Angry Black Girl

February 17, 2023June 12, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

I should go ahead and admit up front that I’m probably going to say the wrong thing, or at least say something the wrong way. This is NOT an effort to play my version of the “It’s SO Hard To Be A White Guy” card. It’s hard to be ANYONE these days, but if we were to somehow rank life’s complexities by demographic categories, “Old Straight White Guy” doesn’t even make the Top 10.

At the same time, I respectfully suggest we lose something important in the conversation when we’re afraid to discuss issues, perceptions, or interpersonal dynamics for fear we’ll be misunderstood or criticized. (Honestly, if I can’t embrace criticism, I should probably reconsider maintaining a website with “Education” in the title.)

A few days ago, one of my students – a Black girl around 16 or 17 – came to my room during my planning period. She was on her way to the office but wanted to vent about another teacher. While our faculty is more diverse than most, this particular educator also happens to be a straight white male.

If you’re in education, you know the tricky balancing act between allowing students to express their frustrations and appearing to condone their criticisms. I listened to her, asked a few clarifying questions, and reminded myself that while she was no doubt 100% sincere in what she was saying, teenagers aren’t generally renowned for their objectivity or accuracy.

Then again, it’s not like humans of ANY age are all that reliable when it comes to factual recall of emotionally loaded situations.

She was frustrated with this teacher’s decision to give her zeroes on several assignments he believed she’d allowed her friends to copy. Between you and me, I think it’s entirely possible she’d shared the work in question with her friends. (She’s done it in my class before.) I also think it’s likely this particular teacher was frustrated by his limited options for discouraging this widespread issue in our building and may not have been overly diplomatic about it.

Neither of which I thought appropriate to share with the young lady in front of me.

It’s what I DID say that left me feeling a bit out of touch – perhaps even idiotic.

For over two decades, I’ve been a fan of focusing on what WE can control. Yes, you’re angry with your mom. You feel what you feel – and that’s OK. You’re probably not going to change HER with your outrage however – so what parts can YOU control? Yes, these district policies are inane. Experience tells me that explaining this to the same superiors who didn’t seem to understand what I was talking about last time probably won’t alter them, and may end up categorizing me as a complainer and a generally negative person. So… what things CAN I control?

I’m sure you get the idea.

It was in this spirit that I suggested to my young lady that she might accomplish more if she took a few breaths and tried to approach this particular teacher more diplomatically once she’d calmed down. I know from experience that when teenagers are argumentative, it’s easy for teachers to get defensive – especially when they’re relatively new to the profession and come from workplace worlds where civility is the norm. Maybe your superior barks at you a bit, but you’re certainly not accustomed to someone half your age speaking to you in “that tone.” In short, maybe her approach could use some tweaking…?

In and of itself, I don’t think this is bad advice. Her response, however, made me rethink my entire framework.

“I’m not gonna put on fronts just so some white man is more comfortable when I know I’m right.”

I paused for a few seconds, although it felt like several hours.

“OK, I hear you. That’s fair. I’m not suggesting you be fake or play games – I just think there’s a time and place to try the calm, ‘professional’ approach because it’s appropriate and possibly more effective. But yeah, I definitely don’t want you to feel like you have to giggle and twirl your hair so he’s more comfortable.”

It wasn’t a terrible recovery on my part, but I’m still not sure how I feel about the whole thing.

I avoided taking a position on the other teacher’s policies, although I personally don’t like mixing grades with what is essentially a discipline issue (“cheating”), but I walked with her the rest of the way down to the office and hooked her up with an administrator I hoped would help her find an appropriate solution. I can’t solve everything, but I can advocate with the powers-that-be and show my support for her as a person.

It’s not the situation itself I’m wrestling with several days later – that’s above my pay grade. What’s nagging at me is the weird tension between what I think of as legitimate social-emotional learning** and some unintended variation of “you should smile more” or “have you tried acting ‘whiter’?”

Am I trying to pacify my “angry Black girls”? If so, am I doing it for their long-term happiness and success or my short-term comfort and convenience?

And yes, this is the part where I start to worry about being misunderstood.

I don’t want any of my students (but particularly my Black girls) to feel compelled to hide their feelings or their personalities in order to accommodate others (especially white men). At the same time, helping young people learn how to communicate more effectively and manage their emotions in productive ways is an entirely legitimate function of public education. I didn’t intend to suggest that she schmooze or play games to get what she wanted from her teacher or anyone else. I thought I was helping her learn how to handle an academic situation using what I think of as academic norms.

The fact that she didn’t easily distinguish between the two may simply be a reflection of her youth and her frustration at the situation. Nevertheless, it still bothers me that anything I said could be perceived as suggesting she needed to smile more and hide her feelings. It especially bothers me that I can’t say with absolute certainty (as an old straight white guy) that there’s no overlap between the two messages – between “professional behavior is important” and “stop being yourself so much.”

Whenever we cover “Indian Boarding Schools” in the late 19th century, I point out that these institutions weren’t just about teaching Amerindian youth how to speak English or how to do math. They were about changing their clothing, their hair, their language, their cultural norms, and their very beings. They were about making them “white.” This wasn’t a secret or something we can only discern through careful historical analysis; it was their stated goal and primary reason for existing.

