Something Of A Rut

October 11, 2022June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 2 Comments

I’ve fallen into something of a rut, and I worry if I don’t commit a few things to paper (er… you know what I mean), it may gradually evolve into the new normal. That’s one of the trickiest things about ruts – it doesn’t take long before you feel like you’ve always been in them, and that perhaps in reality there are no other options, no better roads or directions. There is only… THE RUT.

I’ve returned this year to teaching history and government and such, which in my world means my students are several years older than those I’ve usually had in the past. I’m much more comfortable with the subject matter, and – other than a few isolated incidents – there hasn’t really been much in the way of serious classroom management challenges.

Er… depending on how you look at it. That’s where the rut comes in.

See, the thing about older students – at least in my district – is that they’re far less likely to “throw down” with you or openly defy your requests. They may get a bit loud, but if they’re still coming to school at this point, they’re either here by choice or as part of the terms of their parole. Most aren’t looking for confrontation (although it’s certainly possible to provoke them with the wrong approach) and they’ve learned by now how to stay out of serious trouble – at least at school.

On the other hand, many are still not what you’d consider “strongly self-motivated.” They care about their grades, but have a very hard time acting on that concern when it’s time to actually do the work. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say they lack self-discipline more than they do motivation. If there’s such a thing as “grit” in a positive, academic sense, very few of my kids have developed it.

What this means in practice is that they’re not always good at listening to instructions or processing the information I share, even with notes in front of them. They resist reading and get easily distracted in class – but they do so fairly quietly, and often pleasantly. Trying to have full class or small group discussions with them is maddening, and discouraging. Even brief presentations loaded with visuals and turn-n-talks generally leave me feeling disrespected and a bit resentful. They’re comfortable enough with me to whine about almost anything interesting or challenging I ask them to do, but mature enough to keep it within the bounds of manageable classroom resistance. (I’m not filling out a discipline report for “whined about my webquest and bruised my little ego.” And can you imagine that parent phone call? “Hello, Ms. Tolbert? Lil’ Johnny sighed and rolled his eyes at me today in class when he first saw the assignment, and I just think you should do something about it.”)

On the other hand, when I hand out bookwork, or an article with some questions, or an online vocabulary activity, it takes me five minutes or less to explain. For the rest of the period, the kids who are going to do it work quietly and ask me questions as necessary. The rest largely entertain themselves and only periodically panic and ask if they can make up everything that’s been assigned since seventh grade or so. Mostly, though, I can walk around and check on them, harass them to do the work, and “build relationships” – or I can get caught up grading, try to lesson plan for any of my three different preps, or deal with the endless emails reminding me to take the same 3-hour “seizure training” I’ve taken the past five years so i can take the same quiz at the end.

It’s that last part that has become a problem. Not the endless bureaucratic requirements (although those are as inane as ever). It’s the part where I can explain the assignment in about five minutes and then effectively do other things while they either work on it or they don’t, and chaos doesn’t erupt as a result.

It’s wonderful. And terrible. It’s addictive, and not at all good for most of my kids. They make it way too easy for me to just leave them alone.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m available for legitimate questions. I’m friendly about it, and I don’t get ugly with students who choose not to do the work. I have to rein in volume from time to time, but even that’s not a big deal most days. It’s an excellent system – except for the part where three-quarters of my kids are failing as a result.

So… that’s not ideal.

I know from talking to other teachers in my building that it can be a constant struggle trying to get these kids to read, to write, to respond, to think, to interact – to care, or at least go through enough of the motions that we can play school.

But I also know that there are teachers succeeding at those things. They break the material down however many times it takes to make it manageable. They insist that students interact with them and with one another. They model. They explain. They assist. They engage. They explain it all again. They push through the blank stares, the resistance, the tuning out, the distractions, and the crushing lack of background knowledge, reading ability, or interest, and they score small, but repeated victories. Not with everyone, but with enough of them to do it again the next day.

I’m ashamed to confess that I’ve become a bit resentful of how hard many of my kids make it to teach them. I feel something akin to embarrassment when they resent or disparage assignments I’ve spent so much time and effort creating with them in mind. I want to become defensive and point out that I’ve done plenty of high-interest activities with students over the years! It’s just that most of them require some base level of knowledge, a little maturity, and the ability to interact with others productively.

