Friday, December 14, 2007

Oh, Yeah: Blog Some

A month since my last post? Egads, where has the time flown?!

So very busy. Hundreds of papers to mark, but there is always something pulling me into other orbits: car to the garage, grocery shopping, planning lessons for tomorrow, blah, blah; and now, Christmas shopping. The five-week progress report grades are due Monday, so I'll be cloistered in my apartment this weekend, making the InPile shrink and the GradeBook entries add, subtract, multiply and divide. Hurry, hurry, I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date.

On the UpSide, the school's system is available through the internet now, instead of only through the campus' intranet, so I can upload grades from home, as long as I meet the deadline, which is convenient.


My car has no heat. Well, that's not technically true, but I can't coax it to divert any into the cabin, where I sit during my morning commute to work. Instead of the levers on my dashboard connected to cables that open and close the flaps directly, Volkswagen engineers, for very good reasons that only they know, built a control box in front of (toward the front of the car) the dashboard. Sliding a lever on the dashboard opens up channels or something in the control box, which taps into the engine's vacuum; the vacuum then travels down other tubes to open a valve in a hose that sends hot water into the heater unit. But the control box is dead, Jim, and no amount of lever-sliding gets my windshield defrosted. If it were connected directly with a cable, I could fix it myself, but I'm not going to take out the vacuum box and try to figure out what's wrong with it. A new unit is $400. A cable could have cost what, a dollar?

I'll tell my mechanic to advise me, and if it's the control box, I'll hie me down to the junk yard ecology center to pick up a used one on my own, and deliver it to the mechanic. Gotta be under a hundred, and worth my time.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Oblivious

Kid asks for the question worksheet because he was absent yesterday. Fine, I give him one, and he returns to his seat near the front of the room.

After a couple of minutes I notice from my perch at my podium that I had given him the wrong sheet, one for a comletely different class. So I wait for him to raise his hand to tell me.

Well, genius spends the entire period staring off into space, and never notices he has the wrong paper on his desk. Never lifts a pencil to write down the answers we're all recording; never even glances down in mild curiosity at the paper lying untouched and half-covered by a limp hand. He's just waiting for the bell to ring.

The bell. He robotically jams the paper into his bag, and heads for the door, pulling his pants down under his arse as he passes out of the room.

Sigh . . .

Thursday, November 08, 2007

With Apologies to Carol King

You came in late this morning with a pass to class,
There's something fishy here, your writing's smooth as glass,
And I don't think you know just what those big words mean.

Well it's too late, Baby, now it's too late,
Though I really did try to grade it;
When you brought me this late work you lied, and I tried,
But I can tell it's not yours: you faked it.

I can tell by your margins and the odd font size
This isn't your effort, you've plagiarized;
And I don't want to do it,
But a Referral is what you need.

Well it's too late, Baby, now it's too late,
the quarter term ends today,
You can't sleep in your seat three months
Then turn your sorry D to an A.

Is This Going to Be On the Test?

Yes, Robert: that's why I'm talking about it now.

Maybe you ought to write this down.

The Crack in the Dyke

I found a paper airplane in the teachers' lounge this morning.

Bad sign.

Little cracks of instability like this, early in the year, can turn into giant fissures in our sanity well before Christmas Break.

I'm keeping my eyes open.

Monday, November 05, 2007

I Got the Four-Wheel Blues


Okay, so my car is fifteen years old, and is approaching 150,000 miles.

It's given great service since day one, so I really have nothing to complain about. That Farfergnugen company makes a good product.

But the writing is on the wall. It didn't want to start this morning: cranked happily on a year-old battery, but no firing.

When I turned the key off, there would be a little firing, just enough to shake the engine a bit, so I began just releasing the key from the Start position to let it snap back to the On position, hoping it would catch.

After the fourth try, running the starter fifteen seconds or so without a hint of firing, I let the key snap back to the On position, and she fired up.

Odd, that.

I stopped at the store on the way to work, and when I got back in the car, she started immediately: I couldn't even hear the starter because the engine fired up so quickly.