We no longer openly promote such values in modern public schooling, and students don’t generally live here full time by force. We don’t cut their hair or tell them what shoes to wear (er… usually). I like to think we strive for loftier things like academic engagement and intellectual inspiration, but we have practical aspirations as well. I’d love for my kids to be happy as adults, but I’d also like to see them function effectively in society. Surely there are pathways towards personal fulfillment which still allow them to pay their own bills and take care of their families.

For many of my students, their skin color is already an impediment to that. Yes, things are in many ways much better than even a few generations ago, but there’s no denying that systemic racism and socially entrenched prejudices are still very much a thing. Then there’s the hair… the first names… the vernacular… the clothing choices…

And yes, there’s the tone. The volume. The perceived attitudes.

I’M NOT CRITICIZING ANY OF THOSE CHARACTERISTICS OR CHOICES. I’m acknowledging that as a society, we still have a ways to go with absolute and unbiased acceptance of one another. I don’t want my kids to sacrifice themselves on the altar of “if only they’d bothered to get to know the real me.” I want them to revolutionize the system from the inside, as it were, by first conquering it, THEN transforming it.

But I’m not them. And I know enough history to recognize that well-intentioned white guys throughout the centuries have believed with great conviction that they “know what’s best” for the marginalized. We’ve insisted they change their voices to better match our own. Adjust their expectations to accommodate our concerns. Trust our judgment about what’s most likely to be effective with people like, well… us.

I don’t think this is evil, or intentionally racist. I believe there’s a time to be strategic about changing hearts, minds, or grades. I also don’t think the teacher who first antagonized my young lady was doing so out of racist or sexist attitudes, subconscious or otherwise. This isn’t a “good guys” and “bad guys” scenario.

It’s just that I’m no longer entirely comfortable in my long-held convictions about what it means to be “successful,” or “professional,” or even “polite.” And maybe instead of wrestling with how to best assuage our “angry Black girls,” we should work a little harder at giving them less to be angry about.

** “Social-Emotional Learning”: Conservatives have successfully loaded this term with all sorts of outrage and fear, when in reality it simply means teaching young people how to manage their own emotions and interactions with others with a little maturity so they can function in school, the workplace, or society, without responding to everything like a spoiled toddler. As the right-wing has increasingly embraced fit-throwing, name-calling, perpetual victimhood, and violence as “the moral high ground,” it’s understandable they’d be troubled by the expectation that people learn to “grow up” a bit as they age. That shouldn’t mean we’re afraid to keep talking about it.

Arts In The Apocalypse

June 10, 2022June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 1 Comment

If you keep up with education news at all, you know all the usual struggles – class sizes, standardized testing, general hostility towards educators by whoever’s looking to score points with conservatives that week, etc. One of the biggies is the ongoing battle to keep the arts in public education. Every time budgets are tight (and they usually are), one of the first things to go is music, or the visual arts, or drama. Even when those classes survive, they’re the first to become “dumping grounds” for students who’ve shown no particular interest in anything but have to be SOMEWHERE. “Hey, anyone can draw a picture or hit a drum, right?”

Either way, we as a society continue to show a dismissiveness towards the arts which we’d never tolerate towards Algebra III, Indiana State History, Astronomy, or even Basketball. We still claim to value reading, but our focus is increasingly utilitarian. Why waste time and energy reading books for pleasure? (Even many otherwise wonderful English teachers express horror at the stuff their kids read if given “too much choice”; presumably, unless it’s “good for you,” we shouldn’t be reading it in school.) And the idea that students should be encouraged to WRITE anything not purely academic… perish the thought!

Given the kind of money we’re all apparently happy to pay to watch pro sports, download music, go to movies, or read fiction of questionable quality, this strikes me as something of a paradox. Plus, it’s stupid.

Of all the terrible ideas we’ve heard in recent years regarding public education (and there’ve been a LOT of them), few do more immediate and universal damage than cutting arts programs. Thomas Jefferson once said that if he had to choose between “government without newspapers or newspapers without a government, I should not hesitate a moment to prefer the latter.” In the same spirit, I’d like to explain why in dark times such as these, if given the choice between focusing more resources on “academic” programming or pouring it into arts education, I’ll gladly argue for the latter.

1) Well-Rounded Students Are Better Students

Pretty much every civilized nation in the history of mankind has included some variation of the arts in whatever education its people determined to be appropriate. The Ancient Greeks pushed plenty of music, drama, and literature right alongside all that math and philosophy we still celebrate today. The Classical Chinese valued poetry, music, and calligraphy as much as math or political philosophy. No upscale European education was considered complete without instruction in formal dance and a thorough familiarity with classic literature.

