Thursday, February 21, 2008
Things substitutes do
Upon my return from a sick day recently, I saw the words "Wall of SHAME" written in large letters on my board. Uh-oh, I thought, my students must have really been acting up yesterday. So I asked them about it. From every class, the response was the same:
Any student arriving late had to stand at the "Wall of SHAME" for two minutes. Everyone else was instructed to point at the latecomer and laugh.
"Are you serious?" I asked each of my classes.
"Yeah, he was crazy!" everyone responded.
"What if the late person refused to stand at the board?" I asked.
"He would kick them out of class."
"So, did you guys laugh?"
"Yeah." "He told us to." "We had to!"
In a way, I have to say I admire the guy. I wish I could get the students to do what I wanted. I mean, all I ever really ask is that they do their best. But maybe that's asking too much ...
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Turn that smile upside down
Smiley was a positive, inquisitive girl in my fifth period class. Plus, when you saw her smile, you knew where the name came from.
It's the start of the second semester, and I'm talking about Smiley in the past tense. That's because she's gone. Quit. Hasn't been to school in weeks, and doesn't intend to come back.
In late December, just before winter break, she had been absent for a couple of days, and one of her friends asked me to call her at home. "I called her, and she was crying, saying that school was pointless," the friend said. I asked the friend for the phone number--sure, we have all of our students' personal information, but often it's wrong, so I needed a number that would be answered.
I called. Smiley's mom picked up. "Oh, she's got a cold," mom said. "She'll be back tomorrow."
And she was. After class the next day, I asked her to stick around. "I talked to your mom yesterday," I said. "She said you had a cold." She nodded. "Is that all that was wrong? Or is something bothering you?"
She stood there for a bit, contemplating.
"It's just that I don't see the point in coming to school," she said. "I mean, I have two classes that matter, with teachers that care and make me think. The rest of the day I just sit there." She gave me a rundown of her schedule, talking about the incompetent, bored, unprofessional teachers she has this year, her junior year, the year that'll determine her college choices and chances.
And what could I say? There are a lot of shitty teachers in Chicago. Protected by a shitty union. Sure, our school also has many, many dedicated teachers, working hard, pushing the students, expecting much. But ... sometimes a student gets an unlucky schedule.
So, my advice went something like this: "You're right. Some of your teachers aren't the greatest. But here's the thing. You have dreams of going to college. You want to be someone. If you quit because of your schedule, you lose. Those teachers stay. Here's what you should do: In those classes where nothing's happening, where the teacher has no control over the students, or doesn't care what you do, you should sit away from the disturbances and read something. Study on your own. And then in the classes with good teachers, really work hard. Every day, look for that one moment where you really learn something. One moment can change your entire life, and you don't know when that moment will happen, so you have to come to school every day and look for it."
I ramble like that a lot. I spend hours each week encouraging students to just stick around, trying to convince them that it's all worth it in the end. I should go into sales. Every once in a while it works.
In January, Smiley was back, looking invigorated and eager. "Hey, it's great to see you," I told her.
"I decided to take your advice," she beamed. "And you're right. Every day, I can learn at least one new thing."
That was about a month ago now. She hasn't been in class in the past three weeks. No one's answering the phone.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Northern Illinois University
Several of my former students are there right now, some because of my recommendation. Hopefully they're OK ...
Thursday, February 14, 2008
This must be what jail is really like
A familiar head popped in the door the other day. A really cool kid I hadn't seen in months. "Hey," I said. "What have you been up to?"
"Well," he said, "I was locked up. But I'm back. And I'm trying to get back in school here."
"Hey, that's great. Is everything, um, OK?"
"Yeah. I mean, I'm on parole now. But all that stuff's behind me now."
"Good. It's good to see you. Hopefully everything will work out. But I hope you hurry it up. The semester's already two weeks old, so you're already behind."
And so we chit-chatted for a bit. About things we're doing in class. About who's still here, who's gone. Of course there was a big question I wanted to ask but didn't. What had he been arrested for? I didn't ask, and he didn't offer up the information. Instead, he produced a report card.
"I got an A in British Literature," he said, pretty proud.
I looked at the grades: A in English and three B's. "Not bad," I said. "So, you took classes in jail?"
"Yeah. And the teachers there were really good. Good enough to be, you know, real teachers. They could work at a regular high school. It wasn't just worksheets and that kind of stuff. We read from textbooks and did, you know, work."
"That's really great. Tell me more about it. Like, how many guys were in your classes?"
"Classes weren't too big, maybe 12 or 13 people."
"And the teachers were good?"
"Yeah."
"And were there guards?"
"Oh yeah."
"In the room with you? In the back, just ready to kick some ass?"
"Well, not in the room. But the teachers had a button on their desk. And if there was trouble, they'd press that and the guards would come on in."
"Did that ever happen?"
"No ... you know, school was a chance to get out of your cell. Get out of the daily routine. Nobody wanted to mess that up."
"And so everyone was there to learn?"
"Yeah. Nobody messed around."
"Huh," I said, thinking, how the hell could I show my everyday students that school is, you know, an opportunity? A chance to get out of the cell of life that so many of them are stuck in, a chance to get out of the routine.
"Anyway, I'm gonna get going," he said. "I hope to be back in your class soon."
"Thanks. I hope you get back, too."
And if I get him back, I hope to write about it. And about whatever else happens.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Beer
After school, I'm in the school parking lot and I hear this form of hello from an ex-student. "Hey," I respond. "How's it going? What are you doing here?"
"I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd stop by and see my sister," he responds. "But do you remember? You still owe me a beer."
"I remember, I remember. Just tell me when you want to go grab one," I tell him. "In fact, I swear, I was just thinking about you today, so it's weird that you're here."
And I tell him that earlier in the school day, a student asked a question very similar to one he asked several years back: "Mr. P., when I turn 21, can I party with you?"
My response today, just like I told this guy several years ago, was something like this: "Trust me, when you turn 21, the last thing you'll want to do is party with me. I mean, I'm not much of a partier. Plus, you'll have much better things to do than drink with a high school teacher."
"Well, I still want to grab a beer with you," the kid in the parking lot says. But he's not a kid anymore. He's 23. Married, to his high school sweetheart. With a two-year-old daughter. With a house in the suburbs.
I look at him, thinking, man oh man, I taught this guy six or seven years ago. It's kind of cool that he still remembers me. And that I remember him, even though there are plenty of students I taught last year that I've already forgotten. "You're getting old," I say.
He laughs. His sister, who is a junior, comes over, laughs, and tells her older brother, "And you're getting a nice, big belly."
