I found a SMARTBoard for my classroom. I didn’t actually find it, but I certainly jumped on the
opportunity to get one in the classroom. I also helped the students finish
editing the school newspaper, and I got to school extra early to make sure the
office would print out and distribute copies before the weekend. Although the
newspaper is only sports-related (for now), it looks pretty great. I still
don’t have a key to the classroom, and one of the teachers here likes to treat
me like a glorified secretary, and the stench of teenaged boys is getting worse
every day, and we can’t open the windows because it’s too cold, but I LOVE THIS
JOB.
Maybe
I don’t love this job the way I love my husband, or my dog (unconditionally),
but the conditions I do have aren’t unreasonable. Some of these conditions came
into focus this week. For starters, I want to work with people who A) know
their course content, and B) like kids, or at the very least, don’t seem to
despise them. For example, senior asked me if the Nelson Mandela autobiography
was interesting. I said I didn’t know and asked him what class it was for. He
said, “British literature.” I struggled for a moment to make the connection, any connection, and when I came up
empty, I reassured him that his teacher “probably has a plan” and to trust her.
This interaction still confounds me, days after it happened. It makes me wonder
what else is on the reading list for “British literature.”
Later
on that week, I witnessed at least four extreme reprimands for seemingly mild
offenses. I’m ashamed to admit that I caused one of the incidents. A student
was walking away from the gymnasium, where a guest speaker was just about to
begin giving a motivational talk, and I noticed that he wasn’t holding a hall
pass. I called after him, by name (because I’m actually trying to learn every
student’s name, regardless of whether or not they’re in any of my classes), and
asked him where he was going. The young man didn’t stop, slow down, or even
acknowledge that I had called out to him, so I tried again, chasing after him.
He curtly told me that he was going to his locker, but he didn’t stop, turn
around, or even slow down. I continued to chase after him, asking, “Why? You
need a pass, dear,” in my best “adult” voice. Before he could respond, another
teacher bellowed, “YOU ARE BEING DISRESPECTFUL! STOP. TURN AROUND, AND SPEAK
DIRECTLY TO A TEACHER WHEN YOU ARE SPOKEN TO!” It was extremely jarring, and I
was a little embarrassed.
As the
student turned to talk to me, an administrator shot around the corner and
yelled, “Somebody call his parents to pick him up! He doesn’t belong here
anymore if he can’t be respectful!” I began to panic. The situation was
spinning out of control, and I was worried that he would be kicked out,
suspended, or, my biggest worry, be sent to ISS instead of class. I spoke up,
partially out of fear for the student, and partially to try to defuse the
situation. “He doesn’t need to be sent home. He was in a hurry, and I just
wanted to know why and where he was going. He needs to stay here. In school.
Please.” I winced, waiting to be reprimanded, but instead, I received a
condescending smile, and a reassurance that the student would be “handled.” I
didn’t see him again until the end of the day, when he came to apologize to me
“for being disrespectful.”
His
apology was so forlorn, I had to talk to him. We talked for a few minutes, and
I reassured him that I liked him, and I was just trying to make sure he had
permission to go to his locker. He gave me a hug and said thank you before he
left. I felt better, but I wondered how many other kids resented being ruled by
fear, rather than respect.
The
respect issue hit me hard this week, when I had an epiphany regarding the
school culture, specifically, the student culture of apathy (or laziness). For
several weeks now, another teacher in the classroom next to mine has asked me,
to make copies of his handouts and worksheets for him. He always asks during 3rd
period, which I’m not teaching yet, so I duck out and do as he asks. This week,
I reminded him that I am working, but since my 3rd period was
heading to the computer lab, I could do it. My CT asked me if that is what he
keeps asking me for, and when she found out, she was furious. It occurred to me
then, that the students might learn to be lazy because they see the adults in
the school modeling it for them.
These
kids need teachers that are advocates for them, not prison wardens. The final
insult this week, and the most frustrating, had to do with the newspaper. Since
Wednesday, several students began to show an interest in getting the newspaper
published and distributed, especially the students who had submitted articles,
photos, and interviews. I took advantage of their collective interest, and
scheduled “work hours” during study hall, lunch, and after school, and do you
know what happened? They came, they worked, and by Thursday, the paper was
almost ready to be published. I spent that night putting some finishing touches
on it, and the next morning, I drove to school a full hour early just to drop
off the paper in the office and request that copies be made and distributed at
the start of the school day.
I
spent the entire day, waiting to see the paper in some student’s hands, but by
noon, there was nothing. I asked my CT to gently nudge the office staff, and
she was happy to do so. By 2pm, there still wasn’t anything, so I marched up to
the office, walked over to the desk, and saw… the original document still
sitting there with my note on it, untouched. A student called out to me from
the front of the office, and asked if the paper was coming out or not. I waved
it in the air, and said, “I’m glad you asked! Here it is, and it’s getting
printed NOW, if I have anything to say about it!” At that moment, the principal
came out of her office and looked from me, to the student, to the paper in my
hand, and asked, “What’s that?” Unbelievable. I cordially explained that the
office had been given the paper very early that morning, and it needed to be printed immediately “so the
kids can see what they did and feel proud of themselves for doing it.” She took
it, looked it over, and told her secretary that they needed to keep a copy for
the Open House Night.
She
could have said, “The kids need this,” or “This is impressive work,” or “When
will the next one come out?” but she was only concerned with using it to sell
the school to more tuition-paying parents. At least it got published, I only
wish it had been published for the students.
These kids are really great, and although they annoy, disgust, and frustrate
me, they also surprise me constantly with their sweetness and spontaneity. From
a hug to an impromptu song, they make this job so very, very satisfying. This is what I mean:
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