Participating in arts education tends to increase achievement in more mundane academic subjects as well. This is a useful point to bring up for school boards or grumpy administrators, but let’s not get too sidetracked by this little pedagogical bonus. If you ask me about my favorite books, musicals, songs, or paintings, and I respond by carrying on about how the newest Bowling For Soup album really helped me focus on repairing the fence in my back yard or explain that I’m counting on an upcoming local production of Something Rotten to help me better strategize ways to reduce credit card debt, I doubt you’d invite me to your next cookout.

Sadly, you’d miss my talk on how the culinary arts make us better at plasma physics.

Supporting the arts because of their positive impact on other subjects is a bit like dating a girl because she has so many attractive friends. The arts matter because of what they are and what they do – all by themselves. The rest is gravy.

2) The Arts Promote Social & Emotional Learning (SEL)

Yeah, I said it. Educators simply must refuse to stop using useful terms any time the disingenuous or ignorant appropriate them for their own propaganda and demagoguery.

Social and Emotional Learning (SEL) refers to a very important, but very normal, part of growing up and learning how to become a useful member of a complex society. It’s all the stuff that goes into figuring out who we are individually as well as collectively and learning how to manage our emotions and respond to the emotions of others so we can function in small groups, large groups, or alone.

Any time you decide not to eat an entire bag of Double Stuff Oreos because you’ll ruin your dinner and feel gross afterwards, you’re demonstrating SEL. Any time you set aside your phone so you can focus on finishing your math homework first, that’s SEL. Taking a deep breath when your co-worker is being difficult and trying to figure out what’s going on with him before responding (instead of simply screaming, crying, and throwing coffee on him) shows you’ve managed some SEL. In short, if you’ve ever successfully managed a team, contributed to a discussion, or participated in a book club or Bible study, congratulations – you must have learned a little SEL somewhere along the way.

Probably in school.

The alternative, of course, is to become a sociopath – completely isolated and unable to process or accommodate the opinions, feelings, or ethical constraints of others. You can go halfway and settle for only caring about people just like you and refusing to understand anyone or anything beyond your own closed little world, but that’s not usually the most profitable or personally fulfilling course.

Music, drama, literature, and the arts are all different ways of exploring the human condition and the experiences, insights, and emotions of others. We don’t have to emulate or even “like” every character or idea expressed in order to benefit from understanding them better. It’s also likely that we’ll continually discover more about our own thoughts, feelings, hopes, fears, dysfunctions, and potential as we “become” others by singing their songs, reading their words, or acting out their lives.

Empathy isn’t a touch-feely weakness the left uses to force out God and make room for socialism. It’s a form of understanding – of wisdom. It’s related to the same internal imaginings which allow us to learn history or better understand political or economic principles. It’s why we’re able to care about our families and friends enough to argue about what’s best for them. It’s also why most of us don’t want to shoot up our schools or workplaces, and why we’re so hurt and angry at those who enable such things. Even if you don’t like most other people, some general understanding of their feelings and beliefs, not to mention a few basic “people skills,” are essential for success in most professions or communities.

It’s not just the emotions and ideas of others, of course. Art helps us confront and recognize our own desires, fears, lusts, hopes, and foibles as well. Emotions should never be in complete charge of our choices, but they DO matter, and understanding them is part of becoming a mature, self-reliant individual able to function in a complicated world.

3) Art Challenges Us

You’ve probably heard that court jesters in the Middle Ages could often say things to royalty that would result in imprisonment or execution for anyone else. Whether or not this was universally true, art (including humor) often communicates difficult or unpopular ideas in creative, engaging ways and challenges us to question our own thoughts, feeling, and assumptions about almost anything.

The stand-up comedy of Lenny Bruce, Richard Pryor, or George Carlin could be offensive. (Bruce was arrested multiple times for obscenity.) Not everyone finds every comedian equally funny, and sometimes we pass the mic to someone with absolutely nothing useful to say but plenty of vulgar or hateful ways to say it. Other times, however, humor speaks truth to power. Sometimes, jokes shape how we think about the world around us more than the mere sharing of information ever could (just ask Jon Stewart).

Theater has a long history of exploring the human condition via comedy, drama, or even by breaking into song every few minutes. Literature isn’t always heavy, but even seemingly light texts often have a way of undermining our assumptions about society, government, love, family, good, evil, or life itself. The visual arts and many forms of music are particularly good at skipping right past our defenses into our subconscious mind and spiritual-emotional centers to rattle our norms.

The impact of music or visual arts doesn’t even have to be consciously understood or remotely logical to impact us in meaningful ways. There are still R.E.M. songs I still don’t fully understand thirty-some years later but which stir me and “matter” to me. I can explain some of why They Might Be Giants has been my favorite band for decades, but much of it eludes empirical clarification. Even if your musical druthers lean towards Taylor Swift, YoungBoy, or BTS, you’re exploring emotions and ideas when you put those headphones on.

Art in all its forms stimulates more than our rational selves, which in turn supports thinking more clearly and – in many cases – making better choices. Even if we decide “logic” or “reason” should triumph at the end of the day, our thinking is better informed with plenty of the arts in the mix.