Funny thing, but maybe she's getting to the place where I shouldn't be letting it sit the weekend without starting the engine. Usually she gets only an occasional Saturday off, but yesterday I slept in and didn't make it to church. That two days was just too long, I guess.

Yup, she's getting old, and I have to adjust. I think I'll drop by AAA, and see how much it is to join, to get the towing. It'd be nice to just pull the card and my cell phone out of my pocket if the car decides to take a nap in the street. I can't imagine how much it would cost to hire a tow truck to drag that worthless carcass my pride and joy across town to my mechanic.

I'm seeing the signs, and now I'm worried. I'll still drive my little wreck, but in the meantime, I'm going to be considering what I want my next car to be.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Please Leave a Message

"Why is my daughter not turning in her work?"

This is the question a parent asked a colleague in a phone conversation I overheard in the teachers' lounge/workroom/copyroom (lounge? Not a sofa in sight).

There's something odd about that question. Not in the question per se, but in who the questioner was and who the hearer was. I think they're reversed.

In a perfect world (or just in the world of a generation ago) it would be the teacher asking the parent "Why is your daughter not turning in her work?" But now the onus for making the kid perform is laid on the shoulders of the teacher. Parents send their kids to school in the morning and the kids are then our problems.

Of course, in that previous generation most kids grew up in two-parent households, and many of those were one-paycheck households, so moms had time to supervise more of their kids' school careers. Now, one-parent households are so commonplace as not to raise an eyebrow, and it's almost unheard of for a woman to devote her energies to being solely a wife and mother.

Some of this is a result of a changed economy, some a result of the femminist movement ushering women into the workforce, some of a higher divorce rate, some is a result of a higher expected standard of living, e.g., a larger home, (the square footage of typical home to house four people has gone up), two expensive, financed-to-the-gills cars, the big-screen TV, ad infinitum.

So we live in a way that might make our gradparents blush at our consumerism and lavishness, and the kid's homework isn't being done because no one is making sure it's being done, because parents are all working and rightfully tired when they cross over the threshold in the evening. We don't even use the term "latchkey kid" anymore, because it's not unusual for kids to be completely unsupervised from the time school lets out to the time Mom comes home from work at six.

Ideas have consequences. Human resources are finite: time and energy given to serve one value means fewer resources are available to devote to another. As I survey the landscape of the American family, I conclude that there has been no other time when it has been more important for families to take inventory of where their values are: a $40,000 SUV, or a few more hours to spend with the kids? A mother seeking fulfillment in the workforce, or in shaping the character of her children? Of course, many don't have the luxury of choice, but even some of those situations are the results of earlier choices that put kids on the losing side of the equation.

Incrementalism, the series of slight changes over time, can have a large cumulative effect. One drop of water on a rock is insignificant: but monoliths are eroded by nothing strong stronger than individual drops of water. And we don't notice, because the change is so slow, we adapt the the slightly different viewpoint, way of living, way of thinking, of accepting what is normal.

I'm not a cultural alarmist in the full-blown sense, and I know we tend to romanticize the past, but I see a distinct difference between this generation and the one I grew up in, and the results.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Baby Coulter Einstein


Eighteen months old. She lined up five pieces of cereal on the table the other day and counted them off, from one to five. She can sing the ABC song, and uses all twenty-six letters. She has blown right by the two-word stage of language acquisition and is in the telegraphic stage already, making utterances such as "Mommy car now." This is at least six months ahead of schedule.

Oh, and to thrill her English-teacher uncle's heart: she's in love with books.

She's a freakin' genius, I swear. And that just ain't proud uncle talking. I gots data.

An Unusual Rally on the Quad

On October 11 Dr. Linda Evans, a fifteen-year veteran of Mayfair, was killed in an auto accident while commuting to school for her zero-period Spanish class.

Last night I attended a memorial service in her honor at the school. It was our public recognition of her years of dedication of service to students and local community. It was held outside, in the main quad, about an hour before sunset.

The Air Force ROTC provided an honor guard and color guard, the school band performed the national anthem. A student from the middle school Bible Club gave the invocation.

