Posts (page 2)

Today was Parent-Teacher Conference Day.  Few parents came; much time was for to burn.  The male teachers slung bullshit stories back and forth to pass the time.  Because I thought they were funny, here's a sampling:

(Coach W.) / Snakebit
Now, about 30 years ago, a couple of friends and I were camping in the Mississippi backwoods.  We had built a fire and set up tents.  It was getting on late in the night when one of my friends decided he had to go to the bathroom.  As we were in the woods, he had nowhere to go but in the bushes.  I was suspicious of the idea, but he insisted both that he had to go and that he would go in the bushes (some drinking had occurred).  Well, it was a "number 2", so he walked off and squat down, and damned if a snake didn't come up and bite him right in the ass.
He howls out, we run to him and find him floundering on the ground, grabbing his ass and screaming.  As soon as we figured out the story, we started running to the road, looking for a doctor.  It must have been 20 minutes before we hit the road, we hitched to the nearest town, and ran into the local doctor's office.  We meet the nurse and tell her that our friend is in deadly pain, bit by a snake; she asks us to wait for the doctor.
In a little while, the doctor comes out.  We tell him that our friend has been bit by a snake, and he says to us: "You all were camping, right?  Well, I know you have a pinknife with you.  What you need to do is get back to your friend and cut two slits crosswise through the fang-holes and suck the poison out--make sure not to swallow it, now.  That will buy us enough time for me to finish up with my patients here, and then I'll come to see you and your friend.  I'll fix him up right."
After that, we went back to our friend.  He was still at the campsite, grabbing his ass, crying and talking about he was going to die.  We told him we'd found a doctor and told him about his condition.
He asked, "Well, W, what did the doctor say?"
I told him, "The doctor says you're gonna die. He said there ain't nothin' to do to help you."
---Let me tell you!  Aint' nothin' I'm going to suck out of any man's ass!

(Mr. B) / Huntin' Rabbits

You don't believe me, but when you go to hunt rabbits, you got to have a permit.  And not only a permit, but a special Rabbit License too.  Now, I tell you, this is a story that really happened to a man I know.  This friend of mine was out huntin' rabbits.  *Boom* Shootin' the shotgun and picks up the rabbit.  *Boom* hits another, goes to pick it up.  Before long, here comes the game warden.  *Boom* man shoots another rabbit, goes and picks it up.   Game warden says, "You got a permit for that?"  *Boom* man shoots another, picks it up, says "Yeah, I got a permit".  *Boom* keeps on shootin' rabbits.  Game warden says, "You got a permit for THAT ONE?".  Man says, "Yeah, I got that permit too".  When the man *Boom* shoots another rabbit, the game warden goes to pick it up, sticks his finger in its ass, pulls the finger out, smells it, and says, "Now this here a Looziana rabbit.  You got a permit for that?"  Man says, *Boom* shoots again, says, "Yeah, I got a permit for that".  Game Warden picks up the rabbit the man just shot, sticks his finger in the rabbit's ass, pulls out, smells it, and says, "Now this here is a Texas rabbit.  You got a permit for THAT?"  Man says, *Boom* shoots another and says, "Yeah, I got that permit".  *Boom* ignores the game warden and shoots another.  Game warden picks up THAT rabbit, sticks the finger in the rabbit's ass, pulls out, smells it and says, "This here is an Alabama rabbit.  You got a permit for this one?! Or do you need to come with me?"  Man says, "I got permits for them all."  Game warden calls the bluff:  "You got permits for them all?  Well, where are YOU from that you've got permits for three states' worth of rabbits?!"
Man pulls down his pants, turns his ass towards the game warden and says, "If you're so damn smart, why don't you tell ME?!"

I have thought today about how much my perspective has changed since the beginning of the school year.  Not in a drastic sense like a restructuring of my beliefs towards poverty or race, but something as simple and easily overlooked as how to view a successful school day.

Let me be more specific.

Today in my fourth period, two freshmen almost started to fight.  One had guessed a wrong answer and the other was ragging him about it.  I gave the two a writing assignment, told them to be quiet now and not speak for the rest of the class.   I then moved on and finished the lesson. (five-paragraph essays, incidentally).

A simple and easily forgotten story, right?

