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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Blame

November 25, 2018June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

You all know this one:

{The Lord} said, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten from the tree of which I commanded you that you should not eat?”
Then the man said, “The woman whom You gave to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I ate.”
And the Lord God said to the woman, “What is this you have done?”
The woman said, “The serpent deceived me, and I ate.”
Genesis 3:11-13 (NKJV)

It’s the first story from the first book generally agreed upon as sacred by the world’s most populous religions. In it, people screw up and quickly sacrifice their most important relationships out of selfishness, shame, and resentment. I don’t know whether the story of Adam and Eve and their Slytherin friend actually happened; I am certain, however, that it’s true.

Don’t worry – I’m not going to go all theological on you. But whatever else the Bible is, it’s a penetrant guide to our mortal hopes, fears, and foibles. It’s the ultimate anthology of sin and salvation, leaving us to debate only the details and the extent to which it should be taken literally.

Let’s fast forward a few chapters. Turns out the “blame” theme doesn’t end with humanity’s banishment from Eden:

Sarai said to Abram, “See now, the Lord has restrained me from bearing children. Please, go in to my maid; perhaps I shall obtain children by her.” And Abram heeded the voice of Sarai. Then Sarai, Abram’s wife, took Hagar her maid, the Egyptian, and gave her to her husband Abram to be his wife… So he went in to Hagar, and she conceived. And when she saw that she had conceived, her mistress became despised in her eyes.
Genesis 16:2-4 (NKJV)

When authors repeat a theme with minor variations, they’re trying to tell you something. Great literature does it, Broadway musicals do it, even sitcoms do it. Two stories, melodies, or wacky conflicts weave around one another, each echoing and expanding the other. The parallels between this passage and the account of mankind’s initial fall are striking – as are the differences.

The right clergyman could preach a Venn Diagram of these for a straight month.

Then Sarai said to Abram, “My wrong be upon you! I gave my maid into your embrace; and when she saw that she had conceived, I became despised in her eyes. The Lord judge between you and me.” So Abram said to Sarai, “Indeed your maid is in your hand; do to her as you please.” And when Sarai dealt harshly with {Hagar}, she fled from her presence.
Genesis 16:5-6 (NKJV)

As in the Garden, no one wanted to own their role in the problem. As in the Garden, none of those involved (among the humans, anyway) was entirely blameless or maniacally evil. Let’s be honest – hanging such pretty fruit nearby and naming it something like “Eternal Life” was just begging for the newbies to fail. And leaving Abram hanging for so many years after promising him so much? Men have certainly boinked around with less cause throughout history. Heck, IT WAS HIS WIFE’S IDEA.

In her defense, her entire value as a woman was on the line, and she’d been faithfully following his magical voices for a decade or so without payoff. Maybe it was time to give things a nudge? (You may remember an old joke about a man who waved off two boats and a helicopter because he believed God would save him from the flood. The twist is that those rather mundane earthly solutions WERE his promised salvation.)

Abram, Sarai, and Hagar all had good reason to be confused – perhaps even frustrated. But like many of us, each had difficulty owning their choices – their efficacy. Any genuine search for truth or improvement has to begin by accepting one’s own fallibility and ignorance. It takes humility to learn from mistakes – our own or those of others.

Sarai: “This is on you, Buddy!”
Abram: (*steps back*) “She’s your servant – I’m going to let you sort this out.”
Hagar: “None of this was my idea – I’m outta here.”

One last story. It’s told three separate times in the book of Genesis (chapters 12, 20, and 26) with minor variations.

Abraham (or Isaac) enters a new region and worries how he’ll be treated, especially since his wife is something of a hottie (remember, she still hasn’t had kids at this point). He tells whoever’s in charge that she’s his sister, which is apparently technically true – they’re related in some way. (Translations are tricky for stuff like this, and the original authors had other priorities than making life easy on future historians).

The king takes Sarai (or Rebekah) into his harem, which includes a waiting period during which God intervenes and punishes the entire household for – get this – not realizing they’d been lied to by the people God actually likes much better. This not only preserves the sanctity of the married couple but prevents God from raining down even more severe destruction on the victims of the deception, who are not God’s chosen favorites because they’re the wrong ethnicity and from the wrong region.

It was the Old Testament, people – they were harsher times; you get harsher gods.

But here’s where Abimelech (the deceived party in two of the three versions) approaches things somewhat differently than the protagonists and presumed heroes of the narratives. Having been confronted by God with the truth of the situation, he pleads his case to the Almighty, then takes concrete action:

So Abimelech rose early in the morning, called all his servants, and told all these things in their hearing…

Presumably this was so they could adjust their behavior based on this new information.

