young lady would answer, "Why yes, Miss Causeascene, I saw it in a magazine." The little 8th grade girl, trying desperately to figure out who she was would answer and beam that someone had noticed. Little did she know that this was just the opportunity Mary was dying for. Mary looked the young lady right in the eye, smiled this sadistic smile where only the corners of her mouth turned up and said, again I could not make this stuff up, "I'll bet it looked good in the magazine." I gasped as I witnessed this scene. I looked immediately to crest-fallen Ashley and saw her little shoulders slump and her smile fade. She'd been had. It was awful. I always wanted to tap Mary on the shoulder and say, "You know you're dead, right? The Thrill is gone, the horse is dead-dismount for the love of God."
When she wasn't dashing their hopes and dreams she was engaging in lose-lose battles of will with them. Anyone who knows kids knows that you don't back them into a corner, you don't make them look stupid in front of their peers and you don't engage in power struggles. Power is never up for grabs, but our dear Mary was a master of the age-old tradition of jerking kids around simply because she could. On one such a occasion a young man, a student on our team who was challenging to say the least, was assigned to In-school Suspension for several days. She sent him work and received it back the next day with a doodle or a scribble from the student written on it. In the upper right hand of the paper she had written her name: Ms. Causeascene.
The paper came back with the young man's edit: Ms. Pork-n-bean. She thrust it in my face and was furious that he would be so disrespectful. SO... she writes on the paper: That's not funny, young man! The next day the paper is back in her mailbox and said young man has felt compelled to reply: Yes, it is. It's damn funny. This little exchange goes on for one or two more days. You'd think she was the adult and would let it go, or at the very least just stop it but nooooo.. .she keeps it going and is infuriated that he doesn't stop. Duh! She engaged him. She asked it for it, the way sweet little Ashley had asked for her to dash her self-esteem that day in the hallway. I'll admit that I laughed at the kid's smartass replies to her. He was holding his own in the battle of wits and wills. I admired and respected him for that.
I had the pleasure of working with Mary for many years. I knew her pretty well. I also knew how to work around her. One year we were eating lunch and I was relaying a laundry list of concerns I had for a certain student. They were in a bad situation at home and I was heartbroken for them. I said that I hadn't really slept the night before because I was so worried about the student. She puts her sandwich down, looks me right in the eye, and says in a tone that was nothing less than astonished, "You really care about these kids, don't you?" I said, "Yeah, I do." Equally astonished. "Yeah, not me." She says. " I don't think about them when I'm not here."
We all know folks like Mary. We've been their classes. We've worked along side of them. We've maybe even been them from time to time. I just worry about becoming Mary. It's a mantra that I've adopted. "Don't be a Mary Causeascene." When I feel I've become a little negative I think to myself "Oh no...I've become Mary." Let's face it. Teaching is tough. It's often thankless, God knows the pay and respect stink, but in the end what we do matters. Mary is the teacher that gives us all a bad name. She's in teaching for three reasons: June, July, and August. She likes to grouse about how little we're paid, how little we're respected, how little we're trusted. She's got a litany of complaints and nearly nothing on the positive list. I feel sorry for Mary and teachers like her. I know the job is hard. I know that kid's aren't what we were when we were in school, they don't come to us loving algebra or nouns and verbs, and if they did they wouldn't need us. I have a relative who also teaches and he's frequently guilty of crying, "oh, my students are so dumb" to which I reply, "and so, you're the teacher, what are you going to do about that?" but that's story for another posting perhaps. Teachers like Mary just need that tap on the shoulder and a gentle push towards the light. It's warm in the light. The angels are singing there. Kids sit in neat little rows, raise their hands eagerly and always say "good morning" in unison when you greet them in the morning. Where's that damn Haley Joel Osmet kid when you need him?
I had a colleague, let's call her Mary, who was just such a creature. I don't think she'd ever admit that she hated kids, but she did. She'd say things to students in the hallway that on first hearing them they sounded innocent enough but if you really listened you realized that they were just awful pot shots at the kid's expense. Things like, "Oh Ashley, are you trying out a new hair style?" and the unsuspecting young lady would answer, "Why yes, Miss Causeascene, I saw it in a magazine." The little 8th grade girl, trying desperately to figure out who she was would answer and beam that someone had noticed. Little did she know that this was just the opportunity Mary was dying for. Mary looked the young lady right in the eye, smiled this sadistic smile where only the corners of her mouth turned up and said, again I could not make this stuff up, "I'll bet it looked good in the magazine." I gasped as I witnessed this scene. I looked immediately to crest-fallen Ashley and saw her little shoulders slump and her smile fade. She'd been had. It was awful. I always wanted to tap Mary on the shoulder and say, "You know you're dead, right? The Thrill is gone, the horse is dead-dismount for the love of God."