Then followed a couple of speakers from the faculty, notably Mr. John Olson, a long-time friend and neighbor. A slide show of stills put to music: Linda as a young adult; traveling around the world; in her classroom. A member of her family spoke, and thanked the school for its outpouring of love. A student presented a surfboard (Dr. Evans, though 61 at her death, was a life-long surfer) to the family, signed and annotated by a couple of hunderd students. The football team came forward, and the head coach presented the family with a game ball (three of the four longitudinal sections of the ball painted white to allow for signatures). Dr. Evans was a huge football fan as well, always on the sidelines at games.

Because it was high school, it had a very assembly feel to it. But that's high school, and that observation is not meant as a criticism. There were probably over four hundred people there, mostly students and faculty, but a large number of parents, other school staff, the mayor of Lakewood, and of course our administration and the superintendent.

The most obvious symbol of the event was the lighting of candles. Early in the service, we teachers came forward to light single candles from a large candle on a stand next to the podium, then dispersed among the crowd to light candles that had been given out as people arrived. The candles burned through the ceremony, as we sat there tending our flickering flames in our laps. At the conclusion of the service, we all blew out our candles together to achieve a sense of closure. All in all, fairly effective, and a nice touch.

Even though it is a governmet school, spiritual input seemed welcome: the heartfelt invocation given by the middle school student, who closed his prayer "in the name of Jesus" wasn't blinked at, and seemed perfectly at place at a memorial service in a predominantly Protestant country, The president of the board of education, a local politician (they are voted into position by the public) felt free enough to include Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, the noted spiritualist, into his comments. Though he used her deathbed laments only to speak of the need to seek humility, anyone who knows the name Kubler-Ross instantly recognizes not only her ground-breaking work in the field of death, dying and grieving, but also her foray into spiritism (in her case, attempts to communicate the the dead), which cast a shadow over her academic legitimacy, as any dabbling with the occult will tend to do. He was careful never to turn the corner and actually mention anything spiritual in his address, but as soon as I heard her name I listened closely to see if he was going to slip any "other side" references in. He held back, which made me wonder why he brought her up in the first place. Was he suggesting Dr. Evans lacked humility? Hardly seems that was his motive. Seemed to be an fence-sitting attempt at spiritual comfort in a politically correct arena.


Dr. Evans' classes are being taught by a new teacher, and that must be a difficult position to be in. I've heard though my student minions that classroom control is almost non-existent, and if that is true, what does it say about students' expression of sadness and respect for their former teacher? If they're screwing around in the very room that is still filled with her personal belongings, belongings that serve as reminders to the kids of their late teacher (not to mention the banners and balloons that festoon the outside of the room), it makes all their professions of love for and life lessons learned from her seem like mere lip-service. Sad. And it could be easily remedied. Well, at least I know I could do it with the snap of a finger, but I have to have sympathy for this new teacher's difficult situation. It's not her behavior I'm noting here, but the students' alleged self-centeredness and lack of respect for their recently passed teacher that is so galling. She shouldn't have to remind them to behave well, under the circumstances, it seems to me.

Farewell, Dr. Evans. You drank life to the dregs. You'll be missed.

What is the lesson for us? Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May…

Friday, October 19, 2007

Curiousier and Curiousier

Only a few teachers took "stacks" (how many papers in s stack, who knows?) from the district office.

The district, stuck with thousands of essays, enlisted the principal and assistant principal to score the papers. So instead of seven or eight people, it was to be done by two. They (our two administrators) sent out an e-mail plea for help to us again, offering food and sodas in the library after school to any hapless teacher who wold come in to help them. I don't think there was much of a response.

How long it took them to score all those esays, only they know. The district office shows no sign of changing its stance, and so far, there's been no other communication to teachers: the only information we have is from anecdotes of frosty conversations between district office people and teachers who were up there for whatever reason.

We, on the other hand, are drafting a letter to our superiors, expressing our dismay and displeasure at both the manner in which this valuable task was changed without input from us front-line professionals, and some constructive suggestions about future tinkering with things like this. I don't know the actual contents, but they fall along those lines. All very professional, very respectful.