"Yeah," I say, "so maybe that beer isn't such a good idea."
If teaching were like running for president, maybe a reporter would ask the students: Which of your teachers would you most want to have a beer with? I'd probably win that popularity contest (although maybe the auto shop teacher would beat me out), but then, after having that beer and judging me objectively, the voters would eventually realize there's more to life than having a beer with a loser of a candidate.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Things that make me smile, #49
A E F H I K L M N ___
Most students worked hard on the puzzles, and there was excitement in the room as groups got answers right or wrong. But from one group, I heard this exchange:
"Man, where the hell does he get these questions?"
"I don't know. Must stay up late doing these."
"That man has too much time on his hands."
Things that make me smile, #351
Laughing about this at the English Department meeting, another teacher said, "One of my students swears that the best novel he has ever read is How to Kill a Mockingbird."
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Finals week
Anyway, I've got a couple of stories from these past few days to share, but I have a bag of papers to grade and enter before tomorrow. Grades are due at 3 p.m.! Not a good thing for slackers like me.
But I'll leave you with my theory on why time seems to go by faster the older you get (not sure if it's a theory or even if it's really mine, but whatever):
Time goes by faster the older you get because of fractions. When you're one, the year it takes to get to your second birthday is one-half of your entire life. That's a long time. Even in your teens, a year is one-fifteenth or one-sixteenth of your life. But now that you're well into your 30s, a year is a much smaller fraction of your life. And so a year doesn't last as long as it used to. I mean, this week is practically halfway over. This month is coming to a screeching (and freezing) end.
Leading one to this question: How can you slow it all down? One way, I suppose, is to do new things. By doing something memorable every day (or, sheesh, once a week), you slow life down, basking in all the newness of your existence. Or at least you can reflect on it all and say, Wow, I've done a lot. Another way to slow down time, I guess (although I don't know), is to reproduce. Yes, by watching your children go from zero to one, you get to see a human's entire lifetime (so far) pass by the way it should: slowly, interestingly, with wonder, with joy. Plus, waking up every few hours to feed the baby will make your nights feel like mini-lifetimes.
See you later! I gotta go experience something new now. (Yup, first time grading papers this year.)
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Weather report
New slang term #2
After school yesterday, a few kids stuck around to present their oral exams.
Two hours after all their friends had left, this group finished and was heading out. "Thanks for staying and doing this," I said, "instead of leaving when everyone else did."
"That's OK," one girl said. "All our friends are just getting fat at OCB."
"OCB?" I asked.
"Yeah, a big group of them went there after school today," she said.
"But what's OCB?"
"Old Country Buffet."
Friday, January 18, 2008
Don't You Forget About Me
The guys and I are playing "Guess Who He Likes" because one of them was laughing at the other for being "a vulture." Apparently, right after school, this kid wanted to talk to a girl at her locker, but he hesitated, and ended up walking past her a couple of times, sort of circling, before leaving without saying anything. So they came into my room and the one guy was laughing at the other one.
"You were such a vulture," says the one. The other looks sheepish. I ask about it. "Oh, he likes this girl but is afraid to talk to her," I'm told.
"Who is she?" I ask.
"Don't worry about it," says the vulture. "You don't know her."
"Sure he does, she's in his fifth period class," his friend says.
And so I pull up the class roster on my computer, complete with pictures, and ask, "Who is it?"
"I'm not telling you," the vulture says. "But you can try to guess. I'll give you two tries."
I look over the roster. I have no clue. Especially because it's my one class with 24 girls, so my odds of guessing are pretty low. "Give me a hint," I say.
"Based on what you know about me, who do you think?" he asks.
I have no idea. I tell him that and turn to the friend. "Describe her."
"Well, I think she's good looking, too," he says. "Which girls do you think are attractive?"
"Hey, I don't think about my students that way," I say.
And so the three of us are at my computer, the dancers are dancing, the girls are cutting out 3D glasses, and a fellow English teacher walks in and just stares at everything going on. "Hey," I say to her. "Come over here. We're playing 'Guess Who He Likes.' Which of these girls do you think this guy would like?"
She comes over. Looks at the computer. Looks at me. "You know, I came in here for a reason," she says, "but for the life of me, I can't remember what it was."
"When you figure it out," I tell her, "you know where to find me."
Later on, it's quiet. The vulture is the only one left. We're still talking about the girl he likes. I thought I had it figured out, but it turns out I was wrong. The one he does like is probably completely wrong for him, but I don't tell him that. Instead, I turn on some music. "Don't You Forget About Me" by the Simple Minds comes on.
"Turns out this song is very meaningful to me," I tell him. And I tell him this story: Back when I was his age, a junior in high school, I had a crush on a classmate. At the end of that school year, she wrote a really nice message in my yearbook. It was long and heartfelt, with definite feelings that I didn't quite understand at the time. Included was a comment about this very song: Basically, she said that songs like "Don't You Forget About Me" are worth remembering, not Pink Floyd's. The following year, I didn't have any classes with the girl and we lost touch.
"The weird thing," I tell the vulture, "is that she wrote that 20 years ago. And I still remember it. And every time I hear this song, I think about her message in my yearbook."
"That's really cool," he says.
"Anyway, don't listen to anyone that tells you not to follow your heart. If you feel a connection, go for it. You never know," I say. "In other words, don't chicken out like I did."
Which, in more ways than he can ever guess, is the story of my life.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Catching up
Personally, I liked the movie and the soundtrack. But whatever, I'm a 36-year-old guy. And I'll never say what all teenagers are like or would like. Derogatis, however, seems to be an expert on all things teen, writing:
As an unapologetically old-school feminist, the father of a soon-to-be-teenage daughter, a reporter who regularly talks to actual teens as part of his beat and a plain old moviegoer, I hated, hated, hated this movie. A few of my many problems:Um, Jim, in case it matters: I talk to (or at least talk at) 130 teenagers every day. And here's what I know:
* The notion that kids -- even smart and sarcastic ones -- talk like Juno is a lie only thirty-something filmmakers and fifty-something movie critics could buy. You want accurate wisecracking high-school dialog? Go back to MTV’s animated “Daria” or Sara Gilbert’s Darlene on “Roseanne.”
- Some teenagers are clever enough to talk like Juno. Most aren't. A few are even more sarcastic and witty.
- I've never run into anyone that talks exactly like the character in the movie (who, just like every character in every movie, has been created by someone else). Then again, I've rarely run into teenagers that talk like the ones on MTV do, either.