It wouldn't have been at the beginning of the year, for me or for many other first year teachers.  I would have been overwhelmed with my normal responsibilities, so much so that if I had somehow managed to keep the two students' hands from their respective necks I would have erupted in elation. 

Today, it was less than a pot-hole on a smooth road.

I don't tell this story to brag about my classroom management, because there was nothing unusual or innovative that I did.  I tell this story to show that many a thing I would have stressed about, or been derailed by, at the beginning of the year I now take in stride.  I don't even consider it a "successfully avoided implosion".

Experiences that would have been first semester's badges of honor are now given no special attention.  I--We--are so adept at handling them that they don't make a deep impression.  Regardless of how I, or we, feel personally about the jobs we are doing this year, scenes like this are evidence that the job is getting done right.

Or: Why a dropout-prevention assemblies kill the motivation to live

Last Tuesday I was lassoed into chaperoning a Dropout-Prevention Program.  Simmons High's 25 biggest malcontents were herded into a bus and shipped to the middle school, where we picked up 15 more malcontents and headed off to Greenville.

Washington County had gone to an assuredly great expense to put on a "Get-on-the-Bus.MS" Dropout Prevention program.  Why that money was spent is still being debated.  The collected dropout risks from around the county gathered in the convention center and sat for 3 hours, listening to Washington County's 4 (repeat that: 4!) different school districts' representatives summarize their prevention plans.  Then a State Dept. of Education Secretary took the podium and--after apologizing in advance if she ran over her 5 minute time limit--regaled us with rambling reminisces, recriminations, and repetitions for well along half an hour.

Lost in the shuffle was any shape of speech directed towards our kids, to inform or inspire them to stay in school.

As soon as the show began, and I saw what was to come, I knew there might be trouble.  I sat myself next to L.S.W., the school's alpha troublemaker.  He chomped and kicked when I sat down, but took it well enough thereafter.  Despite three hours' nauseous natterings, he behaved better than I'd believed he would.  And, in a fit of misguided and ignorant inspiration, he leaned over to me during the proceedings and, passing judgment on the prevention program, said:

"If I'd have known this is what we'd be doing, I would have just stayed in school."

General Update:

-broke up another fight recently.  Two males, a freshman and senior, got into it at lunch.  I was 15 feet away, in a crowded cafeteria corridor, when it occurred, so the two had 10-15 solid seconds of thrown punches before I could break them up.  This was my first fight in which I did not arrive on time to defuse the fight, but had to literally jump between swinging fists.  Thankfully, as I jumped between the two, another senior grabbed one of the fighters around the waist and drug him towards the cafeteria door.  What that meant was that I didn't get hit by many punches at all: as best I can feel, only a single punch hit me in the elbow.

After I took one of the combatants to the office, I walked back to the cafeteria to get lunch and monitor my class.  Cue the movie scene: as I entered the cafeteria, the students caught notice of me and started clapping and shouting my name.  From the girls came shouts of, "Mr. Walker, our hero!"

No joke.

I got a standing ovation when I returned.  After I sat down, some of my seniors came up to me and said, "Mr. Walker, you must really care about this school.  We've never seen a teacher break up a fight like that before."

-started bird-watching.  I can now identify, with relative ease, red-winged blackbirds, mockingbirds, blue jays, cowbirds, cardinals, and various sparrows.  It's better than identifying copied homework.

I have already blogged about this in part, so I will both rehash and add some new:

-The material in Ann's summer school class could better be covered by a monitored reading of "Delta Autumn."  The multi-hour daily sessions seem a waste of time when much the same information can be gleaned from one 5 hour session with a book.  Granted, the information would need to be built upon and sharpened, but I think Ann's class would work better as a "refining" tool where we could reflect and discuss what we've read, rather than a freshmen-level ed-school bore-a-thon.

-We need more discipline training.  I see problems stemming from two sources:

1. The summer school kids are angels and totally unlike what we will face in our regular classrooms.  Experience with them does not acclimate us to the chronic high-school discipline issues.  And even when we conduct role-plays, they have an exotic once-in-a-lifetime feel about them.  We are equipped to deal with attempted homicide but not with subtle, everyday disrespect.

2. Many of these students misbehave because they are looking for attention (especially the younger ones).  During August and September, I would get angry at students who would pretend like they had an individual question, only to have them ask me what the directions (which i had just gone over) were when I got to their desks.  I realize now that the kids were just looking for some one-on-one time with an adult.

