The lesson is this: never give your students material you haven't already read for yourself. Today, I was sharing a chapter from "The Poet's Companion" by Dorianne Laux and Kim Addonizio. The chapter was about writing from an illogical point of view, not worrying about sense. It touched on dreamscapes and the subconscious. I played out a lesson I've known for a long time only because I did not have enough time in the day to prevent it. I decided to trust two of my favorite poets and their book. The beginning of the chapter was fine, a little esoteric and full of college words. But, I thought to myself, "This is good, I'm stretching their minds and giving them a taste of what college is like..." Then I got to the poem that was excerpted as an example of following a dream into a poem. It was called "You've Changed, Dr. Jekyll" by Jan Richman .
I'm reading aloud to the class a poem I've never read or even heard of, and with each word I am becoming more tentative, wishing I'd taken that extra five minutes last night to skim the chapter. I get to the phrase "your uncircumstance" and I'm afraid. But I continue until I'm reading "While your left hand/ conducts an under-the-table ejaculation, your right flips the rusty tongue of a Dream Date lunchbox." Oh no, what have I done! I refuse to look up at my small class of seniors. I'm grateful about five didn't show up today because I just said ejaculation and my face must be bright red. They say nothing. Not even a snicker, but the silence tells all. And at that moment, the door opens and in walks my principal for a surprise observation. There's nothing to do but keep reading even though I want nothing more than to slam the book shut. These are seniors. They can handle it. I want to prepare them for college level discussions, right? But why now with the special education support teacher and the principal here to witness it? Then I say the rest of the poem: "Herr, Doctor, Mr. Dad, you've handed/ down a scratchy decree, this cushion on which I sit to jerk/ off in the meager poem of your hiding place. Five hot minutes/ on the phone with legacy equals a cup of serum..."
Ohmigosh, what have I said? What have I done? The students are still silent. Maybe they missed it thanks to the line break that separates "jerk" from "off." But I can sense that they get it, loud and clear. I move through it like nothing happened, like we are absolutely all adults and there's nothing to be embarrassed about. But inside I'm wondering if this is the second time I've blown it with poetry. Two summers ago, I asked a poetry class to write down a list of favorite words or expressions. Many were culled from hip hop songs I knew and some I didn't know. One expression was "slob my knob" and while I got the gist of the meaning, I didn't pursue the definition. I encouraged the students to put all of the words in their poem. A week later at the staff meeting the issue of not encouraging students to write about sex was brought up. Guilty party? Me.
Poetry is meant to be read with the body. It is not of the brain. This is exactly what Laux and Addonizio were arguing in the embarrassing chapter about self-satisfaction. Poetry likes to slide into the sensual, the sexual, and sometimes the baudy. And I want my students to have full access to the artistic expression and to their own desire and understanding of their body. And yet...
Later today I checked in with the principal to see if she had been bothered. She said, "Oh no. You don't have to worry about that with me. In fact, it was amusing to see what the students did. They looked up at you, up at me, up at each other, and then puzzled went back to the reading."
Had this been my ninth grade class, I might never have recovered.
21 September 2005
19 September 2005
The "I don't know" syndrome.
How many students said, "I don't know" today? I don't know.
In the morning class there are about four students who regularly raise their hand to be called on, every time. There are about five more students who will respond if I call on them. The rest of the students, when I call on them say, "I don't know." At other points of the class there is a lot of calling out. The patterns of participation in my classroom are overly aggressive and passive. There is no in-between. In an attempt to establish an orderly classroom at the beginning, my teaching methods are becoming much more traditional than I find comfortable, and as a result traditional patterns of participation are occurring. I have tried cooperative group work, but it's not cooperative. Everything I try to do that doesn't fit the teacher-at-front model, is something that has worked well with tenth graders. Ninth graders are a whole different ball game. I managed to do some student-centered discussions in the ninth grade class I taught a year ago, but I'm realizing now that it worked perhaps only because I had eighteen, not thirty-two, students. I am struggling to find a model where students take turns, but do not talk only through me. I am tired of being the gatekeeper of conversation. More importantly I fear that I might actually be the teacher I repudiate in the opening of my "Teaching Philosophy" paper I submitted to my graduate program:
“'The unkindly spirit of the teacher is strikingly apparent; the pupils, being completely subjugated to her will, are silent and motionless, the spiritual atmosphere of the classroom is damp and chilly' (Zinn 257). In the alternative history A People’s History of the United States, Howard Zinn cites this classroom observation written by a journalist during the American Industrial Revolution. Education in America, as Zinn claimed, was initially an institution designed to subdue children of the working class to quiet obedience and eventually raise them into unquestioning adults. Education was not a place to encourage dissent, but rather a training ground for 'those who would be paid to keep the system going, to be loyal buffers against trouble'(257).
Even though much progress has been made in the field of education during the last 110 years, it’s no secret that many students and teachers alike still feel uninspired by school. But I believe it doesn’t need to be this way. I wish not to subjugate my students to the makings of calm, complacent, American citizens. Rather I aim to stir revolt in the soul, not a rebellion against this nation but a deep love for it, a love of its literature, landscape, and diversity. I believe that teachers have a responsibility to engage youth on a moral level, to ask them to seek out answers to society’s biggest problems. I believe the classroom should be a recurring, safe, and seminal locus of meaningful and explicit discussion about race, gender, sexuality, and language. Through these discussions, teachers should inspire students to question the status quo and decide for themselves the future of their country..."
In the morning class there are about four students who regularly raise their hand to be called on, every time. There are about five more students who will respond if I call on them. The rest of the students, when I call on them say, "I don't know." At other points of the class there is a lot of calling out. The patterns of participation in my classroom are overly aggressive and passive. There is no in-between. In an attempt to establish an orderly classroom at the beginning, my teaching methods are becoming much more traditional than I find comfortable, and as a result traditional patterns of participation are occurring. I have tried cooperative group work, but it's not cooperative. Everything I try to do that doesn't fit the teacher-at-front model, is something that has worked well with tenth graders. Ninth graders are a whole different ball game. I managed to do some student-centered discussions in the ninth grade class I taught a year ago, but I'm realizing now that it worked perhaps only because I had eighteen, not thirty-two, students. I am struggling to find a model where students take turns, but do not talk only through me. I am tired of being the gatekeeper of conversation. More importantly I fear that I might actually be the teacher I repudiate in the opening of my "Teaching Philosophy" paper I submitted to my graduate program:
“'The unkindly spirit of the teacher is strikingly apparent; the pupils, being completely subjugated to her will, are silent and motionless, the spiritual atmosphere of the classroom is damp and chilly' (Zinn 257). In the alternative history A People’s History of the United States, Howard Zinn cites this classroom observation written by a journalist during the American Industrial Revolution. Education in America, as Zinn claimed, was initially an institution designed to subdue children of the working class to quiet obedience and eventually raise them into unquestioning adults. Education was not a place to encourage dissent, but rather a training ground for 'those who would be paid to keep the system going, to be loyal buffers against trouble'(257).