- Lots of the teens I deal with would probably hate the movie, too. Then again, just two days ago, one kid, an 18-year-old senior originally from Minnesota, was absolutely raving about the movie and how much it made him want to write music.
- In my eight years of teaching at CPS, I've never heard of one of my students giving up her baby for adoption. In that time, I've heard of plenty of abortions and births. And I've seen how difficult being a teenage mom is for these girls. So, if Juno promotes adoption, well, I think it's a message kids should see.
New slang term #1
"Wait, what does that mean?" I ask.
"Oh, these are just other people's. They asked me to hang onto them."
"Yeah, but what did you say? Ballin'?"
"Yeah. Ballin'. You know, rollin'. I've got it goin' on."
"Oh." Got that?
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Fitting in
Yesterday after school, a familiar face showed up in my room. It was 4:30, I was helping a couple of students put the finishing touches on their presentations. "Bonjour," the visitor said. "Are you going to be here a while?"
"Not really," I said. "Why?"
"Do you mind if we practice in here? Only ten minutes. Please?"
This was a kid I met on a spring break trip to Paris two years ago. Great kid. Every time he sees me in the hall, he says something in French, as if I learned anything on that trip.
"Fine," I said. "But not for long. I need to get out of here soon, OK?"
"Merci beaucoup!"
And with that, eight African kids rolled in, plugged in a boom box, and started pushing student desks into corners. I always think my classroom must look and sound pretty incredible after school. Either kids are hanging out or presenting some assignment or I'm cranking loud punk rock or ... or I'm at my desk pretending to work with a group of kids dancing, really moving, to some amazing rhythms in the middle of the room.
Every spring our school hosts an international festival. Students from all over the world attend the school, and they show off their cultural pride by dressing up and dancing to some traditional music. Well, each group needs a sponsor. And a place to practice. For some reason, this is my second year helping out the African students. They're from various countries--Ghana, Kenya, Eritrea, and probably other places I never heard of until I started working where I work. I hoped that my room-as-rehearsal-space would be a temporary thing this year.
The ten minutes yesterday quickly turned into thirty, and I finally kicked them out at 5:15. They returned today. And when I finally forced them to leave, one of the girls said with a bright smile, "See you tomorrow!" And two or three voices chimed in, "Thank you!" How can I refuse?
"I just better be in the yearbook with you guys," I yelled to them. "And everyone can play a game: What's wrong with this picture? Who doesn't fit in?"
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Noise annoys
Still, two girls almost simultaneously ask a boy to please shut up. "What?" he asks, "Why do you have to gang up on me like that?" Basicially, he had been minding his own business, making some clicking noise with his tongue, probably unconsciously.
"That's annoying," one of the girls says.
"Yeah," the other says. "Annoying!"
I walk over. "I'll tell you what's annoying," I say, ready to tell them about all the other noise going on, about the rudeness of telling someone to shut up, about students not working.
"What annoys you?" the tongue-clicker asks me. "Black people?"
"Oh never mind," I say and walk away.
Minor annoyances occur every day. How you handle them says a lots about your teaching. Some teachers get worked up over the tiniest little thing, the quietest little "fuck you" or other sign of disrespect. These days, I make it a point to ignore the ignorant. But it reminds me of when I was in high school. I remember thinking it hilarious when a friend and I started making pigeon noises in the back of the room. It was junior year English (the very same level I now teach) with a boring teacher that didn't really seem to know what she was doing. We figured we were probably driving her absolutely crazy. We also thought we were doing a pretty solid bird call.
When I think about it now, I realize the teacher probably heard us, probably knew exactly who was doing it. And she probably simply chose to ignore us.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Here's what I mean about honesty
Sorry to be bothering you again but you made a big grading error on the online grammar week 14. You put 31 points instead of 13. I just thought you should know.I probably would never have noticed that error, so if she hadn't said anything, she could've kept the few extra points (which are really negligible as far as her overall grade). I feel like I should reward her honesty, but I'm not sure how.
Have a great weekend!
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Four eyes
A. "You look like such a nerd!"
B. "Hello, grandpa."
C. "Scary!"
D. All of the above.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Chapter 26
It's incredible when the light bulb does turn on in students' heads--sometimes it happens to an entire class--and they start really responding to some work of literature. This happened last year. (Step into my memory ...) My eighth period English IV class, full of slackers and auto shop boys and recent immigrants, takes one look at The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini and declare that they'll never read it.
"Trust me," I remember saying, "you'll love it."
"That's what you said about Like Water for Chocolate!" someone says.
"What? You didn't like that one? Well, this one's different."
I then say two things to try to get the kids interested:
- Something really horrible happens to one of the boys in the book. It's one of the most horrible things that can ever happen.
- Parts of this book, well, made me cry. Here's what I tell them: "I was reading this book on vacation. I remember being on a plane, heading back from Ireland, when I got to a certain passage. It's not even a major event in the book, but it really touched me. And then I felt something trickling down my face, towards my chin. It was a tear! I realized I was crying. So I lifted the book"--I hold an open book in front of my face to show what I did on that plane--"so that no one could see me. After a minute I slowly lowered the book and peered over to see if anyone had noticed me crying. Luckily, everyone else on the plane was asleep. So I was free to cry. Ladies and gents, that's the kind of book this is."
During the next couple of weeks, I find myself interrupted by my eighth period kids at weird moments during the school day. Between third and fourth, for example, a head pops in and shouts, "Ooh, I hate that motherfucker!" It takes me a moment to realize she's talking about one of the characters. Before school, a student stops by to ask if this is a true story.
If there is a teacher heaven, this is it. Students engaged. Into it. But if teacher heaven exists, so must teacher hell. On the day the entire novel must be complete, the kids come into class, with very little enthusiasm. Damn, I think, none of them finished. How's that possible? They were loving it. They were devouring it. Maybe they just didn't want it to end ...
"That was the worst ending of a novel ever," one kid declares.
"Yeah," someone else says, "there's no ending. We don't know what happened!"
"Is there another chapter? Part two to the book?" a third voice wants to know.
"Hang on," I say. "You read? You all actually finished? And you didn't like the ending? I thought it was an amazing ending." I'm in heaven again. They read. They were engaged with the story and the characters. And now they have actual criticism. Yes, I'm in heaven, but they're in hell, so I have to come up with something fast. Forget the lesson plan.
"OK, fine, let's say it's a rotten ending," I say. "Let's make it better. Your assignment is to write the next chapter. How do you think it should end? Any questions? No? OK, it's due tomorrow. Go!"
