Lessons Learned

Some things I learned in class today:

When asked to choose a number, at least one student per class period will choose 69.

When the expectation is “appropriate body parts”, at least two students in every class will choose weenis and wait to see if their teacher objects.

Nipples are an appropriate word because everyone has them. If a male student is challenged on this concept, he will indeed attempt to show his nipples to prove his point. 

Finding Joy in the Small Things

My year is quickly winding down, and as I look forward to the last day, I can’t help but look back on the last nine months.

This year has been full of trial and error, panic and excitement, enthusiasm and fear, some failures, and many great successes. I am sad to see this year’s group move on, but I am increasingly proud of them. I have seen my students make huge gains this year, and I can’t help but feel proud.

It appears that I am not the only one reflecting on the year. I have, thus far, received two of the kindest notes from my students. After working so hard all year to do everything to the best of my ability, it is nice to get reassurance from the people who matter.  Kind words from students bring the best kind of joy to my heart. A joy that makes even the worst days seem worth it. 

One of my foreign exchange students dropped this off today:

 If you were me, wouldn't your heart be happy, too? 

Today I feel like I won.

I’ve been struggling with finishing up units because I don’t really know what to do next. I’ve been really stressed about getting stuff graded, making valid assessments, and creating new and engaging units to give my kids something a little more fun to do at the end of the year.  

Well, I haven’t created any new units, which is unfortunate because I really need them, and I haven’t really finished my grading, which is really bad because it was supposed to be entered yesterday. I was too nice on my tests, so I’m not really sure how valid they are, and I’m still stressed about what the heck I’ll do with my kids next week. But, despite all of that, today I feel like I won.

My 10^th graders just finished Fahrenheit 451. Half of them hated it, a quarter were impartial, and quarter loved it. I’m rather surprised by their strong reactions to it, and because half of them had strong feelings of dislike toward Bradbury’s futuristic novel, I knew they would gripe and complain about an essay about it. In an effort to squelch some complaints and squeeze an entire essay with citations into three days, I made it a partner essay. They are working in groups of two (or one if they prefer) to write an essay on this prompt: In the fictional society Ray Bradbury created, books were banned.  Do we, as a society, need books? Use at least three specific examples or quotes from the book (with citations!) within your body paragraphs to support your answer.

I still had the complaints because kids will always and forever be kids, but what I got after the complaints made me feel like I won.

I have reluctant writers in my class. When I say reluctant, I really mean that before this year they had never written a complete essay. So perhaps “refusal-to-write writers” is a more appropriate classification of these few kids. Anyway, I passed out the prompt and one boy automatically shuts down. I mean, about ready to stand up, shove a desk, and tell me to f off shuts down. He was visibly agitated and frustrated at the prompt. I knew he would struggle with the citations, so before he flexed his muscles and perfected his slew of words, I sat down in the row in front of him and talked to the boy next to him.

This particular boy was a bump on a log for the first five months of school. He now writes essays for me, which utterly shocks and amazes anyone I tell. He is the kind of kid who spaces off and needs the directions repeated, so I used him as a catalyst to help the desk-shover.  I repeated the prompt, helped him get to the root of it, and got him started. Then I turned to the other boy, who was getting crazy eyes.

I figured he was struggling with the citations part, and I was correct. This boy has severe ADHD and struggles with reading…REALLY struggles. Lucky for him, we listed to the audiobook in class, so I KNEW he understood the story and could write the essay. I ignored the citations part and focused on what the essay is actually about. I had him talk me through his thoughts, and in two minutes he had a basic outline. He could have shoved his desk and stormed out, and I could have let him. In fact, beginning of the year Miss Thompson probably would have. I had no idea what to do with angry, cursing desk shovers other than let them shove a desk and storm out. Angy kids are SCARY business in a classroom. But now I’m older (ha!), wiser (some days), and know my kids. This kid SUCKS with confrontation. As soon as you approach him top-down or even eye-to-eye he shuts down and freaks out. He has his quirks, and I am more than happy to work with them if it gets him to write me an essay. In this case, all working with him meant was sitting down and calmly walking through the prompt and his ideas.

By the end of the hour my bump on a log had his entire outline and half of an essay done. He even had more than a three sentence paragraph! My crazy-eyed desk-shover finished a very detailed outline and had some incredibly insightful thoughts on the importance of books.We'll get to the citations, which he can indeed do independently, tomorrow.  When the bell rang, I realized the huge success that I’ve had with my kids in regards to writing. They won’t be the next Oscar Wilde or John Grisham, but they can damn sure write the shit out of an essay.

Teachers, especially in the first few years, need wins. Most days I’m behind on grading, scrambling when Plan A crashes and burns, and trying to figure out what the heck to do with these crazy kids who show up each day. I haven’t finished my grading, I don’t know what I’ll do for my poetry unit, and I’ll continue to lose sleep and be stressed for the next six weeks, but today I feel like I won. And boy does winning feel good!