Yes, much of this occurs by listening, watching, reading, etc. We interact with art even when we’re not the artist. Better understanding, however, requires picking up that flute, trying out for that role, or filling that canvas. No one enjoys and appreciates poetry more than other poets. No one bathes in sound more than struggling musicians. If schools don’t help kids dive into some form of art themselves, their lives are likely to be far less rich as a result.

4) Art Requires Personal Investment & Risk

There have been a few prodigies throughout history when it comes to various artistic endeavors, but the vast majority of us start by playing an instrument badly, writing embarrassing stories, acting atrociously, or painting amateur messes with as much fervor as we can muster. For the vast majority of humans, art requires diving in with complete commitment and producing total crap at first.

Any parent who’s ever attended a child’s dance recital, middle school orchestra performance, school play, or first soccer game knows this. The best painters, singers, and writers in the world have long histories of necessary failures along their roads to success. Far more of us have even longer trails of mediocrity and mixed results which may never lead to fame and fortune.

If you’re an educator or informed parent, you know where I’m going with this. Failure is an essential part of learning. Period. This is just as true of bowling, origami, or street magic as it is of argumentative essays. Falling short allows us to get better. To adjust. To try again. In doing that, we develop confidence. Perseverance. “Grit.”

People who never take risks or who’ve never been allowed to experience their own failures usually end up – well, you know how they end up. You’ve watched it happen enough by now to know.

5) Art Brings Joy

Finally, our artistic endeavors – whatever their form – have a way of periodically producing something really cool. We nail that one musical passage. We write that one great paragraph or post. We paint or sculpt or photograph that one thing that brings us joy, or fulfillment, or which provokes others in some important way.

We shine.

That’s pretty good for our perseverance and grit as well, but more importantly, it’s wonderful. It’s art. It’s magic. And for a moment, it makes this fallen, stupid world beautiful. It makes us beautiful. It makes everything else worth it… just for a moment.

If that seems overstated to you, or unnecessarily melodramatic, or even a bit flaky, they may I respectfully suggest you consider taking up an instrument? Or a paintbrush? Or a pen? Join a local drama club? Write a short story? Sing along with a favorite song? It will probably do you some good, even at this point in your life.

Too bad no one pushed you to get more involved in the arts when you were in school.

Accountability vs. Opportunity

June 1, 2022June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 3 Comments

One of the coaches in my district approached me last week and asked if I had a moment to talk about a few students. Each of them had come pretty close to passing my class but had fallen short largely due to things entirely within their control – not turning in study guides for easy points, not participating in review sessions, etc.

While my interactions with this particular coach had always been friendly enough, we don’t really know each other all that well. He was clearly concerned about how he came across, repeatedly reassuring me that he wasn’t asking me to do anything I didn’t think was appropriate. Once we got past the pleasantries and multiple disclaimers, his basic question was this: would I be willing to revisit these students’ grades and see if there was some “wiggle room”… if maybe they might be made eligible to play ball next year?

I can hear some of your reactions even as I type. How dare he! That’s what’s wrong with high school athletics! How will these kids ever learn responsibility with these sorts of people enabling them?!? The gall! The moxie! The fruvous! And I get it – that’s probably how I would have reacted only a few short years ago.

Three things stopped me from immediately saying no.

The first was how graciously he approached the issue. He wanted to make sure there was nothing suggesting pressure from him or anyone else to do anything I might be uncomfortable with or consider unethical – and I think he meant it. These kids weren’t athletic superstars or anything. I teach freshmen, and while they may have potential, none of them are critical to the success of anything happening on a track, field, or court next year. In his mind, it was about what being involved and playing sports MIGHT do for them overall – including, but not limited to, academically.

He was genuinely interested in listening to and answering my questions and hearing my thoughts on the issue beyond “yes” or “no.” Once I understood what he was asking me, I think I said something like, “So… I guess what this comes down to is what has the best chance of being good for these kids. Is it the tough lesson of failure and natural consequences thereof? Or is it the potential learning experience that occurs when part of a team struggling together to get better?” That’s the point at which he relaxed. Even if I said no to some or all of them, he seemed relieved that we at least shared a basic conception of the issue.

The second reason I considered his question is that the kids in question are genuinely good kids, at least most of the time. They’ve each shown flashes of far more ability than their grades would suggest. I know something of their hopes and visions for their futures, and while ambitious, they’re all certainly plausible. (None of them are counting on the NBA or YouTube stardom to get them through adulthood.) These weren’t kids with a 12% or a history of serious discipline problems; they just didn’t always show the focus or determination one might hope.

These were also kids who might have made better academic choices if they had a bit more of a foundation of good decision-making on which to build. There’s nothing stopping them from being that success story who prevails against the odds, but not everyone lives on the front end of the Bell Curve. Some kids respond to their circumstances by fitting into their circumstances. Maybe they could use a different sort of nudge.

Finally, there was my stubborn belief in the power of extracurriculars in kids’ lives. I’ve had the honor of working closely with too many coaches to buy into most stereotypes of their priorities or abilities. Sure, there are some bozos – but that’s true of any position in public education. Thankfully, those are generally the exception rather than the rule. Educators sign up to coach for the same reason others sign up to teach English or AP Calculus – they want to help kids.

