Guide to Student Teaching #11

The general consensus believes that I am “too nice” for this job. According to my colleagues and professor, my lessons and planning are solid and engaging, and my classroom management skills are progressing… nicely. Last week, I learned about the differences between being a “mean” teacher and being a “hard” teacher, so this week, I tried to remember that my lessons are hard, not mean. I stuck to my plans, held fast to my homework assignments, and did everything I could to accommodate various types of learners. The work was moderately challenging and would have been very satisfying, had the students actually listened to instructions and paid attention during lessons, but the sad truth of the matter is that I do not command respect because, as one of my students told me, “You’re just not crazy enough.”

            

When I probed the student, I discovered that these kids typically responded to teachers who “yell and holler, and throw stuff around the room,” and even though I verbalize my expectations, frustrations, and disappointment with my classes from time to time, I have only yelled at a class once, and when I brought that incident up with the student, he laughed at me and said, “That wasn’t real hollering.” I remember that day vividly, and I recall the tremendous amount of guilt I felt all weekend for losing my temper. If that wasn’t considered “real hollering,” then there are only two feasible explanations: 1) I don’t actually know how to holler and yell, or 2) the student doesn’t understand the definition of “holler.” Both are strong possibilities.

            

I may not be a mean teacher, but after gathering some information and processing some feedback, I am beginning to wonder if the “hard teacher” needs to be replaced by the “crazy teacher” to make the “teacher” part of the title count for something. I can act crazy, of course, but I’m not actually crazy. I could yell, and threaten, and pull on students’ ears the way another teacher does, but those are not truly options for me. My weapons, for lack of a better term, are well-constructed and engaging lessons, and the points these students need to get good grades. However, for this particular student culture, the value of education is lost on them. Several of my students do not see the importance of school and treat it like an interruption in their real lives. I am struggling to instill a sense of purpose in them, but to do that, I still need their attention, and in order to get that attention, apparently I need to be crazy.

            

Should I have a makeup artist give me a fake black eye so I can tell these kids that I got into a barfight? That’s crazy. Should I throw a chair or break something, as my student suggested? That’s crazy too. Maybe I should threaten violence, as a few students (and colleagues) have proposed. Definitely crazy. Should I continue to entertain these options? That is what’s really crazy. I’m not crazy, so why are these the only solutions I can think of? Why are these the only resolutions that the students and staff can provide? I find it hard to believe that anyone enjoys getting yelled at or threatened with violence, and it is absurd to think that doing so will actually instill a lifelong love of learning.

            

During my first few weeks at this school, I found that the students were responding well to kindness. It was odd that they seemed surprised by my genuine attention and concern, but the surprise gave me hope for being able to manage a classroom and impart some useful knowledge. Perhaps it was the kindness that was mistaken for weakness, and now, ten weeks later, I have no control over my classes. I lost them somewhere between “being kind” and “being a respected authority figure.” I had originally thought that kindness would beget respect, but now I wonder if I should have walked in on the first day as a raging authoritarian and disciplinarian… that’s crazy, right? Although, if I had, then I might actually be teaching these kids instead of just begging them to pay attention, and the only respect I would have lost would have been my self-respect.

            

This is the quandary of the public servant: changing personal beliefs to meet the publics’ needs in order to accomplish a valuable goal for society, or maintaining strong principles at the risk of doing a bad job. I am certain I will find a balance, and I am certain that every student body will pose different challenges, but the thing I am most certain of, is that I am proud of my “niceness” and I’m worried if I sacrifice that, I won’t be the type of teacher I could respect.

            
ADDENDUM: After a long conversation, several deep breaths, and some serious contemplation, I think I understand how to reconcile being “too nice” with being “crazy.” The happy medium exists in being firm, strict, and confident in my abilities as an educator. Confidence has never been my strong suit, but I reviewed everything I have done up to this point, as well as the lessons I have planned for the upcoming weeks, and they’re good. I made the mistake of expecting to make mistakes in my planning and effectively showed my students that I could be pushed around, when I should have trusted myself and emanated confidence. I don’t need to act crazy, and I don’t have to stop being “nice,” but I absolutely need to remember that I am a trained professional. 

