Things I Heard This Week

September 26, 2021June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

I teach in a district that’s had some struggles in recent years. We’re majority-minority and 100% of my kids are “free and reduced lunch” (mostly “free”). Add in eighteen months of not having real school and the fact that most of the schools feeding into mine are already under state “control” (an ironic term by any measure), and it’s easy to grow discouraged. There aren’t always those “breakthrough” moments you count on to stay motivated – personally or academically.

All the more reason to build a few monuments to the encouraging or amusing episodes which do occur from time to time. Here are three from this past week.

Episode #1:

My 4th hour is not my largest class, but it does tend to be my most challenging. I consider myself fairly reasonable in terms of basic expectations, and yet I’ve somehow ejected more students for egregious violations during that period this year than all my other hours combined.

Two of my most challenging girls in that class are Anaiyah and Tamara. They are spirited young ladies of color and often have difficulty with impulse control (which, to be fair, is true of most freshmen). Anaiyah has a very low reading level but isn’t “slow” by any meaningful measure, while Tamara is the quintessential “so much potential if she ever chooses to use her powers for good and not evil,” dressed in more style and sass than I could manage on my best day at any age.

4th period is 15 minutes longer to accommodate multiple lunch periods. (That’s part of what makes it such a challenge.) We had some time left over one day and Anaiyah asked if she could work on her math homework, which of course was fine. A few minutes later she asked if I knew how to do one of the problems. It looked easy enough – one of those “solve for X” types that starts off as 8x – 19 = 3x + 6 or whatever and the goal is to isolate the X on one side of the equal sign.

I mean, that’s doable, right? But… it’s been a few years, and I messed it up.

That’s when Tamara came up and asked if she could use the legal pad on which I’d butchered basic algebra. She proceeded to take us both through the proper steps while presumably echoing her math teacher, all without a trace of impatience or sarcasm:

“The first thing we gotta do is get rid of one a’ them extra numbers. If we add 19 over here, we gotta add it over there too so they still equal, right? That leaves us with… (*does some figuring*) 8x = 3x + 25. That already look better, don’t it? Now we gotta figure out how to simplify the – I forget what they called – the numbers with ‘X’ in ‘em. We can do that by…”

For those of you playing along at home, x = 5 in this case. The sad thing was, I knew that from the beginning and still couldn’t remember how to get things there. But Tamara could, and did. It was an excellent two-minute lesson, and when it was through, Anaiyah was able to do the next few by herself using the same steps.

It was beautiful – not because the math was super complicated, but because the presentation was so gracious and confident. I talk a good game about what many of my kids are capable of, but it’s nice when it jumps out and kicks me in the face like that.

Episode #2:

I was walking towards the teachers’ lounge to heat up my lunch when I passed a group of girls at their lockers talking loudly. One was saying – “so she keeps grabbing my balls and I’m like, get your hands OFF my balls!”

I don’t get too worked up by vulgarity when it’s not directed at another person in anger, but I still paused – “Language, ladies – language!” – before walking on. I didn’t expect trembling or humbly begging for forgiveness, but I was slightly surprised at how they all three just kinda stopped and stared at me, confused, for a moment. Still, I only have 30 minutes for lunch, and I figured I’d done my part to shape the destinies of the young with my wisdom and guidance in that brief chiding.

Behind me, I heard the same girl pick up where she’d left off: “So then, I get THREE STRIKES IN A ROW! And I’m like, Hah! Top that!”

They were talking about bowling.

Episode #3

We don’t take our books home here (they don’t tend to ever make it back) so I have shelves in my room for kids to stack their materials. Several extend in front of the windows along that wall.

A young lady today tossed her book on the shelf a bit too carelessly and out of nowhere a large window screen fell across the back of the small bookshelf there. She jumped back and began apologizing, certain she was in trouble.

She wasn’t. She hadn’t flung her book from across the room or anything. But what really confused me – and eventually the rest of the class – is that there are no screens on the insides of my windows. They don’t open, even a little. Not that it would matter – there are no screens on the outside either.

So… where did it come from?

We kinda joked about it as a class for a moment – something it doesn’t seem we have much chance to do these days. At one point I suggested perhaps it had come from another dimension, like the squids that rain down from the sky periodically in Watchmen (an obscure reference for my kids, I know, but in my defense, none of this was planned).

One of my students suggested perhaps demons had sent the screen to us as a warning, which struck me as an amusing – if bizarre – concept. Before I had time to consider that option, another kid spoke up:

“My granddaddy’s a preacher and he says that people who go to Hell will spend eternity surrounded by the screens of the damned.”