The district I was in for many years in Oklahoma had a massive athletic program, a huge marching band, a semi-professional drama team, and so on. There were certainly a few times I could have lived with fewer pep assemblies or some more balanced scheduling. For the most part, however, one thing was all but certain about students involved in extracurriculars: they passed their classes and they graduated.

I can’t guarantee they always loved learning in all its forms, but they cared very much about grades and doing well academically. Some of this was about eligibility, but it was also about the culture of being involved. It was a positive sort of peer pressure – a “be true to your school” kinda vibe. I don’t want to oversell it; there were still problems here and there. Overall, though, I’d rather push for kids to get involved in SOMETHING than hope they’ll spend an extra hour a night doing homework instead.

If that were even a real dichotomy, I mean.

So the question before me was one of probabilities and teacher philosophy. Coach was quite transparent about the fact that he couldn’t guarantee anything either way. While he hoped he’d be able to work with these kids as they continued through high school, there was no certainty they’d stay on the team. Playing or not, there was no way to know if they’d take advantage of the extra support and improve academically going forward. It’s possible I might nudge their grades up a few percentage points and all I’d be doing was feeding their delusions about how school works.

On the other hand, I could hold the line and they’d fail a required class, rendering them ineligible to play. I’ve had students for whom that would be a painful but powerful lesson – pulling a 58% in a class they could have easily passed, then taking the natural consequences. It’s just that I’m not sure these are those students.

That sort of resilience requires a support system, or at least some personal experience with overcoming obstacles or riding out the storm or whatever. One of the most difficult things about working with kids from marginalized backgrounds is that they haven’t all developed much resilience because they haven’t experienced true “winning” very often – if ever. One of the biggest struggles my district faces is getting kids to come to school in the first place, especially if they’re not passing anything.

Failure can be a powerful teacher. I believe in the positives of failure. But it doesn’t work the same way or mean the same thing to everyone. Sometimes it’s just one more failure.

There was one other reality to consider. While there’s no doubt in my mind any of these kids could have passed my class with a little more effort, the true difference between a 57% and a 61% is painfully subjective and impacted by any number of factors. I’d love to tell you that my English instruction and assessment is so data-driven and pedagogically holy that every tenth of a percentage point reflects a very specific level of skills and knowledge in each student, but in reality most of it’s just a matter of showing up, turning in work, and being receptive to teacher suggestions so that next week’s writing is a bit better than last week’s.

English matters. Grammar and effective communication and close reading are all important, not just in academic contexts, but in life and in many professions and in terms of personal fulfillment. Then again, teamwork also matters. Learning the importance of individual effort while remaining part of a group matters. Persevering and struggling to get better at something matters. The thrill of victory and the agony of flying off that ski slope week after week matter. The unique relationships kids have with coaches which are never quite the same as they have with other teachers – those especially matter.

So what would be best for these specific kids? What would have the greatest chance of setting them up for success – not just next year, but in years to come? What’s the ethical thing to do? The professional thing to do? The right thing to do?

If the answer seems obvious, I respectfully suggest you’re missing something.

If I do it, I told my colleague, the students would have to be fully informed of the decision (as opposed to thinking they’d somehow “slid by” at the last minute). This isn’t about wanting credit for the decision (I’m not sure enough of myself to feel too pious about it). It’s about wanting them to understand the reasoning behind it and the opportunity they have to take advantage of the moment. “There are adults in this building who believe you have better things in you than what you’ve shown so far and who want to give you the chance to express them. We’re trying to open the door a bit; what you do with it is up to you.”

Apparently this was already part of his approach. Go figure.

I don’t like different rules for different kids, even if it means opportunity for some of them. On the other hand, if I’m going to be wrong, I’d rather it be because I was too hopeful – too optimistic about the possibilities.

I chose the lady over the tiger this time. I nudged the grades up a few points. I’m comfortable with the decision, but not overly so – certainly not enough to insist it’s what anyone else should do. I hope they make the most of it.

8 Lessons For White Teachers In “Urban” Schools

May 18, 2022June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 1 Comment

I wrote recently about some of the challenges of being an old white guy from a non-descript middle-class background teaching in a high-poverty, majority-minority school. My goal was to be honest about some of the difficulties without veering into whining or – worse – appearing to criticize my kids. Whatever my struggles, they pale (if you’ll pardon the expression) compared to many of theirs.

It’s in that same spirit that I’d like to share some end-of-the-year thoughts for anyone who might find themselves in a similar situation at some point, either as a newbie teacher or as an experienced educator moving into an unfamiliar district. I offer no data, no documentation, and no guarantees – merely hard-won insights based on my subjective experiences.

Still, let’s be honest – I’m much, MUCH wiser than most of those “real” experts, so let’s just assume this list is canon until proven otherwise.

(1) You Don’t Actually “Get It”

My first year here, a veteran teacher (also white) took me aside and told me to read the books and go to the workshops and do everything I could to understand my kids, but to recognize that we’ll NEVER be as “woke” as they are. “You and I will never quite understand what it’s like to be in their worlds, and if you pretend you do, they’ll see right through you.”