Even though much progress has been made in the field of education during the last 110 years, it’s no secret that many students and teachers alike still feel uninspired by school. But I believe it doesn’t need to be this way. I wish not to subjugate my students to the makings of calm, complacent, American citizens. Rather I aim to stir revolt in the soul, not a rebellion against this nation but a deep love for it, a love of its literature, landscape, and diversity. I believe that teachers have a responsibility to engage youth on a moral level, to ask them to seek out answers to society’s biggest problems. I believe the classroom should be a recurring, safe, and seminal locus of meaningful and explicit discussion about race, gender, sexuality, and language. Through these discussions, teachers should inspire students to question the status quo and decide for themselves the future of their country..."
16 September 2005
The Season of Poetry
Today, I finally got my poetry class to sit in a circle, to look at each other, to share more openly. The assignment was for them to bring in a favorite poem of theirs. It could be from childhood, from a rap song, from a lullaby -- anything. In the past this has been the easiest assignment ever. Students can hide behind someone else's words. There's no analysis, just aesthetic pleasure. I asked them to write a mere 1/2 page about why they chose the poem and where they found it, but half of them brought only the poem. Two were bold enough to bring a favorite poem they had written. One young man who told me flat out the other day that he is only going to pass my class so he can sign himself out of high school as soon as he turns 18 in December, told me he hates poetry, told me he's just "not into it." But today, he brought in a poem from Tupac Shakur's book and said, "I found a poem I actually like." It was simple, more like a prayer about finding strength in God. This student who acts so tough admitted that he liked the poem because it was similar to what he was going through right now. I'm not sure the details of what he's talking about, but I see some sort of turn around with him. Until today, he had turned in absolutely nothing for my class and had an F. Over half of my poetry students did. I told them point blank on Monday when I passed out progress reports that this should be an "easy A" class, a way to boost their GPA. I purposefully did not assign homework this week and told the class I would accept all late work until today because I didn't want to see all of these F's. Some students still failed to turn in their work, but others, like this young man, stepped up to my offer. He stayed after school today until 5pm to finish all of his work and turn it into me to grade over the weekend. He may never love poetry, but I hope he'll come away with something valuable from my class.
Tonight I attended a poetry reading and reacquainted myself with a few of my favorite poets. Both of them were supportive of my teaching endeavors, but it was Dorianne Laux who made my day. I told her I'd used one of her poems in my class this very week, and she thanked me. Then she said, "What about your own poetry?" I didn't have to say too many words; it was clearly written on my face that I'm too tired to write my own. She assured me; "Don't worry, as you go along your body will adjust to this and come summertime, it will know that it is poetry season -- time to write." I know she must be right. She must be right. There is no other way.
Tonight I attended a poetry reading and reacquainted myself with a few of my favorite poets. Both of them were supportive of my teaching endeavors, but it was Dorianne Laux who made my day. I told her I'd used one of her poems in my class this very week, and she thanked me. Then she said, "What about your own poetry?" I didn't have to say too many words; it was clearly written on my face that I'm too tired to write my own. She assured me; "Don't worry, as you go along your body will adjust to this and come summertime, it will know that it is poetry season -- time to write." I know she must be right. She must be right. There is no other way.
14 September 2005
Racism and Hookers
This sun is shining through, literally and figuratively. I'm happy to be writing today from a place of delight and wonder at what went right. Today, I asked my students to write for ten minutes about the areas of their life where they felt the most free and the other areas of their life where the felt the most limited. I asked them to take into consideration the role of their gender, age, race, or religion in their freedoms and limitations. With my first class of freshman, the class that is generally more obedient and subsequently more subservient, the follow up conversation was dull with only the usual five or six students participating. But my afternoon freshmen, the crew that has been the bigger challenge and test of patience, but which clearly has the most sass, the most spunk, and will likely be the ones I remember forever, students dove into the conversation. As I've already mentioned here gender roles and sexism are big topics in my life right now, so we started there. In a class dominated by women (in numbers), there was a lot to say about the double standard many of us have faced. My female students admitted to having more responsibilities at home and less privileges outside of the house. They complained about not being able to play football and the modified rules for co-ed sports. Finally, there was some directed passion! Students were eagerly taking turns to say their piece. I was just about to foolishly move on to discussing one of the vignettes they were supposed to read for homework last night when the self-proclaimed "goth" in my class shouted out, "Wait a minute. What about race? How come we didn't talk about race?"
I'd been so happy with the discussion of gender, that I wanted to count it as a success and move on without tackling race, too. But as soon as she said the word, I was there and ready. I had tried to bring up racism two weeks ago, before my students trusted me at all. The response was ugly and by the end several students accused me of being racist. In fact, I was acknowledging that racism exists, is systemic, and pervasive. I can only guess that my frank talk of it made them suspicious or nervous, a white woman admitting unfair treatment, or in my case -- unfair privilege. Today, we turned to race.
I asked my students, "How does your race limit you or in some cases free you?"
Hands shot up. Everyone suddenly had a story. For the first time in four weeks, I could feel 90% of the class was with me, hooked, and engaged. THIS is why I became a teacher. My students started telling their stories. I prompted them with, "Raise your hand if you've ever walked into a store and had someone follow you to see if you were shoplifting?" All of the hands shot up and yelps of "me, me" and "I have a story" came leaping from their mouths.
All of their stories were similar and all placed the blame on someone who had unfairly judged them because of their race and possibly their age or attire. While all were eager to share their stories, they were also eager to listen to each other. In a class of competitors, there seemed to be the first glimpse of authentic support and empathy. When it was my turn, I managed to keep myself from crying when I said to my students, "I want to thank you for sharing your stories. I hope you will continue to bring your experience to this class. I want you also to know that I acknowledge that as a white woman I have been unfairly allowed certain privileges that you have not. I have NEVER been suspected of something I didn't do, and I do not know what you have felt." And then I found an opportunity to share a bit of myself with them because even though they don't seem to like me or to even care because everything is "boring" or "stupid," I have been told by them in their letters and exit cards that they want to know more about me. I also know that as a student my most effective teachers were the ones who let us in to their lives and struggles too. So, I told my class that the closest I had come to feeling judged unfairly was when I was out and about with my skateboarding ex-boyfriend. I told them that I had never been afraid of a cop until one yelled at me to get off of my board. It was only a glimpse and nothing like the daily discrimination I know my students face.