I'll keep ya's posted…

Monday, October 15, 2007

If It Ain't Broke, Don't Fix It

We just finished administering the first quarter writing prompt, a demand-writing situation used to measure growth in writing skill during the school year.

Up to now, the process for grading the prompt was:
  1. Turn the prompt in for delivery to the district office.

  2. District office makes a list of dates each grade level is to be graded, and the grade-level teachers who will be attending the grading sessions each day.

  3. On the days of scoring, substitutes are arranged for most of the English department.

  4. We sit around a conference table with teachers from the other high school, talk about the prompt, the scoring rubric, agree on scoring, talk some more about what skills are foundational and what trends we're seeing in student work, etc.

  5. Teachers from each school separate; stacks of essays are distributed.

  6. We sit, score, confer around the table, and generally keep each other from going insane whle scoring giant stacks of hurried essays.
It's an all-day affair, and since I teach two grade levels, I'm usually on the list for two days. A pain, but we all saw the point.

Well, here's the new process:
  1. Turn the prompt in for delivery to the district office.

  2. We show up to the district office as individuals on a specified day to take a stack of essays (we never score our own).

  3. We score the essays on our own.

  4. We return the scored essays.

  5. We receive our own students' essays once the district tabulates all the data.
So now teachers don't confer at all, which was half of the whole point of arranging for us to sit around the table together. We're isolated from each other, and we're paid something less than our daily rate for taking time outside of our regualr duties to score papers from students we don't know and have no interest in.

If you think this new process is less than popular among teachers, you're right. There was nothing wrong with the way we did it before, and although it was tedious, we were able to get something out of it by talking to each other and seeing what the common mistakes and skill levels were around the table. It worked.


Oh, this morning in the faculty meeting we were asked what we could to do increase teacher collegiality and inter-department conferring. How about letting us sit around a table and score the writing prompt all together?

Friday, October 05, 2007

A Fourth Cup

I've been going to funky coffeehouses since I was in my twenties, mostly because I became a "good coffee" fan early on, and the horrid stuff in regular places like cafes and restaurants drove me out in search of something quality. I haven't been able to drink the supermarket Folgers stuff for years: acidic, the oils are rancid, it's generally stale and flavorless. Then, I went to mostly Mom-and-Pop places, because that's all there was until Walmart Starbucks drove the LittleGuy out of town.

I almost died drinking the shellack from vending machines on my way to evening college classes after work, just so I could stay awake to listen to my English professor's (guy published a book of poetry and and thought he was something) lectures. And I felt so cheap: as if I needed to bring this up in confession to lift the stain of my perfidy from my soul. The memory of the horrible taste still make me shiver when I think about it.

Yeah, I liked good coffee before good coffee was cool. Kind of feel as if everyone has discovered my favorite little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and now they've had to remodel and expand to meet the new demand, and have lost their original charm in the process, so the whole experience is overrun with people who don't appreciate the uniqueness of the original, and have trampled your pearl underfoot. If everyone is doing it, it's not my distinctive little thing anymore. Poor, poor me.

Hail Machiato, Full of Grace

Now I can't stop. Starbucks as religion is too powerful an analogy to walk away from util I pump it dry.

Yes, there is secret knowledge: the terms a real insider uses with facility: double half-caf no-fat mochachino. It's like a foreign language. A Latin Mass that the outsider is confused by.

The servers are priests, that one is simple. Do priests have profit-sharing and 401k accounts? They perform the holy sacrament of Communion. No wafer and cup: it's pastry and paper cup with heat shield. They turn from you after hearing your supplication, and speak to the shiny chrome, brass and stainless steel gods, who dispense their stimulating favors via a mysterious ritual, complete with steamings and strange and practiced motions, passed down from priest to priest.

