Quick Hit: Do NOT Start with Me

This afternoon, I came to the high school at 2:35 to pick Punk up for an appointment that she’d be late for if she took the bus home.  A group of students was waiting for their bus on the sidewalk on the far end of the driveway that loops to the front door, and a few kids were across the driveway so they could all throw snowballs at each other.  No problem; I expect that (especially considering there was a doozy of a snowball fight happening in the senior parking lot as I drove by).

I slowed and stopped so they could see me, and made eye contact with the two kids still on the driveway.  One of them crossed back to the sidewalk, so I slowly proceeded toward the door.  As I made my way by him, one of the students threw the snowball he was holding at my car, hitting the drivers’ side rear window.  He crossed the street behind me and rejoined his peers on the sidewalk.

In a dark red coat.  He was easy to pick out of the crowd.

I stopped the car, backed up, and called the young man to my passenger window where I calmly but sternly scolded him (I’m the mother of two teenage daughters and a high school teacher myself; I have some experience with this sort of thing).

Me:  You.  Over here….  What was that?

Kid:  It was a snowball.

Me:  I know it was a snowball.  Why did it make contact with my car?

Kid:  Uh…

Me:  NOT okay, do you understand?  Do not ever do that again.

Kid:  Okay.  Sorry.

To his credit, the boy apologized to me, and I heard him being soundly ribbed by the kids watching from the sidewalk as I drove away.

My intent was to embarrass him – which I did – and to make him think twice before he does something like that again.  I think he was genuinely shocked that I backed up to reprimand him, and I know that many (probably all) of the kids looking on were surprised; I’m sure they’re not used to being called to task by total strangers.

Punk-ass kid.

 

How Far the Ripples Go

Very long story somewhat short: I’ve got this kid… or, rather, I should say I HAD this kid.  Let’s call him Mitchell.

Mitchell and I never really got along very well.  While I’m sure there are a number of reasons for this, the one I come to first is that he’s a pretty insecure young man, and I think that my forthrightness intimidated him.  Regardless, he ended up leaving my class on ideological grounds; his mother, it seems, is a fundamentalist Christian, and from what I understand, she didn’t appreciate my challenging her kid in the ways that I did.

The truth is that I have nothing personal against the boy, and never have, though I don’t go out of my way to chat with him as his behavior around me makes it pretty clear that I make him uncomfortable.  That’s why I was surprised, and pleasantly so, when Mitch asked me this afternoon if I had a few free minutes I could give him.  I invited him into my room and gave him my full attention.

He started out by asking me some vague questions about how I handle fear.  I spent a little while talking about how different fear – fear for physical safety, fear about personal conflict, fear of intimidation, fear from shock or surprise – have different effects.  I let him know that I, personally, have difficulty managing my physical response to fear; despite going into a conflict armed with confidence and knowledge that I have a strong foundation upon which to stand, I still shake and my palms still sweat and I often find myself in angry tears.  I told him these things as a way of humanizing myself to him because, as I say, I know that his impressions of me have not been entirely favorable.

It turns out that, despite what else he may think of me, Mitch understands that I’m someone safe to go to with difficult personal issues.  He confided that he is having some pretty serious problems with a family member (not his mother), and that the issues are sufficient that he felt it necessary to warn the school about what’s been going on.  He asked me for advice on how to comport himself through these experiences, and I told him that while I could not counsel him – that I’m neither a social worker nor an attorney – I did know that, as an adult (he’s 18) he has absolute freedom of association; he gets to choose whether or not to spend time with someone, and that his fears of being compelled by court order to associate with the person in question are unfounded.  I recommended that he seek the advice of law enforcement about the possibility of a restraining order and that, if he feels it would do him some good, he should talk to a counselor to sort out how he feels about the whole mess.  I offered that I grew up as an abused child, and I understand that there are a terrible lot of mixed emotions that come with that legacy.  I also offered up confidence to the boy that I had faith in his ability to find his way through it, and told him that I would always be a listening ear if he felt I could be useful to him.

It turned out that I had some things to take care of a the end of the day, so I was on my way out the door when Mitch emerged from his meeting with administration.  He was clearly upset, so I hung back to offer up one last shot of support.  I took him aside, so that we wouldn’t be in the middle of the hall, and asked him how he was doing (though it was patently obvious the boy was on the verge of tears).  As I was giving him my “you’re not alone; there are plenty of resources; you’re strong and smart and I believe in you” pep talk, his mother came around the corner and stopped dead in her tracks.  I know, though I’ve never been told outright, that she has very little use – and even less respect – for me, but at that moment, I didn’t care.  Her son recognized me as someone safe to confide in, and I was not about to disrespect that for fear of what his mother might think.  She stood there, a respectful distance away, listening to every encouraging thing I had to say to her son.

