Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Opportunity cost, part 2

I gave my "opportunity cost" speech (see below for details). Kids seemed impressed. Some of them at least.

One kid in particular seemed affected. Here's his story: He lives with his sister. Where are the parents? Who knows, but I think maybe in another state. He works most nights, at McDonald's. He has about a 50% in my class, with most of those points gained from small-group assignments.

After class, he came up to me and said, "I thought about what you said about scholarships and all that. And I want you to do me a favor."

"Yeah?"

"Can you please make sure I do all my work? Can you force me?"

"I don't know," I said. "There's only so much I can do. But here's one thing you can do: Read this book this weekend. We have a test Monday." I pointed to an unopened copy of The Stranger on his desk.

"Yeah," he said. "But I need you to push me to succeed."

It's always nice to know kids want to succeed. It's nice to think I can make an impact. It's nice to hope that, with some pushing, they can overcome the obstacles and roadblocks they face.

Well ... today was the test on the novel. I just graded the tests. My new hard-worker scored a 23%, by far the lowest in the class. In fact, even with his score, the class average was 86%.

It would be nice if the desire to succeed were enough.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

Opportunity cost

After school, I noticed one of my students at her locker outside my classroom. "Hey," I called over, "how's it going?" She didn't respond; just kept staring into her locker. I asked, "Something the matter?" She shook her head, not looking over, hair obscuring her face. She's usually one of my all-time bubbliest students. "You wanna talk about it?" I walked over. She shook her head again, but I noticed from the telltale shoulder shakes that she was crying. "Tell you what," I said, retreating, "I need to talk to you anyway, so stop by my room when you get your stuff."

Walking back, I wondered what I was getting myself into. Problems at home. With a boyfriend. Fight with a friend or teacher. Pregnancy. These were all possibilities. My students often face problems I couldn't even imagine. Last week, a similar situation with a similarly usually-cheerful girl revealed this: She was upset because her American-born, three-year-old niece had been sent to Mexico while the family tries to sort out the little girl's father's immigration status. "They might not come back to the U.S. for years," she told me, crying.

But I can't help it. If I see a student upset, I have to ask what's going on. Today's student walked in, sat down in her assigned desk. (It's funny: In my class, I assign seats, something high schoolers hate, but when they come in after school, they usually gravitate to that desk anyway.) Tears were streaming down her face.

"Does it have to do with school?" I asked.

She nodded.

"Oh, thank God!" I said. "I was afraid it was something important."

She cracked a little smile. I walked over to my desk, came back with tissue and some Halloween candy. Then spent 45 minutes talking about her classes, her unfair teachers, her job (forced to work last night until 1 a.m.), her family--mom can't provide, dad's going to jail for some DUI-related conviction. I don't know if I actually helped her with any of her problems, but I said I'd talk to the other teachers. I insisted that she needs to concentrate on her classes, that she has the potential to get lots of scholarships.

Then an amazing thing happened. One of my students from last year, who is a senior this year, walked in to tell me about getting accepted to six universities so far, even though she's still waiting to hear back from her top choices. One has offered her $64,000 in scholarships, two others have offered $50,000 each. I looked over at my crying student. "See what I mean?"

"Oh wow," she said.

I had this bright idea, and asked the senior to stop in at the start of first period tomorrow. I want to talk about opportunity cost with the juniors. Here's my planned talk: Let's say a kid has a job making $6 an hour, averages 20 hours a week. She'll make $120 a week (minus taxes), equaling about $6,000 a year. That money seems good to her now, but if she quit her job and concentrated on her studies, she could earn a $50,000 scholarship. By working her current part-time job, however, her grades suffer, she might fail some classes, and get no scholarships. That means, by working, instead of earning $6,000, she's actually losing $44,000. Does that make sense? (And if it does, who says an English teacher can't do math?)

Anyway, as she was getting ready to leave, I said, "Do me a favor. Here's a copy of tomorrow's test. Can you read it over and tell me if there are any problems with it?" She looked at me weird. I said, "Just read it. See if it there are any spelling errors, if it makes sense." She started reading it. I asked, "Can you answer all of the questions?"

"Well, I don't know the answers to part one," she said.

"So you know what you have to study tonight, right?"

She looked at me. "Can I write something down?"

I said, "Well, you cannot take the test out of this room."

"So," she said, "can I write down the questions?"

I looked at her. "I already told you what you can't do."

"But isn't that cheating?"

My heart almost broke with the innocence and sweetness of that question. I thought about her grade in my class. Borderline D/F. If she fails the test tomorrow, she fails the first quarter. I really, really want her to pass. "Who showed you the test?" I asked. "Then how can it be cheating?"