And so they start writing. Silence in the classroom, 25 18-year-old, self-proclaimed nonreaders creating something for others to read. One question does come up a couple of times, and I know I have a hit on my hands: "How long can it be?" NOT how long does it have to be? I tell them to keep writing until the book is finished.
The next day they show up with their work, some with several pages. They're excited. They want to share, to read their chapter out loud. So I let them. Some go all over the place, with characters showing up at our school and turning to gangs and drugs, but everyone listens, laughs at the right moments, and applauds at the endings.
(INTERRUPTION--As I'm writing this, I realize what many of you are thinking: there's no way this happened exactly as I'm describing it. And you're right. Sure, there were kids that didn't read the book. There were those that didn't do the assignment. Or did it poorly. Or slept while others read. But lay off, OK? This is my memory, and this is what I choose to remember.)
There was one student that really stood out: A recent immigrant from Nepal, a very small and fragile-looking boy, who was quite smart but too shy and too intimidated by the others to talk much in class. After class he sometimes stuck around and we had some amazing discussions, me knowing very little about his country and him being very homesick. Somehow the class got him to read his final chapter out loud. It was long. His accent made him difficult to understand at times. But when he finished, the class literally gave him a standing ovation.
"Now," someone declared, "the book is complete."
If you've read the novel, you know how it ends. If you haven't, you should for two reasons: 1. Something horrible happens to a boy, and 2. You can try to guess which part made me cry. Oh, and here's a possible third reason to read the book: I'm including the final chapter, as written by my student, in the comments below. It's not perfect, but it's good. Read his work, and tell me what you think.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Success
"What if I decided I just wanted to end it all?" he announced.
"End what?" I asked.
"Everything," he said. "Suicide. What's the point of living?"
I looked at him. Gone was the usual twinkle in his eye. No mischievous smile. I decided not to take him seriously anyway. "Oh, come on, Isaac," I said. "Life is long and full of unexpected twists and turns. Enjoy the ride."
"Yeah," he said, "but what if all those twists and turns lead to nothing but dead ends?"
"You can't be serious. Wait, are you serious? Do I need to talk to your counselor about this?"
"Why?"
"Liability. If you do anything to yourself, I'll get in trouble."
"You could just pretend we never had this conversation," he said.
"I can, but I'd rather have you alive. I mean, you have so much to live for!"
"Like what?"
"Well, look at me for example," I said. "One day you can be as successful and cool as me."
He cracked up, quickly transforming back to his jolly self.
"Damn you! You got me," he said as he continued to laugh. "Successful. You!"
Welcome to Obama country ... I mean, Hillary's home state
So, yeah, a quick post about teaching: Today, for the first time this election cycle, a student asked who I'm going to vote for. Always quick on my feet, I asked, "Who do you think I should vote for?" And always a Chicago guy, I added, "And how much are willing to pay me for that vote?"
Dealing with mostly African-American and Latino students, I always wonder if I should let my bleeding heart flow. It's a debate I've had with other teachers, especially the ones in the social studies department. They don't like revealing to students how they vote. So the kids assume that all of their white, tie-wearing teachers vote Republican. I, on the other hand, don't mind going off on an anti-Republican rant from time to time.
Any thoughts out there? Should a teacher show his true political colors? Or should the teacher teach critical thinking skills and let the kids make up their own minds?
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Sacrifice
After fifth period one of my students stuck around to talk. She was bummed out. Her mother recently told her she'd have to transfer to another school after this semester. "My mom doesn't like the influences here," she said.
"And she thinks it'll be different at the other school," I asked, "because you won't know anyone?"
"Yeah, at least for the first month," she answered, "and then it'll be the same thing."
As I was getting started on my motivational speech on how change must come for within, how she'll never succeed anywhere until she first realizes the importance of success, blah blah blah, the school social worker walked in and interrupted.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said, "but I have to tell you something, and then I have to get going."
"Sure," I said, expecting him to tell me about his apartment building or some such thing.
"You really inspired one of your students," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "I think you should be proud."
Oh boy, I thought, now what?
"Issac brought in a sword to school today. It was about this big," he said, extending his hand down from the floor to his chest. "He said he brought it in for you. Well, first he said he was going to sacrifice some goats."
Did he actually bring a sword into the building? Yes, walked right in with it in plain view. Was it taken away? Oh yeah. Was anyone informed? Yes, police were called. Mom was called. She came in, and after an extended interview with the young man--during which time he repeatedly refused to acknowledge the seriousness of the situation and kept dropping his English teacher's name--mom took the sword home and he was allowed to return to his classes.
This kid Isaac (not his real name) is a little weird. A weird, chubby, video-game-playing, anime-watching kind of weird. The kind of kid who says things like, "One day, I will rule," and everyone laughs. In other words, a potential threat in the post-Columbine world.
Still, I know he was bringing it in to show me. I don't think we ever discussed him bringing in a sword, although I'm pretty sure he once told me about it. And I bet I must have sounded intrigued. "Oh really? You have a sword? How nice," I probably said while doing my attendance or something.
And I definitely remember discussing goat sacrifice. We were reading Beowulf, talking about how Hrothgar's people started praying for the devil's help in ridding the kingdom of Grendel. And, just to show the creepiness of the situation, I did say something like, "Now, how many of you would worship the devil just to get an A in my class?"
The whole class shrank in terror at the thought. Except for Isaac, who said, "I would! I totally would."
"Really?" I said. "Would you worship, do the whole thing, even sacrifice a goat?"
He smiled, then turned serious. "For an A? Absolutely."
And so I know he wasn't lying about bringing in the sword to show me.
Later in the day, I saw the head of security. "Hey," I said, "what's this about Isaac bringing in a sword?"
"He did," she laughed. "And now that I think about it, he did mention your name. What was that about?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said. "I guess I'm just trying to be an inspirational teacher."
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
ESP
Similar thing happened today.
During the school day, I was typing something long and boring, and I started wondering if I had a student I could ask to type for me. This got me thinking about one of my former students, someone I'll call Janet, who could type about 100 words per minute. She used to almost beg to type for me, and whenever she did, a group of students would gather in awe. I was pretty amazed, too. I'm an OK typist, but I doubt I can do more than 50 words per minute. (In fact, as I'm writing this, I'm mistyping every other word. Maybe I'm nervous just thinking about how bad a typist I really am.)
Anyway, after school, I checked my mailbox, and there was a note from Janet, the very same student I hadn't seen or thought about in a couple of years until today. Apparently she had stopped by the school to tell me about a book she had written, wanted to know if I wanted a copy. "Weird," I thought, "I was just thinking about her." I also thought it weird that she had written a book. "Wonder what it's about," I wondered.