This was (and is) good advice, whatever your demographic details. Do the reading. Pay attention to the conversations. Understand the research. But don’t presume you “get it” unless their world was your world first.

(2) Own Your Biases & Assumptions

Repeat this to yourself out loud at least once each day before you head to work: “I may not think so, but I have biases. I make assumptions and form generalities which are sometimes incorrect. This is a natural, human thing to do and doesn’t make me a bad person – but it can hinder my efforts to be a good teacher unless I’m careful. What should I be questioning about my own thoughts or feelings today?”

Here’s an easy example: many of my students like rap and hip-hop (are those even different things these days?) A significant minority, however, prefer K-Pop, 90’s-era grunge, or some other genre not normally associated with “those kids.” If I simply assume they all like rap and hip-hop, it builds unnecessary barriers from something I’d hoped would build connections. Something with a bit more bite: for years, I’ve called students by their last names – “Mr. ___” or “Miss ___” as a sign of respect and an attempt to elevate expectations. Here, this produces outraged reactions and verbal hostility beyond what I ever could have imagined. This is not hyperbole – it’s a very consistent reaction among 90% of my students when I slip up and forget. Whatever my intentions, it simply doesn’t mean to them what I think it should mean – so I adjust.

It’s actually not that difficult to avoid egregiously offensive stereotyping (assuming you’re not clueless or a complete tool). It’s the little things that catch you off guard and trip you up. Even if you don’t offend or horrify anyone, you’ll feel silly and it won’t do much for that whole “rapport” thing you’re going for.

(3) You Need Thick Skin.

This is true of teaching in general, but (as I wrote about a few weeks ago) broken kids tend to radiate anger and hurt and fear and other emotional concoctions I can’t even properly identify.

It’s fairly rare in my building for a kid to lash out at a teacher directly. I’ll get “attitude” or the occasional snub when attempting to speak to someone (usually from kids I don’t actually have in class, and thus with whom I have little or no relationship). From time to time a student will unexpectedly dig in on something small and escalate the situation past what seems reasonable, but these are separate events to be managed – not an ubiquitous feature of the environment.

In my experience, it’s the sheer volume and intensity of the unspoken emotions which can be crippling. I don’t want to sound overly mystic or touchy-feely, but the real challenge isn’t usually specific kids with specific attitudes, expressions, or behaviors I can identify – it’s the intangible waves of doubt and anger and injustice and posturing and uneasiness.

(4) Be Consistent (Within Reason)

This is a biggie in almost any classroom situation, but I’d argue it’s exponentially more important with kids from broken backgrounds and disenfranchised demographics. If you’re strict about the rules, be the same level of strict every day, with every student, as best you can without obvious harm. If you’re lax about late work, be the same amount lax throughout the year whenever feasible. Perhaps most importantly, leave your personal emotions in the car and be the person they need you to be no matter how you really feel that day.

Teenagers in general have an exaggerated sense of injustice – and my kids take this to whole new levels. They also tend to take things far more personally than other groups. Let a teacher be absent for a few days without providing a good reason (in the eyes of their kids) and even the students who don’t like them begin wrestling with abandonment issues. Speak more harshly than you intend or overlook a question in the middle of a chaotic moment and you might as well have slapped them right in the id.

This doesn’t mean you can’t hold kids accountable or that you should never adjust based on circumstances. Just remain aware of anything which might be perceived as “unfair” and be prepared to justify it to yourself, your kids, and anyone up the chain.

(5) Don’t Expect Consistency In Return.

This, too, can be a “teenager” thing no matter what their demographics. It seems far more volatile with my current kids, however, than with groups I’ve had in the past, not just in terms of attendance, behavior, or academics, but emotionally as well. It’s like they’re controlled by dozens of internal game show wheels constantly being re-spun to see what comes out next.

I have a young lady who rarely (if ever) makes the slightest attempt to participate in anything educational. She’s not always disruptive, but neither will she go through the motions with us just to be cooperative. When I make an effort to speak to her during more relaxed moments (just as I do with most kids from time to time) she’s often resentful, bordering on rude. On the other hand, when I leave her alone for more than a day, she asks me why I’m “ignoring” her and sounds genuinely offended.

Today after school, a young man I don’t remember ever seeing or speaking to saw me in the hall, called my name, then gave me a quick combination fist-bump-bro-hug-finger-snap-something that caught me completely off guard. I think I hid my surprise pretty well, but I still don’t know what I did to earn the exchange.

(6) Be Kind (Not Soft)

Some groups respond well to sarcasm and abuse as a love language. I was brutal to my suburban freshmen (of all colors), but no matter how cruel I managed to be, they ate it up and decided it made us “tight.” My current kids can be quite ugly with one another without seeming to take it badly, but I know instinctively (and without any doubt) that it would be a terrible idea for me to join the dozens. I can be a good teacher and develop productive relationships with my kids without sharing the dynamics they have with our security team (all of whom are Black) or some of the other staff. It’s not about me proving anything or earning “wokeness” bonus points; it’s about what’s best for the kids in front of me.