Guide to Student Teaching #10

It’s official. I am “a mean teacher.” I never wanted to be a “mean teacher,” and to be fair, I’m not mean to every student, just the ones that won’t follow basic instructions, argue with classroom procedures, and generally prevent other students from learning. For those students, I am “mean” because I choose to teach rather than waste precious instructional time bickering with them.

            

This week was pretty good in regards to building trust and motivation in my students. My juniors have been having a blast interpreting lines from Oedipus at Colonus, the prelude to Antigone. They’re learning a whole slew of new vocabulary related to emotions by selecting, defining, and applying different words to the same lines. Not only do these kids get the opportunity to learn and apply new vocabulary, they also get the chance to practice reading and speaking with purpose and comprehension. The students who expected to sit and act as “audience” members were given the task of “directing” the speakers by asking them to reread certain lines with different emotions or have the actors respond differently to show multiple interpretations. It’s been pretty great, and a few students have shown genuine disappointment when class is over. One student actually made a suggestion to improve the activity by proposing that we incorporate a “freeze” direction and allow students to “tag in and tag out” of scenes.

            

This successful series of lessons and activities came with a price, though. The day after we began reading and interpreting the script, I had written an assignment on the board which ensued in an argument about being given homework on a Friday, especially a Friday before the football team’s first playoff game. The contentious student refused to write down the assignment, and insisted “someone else will do it for me.” I was annoyed, but firmly explained that he needed to write it down before we continued reading and interpreting the script that day, just in case we ran out of time. I also explained that my lesson plan included time to begin, and possibly finish the assignment in class, if everyone followed instructions and didn’t hold up the class with arguments over homework. The student smirked at me, looked around the classroom, and folded his arms across his still-empty desk. Everyone else looked at me to see what I would do, and at that moment, I realized I needed to set some very real standards or I would never keep this class under control.

            

I wrote the student a referral and started to send him to the in-school suspension room for disciplinary action. He began to argue, telling me that I was being unfair, and if I wrote him a referral, he wouldn’t be allowed to play in the football game. The rest of the students were silent, furiously scribbling down the assignment while sneaking glances between the football player and me. One student began to say something about how the team “needed him this weekend,” but stopped when another student said, “Then he shoulda written down the homework.” I was so proud and annoyed and altogether confused by the mix of emotions I was feeling, but once he was escorted out, the lesson flowed smoothly, every student participated, and when the bell rang, I overheard two students arguing about how Oedipus’ lines should have been interpreted and read. The students didn’t have time to begin the homework in class that day, but I will certainly remind them that I am happy to incorporate suggestions and that my lesson plans include time to work as long as they don’t waste time or challenge my agenda.

            

I wish this could have been the end of the incident, but once word got around that I had (finally) written a referral and disciplined a key football player, I was approached by several students and staff members, all pleading that I renege on the referral. It was truly amazing to hear so many people tell me that I needed to reconsider my actions. Had I not taught several students some important skills in regards to reading, listening, speaking, critiquing, interpreting, and applying vocabulary? If I hadn’t removed the student (who has a history of disrupting class and arguing with teachers), would anyone have learned those skills while gaining important background knowledge for the required reading? Although I stood my ground, I questioned whether or not I should have considered the school culture more before potentially endangering the success of the football team, a source of pride for the staff and students.

            

I’m almost positive I did the right thing, but I am prepared for a few scenarios come Monday: 1) If the student is not allowed to play, and the team wins, then I will not have any more problems from him. 2) If the student is allowed to play, regardless of a win or loss, he will never listen to me again. 3) If the student is not allowed to play, and the team loses, everyone will hate me.

            

I really hope they win, but I also really hope they didn’t let him play. Monday might be a rough one.

Guide to Student Teaching #9

The days at my placement site have been getting longer, harder, and more frustrating, but I was warned not to let the negativity color my practices, and that was some very good advice, indeed. But when I look back on my first journal entry, I have to laugh at the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, exuberant version of myself I was nine weeks ago. Reality clogged up my pipe dreams for teaching fool-proof units that were elegantly designed, engaging, and ambitious. The glossy ideals I had are no longer there, but there is something better now.