So, flash-forward to tonight. During the OSU-LSU football game, I grabbed a bite and a beer with a friend at a Lincoln Square bar. Afterwards, walking to my car, guess who I ran into. Yup, Janet.
"Hey, I dropped a note in your mailbox today," she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to run into a former teacher at night in some random neighborhood.
"Yeah, I know," I said. "What's this about you writing a book?"
"Oh, I wrote a book about being a groupie," she said. "Do you want a copy?"
"Um, sure."
Something tells me I don't really want to read it.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Postcard from California
For a fraction of a second, I lost track of time and place. Yes, it was a mere fraction, but enough to remind me why I'm here in California. "Odd," I thought in that fraction of a second, "looks like they forgot to take down their Christmas decorations ... and it's summer already."
Of course it wasn't summer already. It was was New Year's Day, just a week after Christmas, but it was summer still. It's always nice in San Diego. Sunny and in the 70s on New Year's Day. Back home, a new layer of snow covered streets and windshields and the city settled in for below zero wind chills. "This is why I want to move here," I reminded myself after chuckling about my summer thoughts.
Today I'm in the San Francisco area, and while the weather isn't as perfect, this place is perfect in so many other ways. I think that this time I really am through with Chicago. Just need to finish off the school year, and next year, this blog could be Oakland Teacher Man or some such thing.
Incidentally, if anyone out there has connections in a Bay Area school district, I could use all the help I could get ...
Saturday, December 29, 2007
The more they change, the more I stay the same
"Yeah," I said, "I've got a bunch of hungry students to bribe." In my classes earlier that day, I asked students if they wanted to have some sort of holiday party before break. I said I'd bring in snacks if they would, too.
"You're a teacher?" the cashier asked.
"Yeah," I said, and told him where.
"That seems a little amazing, a teacher having a party for students," the cashier said.
"Really? Why?" I asked. "Where did you go?"
"Where did I go? I'm still a student," he said. "I go to Lane Tech."
"No kidding," I said. "That's where I went."
"When did you graduate?"
"A long, long time ago. Back in 1989. The last great graduating class of the 80s."
He smiled, finished ringing me up, told me to have a great holiday. "Thanks," I said. "And make sure you tell your teachers, especially your English teacher, that the teachers at my school throw parties for their students." One of the main differences between a place like Lane and the school where I'm at is that we often have to beg our kids to just show up. Hence the party. Usually on the day before a two-week break, attendance is very weak, especially in the afternoon.
As I moved to pick up my groceries, the bagger looked at me. "Do you remember me?" she asked. "I graduated two years ago. We met at the hostel." I never taught the girl, but I had chaperoned a field trip/service learning project at the downtown youth hostel.
"Oh yeah," I said, not remembering her. "How's it going?"
"Great. I work here and go to school part time."
The cashier pointed to another cashier and said, "She went to your school, too."
"Oh hi," I said, not remembering her either.
I left the store, wondering about all the kids I've taught or come into contact with over the years. If I stay at my school any longer, every person I run into in the neighborhood will be some sort of connection. Soon, my students will probably be children of former students.
It's the end of another year. Life goes on. People move on. Change. But as I reflect on who I am and what I have and haven't accomplished in the past eight years, I get that old feeling of stagnation. All the people I know, former students included, have progressed. New jobs. Promotions. Weddings. Babies.
Not I. I'm still just the Chicago Teacher Man.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Christmas break
On the day before Christmas break, I always get some cards from students. I'm usually happy when they spell my name right, so I actually pay attention if there's an actual message. Just this morning I actually opened the few I received, and here's something a girl wrote:
Mr. P,
Thank you for all you've done. Thank you for always believing in me. Thank you for pushing me hard. Thank you for dealing with all my stuff. Mr. P, I really appreciate you and the things you do for me. May all your wishes come true. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
You know what they say about this job being worth it if you get one little sign of gratitude from a student? Well, they're right.
Friday, December 14, 2007
The recruiter
If you've ever seen me speak in public, like at a wedding, you know three things:
- I get really nervous.
- I usually drink as much as possible before the speech.
- I then deliver a somewhat funny speech that lasts way too long.
And then I started telling little stories. Instead of telling boring facts about my school, I talked about some of my experiences with students. If you read this blog (which I guess you do), you know the kinds of stories I was going for. And the amazing thing was the audience actually got into it. They started laughing. With me. I didn't say too much, but when I finished, a couple of people actually applauded. Going back to my seat, one of the reps, a football coach, said, "Wow, that was great."
We then went to the gym, where our displays were up. And as the students and parents walked in, they walked right past me and straight to the magnet schools. Darn.
Eventually, though, some came back.
One Latino dad, with his cute wife and daughter, came over. "Your speech was really, really great," he said. "Thank you."
"Well, thank you," I said. "Do you have any questions?"
"Yes. My daughter is in seventh grade right now. I wonder, what can we do," he said, pointing at himself and his wife, "to get her ready for high school?"
At first, I thought that was a cool question. So I talked about making sure she keeps her grades up and researching all these high schools, checking out web sites, visiting, that kind of thing. But then the question sunk in. He was really asking so much more. He's probably an immigrant, most likely did not attend high school or university in the States, and he wants help. My help. Like I know how to raise kids. Like I even know anything about the different high schools and options.
"Well," I said, finishing up. "I think you're already doing everything right. You're interested. You want what's best for her. Just keep doing that. Make sure she knows you support her, that you love her. And you want what's best for her, so that's why it's important to you who she hangs out with and whether or not she's doing her homework."
And I looked at the girl. "And you need to always remember that your parents want you to succeed. So listen to them."
They left. The other reps started packing up. I did a quick count. Gave away nine or ten of my school's folders.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
California dreaming already
I was thinking about that yesterday as I headed off to work. Here we do think about the weather, so I was bundled up. Sweater, gloves, hat, winter coat. "Come on," I thought to myself as I walked out of my building, "this isn't so bad."
Literally five steps later, I slipped on a patch of ice. Didn't fall. Didn't even almost fall. But I felt my left leg slipping forward, almost bending my knee the wrong way. I felt just a little achy the rest of the day.
After school, one of my colleagues stopped by and we chatted about winter break. "I think we've decided on San Diego," he said about himself and his girlfriend.
"Wow," I said, "I was just looking at airfares there last night. The best I found was $250 there and $99 back. On Southwest. Funny how it's so cheap to fly to Chicago in the middle of winter."