The hymns are whatever carefully-chosen-by-the-marketing-department jazz, or alternative, or indie (code for "a band no one's ever heard of") music will help create the hip, laid-back, soft-but-edgy atmosphere. True middle of the road, presented as edgy. Right now I'm listening to Sinatra, and the only other person here is a twenty-something college kid who wouldn't be able to give me his fist name (Sinatra's: I'm pretty sure the kid could remember his own name).

I can't think of a more diety-pleasing incense than the aroma of fresh Guatamala Antigua, especially if god is not a Morning Person.

I'll stop before the poor horse is beat to death, but you can fill in whatever other missing pieces as you desire. Overall I think Starbucks outshines IaG as a religious analogy, if only because it's the dominant cultural phenomenon. But IaG is staging it's own little Protestant Reformation, and the whole vibe is significantly different here, although most of the pieces are in place. I actually think IaG has the edge with their over-stuffed high-backed library chairs. Very comfy.

Frother, Spoon & Holy Grind

It's a Grind has me again: hanging out with some time to kill before the football game.

The free wi-fi is great, but I just spent four bucks for an ice-blended mocha (that last sentence is so California). And it's a grande, fer cryin' out loud. Four bucks!

But it's not even a "grande." IaG doesn't speak Italian, so there's no tall, grande, venti. I kind of liked that. I felt knowledgeable, ordering that way. Very Gnostic: a religion with secret knowledge that lets you pass on to the higher levels. Makes me feel superior to know tall, grande, venti. It's a mantra. Say it with me: tall, grande, venti. Tall, grande, venti

But here, it's small/medium/large. How Mc-freaking-Donald's of them. There's no magic there. Anyone can do that, and so I'm not special anymore. Sigh.

I wonder if they use baristas (that's Starbuckese for "priest") behind the counter, or if they are simply servers…

Thursday, October 04, 2007

Save a Seat for Me in the Future

So here I am, sitting at It's a Grind coffee shop (free coupon: how could I resist?) updating my classroom website using the free wi-fi (take that, Starbucks: you just lost my sit-n-surf sessions, because you require a not-so-free T-Mobile account. I've been thinking hard about it, and free is better) and adjusting my PowerPoint presentation to give to parents at Back-to-School night in a couple of hours, checking for student e-mail (okay, and seeing if I have any new matches on LonelyHearts.com).

Teaching just ain't what it used to be. Pretty soon students will tele-commute to school from home to get their assignments, while I sit here at the coffee shop all day, over-caffeinating and over-sconing. Naw: the human element will continue. I'm fairly irreplaceable, I figure; at least for the immediate future.

Gotta run: it's going to be coffee, cookies and jazz in my room to welcome parents, and I have to stop by Smart & Final to buy some Columbian Supremo and set up.

Friday, September 28, 2007

All Things Are (Really) New

New school year, new students, but it feels so different this year.

Probably because I'm not up in front of all my classes, because of the presence of the student-teacher.

It is strange sitting at my desk, grading papers or whisper-chatting with the teacher's aide, and passively observing what she's doing. I'm so used to being the person up front. Odd, that.

And my paper load is down 40%, so my weekends are unusually free right now. It's downright luxurious. I'm actually doing household projects on the weekends.

I'm not complaining, it's all good. Student-teacher is good and doesn't need anything more than a little supervision and guidance as she goes, so that's easy. The lighter load just has me off-balance for the semester. Believe me, I'll adapt!

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

And They're Off!

Wow, another year on it's way!

Too much going on to stop and write: this is just to let anyone who stops by know I'M BACK.

As soon as something happens, you'll be the first to know.

Monday, June 25, 2007

Like a Laser Beam

The Look is an important behavior management tool for both parents and teachers. It's usually very effective, and I like to think I've mastered its nuances. I use it all the time to control student behavior (most communication is non-verbal, we're (ironically) told).

But this fella has it down!, and could stand on my podium and quiet a class with this one move, I'll bet.



If only I had dramatic background music…

The Results Are In


According to mingle2.com. This rating is based on the presence of the words pain (2x) and kill (1x).


See, one doesn't have to be crass, obscene or suggestive to be wildly entertaining!