I’ve raised my voice to a full class a few times throughout the year when necessary to get their attention, but it’s my conviction that there are few – if any – situations in which an old white man yelling at individual students of color will lead to better outcomes. Maybe it’s the mamby-pamby liberal in me, but I just can’t stomach it. Plus, I’m not sure anger or hostility (no matter how strategic) is particularly effective with any demographics, at least these days. Maybe they never were.

Be firm. Follow through on consequences. Expect the best. But recognize that the sort of posturing or emotional responses which might be excusable (if not ideal) in other circumstances may do irredeemable damage to your relationship with those already marginalized – and possibly to the kids themselves.

(7) Don’t Patronize

Under no circumstances should you try to be cooler or hipper or more “down with the kids” than you truly are. If you actually play that video game, love that album, or eat that food, then bond away when situationally appropriate. But dear god, PLEASE don’t try to use slang you don’t fully understand or emulate speech patterns which are not your own. I’m not suggesting you have to maintain a commitment to the Queen’s English or refuse to learn their language in order to improve communication; I’m merely pointing out what a bad idea it is to be disingenuous – however noble your intentions.

They’ll eventually explain to you anything you’re not understanding about their slang or their approach. Enjoy those moments, but don’t think they free you up to make a fool of yourself.

(8) It’s Not Personal.

As with much on this list, this is a good thing to keep in mind with any students in any situation, but it’s particularly apt with underserved kids. Some days, you’ll feel like you’re making progress and developing some good communication; the next day, they want nothing to do with you or your (seemingly) pointless lessons. If you rely on positive interactions to sustain you, you’ll find yourself deflated by negative feedback or disengaged days. There’s a messy balance between “reading the room” enough to adjust what you’re doing for maximum effectiveness and the need to simply push ahead with what you know to be right even when they’re giving you nothing to draw on.

Keep talking to your peers (the good ones, anyway). It’s OK to vent as long as you soon come back around to the things in your control and your professional and ethical commitments to figuring out what’s best for the young folks in your care – whether they love it or not. Don’t be afraid of asking for help with uncomfortable issues, but neither should you assume that every awkward moment or frustrating interaction is about race, or poverty, or culture, or whatever. Sometimes teaching is just weird and people are just complicated.

Especially teenagers.

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A Leap of Well-Intentioned Delusion

April 20, 2022June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 1 Comment

There are so many things about teaching that are difficult to explain to those outside the field. (That may be true of other professions as well, but this is the one I know best.) Even within the world of public education, it’s tricky to balance honesty with optimism, or transparency with teamwork. Too much venting can feed on itself and become entrenched cynicism. An excess of chipper determination, on the other hand, risks building endless castles on the sands of delusion.

Plus, it’s really annoying. Dial it back, Pedagogy-Anna.

For any of us to spend seven or eight hours a day surrounded by teenagers participating against their will and presume to inspire them to learn things about which they don’t generally care requires a degree of moxie most adults could never manage. It’s just as well we fill baby teachers with lofty ideals about changing lives and shaping futures before turning them loose in their own classrooms; they’d never survive long enough to develop thick skins and workable management techniques otherwise.

At the same time, I don’t trust anyone too consistently negative about their kids or their experiences during the day. It’s not that I don’t believe them. It’s just that – to paraphrase George Carlin – anyone more enthused about school than I am is dangerously delusional while anyone less enthused is an embittered cynic who needs a new career.

Nevertheless, I’d like to share something I’ve been wrestling with recently. Some of you may have experienced similar thoughts or feelings, in which case I’m once again sparking difficult-but-necessary discussions about an issue central to our profession. It’s also possible that the problem is just me, in which case the red flags are about 25 years too late.

Oh well.

I was fortunate for many years to teach in a suburban district with solid leadership and reasonable resources. While I had my share of disagreements with various authority figures over the years, I knew most of them had the same overall goals and priorities I did. I trusted their intentions and their expertise more often than not. My students were a fairly diverse bunch racially and culturally (if not always economically), and over the years I discovered that if I put enough time, thought, and creativity into my lessons, many of them would engage in actual learning, whether they wanted to or not.

At least most days.

I didn’t need to chart student growth based on standardized tests; I could watch it unfolding over the course of each year. Some of them talked to me about their lives, concerns, and victories, while others simply rolled in each day, did their thing, and moved on. Either way, I felt good about what I did most of the time. It wasn’t always easy, but there was never any real doubt that it mattered. I wasn’t perfect, but I did a decent job overall of pushing both my students and myself to be the best we could be.

Cue inspirational music.

About five years ago, we moved. I took a position teaching similar kids in what I thought was similar district – but very much wasn’t. Things went south and I ended up leaving under unpleasant circumstances. I considered leaving the profession altogether but settled for new surroundings and a new subject area. I ended up teaching English in a high poverty, majority-minority district.

The first semester completely kicked my @$$. I realized within about two weeks that nothing I’d done before would work here. I had to rethink everything I knew about teaching and learning, not to mention classroom management and student engagement. Keep in mind I’d just come out of a horrible experience with my previous gig and wasn’t exactly feeling indestructible. It was all quite humbling.