Winning Over the Boys

I’ve discovered the key to student approval. It’s one itsy bitsy word. Something you’d never even plan to use in order to win over a group of semi-apathetic 11^th grade boys. But before I tell you the word, I’ve got to set the scene. 

My 11^th graders are currently deeply immersed in The Great Gatsby. If you’ve never read it, here is the gist:  it’s a jazz era novel told from the perspective of Nick, a newcomer to West Egg, and his fascination with finding out all there is to know about Jay Gatsby, his wealthy and mysterious neighbor who leads a lavishly exciting lifestyle. 

Daisy is Nick’s cousin, and she is married to Tom. Tom is having an affair with Myrtle. Daisy is aware of the affair, but she ignores it. When Daisy is reacquainted with Gatsby, her long-lost love from five years ago, she begins her own affair. 

I won’t kill the ending; if you want to know more, you’ll have to read it. 

Today we were reviewing chapter six before we began listening (yes, AUDIOBOOK IN CLASS because I’m the coolest!), and I was asking the kids questions to help with the review. We were talking about Gatsby’s party, which Tom and Daisy attended in chapter six, and I asked how Daisy felt internally about the party and then what she told Tom she felt about the party. Internally, Daisy hated the party because it included many things deemed “socially unacceptable” in her aristocrat mind, but she told Tom that she loved it. Why did she lie to Tom? Because she is a cheating ho who wants to be able to go back to Gatsby’s mansion without her husband becoming suspicious. Did you catch it? The magical word? It’s ho. One syllable, two letters, and instantly I had the approval of my 11^th grade boys. 

Now, I can’t take credit for using the word on my own. I don’t refer to characters as “hos” often. When I was leading the review, the students said ho first, and who am I to replace their perfectly correct word with one that is less approachable to them? Promiscuous, wanton, immoral, or philandering all would have been fine replacements for the word that is less “academic,” but ho is approachable to semi-apathetic 11^th grade boys. When they hear ho, they know what it means. When they hear wanton, they don’t have the background knowledge to create as vivid of a meaning. 

Most of the time, I use academic words in place of the more colorful words they select while we discuss. I promote elevated language in my classroom, and I frequently make students repeat their sentences with more appropriate adjectives, but today I was tired, and ho is an incredibly accurate description of Daisy, so I went with it. Little did I know that two-lettered word would win the admiration of high school boys. 

The class broke into laughter at my use of the word. They understood that Daisy, whose actions we had analyzed and broken down, was indeed a ho. My acknowledgement of their choice word made them feel validated in their comprehension and interpretation of the book. I can't tell them that Daisy isn't ho because she is. I heard from one student, “I don’t even like teachers, but now I like her!” Who knew it was that easy?

I don’t go throwing vernacular words like ho around very often. I take pride in promoting elevated language and heightened thought in my classroom, but every once in a while, I have to tell it like it is. I think that’s one of the reasons why reluctant students are willing to produce in my classroom. I make them work, I have high standards, but I’m not afraid to acknowledge when a character is being a ho.

It's About Time

It’s conference day. I have a love/hate relationship with conference days. Typically, they provide a solid chunk of time to be productive in my classroom for more than 10 minutes at a time, which otherwise only happens if I stay late. Today, I’ve got conferences scheduled sporadically, which means my work time keeps getting interrupted. These inevitable interruptions are deterring me from actually working, so I’m looking for brilliant ideas on Pintrest. 

The last few weeks have been hard. I’m exhausted, and either the sun keeps trying to come out, which is making the kids crazy, or the snow is falling, which makes the kids cranky, and apparently my room has an uncanny ability to “make the kids sleepy” in the afternoon regardless of what activity we are doing. I leave work exhausted, often to fall into my couch and only awaken when Sam steals all of my blankets, which is the only way to rouse me from the couch and get me to my bed. I haven’t been cooking, reading, or doing anything. I’ve been purposefully avoiding making plans because I’d rather be a bump on a log. My brain feels better when I’m a bump on a log. 

I’ve doubted my ability to make it to spring break for the last three weeks. I kept trying to find a day so I could take off and catch a break, but it couldn’t happen. I was proctoring the HSPE, starting new units, attending meetings, and now I’m holding conferences. It’s so hard to find a day to take off as a teacher. And when I do take a day off, I’m at my desk and the copy machine until six o’clock the night before I’m gone. 

Clearly, I’m READY for a week off. My brain needs a break, and I need to read mindless novels. I mean really mindless. I’m thinking embarrassingly cheesy romances and young adult books are on next week’s agenda. I’ll intertwine reading bad books, playing with my new sewing machine, and hanging out with those I love for the next week. I’ll cook. I’ll laze. I’ll get my oil changed and my tires rotated. I’ll work SOME, but not all. And because I’m halfway through units and actually know what I’m doing after break, I think I’ll be able to escape the inevitable guilt that comes with dodging teacher stuff for too long. 

I’m tired, I’m cranky, and my classroom looks like a three year old terrorized my papers that were, once upon a time, carefully organized. It’s a good thing they give us a spring break. If they didn’t, there’d be some kids flying out my very tempting second story window, which opens plenty wide enough.