*pause*

I laughed. Beyond that, I honestly had no idea where to go from there. The entire exchange was so far removed from what I’ve come to expect in this particular setting that I was genuinely at a loss. Fortunately, we were close enough to the end of class that we could simply let the moment ride until the bell brought us back to our new normal.

I never did figure out where the screen came from. For the record, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t demons.

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My Karma Ran Over My Dogma (A Confessional)

December 11, 2017June 23, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 2 Comments

I always swore I’d never be one of those teachers. You know the type – frustrated and hostile, blaming their kids, and longing for the “good ol’ days.” To be honest, I’ve often kinda looked down on that flavor of educator – wondering why they’re still in the classroom, and hoping they find somewhere else to work out their issues. Besides, they give the rest of us – with our superior ideals and natural love of children – a bad name. It’s shameful!

But I hereby confess to you, my eleven faithful followers, that I am paying for that vanity. Dearly. Pride had a few laughs, and now… well, it’s been a long fall.

I rarely said it out loud, of course. I reject teacher-shaming in general, whatever its source. But I thought it. I felt a tiny bit superior. I may have rolled my eyes on occasion. I know I sighed a few times.

And I’m sorry.

It’s not like I’m blindly idealistic. We have to be realistic about the children in front of us. I’ve never bought into the suggestion that they’re “natural learners,” hungry for knowledge and ready to tackle any challenge if only we’d get out of the way and let them project-base, flip, and collaborate towards all those future jobs that supposedly don’t exist yet.

Nonsense.

I love my kids, but they’re almost… people – and people tend to do what’s easy and feels good unless we fight it. Constantly. Without external limits or learned self-control, we are shallow, savage creatures. To paraphrase the prophet Jeremiah, “the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?”

None of which actually bothers me most of the time. They’re kids. They’re not supposed to be ready to run everything. That’s why we make them come to school.

What is currently harshing my shiny is their stubborn conflation of two very different reactions towards academic expectations in this class – this optional class, this college-level coursework class, up for which they chose to sign.

What many of them are experiencing – what they’re feeling – is something along the lines of “I really don’t want to do this” or “this is hard and I’m not used to that… I do not like this feeling!”

But they don’t know that’s what they’re feeling, or at least they don’t want to admit it. Instead, they’ve substituted some interesting variations. “I can’t do this” is by far the most popular, followed closely by “I don’t like this and it is therefore invalid,” or my personal favorite, “this is stupid and horrible and wrong on every level; I must direct all of my energies towards denial and/or escape!”

You see the difficulty.

They’re not stupid. If they were, I’d be nicer to them. And while I’m far from the perfect teacher, neither am I insane or pedagogically naïve. I have some idea what I’m doing, even when I’m not clear exactly what they think is happening, or why.

So my lofty words and nurturing convictions have run up against the cruel karma of vanity and presumption. Well, that and their emotions. And backgrounds. And the twisted culture surrounding them.

They may intend, for example, to finally read the assigned material tonight. They’ll stall a bit, but eventually open the text, skimming a line or two before their internal dialogue takes over:

“The 15th century was defined by revolutions – the scientific revolution, the Renaissance, European adaptation of—”
“This doesn’t make any sense.”
“This is too much work.”
“Why do we even have to know this?”
*sigh*

“As western Europe expanded their role as the center of world commerce—”
“I hate this book.”
“Mr. Blue is insane if he thinks this somehow teaches me anything.”

“Maybe I’m just stupid. Except Monica doesn’t get it either, so that proves this is all just POINTLESS! Why doesn’t my counselor let me OUT of this CLASS?! I’M DOING EVERYTHING I CAN!?”
“My phone is buzzing. I’ll just check it real quick…”
{73 minutes later, the phone is put down because the battery is low.}
“That’s it – no more. I just spent an hour and a half on this and hardly remember ANY of it! I quit!”

I’m not even mocking them. (Well, maybe a little.) The experience is real, even if the reality is absurd. And that “can’t-shouldn’t-won’t” mentality tries to take over in class as well:

“You expect us to read all of this stuff ourselves? How can we know what’s important unless you give us some sort of guide?”

(I give them a guide.)

“I spent the whole time trying to do the stupid guide instead of actually learning!”

(I make the guides optional.)

“I hate this textbook. It’s so confusing.”

(They have a point on that one. I compile articles from a variety of sources, formatting and copying them as more engaging alternatives.)

“We’re just supposed to… read these? That doesn’t make any sense. Why are we reading in a history class?”

(Not sure how to respond to that one without sounding outright spiteful.)

“I’m not going to remember any of this by just reading it. We need to DO something with it.”

(We learn annotation, practice level questions, and apply other tried’n’true reading strategies. They turn in half-ass efforts and thus receive half-ass scores.)

