Double wow

Want to hear a nice addition to the laptop saga?

I emailed my information to the woman who said she'd donate a laptop to my student. She replied that, get this, both of her parents went to (and met at) the school where I teach, where D attends. Coincidence? (The sad part of this story is that the laptop donor is currently in Chicago for her father's funeral.)

I'd like to thank everyone again for their very generous contributions! I am going to put together a list of all the contributors (with names or aliases) and post it in the next couple of days. Several people have told me that I'm doing something wonderful, and I have to disagree. The heroes of this story are all the people who came forward with their money and well-wishes. None of this would be possible without you, so thank you again.

I really can't wait to break the news to D and his class. Next Friday!

Now, after a lot of thought, I've narrowed down the options for what to do with the donated money, since we're good on the laptop. First, yes, we'll make sure the machine is insured and has the proper software. As far as a printer goes, I have a brand new one sitting in my closet, unused. I'll give him that. The bulk of the money, though, will go to one of the following:

1. Give D the responsibility to decide how to best use the money to make his school and/or community a better place. The project(s) or donation must somehow deal with education. Hopefully, the project can become longterm and self-sustaining. Possible name: D is for Difference.
2. Put the $800+ into some sort of college fund for D. It was, after all, donated with him in mind.
   

Or this

Why am I up so early? Excitement from all the good things happening on this blog? Or was that an earthquake I felt shaking my bed this morning??

Last night, I received an email from someone offering to donate a practically new Dell Latitude d620. My initial thought was, yes! But I quickly wondered about all the donations. Initially, the donor suggested I see what you all think.

Then, she emailed back with these suggestions: "I'm from chicago and am currently here because my dad just passed away from complications due to MS. If there's a conundrum regarding the $$ donated, why don't you take the laptop and donate the dollars to the illinois MS society? Or go to donorschoose.org and pick a school project to donate it to? or keep it and offer your kids incentives for performance?"

Any thoughts?

(If you're new to this discussion, just scroll down through the last couple of days of posts ...)

Now the fun part

So I'm thinking ... because of the amazing generosity of so many of you, when I add my $300 I might soon have enough for a really nice machine, something the other kids will really envy, something like an Apple MacBook. His loss will become a gain. Wouldn't that be cool?

Or ... maybe I should just kidnap him after school next week and take him to a computer store and say, "OK, pick one."

Any thoughts?

W O W

I'm rarely at a loss for words (at least in writing), but this is one of those times. As of 9:30 p.m., the amount donated is $745.

Thank you.

A couple of quick questions to everyone who has contributed, and anyone who is still thinking about it:

1. Can I use your names--first and/or last--when I thank you publicly here on the blog? Or would you rather be anonymous, like I am?
2. When I hand the laptop over to D, as he'll be known here, I'd like to have a print-out of messages you might have for him. Please either email me or post in the comments anything you'd like to share with him.
   

Thank you all so much. Your support makes everything I do every day seem so worthwhile. And for all the struggling first-year teachers and burned-out fifth-year teachers out there, let this be a lesson for all of us: People do care about teenagers and about what happens in classrooms.

Putting my money where my mouth is

I'm really hoping I don't have to put it all up, but I'm willing to donate up to $300 to replace my student's stolen laptop. See the original post for details. If you can and want to donate, one way is through PayPal. You'll have to enter my email address, appopt@gmail.com. If you'd rather donate another way, please email me and we'll figure it out.



Please understand that I'm really hesitant to ask for anyone's help. This is my first time asking for money on this blog; in fact, this is my first time asking strangers for money since probably 1995, when I was a telemarketer for the Art Institute. That gig lasted less than a week: "Can I count on you to donate $1,000? No? OK, how about $900? No? OK, I understand times are tough. Can I count on you to donate $850? Thank you, sir, $100 would be a generous offer. But we need as much support as possible. Can I count on your donation of $750? No? $700? Hello? Hello, are you still there?"

My hope is to buy the best possible computer and give it to my student next Friday, April 25. (BTW, if anyone knows the student, can you please do me a favor and NOT tell him about this? I'd like to surprise him.)

Hate to say I told you so

Some students believe you when you warn them against certain things, like leaving valuables in their lockers. Others need to learn the hard way.

Two students stopped by my classroom after school today within minutes of each other. The first, a senior I taught last year, asked, "Hey, are you going to be here next Friday?"

"Yeah," I replied. "I don't know, I think so."

"Good, can I leave some things in your room and pick them up after school?"

"Of course. What stuff? Your guitar?"

"Yeah, effects pedals and my other gear. I don't want to leave it in my locker."

"Oh yeah, for the talent show, right? Of course."

"Cool, thanks a lot." With that, he left. And the second guy came in, a junior I currently teach. Didn't say anything, just sat down.

"What's up?" I asked.

"My lock's gone."

"Your lock?"

"Yeah. Someone got my laptop. Left my bag there, but my laptop's gone."

He was very quiet about it. Sad. Not angry. Just sad.

Oh man, I thought, how many times have I told these guys not to leave valuables in their lockers? Earlier this year someone broke into one of my girl's lockers and had taken some cash. After that I repeated my warning. Several times. I have a closet with a lock in my classroom, and I often store students' things there. It's where I keep my things.

"Is anything else missing?" I asked.

"My jacket."

"They probably wrapped your computer in it," I said. "OK, listen, why don't you bring in your things from your locker? I'll go see if anyone can help out."

I went down to the security office, asked the dean of students if there's a working camera in my hallway. She clicked through about 20 camera shots in the building. Yeah, it's a fairly large building, but imagine that, 20 cameras are rolling all day, recording evidence. But of course there's no camera in my hallway, one of the main hallways in the building, a hallway with few other classrooms and rarely any security. So, no way of knowing who might have broken into his locker.

So I went back to my classroom. He was there with some friends and a pile of books. "Hey," I joked, "at least they didn't get these novels. Man, that would be a loss."

He tried to smile.

"The only thing we can do is have you fill out an incident report, unfortunately," I said. "But find out from your family if you guys have renter's insurance or something like that. Insurance might cover this kind of loss. Do you know where the dean's office is?"

"No," he said. Of course he wouldn't know where the troublemakers go.

Thinking about it later I realized asking about insurance was pretty dumb. The guy's family lives in section 8 housing. No way they have insurance.

And thinking about it later I wondered, why does this happen to the good kids? This guy comes from the same background as so many students in the school system--poor, African-American, scraping by. But he's such a good guy. Well-mannered. Intelligent, and not afraid to get good grades. Cool, but in his own way, not a member of any groups but a guy just doing his own thing. A reader. A thinker. In fact, the stolen laptop was a prize he had received from some organization honoring young African-American scholars.

And now it's gone.

Why I eat Pop-Tarts

After seventh period, one of my students pops her head back into my empty classroom. It's into eighth period already, but I let her come in, figuring she's here to work on an essay she missed. My assignments, of course, are a lot more important than other teachers' work. So I like to tell my students. Eventually, some of them end up believing. The girl today claims that her eighth period teacher is out of the building. "He just left," she says. "People are just standing around in the hallway."

"By the way," she says, walking over to my desk, "do you have any kind of snack?"

"Nope," I say, face buried in essays.

"I'm hungry," she says, really emphasizing the hun. I don't respond, so she continues, "I get so hungry sometimes. Then I get these headaches."

"Why don't you swing by Mr. A.'s office? He usually has something," I tell her.

"Nah. It's eighth period already. He runs out of stuff by seventh."

"Huh," I say, looking back to the stack of essays. (The stack is currently in my backpack, next to my computer as I'm writing. Mostly ungraded. Gotta finish this post and get going.)

"I don't think we have any food at home," she says. "So, I'll go over to our neighbor's place. It's like I have two homes. Whenever we don't have something, I just go next door."

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah, I sure can eat a lot. And when I don't eat, I get into these really bad moods."

"You're lucky," I say. "One of these days all that eating will catch up to you."