Pretty soon we were back to the vignette. I wanted the students to talk about whether the main character, Marin, was limited or free in her situation. I wanted them to read between the lines, to see that she was responsible for taking care of the house while her aunt was away and that when her aunt returned she was not allowed to leave the front of the house. They read between the lines alright: almost by consensus they all believed that she was a hooker. This character wore a short skirt and wanted attention from boys. I've read "The House on Mango Street" about six or seven times now and I've never considered Marin to be a hooker. I still don't consider her to be a hooker. But I suppose their is an alternative interpretation, and if I look at the schema my students bring to their reading, Marin is probably a hooker. After all, we have at least two neighborhood hookers who even in broad daylight walk up and down our street, directly in front of the school, directly in front of my classroom. It should not be surprising, then, that they see Marin as a hooker when I see her simply as a girl who feels trapped. As their teacher, someone who every day talks about reading as "meaning making," I have to be open to their interpretations and be true to my word that they should bring themselves to a text.
What I am not sure about supporting, however, is the way they lit into the hooker. Suddenly the class was awash in nasty comments and belittling remarks. She morphed from a hooker to a ripper to a slut and a whore. What a ripper is, I still don't know. I stopped my class and said something like, "This may be a character in a book, and you might think being a hooker is not a good thing, but it doesn't mean hookers are bad people. I'm going to ask you to think about the person behind the profession and consider that she has feelings too. And in reality, she might be our neighbor, a member of our community, someone in your family." Did they hear me? I'm not sure. A couple of students said it was her fault, that she deserved to be talked badly about because she made the decision to sell her body or "do the nasty" (here, I told them it was perfectly okay to say sex in my classroom). I was surprised to find no sympathy for the woman's situation. Similarly, when we came to the vignette of Rosa Vargas who had too many children to take care of, whose husband had left her, all of the students including the girls blamed only the woman for her situation. It was her fault for choosing a loser guy. It was her fault for not using protection. It was her fault for not putting her kids up for adoption.
I feel like there's something here. These characters could live in my students' families, their neighborhoods, and god forbid, could be the students themselves, and yet there is this inward finger pointing: you can choose a better situation; you can fix your problem; you need will power, strength, and common sense. My students are blaming individuals for their circumstances, but when it comes to their own behavior it is a contradiction; when my students make bad choices it is never their fault. They seek sympathy and explain their own blame away.
I'm left with the question: how can I open them up to the contradiction before them and give them a key to their own choices?
Such a large question, and finally an important one. We are not discussing where to put your homework or how to sign out to go to the bathroom. We are preparing to ask tough questions that might not have answers. Yes, this is a breakthrough.
I'd been so happy with the discussion of gender, that I wanted to count it as a success and move on without tackling race, too. But as soon as she said the word, I was there and ready. I had tried to bring up racism two weeks ago, before my students trusted me at all. The response was ugly and by the end several students accused me of being racist. In fact, I was acknowledging that racism exists, is systemic, and pervasive. I can only guess that my frank talk of it made them suspicious or nervous, a white woman admitting unfair treatment, or in my case -- unfair privilege. Today, we turned to race.
I asked my students, "How does your race limit you or in some cases free you?"
Hands shot up. Everyone suddenly had a story. For the first time in four weeks, I could feel 90% of the class was with me, hooked, and engaged. THIS is why I became a teacher. My students started telling their stories. I prompted them with, "Raise your hand if you've ever walked into a store and had someone follow you to see if you were shoplifting?" All of the hands shot up and yelps of "me, me" and "I have a story" came leaping from their mouths.
All of their stories were similar and all placed the blame on someone who had unfairly judged them because of their race and possibly their age or attire. While all were eager to share their stories, they were also eager to listen to each other. In a class of competitors, there seemed to be the first glimpse of authentic support and empathy. When it was my turn, I managed to keep myself from crying when I said to my students, "I want to thank you for sharing your stories. I hope you will continue to bring your experience to this class. I want you also to know that I acknowledge that as a white woman I have been unfairly allowed certain privileges that you have not. I have NEVER been suspected of something I didn't do, and I do not know what you have felt." And then I found an opportunity to share a bit of myself with them because even though they don't seem to like me or to even care because everything is "boring" or "stupid," I have been told by them in their letters and exit cards that they want to know more about me. I also know that as a student my most effective teachers were the ones who let us in to their lives and struggles too. So, I told my class that the closest I had come to feeling judged unfairly was when I was out and about with my skateboarding ex-boyfriend. I told them that I had never been afraid of a cop until one yelled at me to get off of my board. It was only a glimpse and nothing like the daily discrimination I know my students face.
Pretty soon we were back to the vignette. I wanted the students to talk about whether the main character, Marin, was limited or free in her situation. I wanted them to read between the lines, to see that she was responsible for taking care of the house while her aunt was away and that when her aunt returned she was not allowed to leave the front of the house. They read between the lines alright: almost by consensus they all believed that she was a hooker. This character wore a short skirt and wanted attention from boys. I've read "The House on Mango Street" about six or seven times now and I've never considered Marin to be a hooker. I still don't consider her to be a hooker. But I suppose their is an alternative interpretation, and if I look at the schema my students bring to their reading, Marin is probably a hooker. After all, we have at least two neighborhood hookers who even in broad daylight walk up and down our street, directly in front of the school, directly in front of my classroom. It should not be surprising, then, that they see Marin as a hooker when I see her simply as a girl who feels trapped. As their teacher, someone who every day talks about reading as "meaning making," I have to be open to their interpretations and be true to my word that they should bring themselves to a text.
What I am not sure about supporting, however, is the way they lit into the hooker. Suddenly the class was awash in nasty comments and belittling remarks. She morphed from a hooker to a ripper to a slut and a whore. What a ripper is, I still don't know. I stopped my class and said something like, "This may be a character in a book, and you might think being a hooker is not a good thing, but it doesn't mean hookers are bad people. I'm going to ask you to think about the person behind the profession and consider that she has feelings too. And in reality, she might be our neighbor, a member of our community, someone in your family." Did they hear me? I'm not sure. A couple of students said it was her fault, that she deserved to be talked badly about because she made the decision to sell her body or "do the nasty" (here, I told them it was perfectly okay to say sex in my classroom). I was surprised to find no sympathy for the woman's situation. Similarly, when we came to the vignette of Rosa Vargas who had too many children to take care of, whose husband had left her, all of the students including the girls blamed only the woman for her situation. It was her fault for choosing a loser guy. It was her fault for not using protection. It was her fault for not putting her kids up for adoption.
I feel like there's something here. These characters could live in my students' families, their neighborhoods, and god forbid, could be the students themselves, and yet there is this inward finger pointing: you can choose a better situation; you can fix your problem; you need will power, strength, and common sense. My students are blaming individuals for their circumstances, but when it comes to their own behavior it is a contradiction; when my students make bad choices it is never their fault. They seek sympathy and explain their own blame away.