“Why did I get a bad grade? I can read and understood this stuff without all that marking on it and everything!”

(I begin drinking more in the evening.)

“You should lecture more. I like your lectures.”

(Huh. That’s practically a positive. Alrighty, then – I put together some brief, interactive lectures… heavy on visuals and connections. Embed some media. A few small group moments. Takes me forever.)

“What are we—” {they see the screen}

“Oh.” {as if it’s toenail-swallowing day} “Lecture.”

(I wonder if they can sense my growing resentment. Probably not – that would require their attention. OK… there are some engaging, briskly-paced videos over this unit they can watch at home. I make a playlist and eliminate other homework.)

“No one watches those, you know. Aren’t you supposed to be the teacher?”

*sigh*

(More drinking. Well… they want to talk all the time. Let’s do something collaborative.)

{They choose their groups} “So then I was like, ‘I’m not sending you anything, loser!” *laughter and cackling and limited productivity*

{I choose the groups} “Why did you stick me with these people? I’d rather work alone.”

(OK. Partners are optional. And we’ll try something creative. Artsy-fartsy, even.)

“We have to COLOR?! How is that related to HISTORY?! Can I just write a paper or something?”

(OK, write a paper.)

“I hate writing. Everyone else got to color! How is that fair?!”

You get the idea.

There’s nothing wrong with a little variety. We’re always talking about that teacher “toolbox” and all those supposed “learning styles.” And generally, once you’ve won most of them over, they’ll try pretty much anything you ask because they trust you, or like you, or have otherwise decided to play school with you.

But if you haven’t… if they won’t…

It’s just…

DAMMIT.

Seriously. Just $&%#@*! and a baby goat.

You could go sell boats with your brother-in-law. He’s a windbag and a tool, but his house is twice the size of yours and he took his family to Hamilton last month; all you’ve got is the soundtrack you copied (is that even legal?) from the CD in your school library.

It’s just maddening sometimes.

Look, you feel what you feel. Own it, baby. If you’re hurt, you’re hurt. If you’re resentful, confess that resentment. And my darlings, if you feel stupid and beaten, just throw those arms open and soak in it for a moment. All those hours, all that potential, all of your genuine love for those freakin’ little ingrates – and they just… it doesn’t…

Hmph.

But you can’t stay there. Don’t become that caricature you’ve been trying to avoid since you were young and idealistic. Own that tenebrosity, and feel those uglies, but don’t marinate too long or you’ll lose your texture and the rice will burn.

Because the underlying reality remains. They’re teenagers, you’re the adult, and you’ve taken on a professional responsibility to learn them up good and hard whether they want it or not. The rest of the world thinks this is just a matter of “making them,” but you know better – no one can make anyone do anything.

If that weren’t obvious before this year, it certainly is now.

You’ll figure something out, or you won’t. They’ll get it, or they won’t. But you’ll keep trying, because you love them, and because you believe what you’re trying to teach them matters. Period. You’ll keep going because you decided long ago that this is what you do. Sometimes it’s glorious, and sometimes you lie in bed at night praying for snow. LOTS of snow. Or cholera. Maybe nuclear holocaust. You’d push the big red button yourself if it meant you didn’t have to see third hour again this week.

So what if it seems increasingly unlikely that Denzel Washington or Nathan Fillion will be playing me in one of those martyr-teacher movies – at least not one based on this year? I still sometimes manage DC’s Legends of Tomorrow territory – well-intentioned clusterfoolery that works itself out over time. And that’s OK. Progress is sporadic and incremental.

But I will not be so quick to judge those teachers next time, or to inwardly smirk at the superiority of my ideals and natural rapport over theirs. That was wrong even before the universe struck back.

Now that it has…

Well, dammit.

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Why Don’t You Just MAKE Them?

December 15, 2016June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 1 Comment

“Why don’t you just make them ______?”

The most adorable befuddlement comes over non-educators when the subject of student learning or behavior is brought up.

It’s completely understandable. Many of them have rose-damaged memories of their own school years – teachers wielding yardsticks, parents spanking and grounding, and a pervasive respect/terror of any and all authority figures. It’s a wonder we haven’t raised an entire generation of serial killers if even half these recollections are true.

Then again, it would explain a great deal about Trump’s rise to power. A wider tie and some day-old stubble and he’s everyone’s caricature of “terrifying-but-largely-incoherent principal.” Generally avoided at all cost, he was just what you needed when schoolyard bullies were about to pummel you. It restored order to your universe to see his furies periodically directed at your oppressors… however similar his tactics were to theirs in retrospect.