"No way," she says. "You should see my cousin. She's 21, and she eats twice as much as I do. And she's as skinny as I am. Yup. My grandmother, too. We can just eat and eat."

And as she continues, talking about how fourth period lunch is too early, because then she ends up hungry by the end of the school day, I finally get it. She really is hungry. Damn, sometimes I'm slow. I reach for my wallet.

"Hey, listen," I say. "All this talk of food has made me hungry. Feel like sharing a Pop-Tart?"

"Oh yeah," she smiles.

I hand her a dollar. "Buy a cherry one," I tell her. And off she goes to the vending machines. A couple of years back, all unhealthy snacks were removed from school vending machines, replaced by granola bars and Rice Krispies Treats. The Flamin' Hot Cheetos were replaced by the much healthier baked Flamin' Hot Cheetos. I figure my dollar goes the furthest with the Pop-Tarts.

The girl comes back in a flash, hands me the package.

"And it gave me 15 cents change," she says. "So I looked in the other machines and found another 15 cents. Here." She holds out the coins.

"Keep the change," I say. I open the Pop-Tarts, take one out and give her the other one. "Weren't there any cherry-flavored ones?" I ask.

"No, I looked in all the machines."

"No big deal. Strawberry's fine. Now since you're here, why don't you work on that essay?"

"Oh yeah!" she says. "Almost forgot about that."

Reinforcement

Third quarter report card day is here! This means another day of no classes. Instead, teachers get to meet the parents of all the A and B students. The parents of all the F students--and the students that rarely show up--well, these parents won't show up.

Maybe I'll put together another fun little "you know you work for CPS" post (homecoming and PD day editions so far) later. In the meantime, please read my post from yesterday ...

AFTER-SCHOOL UPDATE
Ah, I don't feel like trying to be funny. A group of teachers is heading off for a much-needed beer, so I think I'll join them. A quick comment and I'm off: One thing that's always hilarious about this day is the reaction I get from my colleagues and students. Report card pick-up day is the only time I ever wear a suit (well, graduation day, too). Students laugh, wondering who I'm trying to impress. ("Your mom," I tell them.) Fellow teachers offer this backhanded compliment: "Well, you look really nice today." But I guess they're right.

Bell ringer

If you're a teacher and have got a minute, do me a favor and answer the following poll questions. If you're not a teacher, feel free to give feedback on your typical workday in the comments.



I'm just curious if most teachers (at least the ones that read this site) work more or less than I do ...



Non-teachers often tell me that I have incredible hours: the school day begins at 8, ends at 2:55. "You've got so much free time," they say. But when I add in the hours I'm at school before and after the bell, plus the work on the weekends, I'm pretty sure I work more than they do.

Professional development day

Today is one of my least favorite days of the school year--a day with no students. It's the end of the third quarter, grades are in, so we'll have a day of meetings, listening to colleagues bitching and doing nothing. The principal will try to get us to do something productive, but we won't.

I wonder, are there schools and/or districts that accomplish anything meaningful on professional development days?

Anyway ... I'll try to keep a positive attitude. I'll try to take good notes. Stop by this afternoon for an update. I promise it'll be either very funny or a total waste of time. (Hey, just like this blog on any given day!)

AFTER-SCHOOL UPDATE

You know you work for CPS when ...
(Professional development day edition)

• The parking lot is half-empty 15 minutes before the day begins.
• In your mailbox is an IMPACT report listing all the days you neglected to input attendance on your trusty CPS-issued laptop computer.
• You remind anyone who will listen that your CPS-issued laptop's monitor burned out months ago.
• You try to get the attendance problems sorted out before the staff meeting, but when you try to log in you get an error message: "The system cannot log you in now because the domain is not available."
• You decide to walk around the building and discover that several of your friends aren't even here. Smart bastards called in sick.
• You finally log into the computer system and discover that you did enter attendance on most dates listed on the report. You hit the "save" button but still get a message saying the attendance is "not submitted."
• As you walk into the student lunchroom for the staff meeting, a counselor asks you when you're planning to submit assignments for a homebound student.
• When you inform the counselor that you personally handed the assignments to her two days ago, she looks at you like she's never seen you before in her life.
• The counselor then calls over to another teacher, "Excuse me, Ms. D." That teacher is not Ms. D. In fact, that teacher and Ms. D. aren't even in the same department.
• The principal takes the microphone and makes some joke about it being the first day of spring. Nobody laughs.
  
• The principal encourages the teachers to please try to pass more students and informs us that our current graduation rate is something like 50 percent.
• A couple of teachers sitting next to you chat away during the entire meeting.
• When you ask one of them to keep it down, he gives you the finger.
  
• Following another attempt at humor and good cheer, the principal announces that, because of the lower projected enrollment, eight teaching positions will be closed next year.
• Which means that almost 40 positions will have been lost in the last three years.
• The talking teachers finally shut up.
• Someone asks the assistant principal about a recent code red. Very little information is shared. It wasn't a drill. But it wasn't real, either.
  
• Following the meeting, teachers meet with their departments, where they are told about everything lesson plans will now have to include: a technology component, special ed modifications, something about GOING GREEN, a service learning component, as well as daily objectives and whatever else.
• At said meeting, teachers break into groups to design common assessments for the remainder of the year, as well as the entire curriculum for next year.
• In your group, one teacher spends the entire time talking about individual students, about who is and isn't wonderful, and you contemplate jumping out the window.
• You cannot think of a single reason not to jump. Instead, you gather your materials and sneak out of the room, head up to the computer lab, where you spend the next two hours re-entering attendance for the dates you supposedly missed.
  
• The Internet connection crawls.
• Life crawls.
  

Mirror

"You've changed, Mr. P.," one of my students mumbles. "You used to be nice."

"Me? I was nice? When?"

"Last year. You were nice."

"You weren't even in my class last year," I respond, possibly with a little impatience. "So, of course I was nice. I'm not nice to my students. At least not the ones who come to class unprepared or late or just sit there and don't put forth any effort."

She doesn't say anything else. The classroom, for once, is silent. I should say something else, something about the stress I feel because I'm doing my best to get them ready (for the ACT, for college, for life), and they're not responding. To anything. So, yeah, I don't give them points, even if they're only five seconds late to class. Or if they go to the board and "try" to figure out something but get only half of it right. And I hand out low grades on unrevised essays that very clearly were done in class in 15 minutes instead of at home.

There's a lot I can say, but I don't. I plug along with the lesson. They have so much to learn this school year. Sometimes it feels like we haven't even begun yet.

I try a little humor later. I've written a message for them: "There are 6 school days until the Prairie State. If you don't succeed, don't blame the guy in Room 230."

Half the students look up at the classroom door, realize that they're in Room 230, so I must be the guy not to blame.

"Then who do we blame?" one smarty says. "Our other teachers?"

"You can start by looking in the mirror," I respond. "In fact, I've got a mirror in the back of the room, go ahead and look in there. The person looking back at you is probably responsible for most of your successes and failures."

"What if I look in the mirror and see you in the background?" another wise guy says. "Then can I blame you?"

And I actually really like that point. I am in this kid's background. I am responsible for some of his successes and failures. Mostly, though, I believe in personal responsibility. So, instead of getting philosophical, I go a different route.

"If you look in the mirror and see me reflected back, you know you've got problems," I say. "And you can ask yourself, How did I get so ugly? How did I get so old so fast? Where has the time gone?"

A few hours later, after school, a student stops by.

"How's the PMS?" he asks. "I recommend Tampax."

"Is that what you use?" I ask him.

"Yeah," he says. "Anyway, the class was scared of you today. But I think you were right. We didn't do what we were supposed to, so we deserved an F."

"I wasn't trying to be scary," I respond. "I'm just trying to hang onto some high expectations."

"Whatever," he says. "I think Walgreens is having a sale on Tampax."