She smiled. "Thank you!" she said.

"Just please don't share this with any of your friends," I said, almost secretly hoping she would. "Because ... that would be cheating!"

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Giving 'em the finger

Usually when I teach, my door is unlocked. Kids know that if they are running late, they should just walk in quietly, get to work, and I'll deal with it later.

Once in a while, I accidentally leave the door locked, and a late kid will just stand there. Eventually, someone will tell me, "There's someone at the door." When too busy to run over there, I say, "Give 'em the finger."

Invariably, three or four kids flip the bird, and I'm left shouting, "No! Wrong finger! The one-minute finger. Give 'em the one-minute finger!"

It's usually funny. The kids laugh. I pretend I was misunderstood. And life goes on. Unless ... if it's an adult at the door. Like today ... a very serious special-education teacher came knocking to check up on a student. Let's just say she was not amused about having the middle finger flashed at her by several of my kids. Of course I thought it was hilarious. But then it got me wondering:
  • Why are some adults so damn serious around teenagers? Is it even possible?
  • Why do special-ed teachers think they can barge in during the middle of class and expect me to answer their specific questions about one student when I have a whole class to deal with?
  • Will I ever get tired of telling my kids to "give 'em the finger"? Will I ever grow up?

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Because I can

NOT an educational field trip



On Friday, I told my students that I wouldn't be at school Monday.

A student asked: "Where will you be?"

I answered: "Out of town."

Someone else said: "You're always going out of town."

"Yup," I said, remembering that I've told my students about recent trips to Madison, to San Francisco, to San Diego. Now Denver. I usually try not to miss any school days, but this time it couldn't be helped.

Another student asked: "Are you rich?"

"No," I said. "But I do have a job."

"Yeah, but you're always going somewhere. How can you afford it?"

"Well, I'm addicted," I said. "Some people spend their money on drugs. Or partying. Or nice cars or clothes. I save up and spend money on travel."

"That's cool," a girl said. "I want to do that."

"Tell you what. Go to college, then get yourself a good job that will allow you to live however you want."

I am always trying to talk up college. Which is why I don't mind telling students about my life. "Partying is dumb when you're a teenager," I say. "Wait until college, then you'll see what partying is. And wait until you have a real job and can afford to go places, to see and experience the world. That's what I call a world party." Does it work? Who knows.

Anyway, I'm always thinking of escaping Chicago, and I know some people with education-related connections in Denver, so this weekend was a good chance to see what's there. Apparently, there are jobs, as one friend told me, for "someone like you." So I have to put Denver near the top of my list.

The main point, however, was to party. One of my students, walking out the door Friday, said, "Get drunk for us, OK?"

"For you?! Why would I do that?"

"Because we can't ... and you can."

So, it wasn't my fault. I drank for my students. And I drank because I can.

Saturday night was spent on a double-decker bus, driving around the city to random bars. Everyone on the bus had to be in costume. It looked a little like this:


I wore a beer keg costume. It was cheap and easy, and proved to be a hit, although some people called me Tin Man and several women asked why I had a penis pump on my head. How I bought the costume is a student-related story, as just about every single one of my stories is these days: Last week, I went to Target to see what they had. One of my current students works there, took me over to the costume section. There was only one adult costume left, the beer keg. I thought, wow, destiny. At checkout, a former student was the cashier. She looked at the costume and asked, "Mr. P., is this for you?" I sheepishly nodded. "It's very appropriate," she said.

Anyway, at one point Saturday, I switched costumes with a friend. Here he is, wearing my costume (I don't have any photos of myself that aren't potentially embarrassing to someone):

Sunday night, some friends and I went downtown to see if we could sneak into Game 4 of the World Series. We could have ... for about $500. So, instead, we went to a rooftop bar across the street from Coors Field:


We laughed when we saw a Japanese news crew at the bar. Guess they couldn't get in, either. Always ready to make international connections, one of my buddies went over to interview the interviewers:

Well, it's back to work tomorrow. And back to planning the next trip. Let's see, Thanksgiving weekend is coming up ...

Friday, October 26, 2007

Where in the world is Chicago Teacher Man?

Note to my 13 loyal readers: I might not post until next Tuesday. Will be out of town until Monday night. But feel free to comment on previous posts. And check in, as I might post something if I find a computer.

Anyway, here are a couple of pictures I took today. Can you guess where I took them?


This second one has a clue as to my destination.


Answer is in the comments.

Motivational sign for our students

What does that make today??