…and the men were very much afraid.

You think?

And Abimelech called Abraham and said to him, “What have you done to us? How have I offended you, that you have brought on me and on my kingdom a great sin? You have done deeds to me that ought not to be done.” Then Abimelech said to Abraham, “What did you have in view, that you have done this thing?”
Genesis 20:8-10 (NKJV)

It’s possible Abimelech is simply expressing his outrage. He has every reason to be chafed. But the narrator records his specific phrasing, and if we learn nothing else in English class, we’re inundated with examples of how authors love packing meaning into the subtleties of dialogue and background details.

Abimelech: “How have I offended you? Why would you do this, exactly? Seriously, that was messed up.”

It just seems like a much healthier, more direct way to confront a problem.

Abimelech: “So… best case scenario – what did you think would happen?”

I ask my kids variations of this question all the time.

Abraham’s response is typical of what we’ve already seen from the future Father of Nations:

And Abraham said, “Because I thought, surely the fear of God is not in this place; and they will kill me on account of my wife. But indeed she is truly my sister. She is the daughter of my father, but not the daughter of my mother; and she became my wife. And it came to pass, when God caused me to wander from my father’s house, that I said to her, ‘This is your kindness that you should do for me: in every place, wherever we go, say of me, “He is my brother.” ’ ”

In other words…

Abraham: “It was because of you people…”

Combined with…

“And besides, technically…”

Topped off with…

Abraham: “This was all God’s idea. I’d still be back in Ur chillin’.”

Abimelech’s response is interesting.

Then Abimelech took sheep, oxen, and male and female servants, and gave them to Abraham; and he restored Sarah his wife to him. And Abimelech said, “See, my land is before you; dwell where it pleases you” …
So Abraham prayed to God; and God healed Abimelech, his wife, and his female servants. Then they bore children; for the Lord had closed up all the wombs of the house of Abimelech because of Sarah, Abraham’s wife.
Genesis 20:14-18 (NKJV)

There was no extended rationalizing about what happened – no recorded complaints about the completely bogus way accountability was doled out – no lingering bitterness over the cost or headache. Abimelech had a kingdom to think of – a people to lead. He couldn’t afford to be defensive or small because he had responsibilities. Relationships. A role to fulfill.

I may infer too much, but Abimelech sounds like someone comfortable enough with who and what he is that he has little use for blame. Honesty, sure. Accountability, absolutely. But finger-pointing and petty denials? Nope. Sorry. More important things to do.

Even when he’s the one getting screwed over – unlike, say, Adam. Or Sarai. Or Abraham.

I think there’s a lesson here for classroom leadership and our relationships with difficult students, peers, or parents. I fear there’s a much larger lesson regarding my approach to society and politics.

If I’m comfortable with who I am and what I’m doing, what does that change about how I confront criticism? Opposition? Betrayal? Confusion? Is the priority fulfilling my role or defending my record? When should we pursue more complete accountability and when is it best to simply say, “here’s what I’ve got; dwell where it pleases you”?

I’m not sure I know enough to be more specific or better gage the extent to which we should take such things literally, but I know it’s on my mind and that it’s probably important.

Then again, it’s not like I can help it – you’re the ones reading and egging me on. If anything, this is all your fault. Let God be the judge!

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Becoming a Hard@$$

July 11, 2018June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

I was 29 years old when I did my student teaching. The first day I was with my new mentor, he asked me at lunch if I’d been paying attention as I sat in his classroom while he talked through whatever that day’s topic happened to be. I said I had. “Great,” he told me. “How ‘bout you take over after lunch?”

I seem to have stumbled through well enough, and at the end of the day he asked me the same basic things he’d ask me every day I was with him.

What do you think went well?

Anything you would do differently next time?

Did you notice ________________ ? {Usually a disengaged student or other issue.}

How do you think you might handle/fix/address __________________? {Some difficulty specific to that day’s topic or skill.}

It was intimidating as hell. Made me all kinds of uncomfortable. I got used to it, however, and it forced me to be a bit more intentional about my planning and – more importantly – my reflections. In retrospect, I’m thankful for his approach (well, not the taking over the first day… but the rest of it) and I still frame my discussions with baby teachers in the much the same terms. For that matter, I periodically run through the same basic questions with myself.

In recent years, I’ve had a nagging realization which I’ve shamefully tried to ignore. An adjustment which needs to be made in my classroom. Something that should help many of my kids. It would probably do wonders for my stress levels as well, once established and… comfortable.

Assuming it ever became comfortable.