I’ve fallen into a bad habit of resenting it every time I try to engage them and it fails (again). It’s like I should know better by now, but I keep trying anyway, and somehow that makes it so much worse. I’m not sure how much of it is my frustration with them and how much is embarrassment at my own pedagogical impotence. I swear to god, I used to be good at this. Once. Long ago.

At least, I think I was. I have letters and memorabilia and blog posts suggesting it went pretty well for quite a few years. If I’m being completely honest, though, it all feels pretty far away these days – and no longer entirely real. I find myself increasingly convinced that whatever good I might have managed back then has been long-since negated by the past few years.

That’s not logical, or even realistic – but like I said, it’s a rut.

That’s why it’s so tempting to keep busting out those word searches and textbook questions. I don’t know how educational they are, but it’s easy and quiet and the room is quite manageable. Nearly half of them will at least pretend to do them. They’re happier, and I don’t spend so much effort trying to raise the dead and feeling inept and naive as a result.

If only it weren’t for that “not learning much” and “everyone’s failing” thing. Super inconvenient, that.

The issues at the root of these dynamics didn’t originate with me, but that doesn’t absolve me of the responsibility to do better than this. Left unresolved, ruts like this have the potential to send us off the road altogether – into apathy, bitterness, or worse. Plus, like I said, it’s not like there aren’t teachers around me finding ways to make it work. It’s probably time I put on my big teacher panties and start trying again to find similar solutions.

For me, this begins with a little introspection and some peer-to-peer confession – which you’re nearly finished reading right now. (For the record, I shared most of these same thoughts with a few real, live peers first.) Now it’s time to set aside whatever ego or doubt may be getting in the way and start trying things again. Maybe I’ll start by having a few conversations with those teachers who are having some success, however mixed.

This is probably going to be a LOT of work, and I suspect I’ll have many more frustrating days moving forward. But something should eventually click. Some of them will start getting it. Honestly, experience tells me even the bad days aren’t usually as bad as they seem at the time. No point giving up now.

Something has to eventually work. Besdies, if nothing else, I’m ready to try a different rut.

Back-to-School Motivational Playlist

August 3, 2022June 11, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

I’ve always been one of those people who’s better at sharing a song or playlist with someone than explaining how I feel about something. While I’m not particularly nostalgic in terms of wanting to go back to high school (as a student) or anything, I do miss the golden age of the “mixtape.”

I compiled some serious cassettes in my day, friend. They were completely unappreciated by anyone but myself, but that’s the curse of greatness, I suppose.

Now that I’m well past a half-century old, I don’t do mixtapes anymore. That’s not because I’ve outgrown them. It’s just that people would find it all the wrong kinds of weird. I do find myself still using music as a motivator, however – during exercise (mostly walking these days), cleaning the house, or driving to school in the morning. Honestly, over the past few years, it sometimes takes a few tracks cranked up a bit too loudly just to offset the oppressive sense of madness closing in around us on a daily basis.

And it has fewer calories than drinking. Also, while you may damage your hearing over time, you’re less likely to wake up hungover or naked in the garage with a Chuckie mask on.

In any case, it’s almost time to start a new school year. I’m not dreading it or anything – my need to be intentional about energy and motivation isn’t a reflection on the job or the people involved, exactly. But I suspect I’m not the only one these days who could use a little extra “boost” from time to time in order to remain driven, and focused, and optimistic.

Or at least not crippled by unmitigable despair – that makes it hard to inspire anyone.

With that in mind, I’d like to share my Top Ten List of Motivational Music (Back-to-School Edition). They’re not all specific to school or education or whatever, but for me, they’re at least compatible with the ideals behind what we do. Take it for what it’s worth.

10. These Days (R.E.M.)

This is a live clip, which is fine, but I confess this is one of those rare cases in which the studio version seems more intense and alive. It’s from the very first R.E.M. album I ever owned and still one of my favorites. I feel this one even more deeply as the years go by.

All the people gather, fly to carry each his burden. We are young despite the years – we are concern – we are hope despite the times. All of a sudden, these days – take this joy wherever, wherever you go…

9. Fear of Flying (Farrah)

This is a band I’d have never heard of if it weren’t for – you guessed it – a friend’s mixtape. Granted, it was actually a mixCD, but that doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, so…

But one day, she’ll get away and see the life she could be living. Make a change, get on a plane because there’s so much she’s been missing. When she gets over the fear of flying…

I’m not one to promise kids they can “be anything they want to be” if they only “believe” or “dream” or whatever. I am 100% certain, however, that most of them have far more potential than they realize if they find the courage to step up and embrace what’s possible.