When she wasn't dashing their hopes and dreams she was engaging in lose-lose battles of will with them. Anyone who knows kids knows that you don't back them into a corner, you don't make them look stupid in front of their peers and you don't engage in power struggles. Power is never up for grabs, but our dear Mary was a master of the age-old tradition of jerking kids around simply because she could. On one such a occasion a young man, a student on our team who was challenging to say the least, was assigned to In-school Suspension for several days. She sent him work and received it back the next day with a doodle or a scribble from the student written on it. In the upper right hand of the paper she had written her name: Ms. Causeascene.
The paper came back with the young man's edit: Ms. Pork-n-bean. She thrust it in my face and was furious that he would be so disrespectful. SO... she writes on the paper: That's not funny, young man! The next day the paper is back in her mailbox and said young man has felt compelled to reply: Yes, it is. It's damn funny. This little exchange goes on for one or two more days. You'd think she was the adult and would let it go, or at the very least just stop it but nooooo.. .she keeps it going and is infuriated that he doesn't stop. Duh! She engaged him. She asked it for it, the way sweet little Ashley had asked for her to dash her self-esteem that day in the hallway. I'll admit that I laughed at the kid's smartass replies to her. He was holding his own in the battle of wits and wills. I admired and respected him for that.
I had the pleasure of working with Mary for many years. I knew her pretty well. I also knew how to work around her. One year we were eating lunch and I was relaying a laundry list of concerns I had for a certain student. They were in a bad situation at home and I was heartbroken for them. I said that I hadn't really slept the night before because I was so worried about the student. She puts her sandwich down, looks me right in the eye, and says in a tone that was nothing less than astonished, "You really care about these kids, don't you?" I said, "Yeah, I do." Equally astonished. "Yeah, not me." She says. " I don't think about them when I'm not here."
We all know folks like Mary. We've been their classes. We've worked along side of them. We've maybe even been them from time to time. I just worry about becoming Mary. It's a mantra that I've adopted. "Don't be a Mary Causeascene." When I feel I've become a little negative I think to myself "Oh no...I've become Mary." Let's face it. Teaching is tough. It's often thankless, God knows the pay and respect stink, but in the end what we do matters. Mary is the teacher that gives us all a bad name. She's in teaching for three reasons: June, July, and August. She likes to grouse about how little we're paid, how little we're respected, how little we're trusted. She's got a litany of complaints and nearly nothing on the positive list. I feel sorry for Mary and teachers like her. I know the job is hard. I know that kid's aren't what we were when we were in school, they don't come to us loving algebra or nouns and verbs, and if they did they wouldn't need us. I have a relative who also teaches and he's frequently guilty of crying, "oh, my students are so dumb" to which I reply, "and so, you're the teacher, what are you going to do about that?" but that's story for another posting perhaps. Teachers like Mary just need that tap on the shoulder and a gentle push towards the light. It's warm in the light. The angels are singing there. Kids sit in neat little rows, raise their hands eagerly and always say "good morning" in unison when you greet them in the morning. Where's that damn Haley Joel Osmet kid when you need him?
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Early in My Career
When I was a younger teacher, maybe my third or fourth year, I encountered a situation that still warms my heart. I had a particularly challenging young lady, as most 8th grade girls are, and her name was Ashton, not her real name. Ashton was that rare beast, or at least at that time she was a rare beast, of an 8th grader. She had the look of someone who had done A LOT of living. She resembled a 40 year complete with a really rough, I smoke a pack day, voice and just a really WORLDLY demeanor. She was a tough nut, as they say.
One afternoon I called Ashton's house to discuss her surly behavior and Ashton answers the phone. I identify myself and she says, "Hang on Ms. N, let me get my mom." Two seconds later another preadolescent voice takes the phone and is introduced to me as Ashton's mother. I'm not detective folks, but I knew this wasn't the kid's mother. So... I have the discussion I intended to have with her actual mother and maybe I embellished a little bit, said somethings I might not ever say to a parent and was assured by mother that I would not have another moment's trouble with Miss Ashton, giggle giggle in the background. I was nothing if not proud and determined when I was new to the classroom and I was damned if a 13 year old was going to pull one over on me! I steamed. I plotted my revenge!