And yet I don’t seem to be doing it. Not yet. It’s unforgiveable.

I need to become a hard-ass. Or… hard-er, at least.

Not in terms of attitude. That’s just not me. I can be firm from time to time (and in brief bursts), but I’ll never be the drill sergeant, the no-excuses, stand-up-straight-when-you’re-giving-me-another-dumb-answer type. I’m not universally against a little harshness – not when it comes with consistency and fairness and a genuine commitment to the long-term success and happiness of kids. But that’s not me. Not by any stretch.

My relationships with my kids are fairly casual. I don’t mean they’re boundary-free – I’m not going to their parties or talking to them about my ex-wife. But my preferred tone is relaxed and low-judgement, and my classroom management fairly loose. Sometimes that means wrestling to keep things on track, and accepting that not every kid makes great choices about how far to color outside the lines, but that’s a trade-off I can live with.

It’s not tone, or discipline, or even the proverbial “bar” of high academic expectations in which I fear I’ve failed my young wards. It’s more basic than that.

I think I need to stick to due dates. Late policies. Expectations, especially when it comes to having one’s proverbial manure together. Insisting they keep and maintain a clue or two, if you will.

I’ve written about this before – more proof I know better and have failed to adequately act – but I keep hoping it will magically become unnecessary. I’ve instead kept doing the same basic thing and hoping for a different outcome each semester – and we all know what that’s called.

I have some pretty reasonable policies regarding late work – if I followed them. They’re not particularly draconian. Anything skill-based can be attempted multiple times, and in some circumstances students can “earn” retakes of quizzes or whatever. There are enough grades throughout the year that a rough week or two isn’t enough to do lasting harm. Even poor test-takers should be fine if they take care of everything else.

I’m all about the mercy and the understanding and the making exceptions and compromising and stuff. That is, I fear, the problem.

Giving a child extra time on an assignment because life is complicated is supposed to help them. There’s no other reason to do it.

We’ve all been in the workshops or faculty meetings where some earnest administrator or guest speaker is pushing for a ‘no zeroes’ policy or ‘standards-based education’, both of which have some interesting foundations but too easily end up meaning ‘just pass the little turds whether they do anything or not so we can move on’. Because we’re putting so much energy into hiding our eye-rolling and resisting the urge to scream, it’s easy to miss the possibility that they MIGHT have a point. If the work we assign is useful, the reasoning goes, it’s better that kids do it eventually. If it’s not essential for them to at least give it a shot, why are we assigning it? Zeroes just let them off the hook.

In other words, it’s better for the student if they can still do the work – especially when their lives are genuinely complicated and they’re still learning how to play secondary school.

And yet…

In recent years, it no longer seems that I’m offering them a rope when I allow due dates to evolve. It’s more like I’m pouring an unending supply of brightly colored spheres into their personal ball pit of hopelessness – and someone’s peed on the safety foam. Instead of helping them get back on track, every act of supposed grace seems to mire them further in the past, adding endless obstacles to their academic escape room.

Teenagers, as you may have noticed, are not always great with calculated decisions and sustained pedagogical commitment. Even the ‘good’ ones tend to oscillate between over-achievement (or at least grade-obsessiveness) and stretches of complete inability to muster two tiny little damns about the Swahili Coast and what it reflected about change and continuity in Indian Ocean Trade.

I mean, seriously – how can you NOT perk up and shine for THAT? Those crazy Portuguese – AMIRIGHT?!?

Students are going to mess up. They’re going to get behind – which, in a history class, changes everything. If there’s going to be collaboration, or meaningful discussions, or if we’re going to go truly wild with some tasty primary sources or thesis-writing, there has to be SOME expectation that everyone is on the same proverbial (or literal) page, content-wise. Otherwise, they might as well all stay home and take the class online, dispelling the illusion that we’re a “class” and not just a bunch of people sharing classroom space here and there.

But the whole idea of “catching up” is problematic in and of itself. The student who was for whatever reason unwilling or unable to keep up last week isn’t usually primed to do double the reading, double the analysis, or even double the grunt-work this week. The increasingly common result is that they put off whatever they’re supposed to be doing NOW in order to scramble through stuff from last week – or the week before, or the one before that. The quality isn’t high because they’re rushing, even assuming they’re not just copying from their friends, who by that time have their assignments graded and returned.

Even in class, I’ll see students disengaged from what we’re doing today because they’re trying to plug a hole from two weeks ago. That means the pattern can’t help but continue because in a few weeks they’ll be pleading for some sort of make-up version of the stuff they WERE here for, but not ENGAGED in. And my heart will hurt for them, and I’ll be stupid and consider some sort of compromise, because I want them to make it.