Though I’m truly sorry for what’s happening to Mitch, this could not have happened at a better time for me.  After everything that’s happened at school these last several weeks, having THIS kid come to ME to address something difficult and painful and personal is nothing short of divine confirmation that I am doing a good job.  He sees me being a support to other kids; he recognizes me as someone safe and caring and generous, and came to ME despite our previous rocky history.  That tells me that what I do – and the way that I do it – are working.  This boy’s choice to seek me out for this personal issue is a vindication of the very public, open, and honest way I love my students.  ALL of my students.

Thank you, Mitchell.

You Get Out What You Put In

Every afternoon, a teacher in our school leads an end-of-the-day activity with the entire community.  These vary widely – we’ve done everything from music and movie trivia to musical chairs to a flash game of Apples to Apples.  Nearly anything goes.

Tuesdays are my days, and I had settled into a movie-related theme months ago that the community seems to like.  As yesterday was the last Tuesday with this year’s seniors, though, I decided to do something a little different.

In the past, we’ve had what we call “sticky note days” at our school.  These are randomly chosen days where, throughout the day, students write positive things on Post-Its and stick them to one another.  I love sticky note days; the notes are always positive (and often surprising), they can be anonymous, and the small space forces the students to really condense the things they want to say.  In this spirit, I cut a bunch of copy paper into smaller squares and invited the group to write love notes to each other.

“We are influenced for good by a lot of people,” I told them, “but rarely do we take the time out to tell them how much they mean to us.  The seniors are leaving on Friday, and I wanted to give you all an opportunity to say something to them – and to anyone else you want – to let them know that they mean something to you.”

The bulk of the group took advantage of the opportunity, and I was surprised that I ended up having to get more paper.

This morning, as I was handing out love notes during the chaos of the start of day, I overheard one student complaining about the activity.  “It makes some people feel bad,” she said, “because not everyone gets notes.”

She’s right, of course; not everyone DID receive notes, her among them.  I think she’s missing something important in her disdainful assessment, though.  The students who didn’t get notes this time around were, by and large, the students who don’t go out of their way for others.  The kids who didn’t receive notes are the kids who criticize other students, look down on them, or decline to participate fully in the things we do together.  These are the kids who don’t eat lunch with anyone other than their tight group or who – like the girl who spoke her complaint – openly speak ill of other students, often within their hearing.

I understand that it’s not a one-for-one formula, but I have discovered that, generally, one gets out of a situation what one puts in.  If you want to be liked, you’ve got to open up a little and make yourself available.  You’ve got to practice some generosity, some patience, and some forbearance.  You’ve got to treat others kindly and foster the kind of goodwill toward them that you’d like returned to you.  I didn’t point this out to the girl – I’m already on eggshells with her as it is, and she’s not in a place where she can hear these things from me – but I’m hoping that she does some thinking about it.

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Teaching the Pigs to Sing

Honest to God, you guys; I feel like barnyard the choir director.

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The last few weeks have been an unending shit storm of apathy and belligerence.  Tuesday, for example, 4 out of my 25 freshmen actually did the reading I assigned.  FOUR.  Out of TWENTY FIVE.  They had a major project due – for which I’d given them at least 3 in-class opportunities to work – and only two of them were able to present the project on time (and of those two, one of them was so poorly done as to be laughable).

This morning, three of my 16 seniors read the article I posted on the website.  I should mention here that the reading was due Tuesday, but I extended the date to Thursday because no one had read the article on Tuesday, either.

The thing that astounds me about all of this is that no one can give us any indication of what the cause of the problem is or of how to fix it.

I’ve about had it with this shit; I’m disheartened, I’m tired, and I’m sick unto death of caring more about the students’ grades than they do.

Thank God vacation starts tomorrow.

Guest Post: Sending Out an SOS

Help a blog buddy out, would you?  I think we’ve all felt like this at one point or another; how do YOU get through the impossible classes with little or no outside help?

*Note; I’ve changed some of the identifying details, but the rest is as my friend wrote it to me*

I can’t blog about this, as some of my co-workers read my blog, and I have to tell someone, so I figured who better than someone 2,000 miles away who  doesn’t even know where I work?!

I left work early yesterday.  I concocted this story about feeling a migraine coming on.  It was during my second class of the day, a senior class, so I had three classes of juniors remaining.  Here’s the thing, I wasn’t starting to see halos, I just had to get out of there.