I'm left with the question: how can I open them up to the contradiction before them and give them a key to their own choices?
Such a large question, and finally an important one. We are not discussing where to put your homework or how to sign out to go to the bathroom. We are preparing to ask tough questions that might not have answers. Yes, this is a breakthrough.
13 September 2005
Seeing Red
Here we go. An anecdote from Monday (was that yesterday?). I hung up on the wall the "Where I'm From" poems my freshman wrote in the second week of school. They wrote the poem and had to illustrate it in some way. One girl turned hers in to me with a red background and the phrase "Norte X4" across the top. When I was in high school, blue and red gangs separated into Bloods and Crips. In my adulthood blue and red gangs have separated into Republican and Democrat. At the school where I teach I knew that blue and red were Sureno and Norteno, but I didn't know which color represented which. She handed me her poem and I suspected it was a gang reference so I asked her, "Is this something appropriate to hang on the wall?" She looked a bit sheepish but replied, "Sure..." Call me crazy, but my time for reflection is a bit limited, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt and put the poem up on the wall. It was, after all, one of the better poems and she had taken such care in her illustration. The next day, though, students from all of my morning classes gathered around the poem and asked me who had written it. Of course, I withheld that information. When my poet returned to class I asked her to stay afterwards. We walked up to the poem on the wall and I said, "So, does this refer to a gang?"
She said, "Yeah."
I asked, "Are you representin'?"
She said, "Yeah."
Then I said, "Because your poem has attracted a lot of attention, some of it negative. I want you to think about whether it's a good idea to advertise your affiliation with this gang. I am concerned you might get hurt."
Her response was a simple, "I ain't trippin. But you can take it down if you want."
I took the poem off the wall and delivered it to the principal with a mental note to myself to keep an eye on my young freshman. As my principal tells me, freshman in particular are the ones who affiliate with gangs. They have not bought into identifying with our school yet, so they bring their own band. By tenth grade, there is less interest. That said, even my seniors seem obsessed with red.
It used to be my favorite color.
She said, "Yeah."
I asked, "Are you representin'?"
She said, "Yeah."
Then I said, "Because your poem has attracted a lot of attention, some of it negative. I want you to think about whether it's a good idea to advertise your affiliation with this gang. I am concerned you might get hurt."
Her response was a simple, "I ain't trippin. But you can take it down if you want."
I took the poem off the wall and delivered it to the principal with a mental note to myself to keep an eye on my young freshman. As my principal tells me, freshman in particular are the ones who affiliate with gangs. They have not bought into identifying with our school yet, so they bring their own band. By tenth grade, there is less interest. That said, even my seniors seem obsessed with red.
It used to be my favorite color.
12 September 2005
Relationships in the Classroom
What I've known since beginning this job is that it is the personal relationships with my students that make my job worthwhile. Of course, there's also an incredible amount of creative energy that goes into teaching, and that appeals to me too. What has been so hard about the last few weeks is that all of my creative energy has been used up and I've felt like no relationships have been developing. Things are perhaps beginning to change...
On Friday, I had an extremely uncomfortable advisory class period. These four boys, most of them 10th and 12th graders, were purposefully pushing my buttons and I was falling for it, getting madder and madder each time, which only egged them on further. Maybe because it was Friday and I was exhausted, I could not get the personal distance I needed from the situation to see how to improve it. Thankfully I share this advisory class with the other rookie teacher (even more a rookie than me at 23 years old). I left the classroom for a breather and let him settle the boys. I immediately went to our school mom. She really is the mother of several former students. She got involved when they attended and she's never left; thank goodness. Her job has now been formalized and she's paid for the long hours she puts in at our school. She does a little bit of everything and has a big presence on campus. The first week of school, the freshmen thought she was the principal. What's great about her is that she is very supportive of the teachers, but she has excellent relationships with the students. So, I went to her because I knew that she was on solid ground with the 12th grade ring leader in my class. She pulled him from class and had a long talk with him where he admitted he was purposefully trying and testing me and encouraging the rest of the class to do the same. He admitted that he didn't like me. Our school mom relayed all of this back to me in the kindest, most gentle way, and assured me that he would come talk to me on Monday. Well, over the weekend I thought about my own behavior and realized I'd been holding on to some things too tightly, that my need to seem authoritative had gone overboard: truthfully I didn't care if students chewed gum in class; I only cared that they didn't leave it in class (on the floor, under desks, etc.) So, today I asked this student to go for a walk with me, which he agreed to do. In fact, he said, "I knew you were going to ask to talk to me. I was going to talk to you first." We found a quiet place on campus and had a heart to heart. I reminded him that he is clearly a school leader and because of it he has some responsibility to help create the kind of school and class he wants to attend. He admitted to derailing my class (though he did not apologize). I admitted to being a little uptight about some stupid things. He said, "I'm going to be on your side from now on," to which I said, "I hope that you will see that we can all be on the same side." And after that, we just talked. He had his photos from a fabulous Outward Bound trip he got to take to Hawaii this summer as a part of their urban scholarship program. We bonded over our backpacking experiences. I feel hopeful that this little bit of time I took to spend with him will greatly improve my experience with this class. If only I had opportunities to have one on ones with all of my students... With 32 freshman in each period, it's a bit daunting to say the least.
But, I am trying to find small ways to hear from each of my students on an individual basis and build some relationships, knowing that this will improve my life and our experience together. On Friday, I had them write "exit cards," a response to me on a notecard which acts as their ticket out of class at the end of the day. I asked them to tell me how their three weeks had been; if they were happy with their seat in the class; and anything else they thought I should know about them in addition to all they told me in their introductory letters. By and large the results were good. Of course, all of my students who are truly struggling in English (because it's their second language) think the class is boring. One student writes, "I don't think I can pass but I am going to try really hard. The three weeks that we've been here have been boring and hard." Another writes, "Because is boring reading and writing to teach more I that this three week been good." I am witnessing the beginning of their high school friendships. One pretty shy girl, who I just discovered last week would prefer to go by her second name rather than her first but was too embarrassed to tell me or any of her classmate, wrote, "This three weeks have been awesome! I love that I made new friends. Also the teachers are really nice to me." Others struggle to find their place; "I don't really like the people but school's cool, but NO GOTHS ARE HERE!" and another admits, "I'm a nerd. The past three weeks were the saddest weeks..." I love the response from one of the most responsible and best behaved boys in the class. On the second day of school, I asked them to write a letter to me. In his, he told me he had crushes on three girls in my class, so I wrote him back and asked him if it was distracting to him. Believe it or not, he responded on his exit card with "Nah, it's only one girl and I'm dating her. Yup. But don't worry she doesn't distract me and neither do I." I am sure it is the girl who sits right next to him, which says a lot for proximity. She writes, "I like sitting next to _____ because he is not annoying like the other boys." Truthfully, they are working well together. My favorite, though... I think it comes from a young woman who comes to our school every day on a 40 minute bus ride. In her letter to me she had told me about a teacher that really encouraged her in the past. On her exit card, she writes, "Remember the letter I wrote about the inspiration teacher. Well, I would like you to be that teacher this year!"