It's a week and a half before winter break, and I still don't have plans. And I guess that sounds bad. But then again, at least I've got two weeks off coming up. I need a break from the kids.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Two kinds of unique
1. Between fifth and sixth periods today, I heard a commotion in the hall. I peered out of my room to see a mass--a critical mass, you might say--of kids walking fast and loud in one direction. It looked like they were heading to watch a fight. But they weren't. They were just walking along as a group, loudly and happily trying to do something uniquely goofy.
And it worked. Soon, other kids were racing to catch up, following along, trying to see where everyone was heading. A couple of security guards came hustling up nearby stairs; they must have heard of a possible disturbance. From my vantage point, I could see this growing group just sweeping everyone else up along the way, including a kid from one of my classes. I called out, "Hey, where you heading?"
"I have no idea!" he smiled, and hurried down the hall. This is a kid who loves to pretend he's a leader in class, loves to show off and say funny things, to have the spotlight on him. But I guess he loves to follow, too.
About 15 seconds later, the leaders of the group switched course, and the whole mass of kids came charging back past my room, laughing, shouting, cursing. I'm going to predict that these kinds of group walks will become more commonplace in the days leading up to winter break.
2. Seventh period, students were quietly finishing their reading journals, preparing for a test tomorrow. Softly, almost to himself, a student started singing something along the lines of: "Questions, answers, have to answer questions ... la, la, la, la, la."
The kid next to him, a long-haired classic rocker, snickered, quietly said, "Hey, I love that song. Wasn't it at the top of the charts a while back?"
The singer stopped singing, probably a little embarrassed, probably wondering if he really had sung out loud. "Yeah," he said, "but I think the song just gave me a headache."
and a thank-you
Well, here's what this former student of mine, who is currently in her second year at UW-Madison, did:
- She emailed the girl.
- She phoned.
- She visited her here in Chicago.
- And then, she invited the girl to visit Madison for a three-day weekend.
Her classmates were amazed. Hearing about the classes and the dorms and sorority life, one girl said, with just a hint of jealousy, "That ... sounds ... so ... cool."
So, anyway, I'd like to say a great big THANK YOU to Summer. I think you've inspired an entire class of high school juniors with your generosity and time.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
On the Ninth Day at CPS Arne Duncan gave to me ...
Everybody knows that school cafeteria food is downright nasty. Every day, it's the same old slop that is so unappetizing that most dog owner would never feed it to their best friends. Is it any wonder that kids these days are getting unhealthy and lethargic?
Instead of eating the "food," Chicago Teacher Man suggests the following uses for the lowly (and disgusting) school lunch pizza slice:
And, if you get really desperate, round it off with a handful of fries and fancy ketchup, and you've got yourself exactly what hundreds of thousands of our kids eat five days a week:(With sincere apologies to my school's lunchroom ladies, who do their best with what they're given, and especially Doris, who gives me extra fries even when I don't want them.)
Monday, December 10, 2007
On the Tenth Day at CPS Arne Duncan gave to me ...
Feds uncover Chicago teachers' '10 Commandments'
CHICAGO (ap*) -- Federal investigators have found what they say is a "Ten Commandments"-style code of behavior for Chicago teachers at the hideout of the Chicago boss.Prohibitions include speaking to the media and taking credit for student successes, while members are urged to vote and treat their own aldermen with respect.
The list was found during a raid on the offices of Richard M. Daley, the current boss and mayor-for-life of Chicago. Investigators were there searching for clues regarding a number of corruption scandals that have rocked the mayor's office in recent years.
It is thought to have been drawn up as a "guide to being a good public servant." Similar lists are expected to be uncovered for police and fire department employees.
Although it has long been established that teachers report directly to their principals and Local School Councils, the document makes clear that the one true boss of Chicago schools is Daley, who says, "I am the Board of Ed." Activities apparently beyond the pale for Chicago teachers are complaining about charter schools and blaming anyone other than themselves for the failure of their students on standardized tests.
The document also makes clear that the union representing teachers must remain incompetent.
Investigators say that the documents seized during the raid--including the Ten Commandments--will give them an insight into how the Chicago Public Schools system operates.
* Read the original article about the mafia's 10 commandments.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
On the Eleventh Day at CPS Arne Duncan gave to me ...
Thought this would be the easiest post of my 12-days list, but a quick scan through my iTunes found very few songs about teachers or teaching. So it took a while to scour my entire music collection (and the Internet) to find ten songs--songs that mentioned teachers, teaching, or school. Then, I had to find one more to make this list one louder, as in Spinal Tap:
Well, it's one louder, isn't it? It's not ten. You see, most blokes, you know, will be playing at ten. You're on ten here, all the way up, all the way up, all the way up, you're on ten on your guitar. Where can you go from there? Where?1. Van Halen: Hot for Teacher*
Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad,
I'm hot for teacher
2. Pink Floyd: Another Brick in the Wall, part 2
We don't need no education.
We don't need no thought control.
No dark sarcasm in the classroom.
Teacher, leave those kids alone.
Hey, teacher, leave those kids alone!
3. The Clash: Stay Free
We met when we were in school
Never took no shit from no one, we weren't fools
The teacher says were dumb
We're only having fun
We piss on everyone
In the classroom
4. Beastie Boys: Fight for Your Right (To Party)
You wake up late for school man you don't wanna go
You ask you mom, "Please?" but she still says, "No!"
You missed two classes and no homework
But your teacher preaches class like you're some kind of jerk
5. White Stripes: We're Going to Be Friends
And we don't notice any time pass
We don't notice anything
We sit side by side in every class
Teacher thinks that i sound funny
But she likes the way you sing
(Also covered by Jack Johnson, probably the only song of his I'll ever own)
6. Urge Overkill: Dropout
What's the matter with you?
You've been down all day
What happened to you
To make you feel that way?
Baby ain't that a shame when they call you those names
Dropping out from school
Guess it wasn't so cool
7. Ramones: Rock 'N' Roll High School
Well I don't care about history.
Rock, rock, rock' n' roll high school
cause that's not where I wanna be.
Rock, rock, rock 'n' roll high school
I just wanna have some kicks.
I just wanna get some chicks.
8. The Replacements: Fuck School
Laugh in the middle of my speech
Swingin' in the hall out of reach
Teacher
What a bitch
Fuck school, fuck school, fuck my school
9. Rufus Wainwright: The Art Teacher
There I was in uniform
Looking at the art teacher
I was just a girl then;
Never have I loved since then
10. Fountains of Wayne: Hackensack
I used to know you when we were young
You were in all my dreams
We sat together in period one
Fridays at 8:15
11. G.G. Allin: Teacher's Pet*
I was never that teachers pet, no
I was a radical outside the rest, you know
You never follow the fucking rules
'Cause the teachers were a bunch of fools
Have I missed anything good? Feel free to add songs to this list, which will be turned into the Chicago Teacher Man compilation CD, available in time for the holidays.