8. ‘Til the End of the Day (The Verbs)

This is a cover of a classic by the Kinks from the mid-1960s. There’s nothing particularly profound about it – it’s simply a defiant celebration I find compelling. I also like the way it stays faithful to the source material while making it sound fresh and sincere – a handy metaphor for teaching, I suppose.

You know the guy who played drums for the Rolling Stones a year or two ago when Charlie Watts didn’t want to go? This is him and his wife. That means that counting me, and now you, there are roughly four people in the world who’ve heard of The Verbs, and yet here they are throwing all that energy into what they’re doing. I like that little metaphor as well.

Baby, I feel good from the moment I rise – feel good from morning ‘til the end of the day…

7. Blow (Lincoln)

Another obscure band with only a single eponymous album (in 1997) to their name, but a dozen tracks of the best quirky alt-pop ever recorded. I only recently discovered that this band included Danny Weinkauf (bass) and Dan Miller (guitar), who’ve played with They Might Be Giants for something like 25 years now. Honestly, when I was 17 – and still made mix tapes – I would have never missed a connection like that… and we didn’t even have the internet then.

This is one of those tracks that doesn’t ignore the dark futility of it all, but incorporates that despair into the absurdity – thus at least partly negating its sting. It’s a bit counterintuitive for a list like this, but sometimes the dark, cynical stuff mixes well with the joyous – like salt-and-chocolate, rum-and-coke, or Quentin Tarantino.

When the buzzer is broke and you’re given the kiss from your friends who all moved to Los Angeles – the refrigerator’s filled with nothing but ice, some old nail polish, and some orange Slice… When you’re out on a limb, up in a tree, M-I-S-S-I-N-G…

6. Move Into The Light (Southern Avenue)

This band somehow stays relentlessly positive no matter what the subject matter. There’s nothing twisted or subversive hiding behind the optimism here – this is dug in and determined joy.

Sometimes the darkness wraps upon me like an old friend – I mistake the shadow for a comfortable embrace. Sometimes the sadness feels so natural – I get casual – accept and look as factual, when I know that ain’t the case…

They could have held multiple spots on this list with tracks like “Push Now” or “Don’t Give Up” or especially “Keep On”…

Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I may need a longer list.

5. Stronger / Young and Dumb (Hanson)

I’ve declared these two tracks a tie without them actually taking up more than one slot on the list. (If you don’t like that system, make your own list and you can format it however you like.)

Hanson, for those of you who don’t know, are from Tulsa – my hometown and proverbial stomping grounds for many, many years. After a few big hits (the elderly among you no doubt have “Mmmbop” running through your head already) and a few successful albums in the late 1990s, they faced a dilemma. The record label was willing to continue supporting and promoting them, but it wanted more of a “boy band” flavor to follow up what had already been successful. The lads, on the other hand, were growing up a bit and developing as songwriters and had their own ideas of what kinds of music they wanted to make. It was still very much pop music, much of it positive and fun and bouncy, but they meant it. (They’d meant the early stuff as well, but it turns out when you’re teenagers, your thoughts and feelings can evolve pretty quickly.)

The brothers left their major label and all the security it could provide and started their own independent record label. They recorded the music they wanted to do, and made a documentary about it while having absolutely no idea whether or not they’d be selling real estate or doing burger joint jingles to keep the lights on a year or two down the road.

It’s been 25 years and over a dozen albums since “Mmmbop,” and the Hansons are all grown up with families of their own and maybe a touch of that world-weariness the years can bring – especially when you’ve been used as an easy punchline for several decades by people not creative enough to write their own jokes, let alone their own songs. I’m not the devotee some are (they’re called “Fansons” and they can be… interesting), but I genuinely love this band both for the music they continue to produce and for their story. They are far from perfect (don’t look it up), but anyone who looks corporate music culture in the eye and hands back the check so they’ll be free to do what they think is right is OK with me.

“Stronger” is profound in its simplicity:

But I long to be stronger than this… I long to be Stronger than this… I want to be, I want to be strong.