After school

It's almost 5 p.m., I'm at my classroom computer doing quarterly grades, feeling cranky because I can't even play my favorite Internet radio station on my CPS-issued desktop computer, so instead I'm blasting some lame music off the Windows Media player that is installed on my machine, and I'm reading essays that were turned in a week late and hating them, hating life, and looking over my class rosters and wondering how it's possible to actually fail my class. I'm in this dark mood when one of my students pops his head in my room and tries to be funny.

"Still here?" he asks. "What's the matter? Your cat kick you out of the house?"

"Funny!" I yell. "I was just wondering if you were getting a B or a C this quarter!"

"Oh my God, that reminds me," he says. "I accidentally took my quiz before you entered it in your grade book. Can I get it from my locker? Can you put my grade in?"

He's right. He wanted to see what he got on a quiz a couple of days ago, took the quiz and never gave it back. So I gave him a zero. I mean, I didn't remember what he got. I decide to be a little sarcastic.

"Oh, so you actually want something, huh? I thought you were here to make fun of me."

"I'll be right back," he says, and runs off to his locker. He comes back with the quiz. "Can I just leave it here?" he asks, putting it on my desk. "Will you put my score in your grade book?"

"Maybe," I say. "If I remember. If it doesn't accidentally blow off my desk. Anyway, what did you say about me still being here?"

"You'll remember, right?" he asks.

Just then a girl walks into my room, someone I don't recognize. "Oh, I'm sorry," I say to her, "is my music too loud? Am I being a bad neighbor?"

"We were wondering if we could borrow your CD player," she says.

"What? No," I say. "I don't have a CD player. I'm playing this on my computer."

"Oh," she says and walks out. My student is still in the room, watching her leave, and I'm still feeling sarcastic.

"I don't even know her, and I'm supposed to lend her my CD player?" I say. "It's not like I was listening to music anyway, right?"

He just shakes his head and says, "You won't forget to put in my quiz score, will you?"

"Maybe," I say. After he leaves, I do put in his score and notice that it actually raises him from a high B to a low A. Lucky him.

As I leave my room I see some random man down the hall, peering into the dark library. "Can I help you find something?" I ask him. He doesn't speak English well, but he manages something about looking for his daughter. I walk him to the main office, which is empty. Along the way, I run into a Spanish-speaking student of mine and she translates. The missing girl is a freshman; her parents pick her up after school every day. Today she didn't come out of the usual exit. They've been looking for her ever since.

It's after school, almost 5, and I realize there's still a lot happening on campus. Is the girl taking the ACT class? No. Is she on the soccer team? Track team? Softball? No, no, no. Is she in a club that meets today? Tutoring? No. No. I wander around the building a little. There are kids all over the place. And people think kids hate school. We go back to the main office. I run into a Spanish-speaking teacher. We go into the secretary's office, figure out the intercom system, and make a couple of announcements in both languages for the girl to come to the office if she's in the building.

A minute later she shows up. Her parents look relieved. I'm still feeling cranky, so I scold her. "Where were you? And why didn't you tell your parents about it?"

She has no idea who I am, but she answers politely anyway. "I was doing a service learning project with Mr. A. And I did tell my mom about it this morning."

Mom, Dad, and daughter then chatter away in Spanish, and I head for the exit. It's after 5 now; hopefully I won't run into any more students. No such luck.

to be continued ...

Late bloomer

I run into former students once a while. At Home Depot. At the gym. At outdoor beer gardens. And so far, none of them have wanted to kick my butt. So far, most of them have wanted to talk about themselves, how they're still in school, or heading back next semester, or how their cousin plays for one of the Final Four teams. And I'm usually left thinking, huh, we do an OK job with lots of our kids.

But what about the kids I don't run into?

I recently talked with a guy who graduated--probably barely graduated--three or four years ago. Back in high school, he was a classic hell-raiser. The kind of guy who probably made at least one teacher quit and had another contemplating pressing charges. The kind of guy who ruined school for his younger siblings, because everyone in the building judged them by his actions. He's 21 now, has another year of undergrad work, but has already been accepted to graduate school.

"What do you want to do with a master's in criminal justice?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said. "I just want to get as much education as possible. I'll work the rest out later."

Wow, I thought. On the topic of his girlfriend and starting a family and all that, he said, "I'm only 21. I don't want kids. I want to travel, see the world."

Double-wow, I thought, this kid should come back to the school and be a mentor.

Then again, my current students wouldn't listen. Most teenagers don't listen until it's too late, or until they grow up a little. Here's what I mean: A while back, I had a former professional boxer visit the classroom. A graduate of our school, he went on to represent the U.S. in the Olympics before turning pro. He spoke for about 20 minutes about the importance of having dreams and chasing them, doing well in school, those kinds of things. And the whole time, my students sat there, slouched over, unimpressed. When he left, they made jokes about him.

But maybe when they grow up a little, some of the lessons will make sense. Hopefully it won't be too late.

"Do you ever hear from any other kids from my graduating class?" my former student asked.

"Every once in a while," I said, "but only if I run into them. I know that Rodney recently joined the Navy. But that's about it. Why? What's up with your old group?"

He said he barely ever saw anyone from high school anymore, but there was a party recently where many of them showed up. "Julie and Lucy were there," he said, "with their kids."

"They have children?" I asked. "Are they still going to school?"

"No, they're done with school," he replied. "I think every girl I graduated with has kids by now."

And that's a shame. I specifically remember Julie and Lucy (it seems like yesterday!), remember long talks about college with them, talks about how they would wait until they had their degrees and good jobs before thinking about children and families. Back then, they were this dynamic duo, ready to move up in life, to get out of the cycle their families had been in. They were going to make it. Meanwhile, this guy was the problem, the one heading nowhere.

At some point, their trajectories changed courses. And I'm left thinking, this is why we shouldn't give up any kid, no matter how rotten, and why we shouldn't put all our hopes in just the "good" ones.

"What about you?" my former student asked. "You ready to have kids yet?"

"No, I don't think so. I'm still too young."

Cancel my subscription

"Mr. P., can I ask you a question?"

It's after seventh period, my last class of the day, so I've got time. "You just did," I say. He doesn't think it's funny, so I say, "What's up?"

"Do you think I'm an OK student?"

I look at my student (I'll call him Gerald) and think, he's more than an OK student. He's a hard worker. A decent writer. Someone who volunteers to answer questions. Who asks questions. Who works amazingly well in groups, pushing everyone to see his point of view.

"Yeah," I say, "I think you're an OK student. Lots of potential. At least when you're on. I mean, sometimes you tune out or you're tired or whatever, but for the most part, you're excellent."

"Then can I ask you for a favor? Can you write me a letter? Sort of a recommendation?"

Oh boy, I was hoping he wouldn't ask that, but I say, "Sure, what's it for?"

"Well, actually, it's for a judge. I have a court date coming up. And the judge said if I'm doing OK in school, he won't lock me up. But if I'm not doing good, he's going to put me in jail."

And this is when I take a closer look. Come to think of it, Gerald can easily pass for a thug. Short, but very tough. Tattoos on his arms. A certain walk, the kind you don't mess with. But he's been a solid student all year long--this isn't a recent show he's put on to get me to write him a letter that might keep him out of jail. And I can see he's actually shy about asking for this. Very sincere, eyes almost on the verge of tears.

I ask him what he got busted for. Not that it's any of my business. Not that it has anything to do with his performance in my class. But I'm curious. And he doesn't mind answering. Heroin possession. He's from a tough neighborhood. Now under house arrest.

I ask him how he's doing in his other classes. Mostly OK. Definitely failing first period, though, because he never makes it on time.

"If you were passing everything," I tell him, "you probably wouldn't even need letters from your teachers. You could just show the judge your report card." He agrees, but says it's hard to get to school from his home on the West Side.

And there's no way I want this kid in jail. He does have potential. He can succeed. So I'll write him that letter.

But I also want to write something else. Something about statistics. About perception. About the portrayal of the Chicago Public Schools in the news lately.