Clearly, I have some serious work to do, especially with developing the English of some of my English Language Learners, but I'm feeling a bit more excited about using up all of my creative energy now that I know a bit more about the people behind the students. What I must remember is that it works the same way for them, a relationship will build their interest. I have introduced myself to my students by letter and again through a poetry assignment, but that is all. Beyond this, I am still a stranger to them. I need to look for ways to disclose more about myself while still maintaining the distance I need.
On Friday, I had an extremely uncomfortable advisory class period. These four boys, most of them 10th and 12th graders, were purposefully pushing my buttons and I was falling for it, getting madder and madder each time, which only egged them on further. Maybe because it was Friday and I was exhausted, I could not get the personal distance I needed from the situation to see how to improve it. Thankfully I share this advisory class with the other rookie teacher (even more a rookie than me at 23 years old). I left the classroom for a breather and let him settle the boys. I immediately went to our school mom. She really is the mother of several former students. She got involved when they attended and she's never left; thank goodness. Her job has now been formalized and she's paid for the long hours she puts in at our school. She does a little bit of everything and has a big presence on campus. The first week of school, the freshmen thought she was the principal. What's great about her is that she is very supportive of the teachers, but she has excellent relationships with the students. So, I went to her because I knew that she was on solid ground with the 12th grade ring leader in my class. She pulled him from class and had a long talk with him where he admitted he was purposefully trying and testing me and encouraging the rest of the class to do the same. He admitted that he didn't like me. Our school mom relayed all of this back to me in the kindest, most gentle way, and assured me that he would come talk to me on Monday. Well, over the weekend I thought about my own behavior and realized I'd been holding on to some things too tightly, that my need to seem authoritative had gone overboard: truthfully I didn't care if students chewed gum in class; I only cared that they didn't leave it in class (on the floor, under desks, etc.) So, today I asked this student to go for a walk with me, which he agreed to do. In fact, he said, "I knew you were going to ask to talk to me. I was going to talk to you first." We found a quiet place on campus and had a heart to heart. I reminded him that he is clearly a school leader and because of it he has some responsibility to help create the kind of school and class he wants to attend. He admitted to derailing my class (though he did not apologize). I admitted to being a little uptight about some stupid things. He said, "I'm going to be on your side from now on," to which I said, "I hope that you will see that we can all be on the same side." And after that, we just talked. He had his photos from a fabulous Outward Bound trip he got to take to Hawaii this summer as a part of their urban scholarship program. We bonded over our backpacking experiences. I feel hopeful that this little bit of time I took to spend with him will greatly improve my experience with this class. If only I had opportunities to have one on ones with all of my students... With 32 freshman in each period, it's a bit daunting to say the least.
But, I am trying to find small ways to hear from each of my students on an individual basis and build some relationships, knowing that this will improve my life and our experience together. On Friday, I had them write "exit cards," a response to me on a notecard which acts as their ticket out of class at the end of the day. I asked them to tell me how their three weeks had been; if they were happy with their seat in the class; and anything else they thought I should know about them in addition to all they told me in their introductory letters. By and large the results were good. Of course, all of my students who are truly struggling in English (because it's their second language) think the class is boring. One student writes, "I don't think I can pass but I am going to try really hard. The three weeks that we've been here have been boring and hard." Another writes, "Because is boring reading and writing to teach more I that this three week been good." I am witnessing the beginning of their high school friendships. One pretty shy girl, who I just discovered last week would prefer to go by her second name rather than her first but was too embarrassed to tell me or any of her classmate, wrote, "This three weeks have been awesome! I love that I made new friends. Also the teachers are really nice to me." Others struggle to find their place; "I don't really like the people but school's cool, but NO GOTHS ARE HERE!" and another admits, "I'm a nerd. The past three weeks were the saddest weeks..." I love the response from one of the most responsible and best behaved boys in the class. On the second day of school, I asked them to write a letter to me. In his, he told me he had crushes on three girls in my class, so I wrote him back and asked him if it was distracting to him. Believe it or not, he responded on his exit card with "Nah, it's only one girl and I'm dating her. Yup. But don't worry she doesn't distract me and neither do I." I am sure it is the girl who sits right next to him, which says a lot for proximity. She writes, "I like sitting next to _____ because he is not annoying like the other boys." Truthfully, they are working well together. My favorite, though... I think it comes from a young woman who comes to our school every day on a 40 minute bus ride. In her letter to me she had told me about a teacher that really encouraged her in the past. On her exit card, she writes, "Remember the letter I wrote about the inspiration teacher. Well, I would like you to be that teacher this year!"
Clearly, I have some serious work to do, especially with developing the English of some of my English Language Learners, but I'm feeling a bit more excited about using up all of my creative energy now that I know a bit more about the people behind the students. What I must remember is that it works the same way for them, a relationship will build their interest. I have introduced myself to my students by letter and again through a poetry assignment, but that is all. Beyond this, I am still a stranger to them. I need to look for ways to disclose more about myself while still maintaining the distance I need.
09 September 2005
After Happy Hour: A Blog about Sexism
It's Friday night. I'm finally home after tackling Happy Hour with some of my co-workers. It was meant to be relaxing but in effect it extended shop talk into the night and I now feel like I've been working for 15 hours straight. I'm exhausted, sore from leading the students in push ups at PE yesterday, sore from having my privacy invaded and my money stolen, and tired of it all. A hug at the end of all of this would do me good. The cat wasn't very responsive to my need for a little bit of affection tonight.
The last few days have been hard to detach from. The sexism I am facing from my students and the blatant disrespect of my position, heightened by the fact that I am a women, is shocking. I was not prepared. In my experience as a substitute teacher, the boys were obedient if not subservient. Once, as I prepared to fill in for a fourth grade teacher who had lost her voice, I saw the boys run up to the window and take a peek at me, their teacher for the day. Then they shouted to the other boys, "Our teacher's fine! I'm gonna be so good today." I may not be fine, but there certainly was some sort of womanly power at my service with the boys I've taught in the past. It was the girls I had trouble with, generally. They seemed to get territorial with me. But at this school, it's the reverse. A class of all girls (which I practically have in the afternoon with 21 girls and only 10 boys, would do me well at this point. I was not expecting to feel so tested, judged, and even disliked by the boys in my classrooms. I am not imagining this. The other female teachers are battling it too while the male teachers at my school suggest I call the boys out on it.