            

Flexibility. I have learned the beauty of planning lessons with some give. Of course, I’m frustrated that my beautiful, intricate, and delicate original plans are no longer relevant, but what I have is so much better because I know that the constant adjustments and concessions I have had to make have forced me to be more adaptable than I thought possible. My plans are still effective and engaging, but rely less on timing and more on broad goals. As a self-proclaimed control freak, I’m proud of myself for finding a way to adapt without giving up important and worthwhile lessons.

            

For example, I have noticed a disturbing number of students coming to class without something to write with, so I decided to turn the lack of preparedness into a teachable moment by implementing the “Box of Shame.” The Box of Shame is a pencil box that I stocked with 50 sharpened pencils, some pens, and a pad of Post-It notes. Here is how it worked:

          

“Ummm… I don’t have a pen. Can I have one?”

            

“I’m SO glad you asked, D--!” I cheerfully replied to the student as I handed him a pencil from the box. “THIS is the Box of Shame. It has tons of pens and pencils for you to use during class, but the catch is, you have to write your name on the Post-It and I will deduct 1 participation point because you’re not prepared for class.”

            

The student immediately threw the pencil back in the box, looked around the classroom and desperately asked, “Can anyone loan me a pen? Please?”

            

The rest of the students laughed and began chanting, “Box of shame! Box of shame!” until another student took pity and handed the unprepared boy a pen.

           

Since that day, the students nearly always bring a writing utensil to class, and I have noticed that when one student is unprepared, another will almost always come to his rescue. The beauty of that particular teachable moment is that the students learned to rely on each other, if not themselves, to be prepared. Nine weeks ago, I would have been furious that these kids were holding up my carefully tailored lesson plans, but now I see that I need to build in some flexibility, and in finding that flexibility, I can find teachable moments with lasting results.

            

Even when I came up against an incident of plagiarism, I found a way to react without ruining a student’s self-esteem. Since the paper the student submitted did not actually address the question, my cooperating teacher and I decided that instead of failing him for not completing the task (and very possibly plagiarizing), we would give him another chance to redeem himself by giving him the actual assignment to complete in class. By choosing this course of action, the student has the opportunity to receive a grade, AND I don’t have to accuse him of plagiarism.

            

I am learning how to balance being flexible and being rigid, too. My freshmen had an assignment where they had to create a Facebook page for a character from the novel they had just finished reading, and when we reviewed the pages in class, they were abysmal. Instead of outright failing them or omitting the assignment, I offered the class one last-ditch opportunity: to meet me in the computer lab during study hall and improve the quality of content on their projects. All but three students were in the computer lab during study hall, and they worked. By the time I reviewed the projects after school, I was so unbelievably proud of them and simultaneously relieved that the assignment wasn’t a waste.

            

My sophomores, on the other hand, need more rigid expectations. I was sorely disappointed to find only six, 100-point essays submitted today, after granting a 2-day extension, and I will not be offering any second chances. I suspect that the sophomores will realize their mistake when I hand them their grades for the quarter. It breaks my heart to see so many of them failing, but I am certain that a slap of reality will help them see what is expected of them.

            

I have high hopes for my juniors, especially after I chose to improvise Thursday’s lesson on scene directing by using their own writing. Initially, I had planned to give them a scene from Antigone to direct in small groups, but after one student asked if he could read his assignment, an alternate ending for Oedipus, I decided to put off the first scene from Antigone to allow him and his classmates a chance to direct a scene based on his writing. It went off beautifully. The class was engaged, constructive, and exhibited the basic interpretation skills I originally planned to teach using the film version of Antigone.

            

Being flexible with my lessons is difficult, but I’m finding myself more satisfied with the results than when I follow my lesson plans exactly as they’re written. As the saying goes, “A strong branch will break against a fierce wind, but a flexible reed will merely bend.” 