Thursday, October 25, 2007

How To Bust A Cheater

Paranoid Teacher Man presents the first in a series of guides to the profession.
Today: How To Bust A Cheater


"But I work for CPS," you say. "My kids don't cheat. They don't really care if they pass the test or not."

True that. But remember, as a teacher, your livelihood depends on certain idealistic ideals, such as thinking that you can make a difference in someone's life, that your students remember anything about your class for more than 30 seconds after the bell rings, and that they care so much that they will do anything to get an A. Without these dreams, what do you have? A big paycheck? Ha!

So, you must assume certain things:
  • Your students really want to pass today's test.
  • They formed study groups in the past several days, met at local libraries, and studied until closing time.
  • They brewed pots of coffee, sat in front of computers all night, bleary eyed, in chat rooms and on the Internet, looking for more knowledge.
  • They have created an ingenious and never-before-created system of cheating.
  • You can, and must, defeat these cheaters.
Got it? So ... when you start passing out the test, and about half the students say, "What? We got a test today?" (and the other half appear to be not even paying attention), realize that their reaction is really either A) the result of being so tired from pulling an all-nighter, or B) part of the cheating plan. That's right. They are trying to get you to let down your guard. Don't be fooled.

Look around the room. Every single adolescent has something up his or her sleeve, figuratively and probably literally.

How do students cheat? They signal questions and answers to each other when you least suspect it. Here are a few tell-tale signs to watch for and solutions to the problems:
  • Coughing in bursts. Count the coughs. Each one represents an answer choice. Example: Three quick coughs mean "C" is the correct answer. SOLUTION: Give a zero to any student that asks for a cough drop.
  • Sneezing. And, worse yet, saying "bless you." Listen carefully. You're not that old. Your hearing is still sharp. They're not really saying "bless you" when someone sneezes; in fact, it's probably something like "sixteen" or "Shakespeare." SOLUTION: Give every sneezer a tissue with a big red F written on it.
  • Stretching. Is that kid that's been writing an essay for 15 minutes really shaking out his hand? Or is he sending coded hand signals? You may be thinking it's impossible to send hand signals during an essay test. Oh, really. Is it? SOLUTION: Instruct students to stretch their fingers inside their pockets.
  • Wearing glasses. Isn't it just a little suspicious that the girl that's always squinting at the board is all of a sudden wearing glasses on the day of the test? That's because those aren't regular glasses. They probably have some sort of video camera attachment. SOLUTION: Only allow students to wear contact lenses.
  • Falling asleep. You might be shocked to see a couple of students quickly scribble something on their paper and place their heads on their desks and go to sleep. You are so gullible. As soon as you turn away, thinking the danger of cheating has passed, these "sleepers" open their eyes and cheat their way to a perfect score. SOLUTION: Kick out sleepers. Let them roam the halls for the remainder of the period. Put a zero on their papers.
If all appears quiet on the testing front, sit at your desk, and without looking at anyone in particular, say quietly but confidently, "I can see what you're doing." The guilty party will look up. If several heads look up, you have just uncovered an entire ring of cheaters. Once uncovered, these cheaters must be busted.

Follow these steps, and you should eliminate all cheating in the room. Plus, you'll have very few papers to grade tonight.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Two minutes of terror

One of the greatest things about having a student teacher (other than sitting on my butt doing nothing) is that I can closely observe students. It's weird. When you're up in front of a class, you try to monitor everyone, and by doing so, you rarely focus on anyone. If you do keep looking at one kid, he or she will eventually say, "I didn't do it!"

Today, before handing in some assignment, students were asked to briefly explain what they had done. The first pair of guys, athletes, proudly stood up and talked. When finished, one of them said, "We'd like to thank our classmates for listening to our presentation." A couple of kids laughed.

Next, two girls were asked to present. They didn't want to. I looked over. Both were nervously smiling, trying to hide behind their papers, mouthing, "No!"

"Oh come on," the teacher coaxed. "It's no big deal. Just tell us what you found out."

By the way the girls acted, though, it was a big deal. A very big deal. Both are usually quiet. Their spoken English isn't the best. The worst thing in the world for them is to be forced to talk in front of the class. Eventually, though, with a little more coaxing, they spoke. They stammered. They giggled nervously. They were barely audible. But they spoke.

Wondering how the others were responding, I scanned the classroom. It seemed that only five students were actually listening. Three had heads down. Two played with their pens. One was secretly checking her cell phone. A few were trying to finish up their own assignments.

"Stand up," a girl said to the two. "You have to stand up to present!"

The girls shook their heads. "You don't have to stand if you don't want to," the teacher said.