Today's Sun-Times, for instance, has this striking page-one headline: 'ANOTHER PROMISING YOUNG SOUL IS GONE' with the subhead: VIOLENCE AGAINST CHICAGO PUBLIC SCHOOL STUDENTS.

The local media have been playing up their statistics: More than 20 CPS students have been killed this school year. And every headline, every newscast, somehow links the killings to the schools. And every reader and viewer sees that connection and probably assumes that the schools are unsafe.

But here's the thing: Even though every once in a while a killing does happen outside a school or maybe on a bus after school, they're not happening IN the schools. So why does the press insist on connecting the killings to the schools? Why not say it's a city problem? Or, if you want to be more precise, a poor inner-city problem? What do the schools have to do with it?

Following the logic of the headlines, it seems the schools need to do something to fix the problem. Which gets the rest of the city off the hook. The killing of young people is not a societal problem, it's something to do with the schools. Am I wrong?

And by constantly playing up some connection between the killings and the schools, what are parents supposed to think when their kids reach school age? Oh, the city's fine, just keep away from those public schools.

And all the negativity rubs off on the students, too. Just last Friday, the Sun-Times actually had a positive story about the schools on its front page, something about gains being made in writing scores. There was a picture of an elementary school on page one. I asked one of my classes if anyone had attended that school. I held up the paper and showed them the picture.

"Why's it on the front page?" one student asked.

"Yeah, did someone get shot or something?" someone else asked.

And they weren't kidding. That's what they've come to expect from the newspaper.

But I'll tell you what: If Gerald ever gets gunned down in his neighborhood, it's got nothing to do with his school. In addition to me, at least two other teachers are writing him a letter. We care about him. We want to help. But he lives miles away. And he might be caught up in things that might eventually lead to violence. But they are things society needs to deal with, not just the schools.

It's the end of the quarter

One in a hundred

Every once in a while, people tell me that this blog makes them wish they were teachers. Well, it's actually happened only twice, but both are writers, people whose opinions I respect, so I'll just assume that others think the same way.

To all those who think teaching is the glamorous picture I present here--stories of cockroaches and kids borrowing my clothes and birthday cake in the face--let me tell you about this weekend. I had with me a stack of essays. It's the end of the quarter, so kids are turning in work, thinking it'll help. And I'm stuck reading. And wondering where I went wrong. And contemplating accidentally losing all those essays and just giving everyone a C.

Here's a typical paragraph:

"I'm scared" I thought. I was on my way to finishing elementary school. I was happy that me and my friends we were going finish elementary school after the 8 long years. We were having the best time, just having some jokes here and there, and having some fun with the teachers, acting out some TV shows like Jerry Springer that was real fun.

Yeah.

Let's say I just read 100 essays. My brain is scrambled. And in that entire stack of essays, only one student turned in something that on my rubric "exceeds expectations" when it comes to organization and technical command. The rest, it seems, can't tell the difference between our and are, lose and loose, might of and might have. Every single error that I've talked about, everything they've corrected all year long, yup, it's all in their writing. There are 100-word sentences with no punctuation, 40-sentence essays with no paragraphs.

Want my job? Take it.

Then again, in that stack, there is one essay that makes it all worthwhile. I was lucky to read it early on; it gave me hope that there would be more like it. There weren't, but still. This one essay sustained me.

Of course it was about something illegal. The kid is (was) a tagger, and he turned in a nine-page handwritten essay about breaking into an abandoned building and trying to paint his name on the side of it. And to be honest, he did such a good job, the essay was actually suspenseful. Funny. I was left thinking, This kid's a writer!

He wrote about how he broke into the building and took pictures, but when he had them developed, certain rooms came out looking blurry or smudged. He went through nine or ten rolls of film, and the same thing happened each time: Hallways and certain rooms came out clear, but other rooms always came out destroyed. He decided he was dealing with a ghost.

I was thinking of sharing some of it here. I typed a paragraph from the essay. But on its own, it's not that great. You'd need to read the whole thing. And I definitely don't want to type that much, definitely not after reading so many essays this afternoon. You'll just have to take my word for it.

I'm just left with one question. Am I obligated to turn in this kid for what he did a couple of years ago? Which, actually, leads to another question: What about other kids, the ones who wrote about illegally entering the U.S.? Do I turn them in, too? And do I call the homes of the kids who wrote about things they do with friends after school?

Which leads to yet another question: Does any of this make you wish you were a teacher?

On reading and writing

Just finished reading Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk. It's twisted, gross, imaginative, and has some intriguing thoughts on how messed up humans are. Reminds me of Vonnegut. In it, wannabe famous "writers" take turns telling really horrifying stories as they wait to be rescued, even though they're the ones holding themselves hostage.

One thing that stands out about the book is the "Afterword (or Warning) of Sorts." In it, Palahniuk writes about how one of the stories in the novel makes people faint whenever he does a reading. Not sure if he's being serious, but then he includes these thoughts about writing, which I'd like to share:

But the first time I read "Guts," nobody fainted. My goal was just to write some new form of horror story, something based on the ordinary world. Without supernatural monsters or magic. This would be a book that would be a trapdoor down into some place dark. A place only you could go, alone, when you opened the cover.

Because only books have that power.

A motion picture, or music, or television, they have to maintain a certain decorum in order to be broadcast to a vast audience. Other forms of mass media cost too much to produce to risk reaching only a limited audience. Only one person. But a book. ... A book is cheap to print and bind. A book is as private and consensual as sex. A book takes time and effort to consume--something that gives a reader every chance to walk away. Actually, so few people make the effort to read that it's difficult to call books a "mass medium." No one really gives a damn about books. No one has bothered to ban a book in decades.

But with that disregard comes the freedom that only books have. And if a storyteller is going to write novels instead of screenplays, that's a freedom you need to exploit. ...

[I]f you want the freedom to go anywhere, talk about anything, then write books.

He's right about so few people reading. But still, it makes me want to write. And I hope it makes you want to read.

New colors

OK, this has nothing to do with teaching, but I have nothing better to do, plus I'm curious ...

Walking home today, I noticed that Chicago has color-coded the no-parking signs tied to trees for the week of street cleaning. Red equals no parking on Tuesday. Yellow, no parking on Wednesday. Green, Thursday. For as long as I remember, they've been orange.

Seems like a terrible waste of money, doesn't it?

First, of all, there's the added cost of the color. Or maybe that price doesn't change? The signs have to be printed on some color, so maybe the different colors don't affect cost.

More importantly, though, what's always bothered me about this system is the cost of having people walk up and down each street in the city, once to put up the signs, and then again to take them down.

So, I'm curious ...

Is this system cheaper than putting up permanent signs, maybe one or two per block, that say something like "no parking on the second and fourth Tuesday of each month"? We already have plenty of other signs and posts, so there shouldn't be too much extra cost in that.

It seems that every city I've ever visited has some sort of permanent signs up on each block. Signs that don't get ruined in the weather, that won't fall off and disappear, that don't require constant distribution and collection.

And are there other cities out there that actually have people attaching cardboard signs to trees and lamp posts on the day of street cleaning?

Bonus

In today's Tribune, there is a story about a group "soliciting nominations for the nation's 10 worst unionized teachers, and says it will give $10,000 to each of the 10—if they agree to stop teaching forever."

Not a bad idea. I'd agree for $5,000.

They only remember the really unimportant stuff

I'm trying to respond to an email from one of my students. Maybe if I write out my thoughts here, I might be able to come up with something.

Her message to me:

HEY MR. P, ITS JULIA IN YOUR 5TH PERIOD CLASS, I WANTED TO APOLOGIZE FOR WHAT I SAID TODAY IN CLASS, I FEEL I DISRESPECTED YOU.

She sent it Friday afternoon. It's now Sunday evening. And I just checked my email. And my initial thought is: What is she talking about?

I have no idea.

Whatever it was, she felt it was important enough to send an apology. What could it have been? Did she say something inappropriate? Ask a rude question? Respond in a sarcastic way? For the life of me, I don't remember. But since she apologized, I have to remember ...