Guide to Student Teaching #8

Faculty meetings are the worst. I suppose no one cares to go to company meetings, regardless of the company, but I also suspect that some meetings are better than others. Meetings for food service industry workers mean that there will be food and drink on hand. That is a perk. A games manufacturer might have test toys and games for employees to handle and evaluate. That could be fun. Anyone in the music industry knows that they get to hear a lot of terrible music, but they also get to be the first to discover the next big thing.

School faculty meetings are the worst. It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly what makes them so awful. Perhaps it is the frequency and duration. 2+ hours every week is, in my opinion, is a poor use of valuable time. On the other hand, if the 2+ hours were used to discuss potential solutions instead of just problems, then I wouldn’t mind. However, when the meetings disintegrate into a 15-person complain-train, not only do I want to run away before my spirit and enthusiasm are crushed, but I also want to stand up and shout, “They’re just kids, for crying out loud! Stop letting them get you down! Can we please move on!”

            

I don’t doubt that these faculty meetings could be productive, but only if one person would take control, lead, and keep everyone on task. It would be nice if that person would also set the tone for professionalism. I don’t understand how so many educators in a single room lack the wherewithal to transfer skills of time management, focusing, explicit instruction, and facilitating an effective whole group discussion. Even if it is too difficult to maintain order or an agenda, then at least the language should be elevated. It shouldn’t be difficult to use proper English when addressing colleagues, but when profanity becomes the norm, proper English doesn’t stand a chance. Poor, poor proper English. No one likes using you.

            

I shouldn’t make such broad, sweeping generalizations. There are several teachers and administrators who feel the same way I do, but they also fear the consequences for stating an opinion that may seem oppositional. Since I have been here, I have not seen the administration offer support for the teachers. I have witnessed many promises and assurances to “consider the idea(s)”, but very little action. Teachers have been requesting lists: students on sports teams, students in ISS, students with IEPs, and students who qualify as low-income. Honestly, the school should consider renaming itself after St. Anthony – patron saint of lost items. Nobody knows where anything is. These lists would be helpful, but when it takes two hours to do something today that will save a little time everyday, forever, the trend around here is to put it off.

            

I don’t have time to put things off, and this Friday night, I made a promise to never put off my own work in lieu of work for the greater good of the school. Friday night was an Open House event, and one that I was planning to attend so I could meet more parents and interact with future stakeholders. I arrived at school a full hour early, just to clean up the room, set up displays, and make sure my classroom looked the way a classroom should look. Then, I spent the day teaching, assisting my cooperating teacher and our students, and completing a special “insert” the principal requested for the last issue of the school newspaper. As the day went on, I became more and more excited for the Open House event, and I felt like I was truly helping the school.

            

After school, I graded papers, grabbed a sandwich, and purchased a few last-minute supplies for my own work. The faculty met briefly to discuss the agenda for the evening, then the teachers were sent to wait in their classrooms for the tour to begin. I waited in my classroom, alone (my CT couldn’t be there that night) for 2 hours. No tour came through. No announcements were made over the PA system. Fifteen minutes before the Open House was scheduled to end, I walked upstairs and found a large group of people in the gymnasium, watching the principal give the final presentation of the evening.

            

I asked the teacher whose room is next to mine what happened. She looked at me, sniffed, and said, “I dunno, sister. The tour came to my room. They must have decided to skip you.” WHAT? I was dumbfounded, hurt, and more than a little ticked off. I had been looking forward to this Open House all day. I had made displays, helped the principal, cleaned… I had even bought a Glade plug-in air freshener and played an album of Kerouac’s spoken word poetry. I wanted parents to see my classroom, and I wanted to help sell the school.

            
Once again, I am reminded that I am merely a student teacher, and perhaps my classroom was skipped over because my CT couldn’t be there. I could understand how that might reflect badly on the school. What I don’t understand is why I was treated with no consideration whatsoever. It wouldn’t have been difficult to tell me to come to the next Open House with my CT. I am wasting my time trying to be and do what this school needs, and I’m done. Now my worry is whether or not this is the type of treatment I can expect as a certified teacher.