Yesterday, when we split the boys and girls in PE and the assistant principal left me with the boys... we were in the courtyard doing stretches before running the mile, and one of my advisees, a very beautiful girl, walked by. One of my ninth grade boys who has been a handful since day one, made some very explicit and inappropriate comments about her as she walked by. I called him on this and told him it was inappropriate, which got me no where. Immediately afterward, I was in the lunch room discussing this situation with my colleagues (there are more male teachers at my school than female). One of my colleagues suggested that I should have said to him, "Man, you have to work on your game. How do you think you'll ever get the ladies if you talk like that?" This suggestion disgusted me. As soon as my colleague suggested it, he rescinded the idea stating, "I guess that wouldn't really work coming from you, but a guy could say it." That's just it folks, this is much larger than any conversation I could have with the kid if the men at my school are discussing women in this way even if it's their way of reaching the boys on their level. Women are game. How am I ever to earn the respect of the boys in my class when they are steeped in a school culture where male teachers egg their male students on and where the boys are raised in a culture where women are subservient, nevermind that women are the foundation of their lives and many of their fathers are missing in action? It appears to me to be a battle I can't win. But the battle I must somehow win is not believing the message that I'm inferior because I'm a woman. I would be lying if I didn't admit that I feel low right now. I think I must have been somewhat sheltered from this stupid man's world, at least partially. Did my own school, my own family, my own culture do such a good job of promoting me as a full and equal citizen despite my gender that this encounter can be so jolting? I have faced chauvinism in this country, in Spain and Morocco, and in personal relationships, too, and yet I feel unhinged and unprepared for this.
The last few days have been hard to detach from. The sexism I am facing from my students and the blatant disrespect of my position, heightened by the fact that I am a women, is shocking. I was not prepared. In my experience as a substitute teacher, the boys were obedient if not subservient. Once, as I prepared to fill in for a fourth grade teacher who had lost her voice, I saw the boys run up to the window and take a peek at me, their teacher for the day. Then they shouted to the other boys, "Our teacher's fine! I'm gonna be so good today." I may not be fine, but there certainly was some sort of womanly power at my service with the boys I've taught in the past. It was the girls I had trouble with, generally. They seemed to get territorial with me. But at this school, it's the reverse. A class of all girls (which I practically have in the afternoon with 21 girls and only 10 boys, would do me well at this point. I was not expecting to feel so tested, judged, and even disliked by the boys in my classrooms. I am not imagining this. The other female teachers are battling it too while the male teachers at my school suggest I call the boys out on it.
Yesterday, when we split the boys and girls in PE and the assistant principal left me with the boys... we were in the courtyard doing stretches before running the mile, and one of my advisees, a very beautiful girl, walked by. One of my ninth grade boys who has been a handful since day one, made some very explicit and inappropriate comments about her as she walked by. I called him on this and told him it was inappropriate, which got me no where. Immediately afterward, I was in the lunch room discussing this situation with my colleagues (there are more male teachers at my school than female). One of my colleagues suggested that I should have said to him, "Man, you have to work on your game. How do you think you'll ever get the ladies if you talk like that?" This suggestion disgusted me. As soon as my colleague suggested it, he rescinded the idea stating, "I guess that wouldn't really work coming from you, but a guy could say it." That's just it folks, this is much larger than any conversation I could have with the kid if the men at my school are discussing women in this way even if it's their way of reaching the boys on their level. Women are game. How am I ever to earn the respect of the boys in my class when they are steeped in a school culture where male teachers egg their male students on and where the boys are raised in a culture where women are subservient, nevermind that women are the foundation of their lives and many of their fathers are missing in action? It appears to me to be a battle I can't win. But the battle I must somehow win is not believing the message that I'm inferior because I'm a woman. I would be lying if I didn't admit that I feel low right now. I think I must have been somewhat sheltered from this stupid man's world, at least partially. Did my own school, my own family, my own culture do such a good job of promoting me as a full and equal citizen despite my gender that this encounter can be so jolting? I have faced chauvinism in this country, in Spain and Morocco, and in personal relationships, too, and yet I feel unhinged and unprepared for this.
08 September 2005
Illegal Things
I wish I had some delicious tidbit to share or new analysis on the adolescent brain to share today, but I don't. I'm left with a bad taste from today because moments before leaving my classroom (again the last person besides the janitor to leave the building), I discovered that $18 had been stolen from my wallet. I never carry more than $20 in cash to a school site and prefer not to even take that much. I have been overly-vigilant with my laptop, locking it up in the file cabinet every time I leave the room, locking the door to the room when I have an errand to run. Most of the teachers leave their doors wide open and I've felt a bit like the paranoid newbie. But, I have too much to lose. It is not the monetary value of my laptop as much as it is the content of my writing files. But for now it's my only solution if I want to use a computer at work since there is no working computer in my room. So, I'm $18 poorer. Things could be worse, but it still makes me mad. I can't think of when or how it was stolen. The truth is I was away from my room much of the day for PE, but my door was locked. The assistant principal had his LCD projector and laptop in my room, but it looks like cold hard cash is more useful.
This is just another test, I'm sure. How much can we get away with with the new teacher, they must be wondering. Last week, I was assigned a senior to my prep period. I was told he was a good kid who just wanted a quiet place to study and I was the only one with second period free. I said yes reluctantly even though it is my only prep time. I was told I could use him as a TA if I wanted, but the one time I asked him to punch holes in the handouts for my freshmen, he tried to punch all the holes on an entire class set and it was not helpful. The day after that, he came in and put his head on his desk for a half an hour while I busied myself with grading and frantically trying to get everything ready for the next period. About ten minutes before class ended, he got up and walked out of the classroom and as he walked out I called his name. He ignored me. I had an errand to run and was told that it would be okay to leave my room as I needed to and leave him there unattended. So, I went about my business. When I returned from my errand he was in the room again, staring into nothing. The room reeked of marijuana, but always being the last one to detect the sent of marijuana at concerts, I didn't trust my gut at first. And then I couldn't deny it.
So, I said, "It stinks in here."
"It does?" he responded in a classic fashion.
"Yeah."
"Like what?" he asked incredulously.
"I don't know... why don't you tell me?"
"I have no idea." With that class was over. I immediately went next door to retrieve the math teacher to do a smell test of my room. He confirmed the smell and then confirmed that when he'd gone to the bathroom five minutes prior, he had run into this student of "mine" in the far stall.
Needless to say, I reported this to the principal who said she'd caught him smoking pot in the alley last year and would talk to him. Over the weekend I decided I didn't want him in my class at all because my life was stressful enough without feeling like I couldn't let my guard down during my one prep period of the day. And here's the success in this. Where students are testing me and trying to take advantage and where I usually fail to say explicitly what I want or need, I succeeded in telling my principal that I did not want him in my class anymore. I did not apologize. This is victory!