I remember that Brian Hawkins in particular emphasized how needy some of our students (especially female) would be, but I think he overplayed his hand.  Yes, they'll want our attention, but that desire won't often manifest itself sexually (as he often implied); in all likelihood you'll just have to deal with clingy, slightly annoying, and probably disruptive-because-it's-how-they-seek-attention kids.  Treating them kindly and benevolently will work better in the long term than an immediate outburst and disciplinary action.

Ultimately, though, the first years will have to sink or swim on their own merits.  No matter how well we (think that we) train them, the Summer School will never be a panacea. 

It's human nature, I guess, to demand individual responsibility and independent thinking from our students, but to be constantly complaining about how our summer school left us unprepared to deal with them.

Easy.  If I were superintendent for a day, I would run a second school bus in the afternoon at least once a week.  1 hour later, 2 hours later, whenever.  Right now, we run only one bus, immediately after school.  Without a second bus, we are not permitted to start or participate in extracurricular activities.  Without a second bus, kids "cannot" stay after school because they won't be able to get home.  Many other districts run a second bus; there is no reason why we cannot.

With the bus comes the possibility for great improvement in the school: chess, drama, newspaper, all sorts of extracurriculars that require after-school work.

two favorite quotes from the previous week of teaching:

"This milk tastes like beer."
-CM

"See you on Monday, Mr. Walker!"
-QD, my biggest discipline problem.  At some point in time, he decided to man up and stop acting like a baby in my class.  I can't pinpoint his exact change in mood, but I can tell you MY change of behavior which in turn led to his.  When basketball season began, I made the decision to attend all of the games.  I, for any number of reasons, am easily recognizable in any Simmons High-affiliated crowd.  He's on the team and has noticed my attendance.  He said  what I quoted on a Friday night after a game; as I was walking to my car (after working a duty shift), he leaned out of his mother's van and spoke to me.   Not too shabby.

let's add a third quote:

"two weeks until vacation."

I'll let this story stand for my experiences in general:

On Friday I broke up my first fight at Simmons.  Two kids in my fourth period--my lunch period--were involved.  I should have seen the fight coming;  while walking back from lunch on Thursday, the two  got into each other's faces.  I pulled them apart, but I thought nothing of it:  these two were not the usual suspects to do something stupid.

Friday was destined to be a powderkeg.  It was the day of our playoff game against Rosedale, THE 2A football team in the state of MS (though when i saw their 70 person band and 50+ person football team, I wondered why exactly they were in 2A at all (as opposed to Conference USA, for instance), but those are sour grapes and anyways it's not my story to tell...).  It goes without saying, the school was electric with anticipation.

To add to the general mayhem, a subplot of intrigue:  In October, the school was witness to a...well, a brawl.  15 kids suspended.  A big to-do.  Humbugging and knit-brows (but little else) from those in position to do more.  The genesis was straight from Shakespeare: two rival cliques (Arcola vs. Hollandale; A-town goons vs. Get-Money-Boys) feuding because it's what they've always done.

When the dust settled and the suspensions expired, our principal added an addendum:  the cliques are to stay apart, disband, not meet one another in the streets.  Right...ask the Prince of Verona how that worked out.  The edict lasted two days at most.  The groundswell of these kids' natural inclinations could have been checked by diligence or perseverance or at least giving-a-damn, but we were as inert as the rocks that a stream burbles over.  By gameday Friday, our idiots were grouping together again at lunch, harassing girls and jabbering like fools.

Though the record may not bear me out, I have no doubt that the first of these cliques reignited my freshmen's dispute (seeing as one of them wants to be accepted by that crowd, for reasons that I cannot divine).  In respect to my classical instruction, a jump to the historical present:

While eating whatever was served for lunch (baked chicken, perhaps), I notice a rush of bodies towards the cafeteria exit.  High school etiquette being what it is, I realize that so much movement, so quickly, can only presage a fight.  I leave my lunch (let 'em tamper with it, I won't be back to finish it) and bulldoze through the gathered pack.  My two freshmen are outside the cafeteria, against the wall, face-to-face, and bumping chests.  It's all bluster at this point, so I take one and shove him  into the cafeteria while restraining the other, holding him outside.