Saturday, June 23, 2007

School's Out

SUMMER

It's arrived, and it's luxurious already.

But I just got my jury summons in the mail.

Oh, well: at least I don't have to leave a lesson plan behind when I go in!

Sunday, June 10, 2007

Strikeback

I was fine today until I got up too fast, and a rush of blood went to my head. Now the screwdriver is out, & my right eye is clamped closed against the throbbing. Exhaling intensifies the pain. The same thing happened when I carried two armfuls of groceries up the stairs yesterday.

Thought I was past the danger when I woke up with a clear head.

My Rx is two Tylenol and a glass of Shiraz-Cabernet. Maybe grapes will do the trick.

Saturday, June 09, 2007

No 'Grain, No Gain

Another migrane.

Woke up with the dim threat of the approaching storm. Maybe coffee will clear this up.

Nope, here he comes.

This wasn't the fall-on-the-floor, writhe and moan for two hours in a dark room, seeing fireworks explode in my skull and hearing every sound on earth migrane. Those are horrible. This was the farm team: more like someone trying to pry my right eyeball out with a large screwdriver. Tylenol actually provided some palliation, though the demon couldn't be completely exorcised: it must leave of its own accord.

I sat in my livingroom all day with the curtains drawn and tried to get some work and reading done on the computer, getting up every few hours to pop another pair of Tylenol. A kind of uneasy, dug-in, WWI-type war of attrition. He let me see, walk, and think; I recognized his sovereinty over my nervous system and lived in visible fear of a major offensive.

Don't think this was a picnic. When I say "lived in fear of a major offensive," I don't mean to imply that I was distant from the battle No, siree. There was constant sniping and small-caliber gunfire, the ground was constantly vibrating from the mortar shells, and an occasional rocket attack, which felt like an ice pick had been plunged into the top of my head. Try to read the news, or get off the couch with an ice pick in your head. How about a little fire, Scarecrow?

I went outside and drove two blocks to the store about 7PM. Forgot to take sunglasses, and heading west into the sunset was a mistake. In the store, I was glad I had the shopping cart to hold onto after about ten minutes. I was getting a little shaky & shuffled along as if I had an energy-draining flu. I managed. And treated myself with ice cream.

So not debilitating, but still incapacitating to a great degree, and at it for more than twelve hours, which isn't at all unusual. I don't think the pain will keep me from falling asleep, so won't have to stay up most of the night until I'm so pain-exhausted I lose consciousness, and I'm grateful for that. And if I'm fortunate, everything will be rosey by morning. That's good, because I have a lot of papers to grade that I didn't get to today.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

To Every Thing, Turn, Turn, Turn…

It's the time of year when everyone's frustration level is high, so if the tenor of my posts gets a little cranky, please bear with me. When you look here, you're looking inside my head, after all, and sometimes it just aint' pretty.

To Each His Own Kingdom

Another teacher uses my classroom during my conference period. Nice guy.

The class is comprised of seniors. and the combination of they thinking they are above the rules and this teacher's very lenient teaching style means kids act in ways that I would never allow if I were the teacher, including:
  • eating food/drinking sodas openly in the class
  • asking and getting permission expressly for the purpose of walking to the vending machines to buy the food/sodas
  • bringing out cell phones/sidekicks for a quick e-mail check, text message, or whatever they're doing
  • sitting on desktops
  • the free use of vulgar language
  • loud carrying-on of various description
During this hour, it's not my class, so it's a professional courtesy to ignore it and let the teacher conduct this class as he sees fit. I could schlep off to the teacher's lounge with papers to mark, and that would probably be more productive, but I find that most of the time I need to be at my desk with my resources around me to plan, etc.

I've given up my room three years running, and it's wearing thin. I'm going to request that they skip me next year, and find someone else's room to use during that period. Sad that we even have to have traveling teachers in the first place, and I'm sympathetic to the roamers, but fer cryin' out loud, let's share the burden.