This is just another test, I'm sure. How much can we get away with with the new teacher, they must be wondering. Last week, I was assigned a senior to my prep period. I was told he was a good kid who just wanted a quiet place to study and I was the only one with second period free. I said yes reluctantly even though it is my only prep time. I was told I could use him as a TA if I wanted, but the one time I asked him to punch holes in the handouts for my freshmen, he tried to punch all the holes on an entire class set and it was not helpful. The day after that, he came in and put his head on his desk for a half an hour while I busied myself with grading and frantically trying to get everything ready for the next period. About ten minutes before class ended, he got up and walked out of the classroom and as he walked out I called his name. He ignored me. I had an errand to run and was told that it would be okay to leave my room as I needed to and leave him there unattended. So, I went about my business. When I returned from my errand he was in the room again, staring into nothing. The room reeked of marijuana, but always being the last one to detect the sent of marijuana at concerts, I didn't trust my gut at first. And then I couldn't deny it.
So, I said, "It stinks in here."
"It does?" he responded in a classic fashion.
"Yeah."
"Like what?" he asked incredulously.
"I don't know... why don't you tell me?"
"I have no idea." With that class was over. I immediately went next door to retrieve the math teacher to do a smell test of my room. He confirmed the smell and then confirmed that when he'd gone to the bathroom five minutes prior, he had run into this student of "mine" in the far stall.
Needless to say, I reported this to the principal who said she'd caught him smoking pot in the alley last year and would talk to him. Over the weekend I decided I didn't want him in my class at all because my life was stressful enough without feeling like I couldn't let my guard down during my one prep period of the day. And here's the success in this. Where students are testing me and trying to take advantage and where I usually fail to say explicitly what I want or need, I succeeded in telling my principal that I did not want him in my class anymore. I did not apologize. This is victory!
07 September 2005
Trash Ball & Title IX
Last week with the help of the assistant principal, we introduced my students to the game of Trash Ball. If Trash Ball doesn't sound familiar to you it's because it's an urban school invention. At my school, we have limited facilities. There is no gym or playing field but we do have half a basketball court, proudly fundraised and built by the students last spring. We do not let our lack of facilities keep us from pursuing healthy choices and physical education; we make up games to play with what we have. One of those inventions, before my time, is Trash Ball. A combination of many games you've played before, Trash Ball is basketball without dribbling. Soccer without the kicking or positions. Football without the tackling. The goal is to get the kickball into the trashcan which is held by two people on your own team. It is a moving goal, and rather than tossing the ball past your opponents' keeper, you try to get the ball into your own goal zone. The beauty of Trash Ball is that it doesn't matter how many people play, so we have successfully played with a full class of 34 freshman, boys and girls alike.
After warming up in the classroom, reviewing the rules, and talking up the prestige of being good at Trash Ball, the assistant principal and I lead the crew out to the playing field (otherwise known as the empty parking lot). The AP and I both joined in on the game, which seems to have inspired some of our students and stunned the rest. One of the smallest boys in my afternoon class of freshman came up to me with his big dimples fully depressed and said, with wide eyes, "You are playing with us?!"
"Of course!" I said.
He took a step back and then said incredulously, "But... you are a... woman!"
Keep in my mind my adult life was positively shaped by athletics. Making the basketball team my freshman year of high school saved the quality of my life and helped me finally drop those extra 25 pounds of childhood insecurity. By the time I left high school, I'd joined the Varsity soccer team, and indoor soccer team, and had lead my basketball as the team captain. I often think about sports as a life-saver for me, sports that lead me to backpacking and hiking and a tolerance for hard work and sweat. I've kept on playing, never at any level of superiority, but for fun on co-ed soccer (indoor and out) and basketball teams. It's hard to imagine making it through teenage-hood without play. I have Title IX to thanks along with my small high school with a bad reputation that didn't attract the best athletes which left vacancies on teams for me to fill. So, when my male student charged me with being a woman and thus incapable of playing, something teenage and angry opened up inside of me.
I stepped up to him, ready for a verbal fight. "What did you just say?" I shouted. "You better come with me to the sideline because if you think a woman can't play this game, you have some things to learn right now!"
He backed up, his dimples fading away and a look of fear in his eyes. His buddies must have seen this because they gathered around to hear what I had to say. He tried to backtrack into, "But, Miss... I meant, you are OLD!"
We all know at 27 years, I'm hardly old, but to this 13 year old boy, I'm ancient, old enough to be his mother, old enough to be his teacher. My first instinct was to believe that he was making a comment steeped in the machismo of his culture. I remembered the co-ed indoor soccer pick up games I used to play at the soccer arena in San Jose. Most days I was one of two or three women on the field. Some days I was the only one. My teammates and opponents were mostly men who had recently immigrated from Spanish-speaking countries. It was clear that my presence on the field did not comfort them as they had not had the experience of playing sports with woman in their own countries. It was intimidating to me, too. I felt like I had to constantly prove my worth and my strength on the field. I recall distinctly the day I ran up to defend the approaching forward. I managed to kick the ball away from him before kicking him, accidentally in the ankle. I was about to shove off of him and down the field with the ball when he reached out and held me back, as if catching me from falling. I know he had only the best of intentions and he asked me if Iwas hurt when all I wanted to do was follow through with my steal.
Thankfully, something stopped me from my first instinct. My student wasn't making a sexist remark at all. In fact, he was stunned because I was an adult woman and I was about to play a sport called Trash Ball in a vacant lot with teenagers. If I'd taken a step back sooner, I would have seen how absurd this must look. As I drove home that night I thought about the incident, about how mad I got at my innocent student, and I knew I must apologize to him for yelling and truly being angry with him -- a miscommunication. But, wouldn't you know he wasn't in class the next day and then we had the three day weekend. Finally, yesterday he returned and I pulled him aside as he came into class. I apologized to him for my reaction and explained what I thought he had meant, which he refuted. Girl power's one thing, but I think I'll have to keep in check when it comes to my students.
Then again, maybe not as they are asking for me to get out there and trash talk. I am occupying another world these days, slowly becoming acculturated to my new environment. There is so much about this city that I don't know and certainly don't understand. The day of Trash Ball, my students were calling me out for a challenge. Even the girls, walked right up to me and said things like "I bet you suck at this game," and "I bet we can kick your butt." Again my first instinct was not useful -- to take it personally and feel hurt. So, I let my second kick in and I went out and played even harder, nodded my head at my students as if to challenge them to push even harder. And at the end of the day, I knew that I'd passed one of their tests. They'd passed one of mine too: they had mettle.