I waited until 8 pm to call back. When the phone was answered this time it was a real adult . I introduced myself as Ms. N and said that I just wanted to clear up a few things with Ms. Ashton's mother from our earlier afternoon conversation. Of course mother was really perplexed. "What earlier conversation?" She asked. "Oh," I replied innocently, "the one we had about Ashton's behavior today." "We didn't talk today." She says. "Oh," again as innocently as possible, "we didn't? Because when I called this afternoon Ashton told me that she would get her mother and then I spoke to someone else then who claimed to be you." Do you remember that scene in the film, A Christmas Story? The one where Ralphie is being punished for uttering the F word? His mother calls the mother of his friend Swartz and tells her that Ralphie heard that abominable word from Swartz. What transpires is we get to hear Swartz's mother beat his ass. That very thing happened here. Ashton's mother screams her name and summons the child within earshot and proceeds to really go to town. I even think that perhaps Ashton got an ass whippin' too that night, much to my sadistic delight.
My husband walked past me and asked what was with my big goofy grin. I hung up the phone and replied triumphantly, "somewhere in our town tonight a kid is getting her ass whipped and that's a comforting thing."
Of course I realize how cruel this must make me sound. I get it, you bleeding hearts. I don't condone beating your kids. I do, however, believe that sometimes each one of us has a moment when our uppence comes and that night I witnessed that moment for Ashton.
One afternoon I called Ashton's house to discuss her surly behavior and Ashton answers the phone. I identify myself and she says, "Hang on Ms. N, let me get my mom." Two seconds later another preadolescent voice takes the phone and is introduced to me as Ashton's mother. I'm not detective folks, but I knew this wasn't the kid's mother. So... I have the discussion I intended to have with her actual mother and maybe I embellished a little bit, said somethings I might not ever say to a parent and was assured by mother that I would not have another moment's trouble with Miss Ashton, giggle giggle in the background. I was nothing if not proud and determined when I was new to the classroom and I was damned if a 13 year old was going to pull one over on me! I steamed. I plotted my revenge!
I waited until 8 pm to call back. When the phone was answered this time it was a real adult . I introduced myself as Ms. N and said that I just wanted to clear up a few things with Ms. Ashton's mother from our earlier afternoon conversation. Of course mother was really perplexed. "What earlier conversation?" She asked. "Oh," I replied innocently, "the one we had about Ashton's behavior today." "We didn't talk today." She says. "Oh," again as innocently as possible, "we didn't? Because when I called this afternoon Ashton told me that she would get her mother and then I spoke to someone else then who claimed to be you." Do you remember that scene in the film, A Christmas Story? The one where Ralphie is being punished for uttering the F word? His mother calls the mother of his friend Swartz and tells her that Ralphie heard that abominable word from Swartz. What transpires is we get to hear Swartz's mother beat his ass. That very thing happened here. Ashton's mother screams her name and summons the child within earshot and proceeds to really go to town. I even think that perhaps Ashton got an ass whippin' too that night, much to my sadistic delight.
My husband walked past me and asked what was with my big goofy grin. I hung up the phone and replied triumphantly, "somewhere in our town tonight a kid is getting her ass whipped and that's a comforting thing."
Of course I realize how cruel this must make me sound. I get it, you bleeding hearts. I don't condone beating your kids. I do, however, believe that sometimes each one of us has a moment when our uppence comes and that night I witnessed that moment for Ashton.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
I've been ignorant...but I ain't never been no bitch, bitch!
The title sums it up, pretty much. I have a senior section for homeroom. They are by far the most entertaining group of young people I've ever met. They discuss such meaningful topics as "you ain't really black, " "you think you're white," and "No.. Barack Obama is a secret Muslim and he will bring over all of those "balalalalalala" people when he's elected." Today's topic was "you're a bitch, bitch." and the conclusion of that conversation is "I've been ignorant, but I ain't never been no bitch, bitch!" I love 'em. I really do. They are passionate and LOUD about those passions. They think nothing of dropping an F bomb or some other four letter word and my presence is simply an inconvenience. I remind them, "yoohoo! I'm in the room." They always apologize. "I'm sorry Miss, but Duane is a muthafuckin' bitch, Miss." And you know what, you can't argue with that. :)
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Please?...Please?...Please?.....Please?