Let's see ... 5th period Friday. ACT review. Strategies practice. Think-aloud of a passage. No real opportunities for someone to say anything horrible ...

Hmm ... what were the passages about? Something boring. All ACT passages are boring. Why are they so boring? If they were interesting, maybe students wouldn't fall asleep taking the darned test. Oh yeah, one of the passages was about some Japanese guy climbing a mountain. The next one was about ... something college students do, some college tradition like stuffing people in a Volkswagen Beetle.

Did we end up talking about college life? Possibly. I often get side-tracked by college talk. Thing is, so few of my students have any first- or even second-hand knowledge of what happens in college, that it's my job to inform them. I tell them about being able to schedule your own classes, so you get to choose what time of day works best for you. About applications and financial aid. About being able to go to the bathroom without asking for permission. About lecture halls. About Frisbee. Anything and everything they've never experienced.

Oh yeah!!! Wow, now I remember. And she was a little rude. But hilarious. And I totally forgot about it:

I don't know how we got on the topic, but someone said something like, "Everyone always thinks about sex," and I said something like, "Well, maybe teenagers do," and someone said, "You used to be a teenager," and I said, "Yeah, used to be. Now my thoughts are pure." Something like that. A total throwaway conversation, something meaningless that no one would ever remember.

But then Julia said, "Well, that explains why you're single!"

I said, "What's that supposed to mean?"

And she said, "The only thing girls think about nowadays is sex. And if your thoughts are pure, you're boring."

And the whole class said, "Ooooh!"

She continued, "And no one wants to be with some boring guy."

A throwaway conversation, one I should have avoided. One I should have nipped in the bud. One that would have embarrassed me a few years back. But that was then, this is now, so instead of quickly changing the subject or threatening to write her up or blushing, I looked at her and said, "Who said anything about me being single?"

Another "ooooh!" from the class.

"You did," Julia said. "That one time you asked if our mothers were single!"

Wow, that's something I said at the beginning of the year. A stupid joke, with this punchline: "Can you imagine calling me Dad?" But people remember the stupidest things. In fact, I often wonder if students ever hear anything important I say. Anything about writing or literature or college life. It seems like they don't. Ever. They sure don't take notes. But a stupid joke, that's what they remember.

And now that I remember that stupid conversation from Friday I need to remember to yell at her about it tomorrow.

Boring pictures

I decided to show my students some of my spring break photos, something I do whenever I return from a trip, something I do for two reasons:

• to get them interested in the world outside of their neighborhoods
• to use up valuable class time

Of course during second period, as I was mid-way through my slide show, the principal walked in. Probably was wondering why it was so dark and quiet in my room. So I scrambled to come up with an "educational" rationale for my photos.

"And who does this picture remind you of?" I asked the class, clicking to the one of me reading on a rock. Lucky for me, several kids yelled in unison: "Christopher McCandless!"

"That's right," I said, "the guy from Into the Wild." I actually had taken this self-portrait with the intention of looking like the character in the book we had just read.

The principal, of course, got into it and started asking about specific places I visited and talking about East Bay restaurants he's eaten at. The kids eventually got bored.

But there was one picture that they enjoyed, one of a street scene with the Bay in the distance. And one thing they could easily understand--something neither the principal nor I could do--was what's written on the side of the van.

So here's a challenge to my readers. Who can actually read the graffiti? Don't cheat by asking a teenager. First correct response in the comments gets extra credit.

click on picture to enlarge

Someone remind me of this

... when I'm all cranky and hating my job in the near future:

Two of my students got a 30 on the Reading portion of the recent practice ACT. Two 30s! I focus way too much on the English portion of the test, so I didn't want to take any of the credit for their Reading scores. So today I asked if they wanted to make a short presentation to the class about how they were able to do so well. For extra credit.

"Sure, I'll do it," the boy said, "but all I really did was follow your advice."

"Me too," the girl said. "Your strategy really helped."

"Really?" I said. Really! That's incredible, I thought. But ... what strategy were they talking about? I had no idea what I might have told them, so I asked, "Which strategy are you talking about?"

"OPP," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Order of personal preference."

"Before starting on the test, I did what you said," the boy continued. "I read the first sentence of each passage. I decided which one was most interesting, which one was least interesting, and I worked in order."

I said, "Really? So you got down with OPP?" Wow, they listened. And it worked.

"I started with the prose fiction, that was the easiest," the boy said, then asked the girl, "How about you?"

"I don't remember. I just know that the strategy works."

Significant events

Quick: Think of a significant event in your life. Something that changed you or shaped you into the person you are today.

Not so hard, is it?

Easier than being asked to come up with a topic for a research paper, right?

OK, maybe it's not the easiest thing in the world, especially if you're 17, and you're not sure if you've ever accomplished anything in your life. The thing is, my students have been reading about significant experiences. They've been talking about what makes an experience significant. They've brainstormed possible topics for their very own personal essay.

And today was the deadline to submit their top three experiences. I would then help them narrow down their ideas, help them choose the one that would make a really great paper. Something they could maybe include next year in their college applications. So ... I collected what they had come up with.

And ... this is why I go from loving my job and my students to hating it and them:

The most popular topic was: My first day of high school. How interesting can that be? "The school was big. It was noisy. I was scared. I didn't know anyone. Then I met some friends and it was OK." Then there was: Graduating from eighth grade. And let's not forget: My first job. My first boyfriend. When my grandma died. The time my sister/my cousin/I got pregnant.

And gathered here are some of the more "interesting" ones from just one of my classes, seventh period:

• The frist day I get my dog.
• My first time doing it (sexual intercourse)
• My nintendo 64
• The time I had the stomach flu (I learnd it sucked)
• When I first shaved
• When I got my rabbit
• My first ride on a roller coaster
• another day with the "shrink"

Some, of course, got maybe a little too personal, some too painful, and thrown in the mix were some intriguing ones:

• I got robbed in the suburbs
• when my mom stopped beating me
• war in Croatia
• my first time going to jail
  
• When I found out I had cancer

This was going to be the easy essay of the year. The fun one for them to write and me to read. Now I wonder.

Especially when I consider this last submission. From a kid who silently sat working most of the period:
Yeah, can't wait to read his essay.*

Kisses

"I've noticed you always make fun of us."

"What are you talking about?"

"You make fun of us all the time. You say something really sarcastic. And the funny thing is that no one even notices. They all just sit there."

The third quarter is almost over, and a student is finally paying attention. And he's partially right. I often say something outlandish just to see if anyone will notice. They usually don't. Except for this kid, sitting in the back of the room by himself, laughing along with every stupid thing out of my mouth. Still, I can't admit to him that he's right.

"Oh, come on," I say. "What have I ever said that might qualify as making fun of students?"

"Well, like today when you said that you wouldn't want to kiss anyone. That was pretty rude."

"What? You want me to say that I want to kiss you guys? That's the best you've got?"

"No, wait, you said something yesterday. I can't remember, but you made fun of us."

"I was probably just trying to motivate you," I say. "Now, if you concentrated on your work as much as on what I do or don't say, maybe you'd pass my class."

"See? You just did it again!"

"Shouldn't you be going to your next class?" He starts towards the door. "Wait," I say, "here's something for you," and I toss him a Hershey's Kiss.

Yes, today I was giving those kinds of kisses to my seventh period class students. Just yesterday the scores came in from the juniors' second practice ACT. The scores are still way too low, but there were sings signs of improvement.

In fact, I have a bulletin board dedicated to their scores. A couple of months ago, I posted the average ACT English score for each of my five classes. They ranged from a high of 18.8 to a low of 12. That was on the first practice test. On the second one, each class went up by at least 1.7 points. My first period class is now averaging 21.6 in English. But I was happiest with seventh period--they went up 3.2 points to 15.7. Like I said, it's still low, but I'm after improvement.