Yesterday, I had to ask a student to repeat himself over and over again. I expected to understand a little more each time, but I was really lost. I finally broke into a big smile and said, "I'm sorry. I have no idea what you are saying to me." He laughed too, and responded, "Looks like we'll have to teach you ghetto talk." To which I replied, "You have a lot to teach me." Clearly, I don't need to travel more than eight miles from my home to be very far away from what I know. And clearly, the teacher in me is really the student in me.
After warming up in the classroom, reviewing the rules, and talking up the prestige of being good at Trash Ball, the assistant principal and I lead the crew out to the playing field (otherwise known as the empty parking lot). The AP and I both joined in on the game, which seems to have inspired some of our students and stunned the rest. One of the smallest boys in my afternoon class of freshman came up to me with his big dimples fully depressed and said, with wide eyes, "You are playing with us?!"
"Of course!" I said.
He took a step back and then said incredulously, "But... you are a... woman!"
Keep in my mind my adult life was positively shaped by athletics. Making the basketball team my freshman year of high school saved the quality of my life and helped me finally drop those extra 25 pounds of childhood insecurity. By the time I left high school, I'd joined the Varsity soccer team, and indoor soccer team, and had lead my basketball as the team captain. I often think about sports as a life-saver for me, sports that lead me to backpacking and hiking and a tolerance for hard work and sweat. I've kept on playing, never at any level of superiority, but for fun on co-ed soccer (indoor and out) and basketball teams. It's hard to imagine making it through teenage-hood without play. I have Title IX to thanks along with my small high school with a bad reputation that didn't attract the best athletes which left vacancies on teams for me to fill. So, when my male student charged me with being a woman and thus incapable of playing, something teenage and angry opened up inside of me.
I stepped up to him, ready for a verbal fight. "What did you just say?" I shouted. "You better come with me to the sideline because if you think a woman can't play this game, you have some things to learn right now!"
He backed up, his dimples fading away and a look of fear in his eyes. His buddies must have seen this because they gathered around to hear what I had to say. He tried to backtrack into, "But, Miss... I meant, you are OLD!"
We all know at 27 years, I'm hardly old, but to this 13 year old boy, I'm ancient, old enough to be his mother, old enough to be his teacher. My first instinct was to believe that he was making a comment steeped in the machismo of his culture. I remembered the co-ed indoor soccer pick up games I used to play at the soccer arena in San Jose. Most days I was one of two or three women on the field. Some days I was the only one. My teammates and opponents were mostly men who had recently immigrated from Spanish-speaking countries. It was clear that my presence on the field did not comfort them as they had not had the experience of playing sports with woman in their own countries. It was intimidating to me, too. I felt like I had to constantly prove my worth and my strength on the field. I recall distinctly the day I ran up to defend the approaching forward. I managed to kick the ball away from him before kicking him, accidentally in the ankle. I was about to shove off of him and down the field with the ball when he reached out and held me back, as if catching me from falling. I know he had only the best of intentions and he asked me if Iwas hurt when all I wanted to do was follow through with my steal.
Thankfully, something stopped me from my first instinct. My student wasn't making a sexist remark at all. In fact, he was stunned because I was an adult woman and I was about to play a sport called Trash Ball in a vacant lot with teenagers. If I'd taken a step back sooner, I would have seen how absurd this must look. As I drove home that night I thought about the incident, about how mad I got at my innocent student, and I knew I must apologize to him for yelling and truly being angry with him -- a miscommunication. But, wouldn't you know he wasn't in class the next day and then we had the three day weekend. Finally, yesterday he returned and I pulled him aside as he came into class. I apologized to him for my reaction and explained what I thought he had meant, which he refuted. Girl power's one thing, but I think I'll have to keep in check when it comes to my students.
Then again, maybe not as they are asking for me to get out there and trash talk. I am occupying another world these days, slowly becoming acculturated to my new environment. There is so much about this city that I don't know and certainly don't understand. The day of Trash Ball, my students were calling me out for a challenge. Even the girls, walked right up to me and said things like "I bet you suck at this game," and "I bet we can kick your butt." Again my first instinct was not useful -- to take it personally and feel hurt. So, I let my second kick in and I went out and played even harder, nodded my head at my students as if to challenge them to push even harder. And at the end of the day, I knew that I'd passed one of their tests. They'd passed one of mine too: they had mettle.
Yesterday, I had to ask a student to repeat himself over and over again. I expected to understand a little more each time, but I was really lost. I finally broke into a big smile and said, "I'm sorry. I have no idea what you are saying to me." He laughed too, and responded, "Looks like we'll have to teach you ghetto talk." To which I replied, "You have a lot to teach me." Clearly, I don't need to travel more than eight miles from my home to be very far away from what I know. And clearly, the teacher in me is really the student in me.
23 August 2005
My first day of teaching is now history
It's history unraveling. I've just completed my first day of teaching, and I am e-x-h-a-u-s-t-e-d. From 8:20 this morning until 12:05 we were with the same twenty students without a break doing community building exercises, reviewing rules (including our unheard-of NO CELL PHONES ON CAMPUS policy), learning names, etc. It was hard to believe that by the time lunch rolled around I still had not met with my other three classes; the day was still ahead. The good news is my class of seniors who are signed up for a class I'm teaching called "Theatre Workshop" but which is really Poetry Writing in the fall and Film Studies in the spring were really attentive and interested. I had expected to be hazed a bit by the rulers of the school. My first class of freshman also were wonderful: wide-eyed, helpful, and kind. One of them even said, "So, tell us about you!" I did not expect that. And then it was time for my last freshman class, right before the end of the day. How much of it was me being tired, needing a break, and feeling overwhelmed, and how much of it was them, I'm not sure, but I was definitely tested by this class (or a few members of this class). While the earlier ninth grade class was quiet and did not interrupt, the other was testy, talkative, and impatient. I called one particular student on it and asked him to stay after school. I was hesitant about doing this because as he said in protest, "It's my first day of high school!" That was exactly why I decided I better do it. Whether our few minutes together after school had any impact or not, I don't know, but I do hope to be making an impression that I don't put up with nonsense in my class. Sounds tough, but it is such an act!
All in all, I can't really complain about the first day. It went as smoothly as possible considering our rosters were all wrong, our freshman were confused, and we have no bells. After spending 11 hours here on campus getting ready for the first day, I'm determined to get myself out of here by 5:30 so I can go home and lesson plan for tomorrow. I can't promise I won't work another twelve hour day, though. If only...
All in all, I can't really complain about the first day. It went as smoothly as possible considering our rosters were all wrong, our freshman were confused, and we have no bells. After spending 11 hours here on campus getting ready for the first day, I'm determined to get myself out of here by 5:30 so I can go home and lesson plan for tomorrow. I can't promise I won't work another twelve hour day, though. If only...
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