There’s a good argument to be made for building personal responsibility and school skills and life skills as well via the relatively benign experience of actual deadlines and cutoffs; I haven’t even really wrestled with that aspect yet. Kannimayketup Swamp has pretty much dominated my concerns – probably because of all the damned irony involved.

There are ways to partially control for much of this, of course. Teachers develop all sorts of policies to circumvent student shenanigans or foolishness. Most require a diligence I don’t naturally manifest, and many involve detailed record-keeping and personal organization.

But one of the most effective might also be one of the simplest. I think I need to say “no” more often. No, you can’t turn that in late. Sorry. Sucks to be you.

Maybe I won’t add that last part. But there’s a freedom to knowing that it’s too late – a painful freedom, perhaps, but a freedom nonetheless. It’s like closing off some of the side roads so that the only path forward is through THIS HERE RIGHT NOW.

Of course there will be alternatives in some cases – ways to “earn” that opportunity. There will be special circumstances to which I’ll likely adjust. Maybe a few situations in which it just doesn’t seem right to—

And it starts all over again.

I’m not sure where I’ll land on this come August, but I do know that I’m not letting it completely slide another school year. Hard lines and organized expectations are NOT my strongest gifts, but I can do it if I genuinely believe it’s best for my kids.

And I think I do.

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Actual Reflections (and too many questions)

January 9, 2018June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 1 Comment

My school is on trimesters, so coming back wasn’t a new start so much as picking up where we left off. Still, having two weeks to regroup and get a jump on some of the planning for this month was, well… it may have saved my life. At least emotionally.

Whatever the formatting of the –mesters, it’s a new year, calendrically-speaking. Last time I set out to reflect it ended up being a bit of a socio-political meltdown, so I set it all aside for a week of James Bond, Stars hockey, Who’s Line marathons, and Redd’s Blueberry Ale.

It was nice.

Now it’s time to put the big teacher panties on and get back to work. I’m in a new state, a new school, teaching a new subject in a very different environment than before, and while I love it here, and I’m surrounded by amazing people, the learning curve…

I mean, damn. I hate learning curves when they’re mine.

But that’s OK. It’s not like I’m a complete neophyte. I’ve taught a variety of subject to a weird range of students over the years – sometimes in less-than-ideal circumstances – and done fairly well. This is not a profession in which one’s primary concern is boredom.

Besides, actually, throughout my life, my two greatest assets have been mental stability and being, like, really smart. I went from VERY successful retail manager, to a daily Classroom inspiration and highly Respected education consultant…..

….to Major Social Media presence and THE Blue Cereal Education (on my first try). I think that would qualify as not smart, but genius….and a very stable genius at that!

It’s in that most stablest and geniussy context that I’ll confess up front that I have more questions than answers. I realize how trite that sounds, and I’d rather dazzle you with catchy memes about open-ended inquiry being foundational to all wisdom, but… honestly? There are times I’d much rather have clear, simple solutions. Like now.

How Important Is It For Students To Like Their Teachers?

I’m not even sure this is the right question, or at least not the whole question. The issue is in any case more complicated than it sounds.

How important is it for students to trust their teachers? To respect their teachers? To believe that their teacher likes and/or respects them?

I’ll tell you this – things are much easier when students like and trust you. A helluva lot more fun, too. Kids who don’t love the content sometimes play along for the rapport. Kids frustrated with your expectations might complain, but generally go where you lead if they believe you’re looking out for them – AND that you know what you’re doing. “Mark my footsteps, my good page – tread thou in them boldly. Thou shalt find each history page will freeze thy blood less coldly…”

You can write about self-directed learning all you like, and I’m not arguing with how neato that must be – but I don’t meet many of these intrinsically-driven, hungry-for-struggle children. I have to woo and cajole and model and demand in impossible combinations for most progress to occur. It’s exhausting some days.

But there are those light bulb moments when kids who’ve been treading along with you solely because they’re pretty sure if they show effort you won’t fail them although you’re obviously insane and maybe some kids can do this but there’s no way they’ll ever—

Wait. This… did I just… you mean it…? OH MY GOD WE SEE IT NOW! THE KNOWLEDGE ENDORPHINS ARE MY NEW HOLY PLACE!!! WE ARE THINKY-MAN AND MAD HISTORY SKILLZ GURL!

You Were Saying, About Liking and Trusting…?