"What these numbers show," I said to each class, "is that improvement is possible. That if you all take it seriously, you can move those numbers up some more. Now, we've got a month left before the real test, so you're really going to have to work hard."

"You should give us some kind of reward, cookies or something," one kid in seventh period said. "A reward for improving the most." There was a chorus of agreement.

"In fact," I said, "I'm so pleased with your scores that I'd like to give each of you a kiss." I walked over to a row of boys. They all shrank back. I pulled out a bag of Hershey's Kisses. They laughed, and I walked around the room dropping a couple of Kisses on each desk.

"No offense," I said, "but I wouldn't really want to kiss any of you."

Kids were busy unwrapping the chocolates. Except for one kid in the back of the room, who took note of that comment.

German teens for Obama

Even on vacation, I run into students. Not necessarily my own, but 16 year olds are 16 year olds, so I consider them my students, even if for just one day.

While in California last week, I decided to leave my friends--all of whom were blogging or working (but not both)--and travel a bit on Highway 1. If you've never driven Highway 1 down the California coast, I had been told, you must. And now, having seen at least a small chunk of it, I have this message: If you've never driven Highway 1 down the California coast, you must.

Just south of San Francisco, literally 20 minutes out of town, you hit some of the most amazing scenery you've ever seen. Cliffs plunging into the ocean, waves crashing into the shore, the road narrowing and winding and begging you to pull over. To wander. To wonder.

I didn't go far, having planned to stay at a couple of hostels 30 miles apart. Both were at cool, old lighthouses. Both were literally on the edge of cliffs. Imagine sleeping to the sound of the surf. Imagine waking up to a million-dollar view. Imagine paying 20 bucks a night. Not bad. Oh, and imagine meeting some interesting characters along the way.

A couple of middle-aged bird watchers from England.

A guy from Wisconsin, having just returned from a year abroad not quite ready to go home, to go back to the grind.

A German family of four driving the biggest, baddest SUV possible, bursting into the hostel kitchen with many bags of groceries, chattering and laughing and infecting everyone with at least a little good cheer.

The Germans spoke perfect English. Turns out they moved from England to Germany a few years back, and the kids go to an international school, studying in English. At the kitchen table, as I sat lazily eating a bowl of soup, the kids sat down with bowls of Cheerios and chatted away.

"Dad will let me drive through Death Valley, watch," the boy told his sister.

"No way," she laughed. "Why do you think so?"

"I just know it."

"You wanna bet?"

They never bet, and I tried ignoring them, my nose in Haruki Murakami's Dance Dance Dance. But then they changed topics, started talking about Obama and Clinton. Wondering if Obama's speech on race would help or hurt him. I put my book down.

"Excuse me," I said. "Can I ask how old you are?"

"Sixteen," the boy said.

"And you're from Germany?" I asked. "And you're talking about Obama?"

"Well," the boy said, "my friends and I at school are really interested in global warming and issues surrounding that. And so we're trying to find out as much as possible about the candidates."

"Wow," I said, thinking about my students back in Chicago, wondering how many of them listened to Obama's speech, wondering how many of them are interested in global warming and issues surrounding it.

"So, who do you like?" I asked.

"I think they're both pretty good," the boy responded, slightly hesitating. "So far I think I like what I've heard from Obama more."

"Don't worry," I said, "I'm an Obama supporter myself." He looked relieved. "And if you think his speeches sound good on TV, you should hear them in person."

He looked excited. "Really? You've seen him speak?"

I said I was from Illinois, that I saw some of his speeches when he was running for Senate, even made it to his victory celebration. He had been popular then, but the days of just showing up at his events and getting in are over. And we chatted some more about politics, about the school in Germany, about learning to drive.

Their parents eventually came back. We laughed about the monstrosity of a truck they had rented. The dollar is weak, the euro strong, so Germans can splurge a little.

"You know," I told the dad as they were heading out, "Death Valley is a great place to learn to drive." The guy looked at his son, who burst into a grin.

"No way," the dad said. "You are not driving."

"See?" the sister squealed, and the family swept out of the kitchen, onto the beach, leaving their laughter and positive vibes and political curiosity floating in the now-quiet hostel.

Spring break

It's that time of year already. I'm heading west, in search of the elusive Mt. Kos. Will probably not post until school restarts, but who knows.

Have a great week.

Reader response

I took a group of students on a little after-school field trip yesterday to an art opening downtown. On the bus ride there I took out some photocopied poems by Pablo Neruda. After some hesitation, the kids read the poems and loved them. Well, at least the girls did.

"Can you imagine a guy writing a poem like this for you?" I asked, and they were like, "Oh, wow." And I asked, "Which would you prefer, a guy that wrote something like this for you? Or some really hot guy?" Unanimously, they said, "The poet!" and I looked at a couple of guys and said, "Hear that?" They hadn't.

I usually teach Neruda, but this year I changed the works a little and missed out on the poetry. So I wanted to share some of his work with them at least once. And it's weird how differently they reacted.

One girl sat there saying things like, "Oh my God, I bet this one's about Esteban talking to Clara after she leaves him." I had told her that Neruda was "The Poet" in Isabel Allende's The House of the Spirits, so she was talking about the characters in the novel.

The girl sitting right next to her read a poem and gave me an evil look. "Are you making me read this because of the reason I think you are?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I smiled, knowing well that she and her boyfriend had just broken up and she was sad about it. "I want you guys to read some amazing poetry. But ... if a poem means different things to different people, that's great. Plus, if you're feeling a certain way, maybe nothing will make you feel better, but maybe it will be comforting to know that others have been in similar situations. And they've survived."

Her evil look changed slightly. She turned back to the page in her hand and continued reading. And now, while I'm at it, I'd like to share one of those Neruda poems with you:

I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You

I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

Saved by the bell

Another in an ongoing series of notes I find on my classroom floor:

were u smoking? huh?

A lil bit. ={
And anyways whats this thing bout Danny
Huh

the bell's gonna ring

Observations

Several years ago, the school where I work won a major grant from a private foundation. Much of the money went into staff development, and I have to say, I am the teacher that I am today because of the courses I took and the retreats that I attended in those years. This isn't saying much, but at least I'm better than I used to be.

The grant money is gone, but we're trying to keep some of the momentum going. One thing we're still doing is open-classroom visits. A couple of times a year, teachers invite others to sit in on classes to observe. Later there's a feedback session--no names, but we talk about what we saw, what worked, what we might try out. Last week, I opened up my classroom, and random characters from around the building showed up, people I don't normally collaborate with or even see. And I have to say, it's pretty scary to have colleagues in the room observing. I mean, it's one thing to have the principal in there to evaluate you, but something else to have some math teacher sitting there, looking bored.

Anyway, I didn't really plan anything special, just business as usual, but things went well. Students behaved. And the observers had some nice things to say.

After first period, a history teacher asked me, "Do you really do all those things every day?"

"Sure," I said. Then I thought about the lesson--bellringer, quiz review, reflection, small group work, essay writing--no wonder I'm tired at the end of the day.

During second period, a computer teacher actually stood up and participated in a group sharing of happiness quotes. Which reminds me: One of my favorite quotes on the topic is from Into the Wild, when Christopher is dying on the bus and finally has an epiphany and writes, "Happiness only real when shared."

And that might be true for open-classroom visits, too. A good lesson, like happiness, is only real when shared. So many times teachers get caught up with what's going on inside their own classrooms that they don't see all the good things happening right next door. As I've said in the past, teaching is a lonely experience because you actually do your job alone, with no colleagues there to support you in the middle of a crisis. But when you sit in another teacher's room, you can get ideas, share the experience, maybe find out how to quiet down so-and-so.

So if you're a teacher, or someone thinking about teaching, or maybe a parent wondering what's going on in today's classrooms, just visit a classroom. And your reaction might be similar to what I recently heard from a Northwestern University student observer: "When I first came here I didn't know what to expect. I mean, you hear so many bad things about city schools," she said. "And it's not bad at all. The kids are great."