Thursday, May 31, 2007

And Furthermore…

Oh, and because of a shortage of substitute teachers, four of the eleven teachers who showed up at the district office this morning were sent right back to their classrooms, so fewer of us got to do the same work in (virtually) the same time. Our school's contingent was missing two teachers, and we had to put in an hour of overtime (we're salaried, but we'll get 1.0 hr or our divided-up-into-hourly-rate pay. Having the two other teachers would have let us finish on time.

I spent three hours designing a two-day, self-contained lesson, including detailed instruction sheets for students, pre-chosen small-group seating charts, and question handouts with page number references, When I got to the DO, I learned that tomorrow's scheduled work-day had been postponed because of substitute teacher shortages. It's been rescheduled for two weeks from now.

Tomorrow, I'll be subbing for myself: I've committed my classes to a two-day lesson, and I have to go through with it: my students did half of a mini-project today, and it needs another day to complete. So much for my planning. They wouldn't have done the mini-project had I not been gone.

Of course, two weeks from now, I'll have to design another lesson plan to cover that second day away from my classroom.

On the bright side, my students are always glad to see me when I return from being absent. We're a team, they and I.


Our district pays substitutes less that the surrounding districts, by a wide margin. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out how to enlarge the substitute pool enough to cover our actual needs, does it? Why don't we try something like becoming competitive?

Even bureaucracies can't consistently escape market forces.

While they're at it, someone should draw a ten-mile radius circle around our school district, and check out teacher salaries. Our district is an embarrassment, and our turnover rate of good teachers leaving for higher-paying positions with similar commute times is high.

Speak of the Devil, and the Devil Appears

Today I was out of my classroom, at the district office, scoring the Quarter Writing Prompt— the on-demand essay that students write so that the district can gauge improvement in writing. Or, that's the official reason.

Anyway, I was to be gone two days, so designed a lesson plan that kept my students productive, but was easy for a substitute to administer, no easy feat (see my earlier post, Eeiny Meeiny, Miney Mo, for my take on substitute teachers).

When I announced to my classes that I'd be gone a couple of days, they naturally asked me if I knew who the substitute teacher was going to be (which I didn't), and of course, offered stories about other "subs" who remained in their memory. They mentioned one whom they described to me as, well, a doofus. A mouth-breather. They offered anecdotes of horror about what he'd done in other classes. Much of it revolved around personal hygeine. From their stories, I divined that they had no respect for him.

Guess who walks in my door this morning? Mr. Doofus.

Well, my lesson plan was pretty fool-proof (no pun intended): all it required was the ability to take roll, read a few instructions to the class, and have enough of a presence to keep kids quiet enough for the class to be productive. He even had the power of marking stinkers on the seating chart for decapitation later. Not much more needed than an opposing thumb, really. But still I worrried.

I rushed back on campus after school to discover that the room wasn't thrashed. Most of the work was done (sophomores seem to have accomplished more than juniors). and nothing was missing or had been broken. Not bad, actually. I was relieved.

He didn't leave much of a note for me, and there were no "off-task" marks on the seating chart. I can't believe that every kid was so sobered by my detention threats left on the board that no one had to "get a check." So I'm sure some kids got away with something, and even if I enlist my squealers informants, I won't be able to punish anyone on just that testimony. I'll be limited to "I heard you misbehaved," in an I'm-just letting-you-know-that-I-know-what-you-did way, to take half the joy out of their self-satisfied "I got away with it!" smirking. It's the least (and apparently, the most) I can do.

So Mr. Doofus turned in a lukewarm performance, and earns a C+ or so. Randy gives him props, Dawg; Paula tells him to keep his dream alive; Simon, with arms crossed, thinks he's simply awful. Not terribly bad; but I'll never request him (he did leave a sticker with his name on it for my future consideration. Sorry, Bub: you're not sadistic firm enough to do it the way I want it done.

Another teacher told me that he spent the 30–minute lunch period asleep, or at least head down, at my desk. But that's his time.