Backstory: I hate my 5th period juniors.  I hate them with every fiber of my being.  Walking into the class makes me bristle and turns me into a completely different person.  The problem is this; in a class of 34 I have, depending on the day, 7-10 boys who are hellbent on making my class awful.  They’re rude, disrespectful, and generally awful.  They make me feel like I’m 16, that I’m stupid, that I have no control over my class.  I’ve NEVER in my 8 years of teaching felt like that.  From day one I’ve been (OK, I’m going to sound like a real fucking asshole here) a great teacher.  I’ve had control and respect and it’s seemed as thought I was born to do this.  But these boys make me question everything about my job and my competency to do it.

So yesterday, sitting in first period, I started having a panic attack about having to see my 5th period.  I just couldn’t handle it.  So I made up the story, got a sub, and left.

Am I a completely terrible person?  Am I going to some sort of teacher hell?  And an even bigger question, how the fuck do I make it through the next 17 weeks of my life without a) murdering someone, or b) killing myself.  Any thoughts?

I wrote back and asked her if she could go to anyone for support, or if she could implement any structures that would help.  Here’s what she replied:

I’ve tried everything.  I’ve sat down with individuals, pointed out their behavior issues, and asked them to be class leaders.  I’ve kicked kids out.  I’ve instituted bathroom passes because they asked to go every day (I’ve NEVER had bathroom passes before because I believe by 16 you should be able to be responsible for your own bodily functions).  I’ve taken away behavior points.  I’ve written kids up.  I called security once.  I’ve talked to everyone can I think of, counselors, my dept chair, my co-workers, basically everyone says the same thing “suck it up”.  I’ve tried having a good attitude, which is harder than anything else.  Nothing seems to work.

I thought that maybe it was just me, but several co-workers have subbed for me (I leave early on one afternoon about once a month for a workshop) and they all agree that if they had that class, they’d murder them.  

I keep a bright pink feather boa in my classroom.  I bought it when one of my co-workers from another dept, who I’m particularly close with, was voted grand marshal for the homecoming parade.  Now I keep it around for when I or my co-workers have bad days.  I wore it yesterday morning. 

So, my beloved teacher-blog community; what kind of aid can you offer?

The Nerve *Edited*

Sometimes, though not terribly often, I’m stunned by the audacity of some of my students.  I see a real disconnect between their perception of their performance and the reality, and here’s yet another shining example (I only edited to change his name and any identifying references):

Hello Professor

I was just wondering if the grade posted on blackboard is the final grade? It says I received a D, however when I add up all the grades that I received, even putting in worst possible case for the letter grades posted ie. 80 for a b-.  Also, it says I received an ” – ” for my personal narrative, but I have the paper right in front of me and you gave me an A on it writing “Louis, This is a good paper. you do a nice job of the “before and after” and though there are a few places I’d encourage you to trim and tighten, those aren’t enough to detract from your message A”  I then added up all the grades that you posted and I got 960/1162 which is about an 83% then I added a 95 which is about an A for the personal narrative and It comes out to be 1053/1162 which is about an 91%.  I don’t understand why I have a D? the whole reason I took this class again was because I received a D or D+ freshmen year. Retaking this class and getting a B is, quite frankly, embarrassing.  I understand that the English department has a 3 absent rule.  And to get a D from a A- I would have to skip a total of 11 classes and I don’t believe I did.  On the chance that I am wrong, I was very sick for a lot of this semester for some reason and I’m not saying it’s right, but I have already taken this class.  I have gone through most of this material before and it isn’t like I skipped the home work.  Yes I truly am sorry that I handed home work in late, but due to the power outage it put me a week behind and with intro to chemical engineering I was backed up with a copious amount of work and stress.  I know I have to prioritize my work and not make reasons for why things happen and take responsibility for these mishaps, but there are reasons for everything and that’s why things happen.  I’m a Junior in college already working my butt off with everything, just wishing I worked harder my freshmen year so that my GPA didn’t prevent me from getting into [LU's school of business].  I need a 2.9 in the class and I was kicked out of business stats because one of my credits from [LU's satellite school] did not transfer as the pre req that I needed.  I had to take the pre req this sem and if I get a B+ in english and a B+ in econ and hopefully a C in intro to chem engineering I will still be short with a 2.89.  I’m very stressed about everything because I already know I’m going to graduate late unless I do a full semester during the summer and Jterms, which I can’t because I need to get internships in for money and work experience because getting a job in this economy is super super hard from what I have heard.

My Apologies,
Louis Chandler

P.S. I know this sounds kiss ass, but i really thought your english class was a lot more fun than mine freshmen year.  I had a three hour lecture once a week and it was just so dry.  Your class was much more entertaining and I got a lot more out of it than my freshmen english class. so thank you

I swear to God, you guys; I can’t make this shit up.