Yup, I thought, another sucker. The kids end up driving you crazy, but they're also the ones that keep you coming back.

Email me

Today, one of my fourth period students asked me the one question that annoys me more than just about any other: "Do you have an email address that I can have to contact you?"

This is annoying because:

1. I give my email address to students on the first day of class.
2. My email address is on my syllabus.
3. I periodically force my students to email me their work.
4. I announce my email address in class at least once a week.

But this kid is one of my favorites, a really happy-go-lucky guy, so I pretended not to be annoyed. I gave him my email address, plus an easy way to remember it: "It's my last name and my room number at yahoo dot com." And then I asked, "Why do you want it all of a sudden?"

"Because today's my last day at this school," he said, "and I want to be able to contact you if I ever have any questions." Another one bites the dust. Turns out he's moving to Los Angeles, the lucky dog. He's following his girlfriend, who happens to be pregnant.

I guess it seems he's trying to do the right thing, trying to be responsible. But, still, I wanted to ask him if he's seen the movie Juno. Instead, I told him I'd miss him.

"I'm going to miss you, too," he said. "And your class. Plus, I was looking forward to seeing that movie."

"Well, rent the movie on your own, if you can find it," I said. "And have a good time in California. Maybe some day I'll see you there."

Movie adaptations

I spent parts of Saturday and Sunday running around to Hollywood and Blockbuster in search of Into the Wild, which just came out on DVD last week. My timing had been great--four of my classes had just finished reading (or pretending to read) the Jon Krakauer book, and I promised to show parts of the movie in class this week. My timing was good, but not perfect, because I couldn't find the movie anywhere.

Some students accused me of not really trying, and I was like, "I even checked at the Red Box outside of Jewel!"

Lucky for me there were a ton of copies at my local Hollywood when I checked after school today. So I rented it and just finished watching it. And my feelings, I have to say, are mixed.

I don't know if there has ever been a movie adaptation that I've liked. In fact, just today I was talking to one of my students about Like Water for Chocolate. The book is good, and one of my classes will be reading it next. The movie, though, is awful. My biggest problem with it is the lead actress, who is not at all like I pictured when reading. The only movie I think I like as much as the book is One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, although I don't think that counts because I'm pretty sure I saw the movie first. (Which leads to today's challenge, readers: Name one movie that's as good or better than the book. And please don't say The Princess Bride, because then I'll have to disown you.)

The problems with Into the Wild are many, mostly dealing with the writing and direction. I hate how so much of the focus is on the relationship Christopher McCandless had with his parents. In the book, it's there, but not as the overriding reason why this young kid took off without a trace to roam the U.S. until he ended up in Alaska. In the book, he's an explorer, someone looking to live in the world. In the movie, though, Alex seems to just be running from his abusive parents. I guess Hollywood needs an easily explained reason for everything.

Another problem is the pace of the movie. And length. At 2 hours, 20 minutes, there's no way I can show enough of it in class. (To get a taste of how slow moving the movie is, check out the official website.) Which leads to my biggest problem: You really have to watch the whole movie to get anything out of it. In the end, it really is quite haunting, but not unless you've sat through the whole thing. Which my students wouldn't be able to do, even if I let them.

But I am curious to hear what they will have to say about it. The ones who did read were quite baffled. They just couldn't get their heads around the idea of someone giving up everything to just roam. These are teenagers who barely roam away from their neighborhoods.

When we were discussing the concept of exploring in one of my classes, one student said, "That's such a white thing to do." I wonder. Is it?

Noooooo

I'm going to stray from teaching for today's post to talk politics.

As you probably know, a Democrat beat a Republican in a special election yesterday to replace retired Congressman Dennis Hastert. This race held my interest for two reasons: First, I was bombarded by the negative campaign ads from the two candidates in the last few weeks, even though I live outside the district. During local newscasts, there were times when all four commercials during breaks were for the two candidates. "Can you trust Oberweis?" a voice asked, and a cow answered, "Noooooo!" The second, and more personal, reason was that my first job after college was as a reporter in that district, so I'd like to think I have some insight into just how Republican Illinois can be.

This happened 15 years ago, before the concept of "red" and "blue" America, but really not all that long ago, and this was only 40 miles outside of Chicago.

I was working on a story about local World War II veterans and decided to interview some old, retired state senator. I drove over to his place. He came out of his house and we shook hands, and then he walked over to my car, ran his hand over it, and said, "So, you drive one of them slick foreign jobs."

"It's a Honda Civic," I said. "And, actually, it was built in the U.S."

I'm not sure if he heard me. Or trusted me.

But after that, I opened my eyes. And saw, in every parking lot, that just about every car was American. There were no GM plants or anything like that in the area, but people were very anti-foreign cars. A few months later, I decided to move, and I got a job in Vermont. There, most of the cars were foreign, mostly Volvos (because of how safe they are when hitting a moose in the road, I guess). And there was an openly Socialist U.S. Congressman in office and Howard Dean was the governor. It felt more like home.

I sometimes tell my students this story to warn them that America is very different once you leave the general openness and diversity of the big city. The same is probably true once you leave the intelligent and engaged confines of the Internet; which is to say, I still have my doubts about this presidential election.

Stumped

I try to pretend that I can't stand standardized testing, that I'm a teacher because I love literature and talking about life and all that, but here's a confession: It's really, really important to me that my students do well on the ACT. Mainly, of course, I want them to do well because of what it possibly means for their futures. But secretly, I want my students to score higher than other teachers' students do, and I want their English scores to be higher than in the other subjects. This is for personal reasons. I'm competitive. I'm selfish. And at the end of the year, I want the students to know that at least one teacher worked hard to help them out.

And so we've entered testing season and I'm getting nervous because I know my kids aren't ready yet. But I think I've got many of them believing in themselves and in me. Yesterday they took a practice ACT. Today I asked them to fill out a quick reflection on how it went.

I asked them to compare yesterday's practice with the previous one. I asked which strategies they tried, which ones worked. I asked what their personal plans would be in the coming weeks. And the two questions that I was really interested in:

1. Which test section was easiest for you? A. English B. Math C. Reading D. Science
2. Which section was most difficult? A. English B. Math C. Reading D. Science

They responded exactly the way I was hoping. On the second question, not one student said that English was the hardest. Math won in a landslide. And on the first question, 87% of them responded that English was the easiest. They may change their minds when the results come in, but at least they're talking the talk.

I asked them to explain why they thought it was the easiest, and they wrote things like "Because we went over strategies & in my other classes we didn't" and "Due to all the practice we did in here" and "English is the only class I have that really did practice for the ACT" and "I actually learn something in English" and "Because you helped me with the strategies" and "English is awesome!!"

You're probably thinking they responded that way because I'm their English teacher, and they thought that's what I wanted to hear. But you have to believe me that my students are honest about this kind of thing. As evidence, I present the responses from this one smart boy I'll call Albert.

On the question asking to compare yesterday's practice test with the previous one, he circled C. About the same. His explanation: "All tests are equally mundane and irrelevent" (sic).

On the question asking which section was easiest, Albert didn't circle anything. His comment: "I don't pay attention to this type of thing."

My last question was: What thoughts, questions, concerns, or comments do you have about the ACT?

Other students wrote things like "It's going to be hard" and "It's pretty long" and "I am concerned that I will get nervous during the test and that I will forget everything" and "My concern is me being terrified because usually I freeze when I am."

What was Albert's final remark? "What does ACT stand for?"

And here's where a guy like Albert gets really annoying. I have ready responses to the other students' concerns and questions. And I know how to deal with nerves. But I just realized that I've been teaching to the test for eight years now, and I have no idea what ACT stands for.

Not bad, part 1

Today was the opposite of yesterday. In many ways.

First off, most of my students were doing their practice ACT. The only ones to come to class were seniors, kids who got to school late and weren't allowed in the testing room, and "demotes" that don't have enough credits to be juniors. So, about six or seven kids per class.