I love my kids by choice, but I also genuinely like most of them this year. (That doesn’t always happen, no matter what fluff-and-donuts you see on Twitter.) I’m also sure most of them know that I love them. Very few seem to actively dislike me.That last one isn’t a deal-breaker, but it’s convenient when they don’t hate you every day. That makes everything harder.

So, it’s not personal when things aren’t going well. Several of my better students, hanging out in my room by choice the other day, talking about life, and apparently genuinely interested in my honesty, casually mentioned that half the time they just don’t get this class, don’t really like the subject, and wish we did a number of things quite differently.

I wonder if Houdini, in his waning hours, found time to be flattered that his final visitor thought so highly of his abdominal muscles as to preclude any thought of pulling his punches. The comment stung, and it wasn’t the first time I’d heard similar sentiments – from solid students, good kids who were doing well in the class. They clearly meant no offense, and seemed oblivious to my near-death and subsequent internal wailing and gnashing.

I’m genuinely glad they’re comfortable being honest. It wasn’t personal. And not everyone finds the same things stimulating, or challenging, or interesting.

But while they like me well enough, they lack a foundation for trusting the way we’re doing things. Some of this is because it’s their first AP class, and some is because I’m new in the district and don’t yet have a “track record.” Some of it, though – and I hate this part – is because there are definitely things I should have done better, organized more effectively, known more about, handled differently.

That’s why it stung – because they weren’t entirely wrong.

A similar group a few days later suggested the reason so many resisted my approach was because it was no longer enough to just remember and recite the ‘right’ answers the way they always have – they’re expected to analyze what they know, and to apply it in unexpected ways.

I like that answer better. They weren’t wrong, either, but that doesn’t make the first group less correct.

The only way I know to fix the credibility issue is to be credible. That can only be done over time. Which brings me to…

How Important Is It For Teachers To Master Their Content?

We tell new teachers all the time that it doesn’t matter whether they know everything there is to know about their subject as long as they know how teach it and the kids know they care. We then tell them it’s OK that they don’t know everything there is to know about how to teach, as long as the kids know they care and they’ll get better at it over time.

Both of these things are true enough – for new teachers.

But really knowing and understanding your content and related skills does matter. It matters in your effectiveness, it matters in your credibility, and it matters in terms of how often you go home at the end of the day feeling like you suck and may have single-handedly destroyed the future and it’s only Wednesday.

I’ll feel better when I know the content better. I’ll do better when I’m more comfortable with the skills. Those things are both fixable – I have a “learning mindset,” after all – but like so many other things, they take time.

Am I Teaching To The Test? When Do I Stick To The Curriculum and When Do I Follow the Rabbit of Oh-My-God-I-Saw-A-Glimmer-Of-Interest?

I’ve written about this previously, and while I’m at peace with my awkward balance in theory, that hardly resolves the daily details. A related dilemma involves pushing ahead versus slowing down and sacrificing next week’s content and skills to better understand last week’s.

Most of you know exactly what I’m talking about because you wrestle with variations of this every week.

Am I Being Responsive To The Needs Of My Kids Or Just A Touch… Insecure?

We all know the stereotypes. The dry old fart who uses the same transparencies he inherited from his undead sire a century ago, uninterested in and incapable of change. Kids should adjust to him or take the consequences. The touchy-feely mess of frosted flakes in a frump-sweater, like Pauline Fleming in Heathers. (“I suggest we get everyone together in the cafeteria – both students and teachers – and just… TALK, and… FEEL! Together!”) She’d go to their parties if they’d invite her. The approval of teenagers is her only source of self-esteem.

Neither is typical, and neither is fair. But it’s genuinely not always easy to know when to adjust based on student response and when to stick to your guns believing you know what’s best.

If I could have an answer to only one of my dilemmas, I’d probably start with this one. It’s tethered to a larger argument in education – the false dichotomy we’ve set up on social media between “grit-suffer-boot-camp-crush-them-for-progress!” and “nurture-cookies-love-coddle-them-into-excellence.” Kids simply aren’t that homogenous, nor most circumstances that binary.

Ideally, we’re all studied professionals, networking on social media, having hard conversations and sharing risky reflections within our departments, then moving ahead boldly, confident in the pedagogy and the kids alike. We adjust, we assess, we love, and we continue to learn, and at some point we hear the distant notes of Mr. Holland’s Opus being played down the hall saying maybe we did OK.

Sometimes, though, we’re just doing the best we can – kicking pedagogical booty one day and wondering if our brother-in-law can still get us that gig at his insurance office the next. That’s O.K. As long as we keep going, and getting better when we can.

I’m still looking for ways to be more effective, but I’m done worrying that it’s not right or not enough – at least for now. I’ll let you know how it goes.

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