In less than two minutes it was over. They finished, were told, "good job" and got a half-hearted smattering of applause. The world hadn't changed. But at least their little crisis, their two minutes of terror was over, and they could return to their silent anonymity.

"Hey," one of the football players said. "No one clapped for us!"

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

A social studies teacher asked when the Great Depression took place ...

... and one of her students replied, "Last week, when I got my progress report."

This was a good joke from our principal at our last staff meeting. He followed it with four or five lamer ones. As the school year moves on, I am realizing that I work for Michael Scott on "The Office."

I bet everyone works with or for a Michael, which is why we can all relate.

Monday, October 22, 2007

I don't know

It's that time of the year. The juniors don't believe me, but the seniors are already filling out college and scholarship applications, getting letters of recommendation, writing personal essays. So far, I've had a couple of former students stop by for help. One kid has already shown me four versions of his personal essay. With each one, I say, "It's good! But to make it great, you need to ..." He follows most of my advice, adds, deletes, changes things around, and eventually he'll have a really nice essay. I wish more students were like that. But this kid is something else.

Get this: He was born in Tanzania, then lived in Saudi Arabia, Nigeria, and India before moving to Chicago. His dad works for the Indian government, so he moves all over the world with the family. Those are the kinds of students I am lucky enough to work with.

Now get this: Despite this student being very worldly and coming from a very educated background, he still knows very little about what is possible when it comes to college. When we last spoke about his essay, I asked him where he was applying. Loyola. U of I. Places near here.

I asked him, "Are your parents telling you to study somewhere near Chicago?"

"No, not really. They said I can go wherever I'm accepted."

"Then are you applying to Chicago-area schools because you're in love with Chicago?"

"No. I don't know."

In my room was another student, a Filipino girl in the same exact situation. Her family moved here last year, her parents will let her go anywhere she wants, and she's applying to local schools.

"Do either of you love the winter here?" I asked.

"No, last year was so freezing," she said.

"I don't mind the snow," he said.

I sat them down in front of a computer, and we started looking at possibilities. California for her. Vermont or Colorado for him. They were worried about out-of-state tuition. I showed them that private schools like Loyola have no such thing. "There are schools like Loyola in every state," I told them. "You should choose a school based on what you want to study. And where you want to live for the next four years."

Their "homework" was to research schools and states. Then, tomorrow, they have to report back to me.

I was reminded of this conversation yesterday when a friend of mine asked me why I had chosen to go to Northern Illinois University. When I answered "I don't know," he said that that wasn't a good enough reason. But I've been thinking about it. And I really don't have a good reason why I chose that school and not another.

Neither of my parents had gone to college, so they were no help. My brother was off in boot camp when I was deciding. I went to a giant high school where I met with a counselor exactly once in four years. So, when it was time to apply to college, I didn't know what I was doing. I actually did apply to the U of I but was rejected because I had filled out the application wrong. Oh well.

When I look at my students now, I can understand how little they know about the whole process. And I try to help. And while I can't go back in time and choose to attend school in California or Vermont or Colorado, I can push my students in those directions. Maybe they'll still choose badly, but hopefully they won't say "I don't know" when they're asked about their major life choices.

Friday, October 19, 2007

Looking out for Number 1

Teachers burn out. Teachers turn cynical. Teachers start treating their job as a job, swiping in and out at the bell. Teachers become union people, thinking about their paycheck and job security. There are a million ways that teachers go bad. I'm on a mission to keep it positive, to focus on the students, to avoid the pitfalls of the profession.

Are you, too, wondering how to keep the flame of idealism lit? Just follow these steps:

1. Walk to work. Or take public transportation. Or, if you must drive, park several blocks away and walk from there. Become one with the city, the neighborhood. The sounds, the smells, these are the things you want to preserve. Say hello to the dog walkers. To the students showing up early for before-school activities. Feed a squirrel. Read the graffiti and see if you recognize the handwriting. Clear your head. Think of all those papers you neglected to mark last night and come up with an excuse for the students. Make it a personal excuse. They love hearing things like, I had a fight with my girlfriend/wife/lover.

2. Show up to work early. Avoid the teachers in the main office that arrive right before the school day begins. They are the ones that get your day off to a rotten start with comments about the lousy parking situation, the noise in the hallway, the asthma they have because of the crumbling walls in their classrooms. In fact, if you can, swipe in, empty your mailbox, and head out of the office before the principal's secretary or some assistant principal can spot you and ask for your lesson plans. Run for the safety of your classroom.