What's happened, though, is enough to taint the water and all our sharks have scented blood.  The scene outside is giddy and unrestrained: the gathered students are hopped up on hope of a fight, shouting and screaming, jostling and pantomiming what they hope to see. I make a mistake; in my own way I'm as hyped as they are, except I'm high on my own feeling of disciplinary control.  For 20 seconds, I think I can reign them all back into line.  Not content to defuse a fight, I try to defuse the whole situation.  I hand out writing assignments and bark reprisals, to limited effect.

Those 20 wasted seconds are time enough.  The freshman I had pushed inside the cafeteria has come back out.  Preternaturally, I turn from my peace-keeping duties in time to see the two back together, tensed up.   One throws a fist; all order breaks down.  As if through an imagined muscle-memory, or some instinct previously lain dormant, I'm immediately between the two, bracketing one behind my body, arms back, thrusting him into the wall while I shield him from the blows of the other.  I keep my face and body towards the one who's free, while I pin the other to the wall, preventing his reprisal.

Amidst the chaos, something amazing happens.

Another of my freshmen--one of the clique leaders--pulls the unbracketed fighter away from the brawl.  I say to this new entrant (D, we'll call him): "D, take C back into the hallway.  Get him out of here."  While all the world shouts and screams and lusts for blood, D steers C into the school proper (the cafeteria is in an adjacent building) and away from the fight.  I wrestle the bracketed K circuitously towards the office.  When I arrive, K in tow, who should I see but D standing legs apart and arms crossed, staring holes through C, who's sitting petulantly in a corner.

It was the proudest I've ever been as a teacher.  This is why:

As I said, D was one of the clique leaders.  During the big fight, he was an instigator and major contributor.  When he came back from the alternative school I told him that I didn't care if the other kids who weren't supposed to hang out at lunch did actually did so, HE--since he was in my class--was not to sit with them.  If they came and sat next to him, he was to get up and sit by me. 

I told him that and he ignored me.  I asked him how many times must I repeat my order.  He said 27, but he didn't mean it.  He asked me to stop after 18.  And damn it all, he followed through.  He stopped sitting with the idiots and sat with his class (like he was supposed to).  On Friday, when his idiot clique buddies tried again, he left and sat next to me, taking in stride their taunts about "leaving us for a teach."

And then he took the most responsibility I've ever seen any freshman take, helping me to break up this fight and actually get his kid to the office before I got mine there.

What this says to me is that, regardless of anything related to the subject of English that I may or may not have taught, it looks like--on one day when it mattered most--a kid who had every right to act worse showed me that he'd learned how to act better.  And that's a hopeful sign.  Ironically (if that's the word for it), by having to break up my first fight, I realize it's been a good first semester.

One of my students made me laugh because he missed school for about a month and then showed up one day, not expecting to get back on track, not expecting to learn anything, but really just looking to bide time until he can miss school for another month.  I don't understand why he doesn't just drop out.

Obviously, that was overly cynical.  My homeroom has me in stitches right now: they are jealous that my regular classes can earn tickets, but they cannot.  Because of them, I've made my ticket policy non-discriminatory, and you would laugh to see my formerly...let's call them "Dionysian" (have to keep the classics alive)... homeroom jump over itself to sit down first, erase the board, fill out the attendance sheet, and stack up books in nice piles.  And they stopped talking graphically about sex, too!

I will roll the past two weeks into one big success story:

There exists a program "Future Educators of America," or FEA for short.  The FEA is a sort of fraternal, tuition-aiding program that veers high school seniors towards  educational careers.  Seniors at Simmons High have been applying for the past two weeks and many have approached me to complete one of three required teacher recommendation forms.  This, in itself, I count as a success because I choose to read their actions as saying that they either respect me or, at least, no longer think of me as some weird person they'd rather not associate with at all.

After the application process, somewhere along the lines of 20 seniors were accepted into the program.  They were told upon their acceptance that they needed to find a "mentor" teacher to help show them the ropes.  Now, I will grant that four of these seniors interrupted my sixth period freshmen class--so i've not trained them as well as i'd like--but the four did interrupt to ask me to be their mentor.  I was their first choice.  I could take no more than two, and I feel a little guilty about being a first year teacher pretending to be able to instill some sort of wisdom into these kids, but this above everything else seems to show that they respect what I'm doing and--if they've decided to pick me to mentor them--I must be somewhat effective at getting my message across in class.