Edited to include:  Here’s my response to Louis:

Louis, you were correct in that I missed updating your personal narrative grade.  I did that, and the result was that your grade increased to a C-.  Given the number of classes you missed and the number of assignments you turned in late, that is an entirely appropriate grade.
-Mrs. Chili

To which he replied:

Fair enough, I’m guessing there’s nothing I can do to change my grade now.
Louis

And then followed up with THIS gem:

I’m also just was wondering from someone who is around colleges all their life. What’s the point of putting all this stress upon myself? Why do I go into debt just to be able to get a job to get myself out of it?

A Curious Student,
Louis

I’m not planning on responding to this last bit….

“Are We Doing Anything Important?”

GAH!!!

Actual letter from an actual Local U. student.  The only things I changed are our names:

Mrs. Chili,

I didn’t realize until now that I am scheduled to work my work study job tonight. It is way to late to switch it now, so I don’t think I will be able to make class. I mean, if we are doing something really important, I guess I can call out. I am so sorry, this was definately my fault for not looking at my work schedule earlier. Just let me know what you would prefer me to do soon please, so i can notify my boss. Thank you Mrs. Chili.

James Dumbass

Dude has NO IDEA how insulting – and stupid – he comes off.

Nervy

I don’t know why, but I continue to be astounded by some of the things that my students will say out loud and to my face.

I’m currently sitting in the L.U. library with my freshman English class. The librarian gave a very useful and informative lecture about the numerous and, quite frankly, kick-ass resources available to the kids – databases and full-text online scholarly journals, citation makers, connections to other libraries’ resources; it’s a geek’s paradise. The students have everything they need to write their next paper literally at their fingertips, and I’m certain that they have exactly ZERO idea of how good they have it (in fact, I’m sitting here flashing back to my own time here as an undergrad having to hunt down actual books, can you IMAGINE?!).

The librarian’s lesson ended with about 20 minutes to go to the end of class. The students each have a laptop, plugged right into this treasure trove of intellectual gold, in front of them, and no fewer than THREE of them turned around to ask me if they could leave.

Really? No; REALLY?!

No, Babies, you may not leave. Knuckle under, use those brandy-new skills the nice librarian just gave you, and start working on your next paper. I’m sure that 20 minutes of focused work will not only not hurt you, but it may actually do you some real good.

Honestly.

Buy a Watch *EDITED*

I’ve got this kid.  Let’s call him Sam.

Sam’s one of those kids.  Sam has the ability to exude disapproval and annoyance from across the room.  Sam is bossy and loud and is completely unaware of boundaries.  Sam is of the opinion that the greatest tragedy in the whole of human history is that the world does not, in fact, revolve around him, and he takes every opportunity to try to change that.  He’s quick to judge others, with an almost vicious harshness, for the very same transgressions that others find particular to him, and he has no inkling of the irony.  He is hypocritical in the extreme and seems to take great delight in being the victim, even when no crime has occurred.

Sam also can’t tell time.

Sam has senior privileges and can come to and leave school according to his class schedule.  Sam has been late to our English class 9 times since the semester began.  We don’t meet every day, so nine times works out to be a significant portion of the class.  Also?  He’s can’t just come quietly into the class.  No; Sam’s got to make an entrance.  Sam’s got to be noticed.  Sam’s got to distract the kids who did show up on time and who are trying to get some work done at the beginning of class.  In fact, Sam proudly announced today that he had no excuse for being late; he just blew off his alarm clock.

Today was my straw day.  The same four kids, of which Sam is a sort of ceremonial figurehead, sauntered into my room anywhere from 5 to 15 minutes late for class, even after the talking-to I’ve been giving them for the last month or so about the importance of showing up to scheduled events on time.  Today, I dropped the hammer.  This little band of merry delinquents will be sharing a silent lunch with me tomorrow as detention, and they will do so again every day they choose to arrive for class on their own schedule.

Everyone but Sam took the news like men; Sam, of course, put up a stink.  “I get to leave after this period; I have senior privileges,” he told me, not a little petulantly.  My response was that senior privileges are just that, privileges, and can be revoked if they are abused.  Since Sam is late to class far more than he’s on time, I am revoking his privilege to leave tomorrow; he’ll be dining with me, instead, and perhaps, though it seems too much to ask, he’ll be ruminating on the importance of being prompt.

*Edited to include* Did I call it, or what?  It seems Sam is “too stressed out” to sit quietly for 40 minutes and serve a lunch detention.  He went to the counselor and raised a big enough stink that he was capitulated to.  I have officially given up on this kid; I’ll give him the 70 he needs to graduate and say “good riddance.”  Have fun stormin’ the castle, Kid, and don’t come back.