3. Turn up some loud music. Make it something that will wake you up. Make it something annoying enough that will prevent your co-workers from stopping by. And something cool enough to repulse all but the coolest of your students. Lately, it's been the Clash for me, but also the new Radiohead, LCD Soundsystem, Daft Punk.

4. Drink way too much coffee.

5. When students start trickling in, insist on high-fiving them. This will warm up their hearts and get blood pumping into their hands, which they will then use to write fascinating yet error-filled essays and poems.

6. Never, ever take yourself seriously. Understand that if you take yourself seriously in a room full of teenagers, there will be exactly one person in the room who thinks you're a serious and intelligent individual. Be willing to laugh at yourself when you spill coffee on the front of your pants--"Whoops! Looks like I've had an accident!"--or when you trip over a power cord. If you're laughing, their laughter won't hurt.

7. When you discover that not a single student is listening to you, realize that this is excellent practice for your next role in life: The Crazy Guy On The Bus Talking That Everyone Pretends Not To Hear. Start saying outlandish things. One or two kids will listen and laugh, and the rest will wonder what they're missing.

8. Eat your lunch in your classroom. Avoid the food and people hanging out in the teachers' cafeteria. They will poison your sandwich with gossip about pregnant girls and losers and drug dealers and drunks and hall walkers. Instead, invite those castoffs into your classroom during lunch and have plenty of tissue on hand for when the tears start flowing--theirs and yours.

9. After school, sit at your desk and grade some papers. Until one or two heads pop in your room. Then, talk for hours about dreams and goals and college life and girls and the weekend. Teenagers will keep you young. They will make you realize that you wasted your youth, just the way they are wasting theirs. And you will realize that, maybe you're wasting your adulthood on adult things. So you will leave work with a new sense of purpose to experience new things, to go out there and live, to never again regret wasting a beautiful or even not-so-nice evening.

10.

Payment

Walking out of school today, I ran into this really great colleague of mine--an older guy that's always smiling, always looking on the bright side of things. He's a career-changer. Has only been teaching for a couple of years. He coaches several teams. Sometimes he rides his bicycle to work.

"You know, sometimes I think about these kids," he said, pointing at a group of girls putting up an activities calendar near the cafeteria, "and I realize, they actually pay me to do this job."

I thought about my pain-in-the-ass kids. And then I thought about the vast majority of my kids that crack me up, that want to learn, that give my life a purpose. And I thought, for a teacher, there's a lot more good than bad. It was a good way to end the day.

All tied up

The first few students that saw me today gave me odd looks.

"What's the occasion?" one asked.
"Why are you all dressed up?" someone else said.
From another: "Wow, big date later?"
And then, my favorite: "Oh my God, you look like a Republican!"

The occasion? I wore a tie today. This was the first time wearing one--and probably the first time tucking in a shirt--all school year. Usually, I'm Casual Man. Sweater or polo, pair of khakis, and Doc Martens or Chuck Taylors. Today, I was going on a field trip to the Steppenwolf to see a production of "The Elephant Man." And I felt like looking good. So I put on a shirt and tie.

Students weren't the only ones to comment. "Ooh, don't you look nice?" said just about every female teacher in the building. Guys started talking about the politics of wearing a tie.

"It's a symbol of male authority," said one teacher that always wears a tie.

"It's too intimidating to the population at this school, so I don't even wear one for report card pick-up," said another.

"Hey, you look GQ," said a fat guy that always wears a too-tight, short-sleeved shirt and tie.

Since everyone started asking what the occasion was, I decided to have some fun. "I have a job interview after school today," I started saying to anyone who asked.

"What? Why?"

"Because I want to work at a school where students are respectful ... and turn in their work on time."

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious. I want to work somewhere where students take me seriously."

Kids were divided. Was I serious? Or just kidding around? And why would I spread rumors about myself?

I went off to the theater, came back, and ran into some students that hadn't been on the field trip.

"Where were you today?" one asked. "And why are you all dressed up?"

"Oh, I just got back from a job interview," I said.

"Really? Are you leaving?" a girl asked.

"Yeah, he's telling the truth," a boy answered. "I heard earlier that he's leaving."

That rumor was easy to start and spread. I just wonder who might have given him that phony information.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Not to be confused with the video game

I taught this one kid two years ago--a big, slow kid who had a hard time showing up to class, an even harder time staying awake when he did. He failed.

Imagine my surprise when he showed up in my class again at the start of this school year. Same kid. Still big, still slow. But it seemed he was finally determined to do his work, to pass, to graduate. He had an agenda book, and he diligently wrote down assignments and due dates. Three weeks into school he asked me about a zero I had given him. I keep my gradebook online, and he was one of only a few kids to actually check it to see his grade. Anyway, he was working hard. He was on his way to succeeding.