“Young and Dumb,” on the other hand, reflects the wear and tear of fighting cynicism and despair as the years accumulate:

And when my eyes are clear, I see good intentions are a cheap veneer for every evil justified. I’d rather be young and dumb – surrounded by the possibility. Don’t want to be old and numb – wanna tell myself a lie, wanna tell myself, I’d rather be young and dumb…

4. Light Will Keep Your Heart Beating In The Future (Mike Doughty)

This one is a bit of an enigma given that other than the chorus, it’s not clear that any of it means anything. On the other hand, that makes my commentary a bit more concise. In any case, I played this one rather loudly almost every day on the way to work during one particularly… difficult year. I still turn it up way too loud when it comes on.

3. Opening Up (Waitress, the Musical)

This clip combines numerous elements I wouldn’t normally think of as “my thing.” You’ve got Sara Bareilles, who I love, but who is very much a commercially successful, “name brand” artist (not my usual m.o.). You’ve got stage musicals, for which I actually have quite a soft spot when they’re creatively and musically genuine. You’ve got overtly uplifting-happy-singing-dancing, which I usually hate, even on a countdown of motivational songs. Just to make sure the cheesiness is complete, I opted not to use the audio from the official cast recording and instead found this gem from “Good Morning America” of all nightmares.

And I love this song. This moment. This production. Everything about Waitress: the Musical should annoy the hell out of me, but it brings me joy and optimism and tears of understanding (hey, I’m a crier) – live, on CD, and even some pretty strange YouTube versions.

2. Don’t Feed The Trolls (Jonathan Coulton)

Don’t get me started on Jonathan Coulton. I love his story, his music, his wit, and his willingness to mix intellect, silliness, and sentiment together in ways that simply shouldn’t work but usually do. This one is a live version of a track from 2017’s “Solid State,” but it’s the studio version that most stirs my figurative loins.

And when the bright lights find you, don’t let your heart get lazy. Keep all the worst behind you – that stuff will make you crazy. Don’t read the comments, and don’t feed the trolls… Don’t read the comments, and don’t feed the trolls…

1. The Poisonousness (They Might Be Giants, featuring Robin Goldwasser)

If you haven’t kept up with TMBG since “Particle Man” or “Birdhouse In Your Soul,” you’re seriously missing out. These lads have managed to stay successful enough (largely through their kids’ albums and various theme songs and such) to maintain complete artistic freedom to do whatever their weird little hearts desire. This particular track is from one of their side projects, a concept album based on an obscure comic book series called “The Escape Team” with which I am thoroughly unfamiliar. I thus have no idea what inspired this particular track, but it doesn’t matter – once released into the universe, art is ours to interpret and feel as we see fit, dammit.

I’ve literally played this on repeat up to seven times in a row some days. Loudly.

Can anybody stand up? Dispose of the villainousness? Save us, save us – we can’t break the spell, we can’t leave this hell – Like the end of Lord of the Flies, we can’t tell if we’re going to survive this diet of lies…
(Hand witch) We’re all trapped in this world. (Hand witch) What else can be learned? (Hand witch) These bubbles are disturbing…
Everybody stand up – dispose of the villainousness! This will save us – we can break the spell, we can leave this hell – Like the end of Live and Let Die, I can’t tell just how or just why, but we’ll survive…

Conclusion and Invitation

I’ve found excuses to do music or video lists on this blog before. They’re consistently some of my least-popular posts, plus there’s the added inconvenience that over time some of the videos vanish and so the links no longer work, etc. Music is so personal in terms of its impact and such – perhaps it’s futile to keep putting it out there.

Then again, maybe that’s the whole idea – to keep putting it out there anyway. To believe it matters whether you get warm fuzzies in return or not. (Tell me THAT doesn’t summarize teaching perfectly sometimes.)

But it’s not supposed to only work in one direction – so, what’s your list? That’s not just a formulaic way to wrap up – I really want to know. What song or songs do you put on to bring out the best parts of you? Comment with links, if available, and I promise I’ll listen to every one of them at least once. Heck, I might even like them.

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.

RELATED POST: A Leap of Well-Intentioned Delusion

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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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Things I Heard This Week

September 26, 2021June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

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

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

Episode #1:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Episode #2:

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

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

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

They were talking about bowling.

Episode #3

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

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

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

So… where did it come from?

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

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

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

*pause*

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

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

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