* OK, I admit, I don't own songs one or eleven. But how can I keep G.G. Allin off this list?
Saturday, December 08, 2007
On the Twelfth Day at CPS Arne Duncan gave to me ...
Working for the Chicago schools, dealing with Chicago kids, you are likely to go through certain moods swings. I know it happens to me every year, as sure as the seasons change, as sure as every gain on the ACT is followed by two years of declines, as sure as every promise to come on time is followed by three tardies.
August
Mood: Giddy Anticipation.
Questions: Will this be the year I finally have good classes? ... the year I'll make a difference?
How long it lasts: Until the end of the first full day of classes
September
Mood: Bewildered
Questions: When will my program be set so I can set up my grade book? When will we be able to get textbooks? How the heck does this new attendance system work? What was wrong with the old one?
How long it lasts: Six to eight months
October
Mood: Determined
Questions: Don't you kids want to kick butt on the ACT? Aren't you ready to show the world what you're made of?
How long it lasts: Until the first practice ACT, where you see half your students asleep after 15 minutes
November
Mood: Serious
Questions: When are you guys going to start doing some work? Second quarter? Good grief. When am I going to start taking my life seriously?
How long it lasts: Until the day after report card pick-up
December
Mood: Grumpy
Questions: What do I want for Christmas? How about some effort? Or can you at least pretend you're interested?
How long it lasts: Until winter break
January
Mood: Resolute
Questions: Won't that kid be surprised when I call home to show how serious I am this year?
How long it lasts: Until the sixth disconnected number in seven tries
February
Mood: Resigned
Questions: What did I do in my past lives to deserve this fate? Where did I go wrong?
How long it lasts: Until the next lifetime
March
Mood: Anxious
Questions: How will I prepare these kids for the Prairie State? Why won't they take this stuff seriously? The test is next month, isn't it?
How long it lasts: Until the day of the test
April
Mood: Listless
Questions: Is the school year over yet? How many days left? Should I start a countdown calendar?
How long it lasts: Until you decide you can't be bothered to find a calendar
May
Mood: Tired
Questions: Should I quit? Will I be missed? Should I just tell everyone that I am out of here?
How long it lasts: Until you realize that summer break starts next month
June
Mood: Shocked
Questions: Those are the ACT results? That's not a misprint? What the--?
How long it lasts: Until the alcohol kicks in
July
Mood: Lethargic
Questions: Why isn't there air conditioning in this building? Why did I agree to teach summer school? What's wrong with me? Am I that desperate?
How long it lasts: Until the next regular school year begins
Thanks for the shout-out and for the idea
I'll present the days in reverse order, so that when it's complete, you'll see it from the first to the last day.
Stay tuned.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
One and one
I make my way around the room, get back to him. Pick his quiz up off the floor, plop it back on his desk, and he pushes it off again. Says something about pride again. "Pride?" I say. "You're too proud to take the quiz? Or your pride will suffer if you do poorly?" He doesn't say anything, just stares at me.
Ten minutes later, I pick up the quizzes. His is still blank. Still on the floor. "Fine," I say. "One less to grade."
Minutes later I'm rearranging students, asking them to change seats for today's lesson. Quiet kid doesn't move.
"Move here," I tell him. He doesn't budge. "Fine, move there instead." He still doesn't move. "Well, you can't sit where you're at."
I end the standoff by telling him to move or get a write-up. He tells me he'll take the write-up. I open my door, look for a security guard. Of course one's not around. "Well, go to the discipline office," I say. "I'll send the write-up later." He leaves.
"I think you handled that very well," one of my troublemaking boys says. "Couldn't have done it better myself."
"Well, I wouldn't have handled it that way a few years ago," I say, wondering what is up with the quiet kid. "When I first started teaching, that would've probably turned into a huge argument. Or I would've just let him sit there."
The lesson continues. The day ends. After school, the quiet kid shows up. Again says, "I've got pride, you know."
"Yeah, I heard you in class," I say. "But I have no idea what you mean."
"Maybe I'm not translating it right," he says. "In Spanish, it's ..." I have no idea what that means either. He explains. Turns out he was offended by the way I tossed his quiz onto his desk. Thought it was disrespectful.
Oh my God, I think. Now I can't toss quizzes on desks? What next? But I say, "Hey, I'm sorry. I meant no disrespect. It's just what I do."
"Well, I don't know you, and you don't know me," he says.
"You're right. But by now, I'd hope you know that I never purposefully try to disrespect anyone in my classroom." I then explain that I toss papers, do random weird things to lighten the mood. "Lots of students hate these quizzes," I say, "think they're boring. Or they get nervous about tests. So I try to make it a little less serious. A little fun."
But ... I am once again reminded that perceptions vary. So I apologize and promise that I'll never toss a quiz onto his desk again. He accepts my apology. And apologizes for leaving the room instead of moving to where I told him to go.
As we're finishing up, he still doesn't look too happy with me, but I can't worry about it because another student walks in, a senior who wants help with a scholarship essay. I then stay until 5 o'clock with her, working that essay towards perfection.
She leaves saying, "Thank you so much. I really, really appreciate you taking the time."
I smile. On the walk home, I can't help but think, you win some, you lose some. You can try, but you'll never be perfect.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
High on literature
Uh-huh. I wake up from my fantasy world and realize that A. my students are non-readers, and B. we don't even have enough books for all the students, so we have class sets that can only be read during class. Yeah, it's a waste of time, but you gotta do what you gotta do. So we spend plenty of time reading aloud in class. Sometimes I let volunteers do the reading, and then the class get to suffer through the stumbling and stopping and mispronouncing. Most times, though, I do the reading. I mean, I can make it more dramatic. And, really, having the students do it serves no real purpose, because reading out loud is not really a skill they need to develop. (Unless, of course, if they have children of the their own, which is sometimes the case, and they want to practice reading aloud to them.)
And while I do hate it, I have to say one thing about in-class reading: The vast majority of students love--absolutely love--to have a good story read to them. Don't know, maybe they didn't have anyone reading to them when growing up, so it brings out the inner child. Then again, which person, no matter how old and how educated, doesn't like to be read to?
Recently, four of my classes have started in on Beowulf. It was perfect timing, though totally unplanned, that I started the unit on the day the movie came out. I haven't seen it yet, but several of my students have, and it's actually very cool to have them say things like, "Hey, that's not the way it happened in the movie!" or "I really like this story. I mean, it's Beowulf!"