Then he disappeared.

I tried to call his house, but the number was disconnected. I thought about talking to his football coach, but I couldn't track him down. Was this kid injured? Sick? Or finally sick of school?

He showed up today. Stuck around after class to find out what he was missing.

"So, where have you been?" I asked.
"Um, I was locked up."
"You were? Why? Oh wait, nevermind, it's probably none of my business. But is everything OK?"
"Yeah, I think so."

I tried to keep it professional. I tried not to be curious. But of course I broke down and asked why he had been locked up.

"Well, I was just hanging out with the wrong crowd," he said. "Wrong place at the wrong time."
"What happened? What did your friends do?"
"They picked me up. We were driving around," he said. "Then my friend got pulled over. Turns out the car was stolen."
"What were you charged with?"
"Grand theft auto."

As I pried and he filled me in on the details, I couldn't help thinking, yeah, it's not your fault. You had nothing to do with any of it. You're innocent, your friends are the bad ones. But then again, with him, maybe it's true.

"I've been trying to be good," he said.
"I know. You've been doing great this year."
"And these guys had drugs. But I don't even smoke anymore. Because I'm on the team."
"So, let me ask you this: Why did you guys get pulled over?"
"Because my friend can't even drive. And he was high."

We actually laughed, thinking about some stupid kid that can't drive, swerving around while stoned.

We chatted for a few more minutes. I learned this about my student:
  • he has no prior convictions.
  • he doesn't have a lawyer.
  • his court date is in a few weeks.
  • he has been charged as an adult.
  • he has no idea what might happen next.
Oh man. He had been doing so well. I'd like to believe him. I'd like to believe that he didn't know the car was stolen, that he was just sitting in the back seat, oblivious, sober. I'd also like to believe that he won't become just another statistic. But it really seems like he's heading in that direction. Straight to a dead end.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Gut check time

One thing about city kids is that they can be brutally honest. They never try to kiss your ass; instead, they do the opposite. They kick your ass with blunt, merciless, painful truth. Lecture for more than five minutes? You hear the yawns and see the heads plop onto desks. Tell a stupid joke and someone will say, "That was a stupid joke." Ask the tardy students why they were late or the slackers why they didn't do their homework, and they'll tell you, "Because I didn't feel like being on time" or "Because I didn't feel like doing it."

This is in direct contrast with what I saw in the suburbs, where I did my student teaching a long, long ago. I can still remember hearing so much B.S., fielding so many insincere compliments, dealing with so many attempts at extra credit. Maybe things have changed, maybe kids everywhere are honest nowadays, but I'll take my honest city kids any day.

I am reminded of a bit of painful truth a student dished out a couple of years ago as I read about National School Lunch Week on mothertalkers. Among other facts discussed there today are these:
  • Children born in the year 2000 will be the first in our country's history to die at a younger age than their parents.
  • More than 35 percent of our nation's children are overweight, 25 percent are obese, and 14 percent have type 2 diabetes, a condition previously seen primarily in adults.
Apparently, there's some connection between all this unhealth and school lunches. Anyone who has ever been to a public high school cafeteria knows the connection. Here's my anecdotal evidence ...

Several years back, after class, as students were heading out of my room, a guy hung back and said, "Can I give you some advice? Don't ever wear that sweater again."

Later on I looked in a mirror and saw what he meant. It was a fairly snug black sweater that perfectly accentuated my skinny frame and quickly expanding waistline. I looked horrible. I had to act fast before I had a gigantic gut.

In about three months, the gut was all but gone. I don't have a flat stomach or anything, but I don't have a major gut either. Maybe if I exercised more, I could get rid of another inch or so, but the main thing is, I got rid of the gut. My secret diet?

I stopped drinking Coke.

I stopped eating school lunches.

At night and on weekends, I continued eating pizza, drinking beer, being lazy. But by bringing in a lunch from home and not eating the slop that's forced onto students and teachers, I quickly and easily lost two inches from my stomach.

Students no longer tell me not to wear certain sweaters. Instead, every once in a while, someone says, "You look pretty good for your age." And I know they're telling the truth. So I ask, "Do you maybe have a single mom or aunt who might be interested?"

And they roll their eyes and say, "That was a stupid joke."

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Wake-up calls for all, part 2

I have a broken alarm clock in my school bag. For some reason, it's been crushed by books and folders and my laptop these last couple of weeks. For some reason, I've forgotten to take it out, so there it is, crushed and now broken. For some reason? No reason? No wait, there was a reason I packed the alarm clock and took it to work. There had to be.