Thanks to all the parents who have trained their children to continue begging for their way with a simple, well timed, please? 16 & 17 year old young adults will stand next to my desk, ask a question, get an answer they already knew was coming, and then proceed to bombard me with an endless string of pleases... This can only mean one thing. Some parent, somewhere has been worn down, after the 500th please they cave in. Thus a child has learned to outlast the adult. Let me just say two things, 1) BUCK UP! No means no. If you need help understanding that one let me introduce you to MY mother. She understood that one perfectly, and 2) THANKS A WHOLE FRICKIN' BUNCH, because of you your kid thinks every adult is a push over and will cave. Good grief. Could you just raise your kids the way I think they should be raised? Please? Please? Please? Please? Please?........
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Snack and what it is NOT...
I thought this would be nice way to catalogue some the weird and wonderful things that happen on a day to day basis in my classroom. As you know kids say and do the darnedest things or at least that's what Art Linkletter says. Need I remind you that I teach 11th grade so the things my students say and do are more than a little strange sometimes. One such instance centers around a young woman, let's call her Fancy, and her interpretation of my snack policy.
My school frowns upon allowing students to eat in class. I guess it's a pest control issue or something, but I've never been one to really follow all the rules, especially the ones I think are stupid. So.. I allow snack. I make it abundantly clear that I am not their mother; I will not clean up after them and the moment that snack becomes inconvenient for me it's over. Fancy, again a close approximation of her name, began by eating an entire can of pringles in the space of 50 minutes. I guess I thought, stupid me, that snack implied a quick bite, an apple, a package of crackers, a candy bar even, but not something that took an entire class period to eat. So, I explain to her that snack is quick, not all period. Snack can't be the main focus of class. She hems and haws but I think we have an understanding. I am satisfied. She's got it!
Next day, I cannot make this stuff up, the bell rings. I come inside the classroom and am immediately greeted by the overwhelming smell of a bait bucket. I can't believe it. I sniff like a bloodhound and lo and behold I find the source. It's Fancy. She's propped up in the back of a row, desk covered in papertoweling and in the center is a plastic container. In her hands, delicately balanced in her fingertips actually, is a shrimp. She is eating peel and eat shrimp for snack, complete with a little hot sauce for dipping! I understand the adage "ask a dumb question" because I said, "Fancy, honey... what in the sam-hill are you doing?" Her reply, just as sweet as you please was, "Scrimp." "Ohhhhh..." I say, "Didn't we cover the whole snack vs. meal issue yesterday?" She looks me dead in the eye and says, "But Miss I'm hongry... and a girl has got to eat." And I reply, "You're right, Fancy. A girl has got to eat." Two days later, not of my doing, the brainacs that run our master schedule realized that Fancy was supposed to be in an ESE co-taught classroom situation and not in my gen. ed. English III class. Perhaps they will have better luck in getting the snack v. meal argument settled once and for all.
My school frowns upon allowing students to eat in class. I guess it's a pest control issue or something, but I've never been one to really follow all the rules, especially the ones I think are stupid. So.. I allow snack. I make it abundantly clear that I am not their mother; I will not clean up after them and the moment that snack becomes inconvenient for me it's over. Fancy, again a close approximation of her name, began by eating an entire can of pringles in the space of 50 minutes. I guess I thought, stupid me, that snack implied a quick bite, an apple, a package of crackers, a candy bar even, but not something that took an entire class period to eat. So, I explain to her that snack is quick, not all period. Snack can't be the main focus of class. She hems and haws but I think we have an understanding. I am satisfied. She's got it!
Next day, I cannot make this stuff up, the bell rings. I come inside the classroom and am immediately greeted by the overwhelming smell of a bait bucket. I can't believe it. I sniff like a bloodhound and lo and behold I find the source. It's Fancy. She's propped up in the back of a row, desk covered in papertoweling and in the center is a plastic container. In her hands, delicately balanced in her fingertips actually, is a shrimp. She is eating peel and eat shrimp for snack, complete with a little hot sauce for dipping! I understand the adage "ask a dumb question" because I said, "Fancy, honey... what in the sam-hill are you doing?" Her reply, just as sweet as you please was, "Scrimp." "Ohhhhh..." I say, "Didn't we cover the whole snack vs. meal issue yesterday?" She looks me dead in the eye and says, "But Miss I'm hongry... and a girl has got to eat." And I reply, "You're right, Fancy. A girl has got to eat." Two days later, not of my doing, the brainacs that run our master schedule realized that Fancy was supposed to be in an ESE co-taught classroom situation and not in my gen. ed. English III class. Perhaps they will have better luck in getting the snack v. meal argument settled once and for all.
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