I’d just starting to build a little positive momentum when the pandemic hit and we all went home. “Distance learning” offered few challenges, mostly because only about four students logged in or attempted anything for the rest of the year. Halfway through last year we implemented a “hybrid” model in which small groups began attending in person a few days a week, meaning in reality that only the kids who really wanted to be there were physically present. That was amazing. (Sorry, but it was.) This year, we’ve largely been back to the “traditional” way of doing things (albeit with masks until recently), making this the first school year in which I’ve had my students, in person, the entire time.

Now, please understand – I love my kids. I like most of my co-workers. I’m not fundamentally unhappy with the place, the people, or the circumstances. But it’s a very different world, and a radically different teaching experience than anything I’ve done before.

And it’s exhausting.

A high percentage of my students deal with or have dealt with some sort of trauma. I don’t always know the details, but I’ve seen more sweatshirts and pendants memorializing lost brothers, sisters, friends, or other loved ones in the past few years than in the rest of my life combined. Substance abuse is difficult to assess accurately, but seems largely confined to the light stuff – marijuana and vaping. (“Percs” come up in conversations from time to time when they think I’m not paying attention.) I’ve picked up enough to realize that family dysfunctions and sexual abuse are in the mix for many of them as well. There are missing or incarcerated parents and family members with all sorts of medical, mental, or emotional issues. Even strong academic students have difficulty backing down from conflict or confrontation, although thanks to an amazing (and unflappable) security team, fights within the building are rare.Then there’s the poverty itself, which comes with its own complications and does its own special damage.

Add to this the fact that teenagers are teenagers. They often choose to be difficult, or lazy, or melodramatic. They find TikTok more entertaining than close reading strategies and texting more engaging than revising their rough drafts. Hormones and emotions and personalities and conflicting senses of self are flying in all directions, all day every day. Somewhere in the mix are the shortcomings of the district and its leadership, the political demands of a state legislature dominated by the monstrosity masquerading as the modern Republican Party, and whatever personal failures I bring to the table despite my best intentions.

It’s thus impossible to fully untangle the various factors which lead to the dynamics around me each day. What comes across as defiance or resentment might be a symptom of neglect, brokenness, or other trauma… or it might just mean that J.P. would rather be somewhere else goofing off so he’s making things difficult. What manifests as lack of focus or difficulty reading might be developmental, emotional, situational, or simply immature or lazy. Even the positive stuff can be difficult to figure out. Has my eternal optimism and encouragement finally begun to pay off, or is L.A. simply in a good mood because she has a new boyfriend?

In short, I can no longer rely on any of the cues which once let me know how things were going or how I was doing. Student engagement is a struggle for even the most celebrated veteran educators here, and student performance (at least as measured by the endless barrage of standardized tests we give) is rocky across the board. I’m not suggesting it’s impossible, merely that none of the things I’ve grown to rely on over the years work the same, and it’s disorienting. And discouraging. And exhausting.

I’m not alone in this wilderness. I have some wonderful co-workers, but many of us share that sense that all we’re doing is throwing lit matches into the swamp. We’ve been around long enough to reject simplistic explanations. Our kids aren’t unteachable, or evil; they come from unpleasant circumstances. At the same time, they have free will; they’re not helpless victims tossed about on waves of happenstance.

That’s when the teacher guilt kicks in. Maybe we’re, you know… doing it wrong. Maybe we’re simply not good enough at this. Or maybe their resistance, their brokenness, their circumstances, are so much bigger than our abilities and our ideals that it’s meaningless for us to keep trying.

You can see where this undercuts the whole “missionary zeal” element of the gig. All that personal fulfillment that’s supposed to offset all the other nonsense pretty much falls away after a few months.

Before you begin contacting my loved ones to organize an intervention, please understand that I’m just trying to be transparent here. I’m perplexed, but not in despair (at least not perpetually). I know intellectually that we must press on. That it matters. At the very least, I don’t have any better ideas.

But I’m also aware that such faith – just like the bigger, spiritual kind – is purely self-designed and existential. It’s a leap of well-intentioned delusion. Without reliable evidence either way, there’s no reason to believe anything I’m doing has value or a positive impact. I could just as easily be making things worse while ignoring the signs so I’ll feel better about myself. People do.

That would be… unfortunate.

So, I force myself to interact with trusted colleagues. To have difficult conversations. To encourage them, and in so doing, to encourage myself. I do my best to go back to the basics, to chart what growth I can, and to be vigilant about my attitude and my interactions. Most of all, I keep looking for ways to adjust, and to celebrate it when anything positive – even the smallest things – occurs as a result. I hope I’m pressing on faithfully, not clinging stubbornly to a series of bad decisions and inept efforts, but I’d hold off on the tear-jerking montage because I’m not entirely sure. At the moment, however, there’s no queue of highly qualified, more energetic alternatives lining up outside, vying for my job… so it’s on me to do the best with it that I can.

If that requires creating a little of my own reality to make it happen, I’ll take that chance.

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