I remember seeing a student for the first time in a week. This was two weeks ago. I remember asking him to stick around after class, so I could fill him in on what he had missed. I remember talking to him briefly.

"So where have you been?"
"I've been oversleeping."
"Do I need to call your house, talk to someone about this?"
"That's the problem. No one's home. My dad has been away. He usually wakes me up."
"Your dad's not around? Who you living with?"
"No one."
"Can't you set an alarm clock to wake you?"
"I don't have one."
"How about your cell phone? It's got an alarm."
"I don't have a cell phone."
"Can't you buy a cheap little alarm clock?"
"Can't afford one. Really."
"OK, tell you what. I'm sure I have some sort of alarm clock at home, something I take with when I travel. Tomorrow, I'll bring it in and give it to you. You can have it. I just need you to start coming to school. Otherwise, you're going to fail the semester because of attendance before it begins."

He promised he'd be back the next day. So I packed a little alarm clock, brought it with to school the next day. He wasn't there. The alarm clock stayed in my bag. That was two weeks ago. The alarm clock is still in my bag. I haven't seen the student again.

I now have a broken alarm clock in my school bag. For some reason, it's been crushed by books and folders and my laptop these last couple of weeks. For some reason, I've forgotten to take it out, so there it is, crushed and now broken. For some reason? No reason? No wait, there was a reason I packed the alarm clock and took it to work. There had to be.

Monday, October 15, 2007

Everyone has a story to tell

One lesson I try to drill into my students' heads is that they should stop by before or after school if they have any questions or problems. "Please don't wait for me to recognize that you're struggling," I say to them. "You don't even realize how many relationships I've lost because I'm so bad at making basic observations."

Very few students take me up on the offer, so when one does, I try to be as helpful as possible.

Last Friday after school, a girl I taught last year stopped by and asked if I would take a look at her personal essay. The essay is a requirement senior year, an essay that might be included in a college application that tells the admissions office something that might not be in the official transcript.

The girl is a pretty weak writer. Her essay showed that she apparently didn't learn much about writing in my class last year. Still, it was sweet, and basically said that she really wants to go to college because she's a hard worker even though her ACT score is pretty low.

"This is pretty good," I lied, "but it's not exactly what a personal essay should be." I explained that this kind of essay should tell a story that will reveal something about the writer without having to say things like "I am a hard worker."

"If you really are a hard worker, write about a time when you really worked hard and accomplished something," I said.

She looked at me. "Oh man, you're going to make me think, aren't you?"

"What did you expect when you walked in the door?"

I told her about essays students have written in the past. About the kid who was shot while playing basketball in an alley with his friends. About the girl that had to save her father's life. About the girl who lives with her brother and works full-time in addition to going to school.

"I don't have a story like that," she said.

"That's what everyone says. And then I'm always amazed by the stories everyone has," I said. "OK, listen. I'm going to ask you a few questions. I want you to answer with the first thing that comes to mind. Try not to think about it. OK?"

Here's how I get my kids to write. I ask then to tell me about a time they were really excited. A time they were scared. A time they were so happy they cried. A time they cried because they were sad. Things like that. They write a sentence or two, we move on to the next item. After five or six, I ask students to share. Each one will usually have one story that sparks interest in the class. I tell them to write about that one.

In this case, we were on the fourth one, and the girl saw what was coming. "You're going to make me write about one of these, aren't you?"

"Yup. Now, which one seems the most interesting to you?"

She decided to try to write about the time her mother won the lottery: $20,000. Her mom paid off some bills and put the rest in the bank.

"So what lesson did you learn?" I asked.

"I learned the importance of valuing what you have, about not just wasting money," she said. "And I also learned not to come in here on a Friday after school. My brain hurts."

"Good," I said.

The End.

(Is that sweet enough?)

Saturday, October 13, 2007

You know you work for CPS when ...

(Homecoming edition)

... there are no announcements about homecoming until the day before the event.

... at the homecoming pep assembly, the fire alarm goes off during the posting of the colors.

... students are told to remain in the auditorium, that it's a planned test.

... during the screeching alarm and flashing lights, the JROTC leads the audience in the Pledge of Allegiance.

... when things finally settle down, a fight breaks out in the middle of the audience.

... everyone stands up and cheers.

... the two are separated and escorted out, and an assistant principal tells the audience that the fighters will be arrested and possibly expelled.

... you later learn that one of the fighters was this big, quiet kid in your seventh period class. He now has a five-day suspension.