Nowadays, though, it seems educators and pedagogical trend-setters are more interested in wooing impressionable young squirrels to daintily learn-out-of-their-hands, instead of putting on their big-teacher panties and really educating those little turds – right up a tree if need be! My god, no wonder we have a nation of wimps – we used to learn reading, writing, and arithmetic; now we just share our feelings, learn about evolution and why everyone should be gay, then go back to talking about our feelings again.

Restorative justice, expanded support services, all manner of training over different learning styles and emotional needs – it must seem ridiculous compared to hazy constructs of our own past.

Whatever the reality of your own “dear old Golden Rule days,” brute force is not merely an ethically questionable classroom strategy in the 21st century – it simply doesn’t work. We can debate it on principle, but realistically… it’s just not realistic.

Consider the things you think you found motivating as a child. Were you afraid of what your parents would say if your grades dropped or you got in trouble at school? That’s certainly a factor for some students today, but not all of them. Not always even most of them. I’ll spare you the sob stories – they tend to be outliers anyway – but life is complicated enough that “wait until your parents find out” simply isn’t a Top Five Concern for many kids. Thus, it’s not a big motivator.

So bust their little butts at school, right? Detention? In-School Suspension? Trapped in a small room with a handful of other offenders, working in dead silence all day? It’s surprising how many students actually prefer this to a normal classroom environment. That’s bad, because we can’t possibly manage that sort of student-teacher ratio throughout the school, even if we wanted to reduce education to a few worksheets and copying down a page of school policies. Besides, kids don’t really learn that way – which is supposed to be the whole point of them being there.

Of course, if they don’t do their work or cooperate at least part of the time, they’ll FAIL! That will teach them! That 13-year-old in front of you had better be making wise, mature, long-term decisions about his future. When his attention starts to wonder or his frustrations boil over, he needs to think big picture! Otherwise he’ll have a rude awakening six years from now when he can’t get into college or trade school, and then… ha! We’ll have won!

Again, not so much the goal.

So we do our best to make lessons engaging, and to adjust them each year, each week, each hour based on the students in front of us. You rarely pull them all in at the same time in the same way – turns out kids are a diverse bunch, inconvenient though that may be. Still, most of them are pretty decent people if you take the time to get to know them. Most want to do well, at something, by some standard, although what that means varies as widely as everything else about them.

It helps if you like them, although I’m not sure it’s essential. It’s useful if they like you as well, although once again the correlation isn’t as strong as you’d think – kids can adore you all year long without it dramatically impacting their willingness to take the content seriously or complete a single assignment outside of class. Maybe not even during.

Call me a conspiracy theorist, but I’m positive there’s some sort of memory-erasing demagnetizer mounted in every classroom doorway which wipes each child clean of everything we’ve discussed and all they’ve sworn to do thereafter, then returns only the foggiest versions of those same memories when they re-enter 23 hours later.

Some of them are ridiculously energetic, and while we don’t want to dampen their zest for life, we desperately need them to calm down a bit so we can have class. Others barely stay conscious if left to their own devices for more than a few minutes, so we try to keep them moving and talking. Lectures get a bad rap, but a good one with enough visuals and some genuine interaction can cover tons of important information in a short amount of time – at least for the three-quarters of them who learn well that way.

Group work can mean just about anything. Results regularly range from ‘shameful disaster’ to ‘best-learning ever’ – and that’s during the same class period on the same day, involving groups a mere two or three feet apart. Reading is ideal for those who, um… can read. It’s less ideal for those who can’t. Most are somewhere in between.

So you keep trying things, trying to gauge what works the most often for the most kids. It’s an imperfect science.

If you want kids to cooperate, maybe even learn, you absolutely must know your content. On other days, though, far more important that you understand the kids – or at least be able roll with their ever-changing bizarro-worlds. You have to care about them, but not too much or it will render you useless. Well, that or kill you.

You should of course adhere to district requirements and state standards, except if you do that too often, you’ll neglect the most useful, meaningful parts about your job – the stuff that make it tolerable, even in Oklahoma. You must establish that you’re confident and in control of each class, while leaving students a sense of freedom as individuals that doesn’t give them reason to resist you or deteriorate into a power struggle – which you then must win.

It’s unceasingly weird, I assure you.

You teach the kids in front of you, not just that year but that day. You woo them, you cajole them, you scold them, and yes – sometimes you threaten them. With appropriate school-ish consequences, I mean. Never with, like, painful physical mutations or twisted psychological destruction or anything. Not usually. And certainly not that anyone can prove.

Because that would be wrong, probably.

There’s a pedagogy to it, and there are better and worse classroom management techniques. But none of them – none with any value, at least – are “just make them do what you say.” I wish it were so simple.

Actually, that’s not true.

I’m really, really glad that it’s not.