Then, there were these two back-to-back sentences from a boy today:
"Brad Pitt's naked in it."
Pause.
"I saw it in 3D."
I looked at him and said, "Those are two sentences I never thought I'd hear you say." The class got a good laugh.
Oh, it's fun when you can have some laughs while struggling through names like Beowulf and Grendel and Hrothgar. To keep the characters straight, I insisted students pronounce them like this:
- For Hrothgar, the king of the Danes, I said the only way to say the name is to shake a fist in the air and speak in a slow, deep voice.
- For Grendel, the monster Beowulf comes to slay, you have to roll the "R" to make it sound sinister.
- For Beowulf, really stretch out the final syllable into an extended howl.
A few other kids sit through the whole thing, bored. "Man, this is the third time I'm reading this," said a guy who is taking English III for the third time.
"Doesn't it just get better each time?" I asked.
"No," he said. "Beowulf does the same things each time. And Hrothgar's still afraid that the beginning might not be the end."
My fourth period class is extra sluggish, so I've had to mix things up a little to keep them from falling asleep. Last week, I insisted everyone stand while we were reading. Surprisingly, they all stood. Nobody complained. And I think mostly everyone paid attention. Ah, you might be asking, but is that not a form of punishment? Pshah! These kids sit all day. Standing might be good for them.
That same day I asked my seventh period to stand up for the reading, too. They declined. "Fine," I said, "I have a better idea. Why don't we all stand on top of our desks?" I climbed up on a desk and said, "Come on, who's with me?" Two guys--both of them labeled behavior disordered--stood up onto their desks with their textbooks. "Isn't it great up here?" I asked, hoping for a Dead Poets moment. "Don't you gain a whole new perspective on life from up here?"
The two guys looked around the room thoughtfully and nodded. "Yeah," one of them said. "Things are different from up here." Yes, these guys were literally getting high on literature.
Today, I asked fourth period if they wanted to stand again while reading. "No!" one girl called out. "My leg hurts."
"Fine," I said, "so how about if we all just sit on top of the desks? Up out of your seats and onto the desks everybody!" They all did it. "Just remember this the next time you want to put your head down for a nap," I said. "Someone was sitting on that desk."
"No farting," someone said.
"Too late," someone else said.
We all giggled.
"Hey, what if the principal walks in and sees us sitting like this?" a third voice asked. Actually worried about what the principal would do?
"I don't know. I'll just tell him that you refused to listen to me when I told you to sit in your desks," I said. "No, just kidding. He'll probably think it's some innovative teaching method and have me talk about it at a future meeting."
The funny thing is, the principal did walk in today. It was later in the day, seventh period, and we were just getting underway, so no one was sitting or standing on top of a desk yet. He sat down for a formal observation. Darn, I thought, no foolishness. But I still couldn't resist.
"Hey, where's Joe?" I asked. "I swear I saw him in the hall earlier."
"I think he got an early dismissal," a girl said.
"Oh, too bad," I said. "I brought in a goat for him to slaughter today. Is there anyone else willing to sacrifice a goat today?"
The principal gave me an odd look. I didn't bother to explain. I mean, if he had been in class last week, he would have known that we had read the part in Beowulf where Hrothgar's wise men start praying to the Devil to rid the kingdom of Grendel. At that point, I had said, "Isn't that a scary thought? The people are so desperate. They've been praying to God for 12 years and the monster is still attacking them, so they decide maybe they should pray to the Devil instead." I paused, looked around the room. "Now, how many of you are religious?" Most hands went up. "So, what would you say if I told you I'd give you an A in my class if you sincerely prayed to the Devil?" The kids were properly freaked out. "Well, the people in this story are religious. But that's how desperate they've become. Can you imagine that?"
A few kids shuttered at the thought. But Joe, of course, declared that he'd gladly pray to the Devil for an A in my class. "Great," I said, "I'll bring in a goat and you get to sacrifice it." He insisted he'd do it. But then he's been absent the next two days.
Of course when I finished joking around about that I looked up and noticed that my computer had mysteriously shut down. My entire lessons are done on PowerPoint, so I had to restart the machine. "See what you get for joking around about worshiping the Devil?" I said, waiting impatiently as my slow CPS-laptop booted up. "There are certain things you shouldn't make light of."
Back in seventh period today, the principal left after about 35 minutes. Several students breathed a sigh of relief. "What's the matter? Were you guys nervous with Grendel, I mean the principal in the room?"
"No!" a kid declared. "But you sure were."
"Me? Did I look nervous to you?"
"Oh yeah," said one of the kids that stood on a desk last week. "You totally held back today."
The bell eventually rang, and a student said to me, "I actually like this class."
"Thanks," I said, "but I think you're just responding to great literature."
"Yeah," he said, looking at me. "I guess so."
Saturday, December 01, 2007
A late policy
Earlier this week I instituted yet another tardy policy. Anyone coming in to class would be handed a referral form, no questions asked. And they would have to write themselves up. How's that for making it hit home? Instead of me filling out the referral form, I have them do it. I then put the referral form into a folder. The next time they're late, I call their house and make a note of that call on the form. Finally, on the third tardy, I hand it in to the discipline office for a day of in-school suspension.
I think it's brilliant because it hits home. Several kids this week got their very first-ever write up. And to add insult to injury, they had to write themselves up. I loved it. The part that isn't brilliant is that I have to keep track of all these forms, have to stay organized. And I'll have to call homes just to tell parents that their little ones are running late.
But, quite unexpectedly, it's been an amazing success in the first week. Just about every single kid is now on time.
Except for one kid, a quiet, normally decent kid I'll call Mac. Mac has a problem. His girlfriend is in my class first period. He has me second. The trouble is he meets her after first by my door, then walks her to her class before heading back to my room. Which means he's late just about every day. This week, he was late Tuesday. He filled out a form. Wednesday. I called his house, left a message. Thursday, and I said, "That's it! You're the first one with three strikes!"
Today, he showed up on time. I let him start his work. Then, 10 minutes into class, I waved my folder in the air and said, "I hate to do this, I really do. But Mac was tardy three times this week. And if I don't follow through, no one will ever believe a word I say."
I handed him the referral form and said, "Go to the office. They're expecting you."
So off he went without a word. The rest of the class was dead silent. After letting it sink in, I said to them, "Please don't make me do this to one of you next week."
I saw Mac after school. "It was horrible!" he said.
"Again, I'm sorry I had to do it to you," I said. "See you Monday. On time."
"Thanks," he said. "Have a good weekend."