... as the various fall sports are introduced, the audience just sits there, bored.

... they finally do cheer when one football player is introduced: a 4-foot-6 freshman, who is lifted by his teammates and tossed in the air.

... some girls are introduced as the cheerleading team and cross country team. Same coach, same practice.

... the tennis coach leans over and says, "This is the one day I dread every year."

... the cheerleaders do not even perform a routine.

... after the assembly, kids roam the hallways screaming "08" and "09" and "08 killer!"

... a couple of the cheerleaders are in your class so you ask why they didn't perform and someone says, "Because they suck!" and one of the cheerleaders says, "Yeah, we do, but you didn't have to announce it like that."

... the homecoming game starts at 3:30, just so kids can attend.

... your team is the "visitors" on the scoreboard.

... about 150 kids attend the game but just sit there, bored.

... a few of them cheer after the quarterback throws an interception. (Maybe they liked the tackle the wide receiver made?)

... a couple of students in the stands ask you to explain the rules of the game.

... your team is penalized for having too many players on the field. Two plays in a row.

... you notice one of the players is wearing a golf glove.

... you realize your school doesn't have a golf team.

... you remember one teacher is the golf coach, and wonder if he gets paid even though there is no team.

... the cheerleaders sit in the stands during the entire game.

... one girl tries to lead the fans in a cheer, loudly clapping and shouting, "Let's go team!"

... she is ignored, even by the cheerleaders.

... you spot a kid who borrowed $3 from you earlier in the week eating nachos.

... you ask for your money back. He doesn't have it.

... you leave early with your team losing, but later learn that they made a comeback and crushed the opponent.

... on the drive home, one of your colleagues comments that this is the nicest homecoming he's attended in the five years he's been at the school.

... you wonder what he's talking about.

Friday, October 12, 2007

Small victories

After class, a girl comes up to me, absolutely beaming. I can feel her enthusiasm as she smiles and excitedly starts talking. "I talked to my mom about what you told me last week," she says. "And she agreed with everything. And on Sunday, she wouldn't even let me out of the house! So I stayed home all day, and read, and did homework. And I really liked the book. I'm not finished yet, but I love it, and I'll finish soon."

"And I bet it felt really good to actually be a student," I say.

"Yeah! I actually understood everything. It was great."

Last week, I had taken this girl aside to find out why she just wasn't doing that well in my class. We ended up talking for 20 minutes, while a friend waited impatiently for her in the hallway. Turned out she wasn't doing well in class because she was working too much. From 5 to 11 p.m. every day at a donut shop.

Why was she working so much? Because she's supporting herself and a sister while mom's working to provide for the other siblings. Still, I wanted to know, did she need to work that many hours? Isn't it illegal to keep a 16 year old out on a weekday until 11?

I told her that an intelligent girl like her could win tons of scholarships worth a lot more than her job was paying. "Yes, it might mean you have to do without so much stuff right now," I said. "But you have to think about your future. What's more important? A little happiness now? Or a great future with a great education?"

That was on Friday. I didn't expect much. I mean, I have these kinds of talks all the time. And they usually end in failure. It's hard to think about the future when you have so many needs in the present.

There was no school Monday. Then, on Tuesday, she came in on time, took a test on the novel, and then later we had that talk. It's Thursday evening now, and I'm thinking about that conversation, thinking that it's the highlight of my week. Maybe the school year so far. It's not so much that she listened to my advice. It's the absolute joy on her face when she told me she spent Sunday studying and that it felt great. Great to be reading amazing literature. Great to be gaining knowledge. I don't know if I ever had a realization like that when I was in high school.

"So what are you going to do about money?" I ask.

"Well, my mom wants me to quit. I called and gave my two-week notice. But my boss wants me to stay, says I can work just on the weekends."

"So you can have the week to be a student."

"Yeah, there's this club I'm going to join that meets on Mondays. And then I can go home every day and do homework."

"That's really great. I'm really proud of you."

I didn't realize just how proud I was of her until that night when I graded the test she had taken. It was pretty straightforward, except for one really tough question that demanded thoughtfulness and attention to detail. Only one student got it right.

My happiness didn't last too long. Today, she didn't make it to class, which is first period. Showed up late to school. I saw her briefly later on.

"Why did you cut my class?"
"I didn't cut. I came late."
"That's a cut."
"Sorry. But I heard you told the class that I was the only one to get that one question right."
"You did. But you still failed the test."
"Why? What did I miss?"
"Maybe if you came to class you would find out."
"I will. Sorry."

Looks like we'll be having another talk. I'm hoping for another small victory.