On a day like today, many teachers would just let the students do whatever, but I decided to do some vocabulary building by using the freerice.com website. The site combines vocabulary with hunger relief. For every question you get right, 20 grains of rice are donated. Check it out for yourself. Basically, though, you get a set-up like this:

backlash means:
repercussion
inhumanity
questionnaire
law

You click on the synonym/definition and move on to the next word.

I put the kids in small groups and we went around the room, seeing which team could get the most correct. It was low-key, laid-back, and fun. There was some good-natured joking when a team got a word wrong. Several times, I heard someone say, "I just learned a new word!" And it was a great chance to hear kids use some strategies to get the answers. They looked at the affixes. They considered roots. They tried changing the form, or saying words that sounded the same. They used process of elimination. One guy really made me proud when he said, "Well, backlash seems to be a negative word. So it can't be questionnaire or law."

Will they remember any of the words? Maybe not. But hopefully they'll remember a carefree day in class when everyone left smiling. Now if I could just get them to turn in some assignments.

Not bad, part 2

My IB students are really something else. They're a small group--only 22, which is down from 28 at the start of the year. Anyway, they're my first period class and my division, so I have two periods of sunshine every day.

Yesterday, when they learned that my birthday had been last week, they actually acted offended and demanded, "Why didn't you tell us?!" When I responded that, at my age, birthdays aren't a big deal, they acted even more offended. "We would've thrown you a party!" At the start of the year I heard that these kids always look for a reason to have a party.

So today they threw me a little birthday party after school. They walked in the room with a cake, singing Happy Birthday. The "fence" comment on the cake is a story for another time, and darn it, somehow my name got smudged in photoshop, but here's my cake:


And here's what the kids did to me when I tried to eat my piece:


It's their tradition, I'm told. Isn't it great that they have traditions? Anyway, after wiping the frosting off my face, I announced, "I have one phrase for you guys: Payback's a bitch."

Now I need a good idea for a prank ...

Not bad, part 3

One of my division kids approached me after the cake incident and handed me a birthday card. He's this really bright African-American boy who loves to read and is way-cool but still thinks he has to have a confrontational relationship with teachers. I'm fine with that because, quite frankly, he's right: he's a teenager and adults are the enemy.

I thought I'd share some of what he wrote in the card:

Happy belated birthday Jerk. You should have told us your birthday so we could party, you fool. ... Thanks for all the help even though it's your job. So screw you and burn in hell all of that. Next time tell us Jerk face.
Anyway
Happy B-day
P.S. You suck at everything except being a great teacher.

Strategies

In the last couple of years I have become my school's go-to guy when it comes to standardized testing. Don't ask how or why. But when someone in the building has a question about the ACT, I'm consulted. When the students need a pep talk or some last-second strategies, I get called, like a volunteer fireman to the rescue. I'm not sure who to feel sorry for--the school, the students, or me.

Today, I felt sorry for me.

The real ACT is in about six weeks. In preparation for that, all juniors at my school will take a practice ACT tomorrow. And in preparation for the practice test, all juniors met with me today for a 45-minute strategy review session. So, instead of my usual five classes, I was privileged to give a presentation seven periods in a row. Seven periods of telling the same stories, reviewing the same strategies, watching students not care, nod off, sneak off text messages when they thought I wasn't looking. It's enough to make an English teacher wonder why he signed up for this profession.

The thing is, the students need to improve their scores. Not for my sake, as I said seven times today: no matter what they get, I still have a job. I won't get a bonus if their scores go up, and I won't lose my job if their scores go down. Well, I suppose the school could eventually get shut down if scores keep going down, but honestly, I'll be gone way before that happens. They need to improve their scores for their own sake.

As I said, they have a practice ACT tomorrow. This will be their second practice. Two months ago, they practiced. And the school's average on that practice was a 14. Yup. Fourteen. One-four. That's well below the state average, way below the city average. That's definitely not good enough to get into college. So, yeah, they need something. But ...

... how could I show them how to improve their scores if they weren't even listening?

... how could I convince not to be nervous if they weren't even awake?

... how could I motivate them to try something they don't care about?

Good questions, right? But those are the questions one considers every single day, during every single lesson, every single activity.

A few times today, when I was in the middle of my presentation and I looked around the room and saw half the kids totally ignoring me, I swear I almost quit. Almost walked out. I swear, being responsible for making the ACT interesting and important is too daunting. This is not why I became a teacher.

But each time I reached my frustration threshold, something happened. I noticed one or two kids really paying attention. Taking notes. Asking questions. Trying out some of the strategies on practice problems. Getting it. Actually, dare I say, engaged.

And that's what keeps a teacher going.

About halfway through the day, one of my colleagues stopped in and asked if I wanted lunch or something. No, I told her, I just wanted to get it over with, I just wanted to go home. Then, after my seventh consecutive presentation, two things happened:

1. I realized it was over. Huh, that was fast. It really wasn't that bad.

2. One student stuck around. A "typical" basketball player, a guy who always acts like he doesn't care, just sat there looking at the ACT booklet. "I don't get it," he said. "Why? Why is it D and not A?"

I looked at the problem he was talking about. Explained the reason. And reiterated the strategy I had used to get the D.

"Damn," he said, closing the booklet and getting up to leave. "This really isn't all that hard."

Accomplishment

OK ... it's March already. I realize I haven't been blogging much lately, and I apologize, and I thank everyone for checking in anyway, and I promise to get back in the writing habit, but winter is winter, which isn't an excuse, but a fact; I get cranky during the long, harsh, dark, gray winter, I sleep more, I care less, and quite frankly, I dream of escaping. Chicago. My job. Students. Responsibility.

Here's an example of a not-too-good day. Today:

Towards the end of seventh period, the principal interrupts classes with an announcement over the intercom. One of our students, a freshman, died last Friday. No further details. But there is a collection for funeral costs. The family wants to send the boy's body to Honduras so that his mother can see him one last time and can bury him. Local charities are involved, but could teachers and students help out, donate? The school treasurer will accept donations in the main office during the next few days and pass the money on to the family.

In my room, silence. Every student, no matter how usually uncaring, can show respect at a time like this. Well, almost every student. All of a sudden, one jackass, a kid in class for the first time in three weeks, says out loud, as if to the principal, "Sorry, I gave to the AIDS in Africa fund."

A couple of kids snicker. Most look at him like he's a big idiot. I notice one girl, who is possibly a friend of the deceased, look absolutely stunned, ready to cry. I have to think fast, say something, tell this kid to shut the hell up, show that certain things just cannot be mocked. But it's been a long, harsh winter, so I have nothing intelligent to say. Instead:

"Why don't you shut the hell up?" I say. "If that's all you can think of saying after hearing about a death, then why don't you just not come back to class tomorrow?" I'm getting worked up, so I continue. "The boy that died, he was only a freshman, but I bet he accomplished more in his life than you will in your entire life!"

When I stop, the entire class is quiet. Everyone this time. I continue with the lesson, reading from Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild the part where a mother explains how her son's death has affected her forever. Yes, what happens in books we read in English class do relate to life.

As the bell's about to ring at the end of class, I notice the obnoxious kid looks upset. I feel a little bad about my reaction. I ask him to stick around. He glares, then gathers his things, marches out of the room, grumbling something how I don't know anything about him and what he has and hasn't accomplished in life.

The last to leave class is the girl who had looked stunned. She asks, "What would make him say something like that?"

"I don't know." It's a chance for me to redeem myself. Instead: "He's just an idiot. Try not to let him bother you."

And so another day ends. And I'm left wondering how to approach the next lesson in the unit: What is the meaning of happiness?

It's your birthday

Here's a really awesome birthday card/painting I received from a couple of students (last year). Yup, February has come and gone, and so has another birthday ...

I think it's incredible that some kids can get away with being openly gay in high school. Is it possible that society is becoming more accepting? Or do people just not give a crap about anyone else?