I should have locked my desk.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Now There's an Idea



Saw this on another blog, and thought, "If only they made them in high school size…"

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Take Off Your Shoes, Moses: You Are On Holy Ground

In case you're wondering, here are my brilliant Ten Commandments for New Teachers that I carved onto two stone tablets with my own finger. Many teachers enter the profession as really nice people who care about young people, and will have the same basic problem I did when I started: I was way too nice, and because of that, not as effective as I could have been.

So read with that in mind, and remember, it's supposed to be humorous, so no hate mail, please.

Coulter’s Ten Commandments for Classroom Management (new & improved: now with 10% more commandment)

I. Your agenda is not their agenda. Your agenda must prevail.
You love your subject matter and assume that they will, too, but the last class you took was at a university you were paying good money to attend, and your goals were pretty much the same as your professor’s. Your students do not share this worldview. They want freedom, don’t value your efforts to educate them, and want to avoid work at every turn. You are not leading the Von Trapp family on a singing holiday in the Austrian Alps.

II. Have a battle plan.
Students are like any opportunistic predator: they constantly test for weakenss to exploit. If they smell blood in the water, they close ranks and come in for the kill. They’ll even eat their own. A moment’s indecision here, fumbling around looking for your handouts there, and you’re immediately playing defense. The Alpha Dog, by definition, doesn’t play defense. So,

III. Hit first, and hit hard (idle hands are the Devil’s tools).
You set the tone from the first day, and you teach them how to treat you from the first day by verbal and non-verbal communication: always start at the bell; have something for them to begin immediately: journal topic, warm-up math problems on the board, anything, while you take attendance; always have a task ready at hand in case you’ve under-planned and they finish early. “Free time” is insidious.

IV. Make examples of the first offenders.
Students watch the way you handle the first disruptors to get an idea of what might happen to them if they make trouble. Stop to discipline the first few trespassers immediately, or you teach everyone that you will tolerate it.

V. Practice the magic word: “No.”
Try it, and watch. They won’t die. You have to apply limits to them: they certainly won’t apply limits to themselves. They have an endless stream of requests and personal crises: take them one at a time, at your pace, make the others wait until you get to them. Don’t let them waste big chunks of class time asking you things they could ask you at the end of the period on their way out.

VI. It’s your class, not theirs.
Your job is to bring Order to Chaos. Only then will you have cleared an area in which learning can take place. Don’t be afraid to enforce your will upon them. They’re used to it, and will easily adapt to the structure you build.

VII. Tell students what you want them to do, not what you don’t want them to do.
Teenagers have selective hearing. They’re distracted, and not really listening to you. Negative commands result in confusion. If you say “Don’t put your name on your paper,” three kids will do it anyway, one will ask “Did you say to put our names on our papers?” and you will have to repeat yourself, probably more than once. You’re now managing Chaos, instead of creating Order.

VIII. Choose your battles.
You can’t expend your energy making a big deal of every small infraction of your class rules. If making sure kids don’t slouch in their desks is a huge deal to you, fine; otherwise, save your powder for important battles, like ?

IX. Ignore 85% of what they say.
The so-called adolescent “mind” is an entertaining circus of impressions and half-thoughts interrupted by other impressions and quarter-thoughts, fired by hormonal fluctuations, echoing bits of song lyrics and the students’ own basic insecurities. They verbalize many thoughts that don’t relate to anything. If you respond to, or even listen to, everything they say, you will accomplish nothing in a period, and go slowly insane for your trouble. Learn to tune the static out, and pick up on key words that indicate an intelligent question or pertinent statement is being made.

X. Stick to your due dates.
If you extend due dates, you’re not being kind; you’re being unfair. If an assignment was given on Wednesday which is due on Friday, the third of the class who did it by Friday had two days; the two-thirds of the class you then gave until Monday had five days to do the same work. In addition, kids will quickly learn that they need not have their work done on time, because you will likely extend the due date if they fein victimhood. At that point, they have you whipped.

XI. Call for backup (tap the oak to shake the acorn).
Mention calling parents. Then call parents. Kids hate that you crashed their simplistic little scheme to play both ends against the middle. Materials, missing assignments, reading books, and manners appear instantly the next day.

No Autographs, Please

Yesterday after work I drove to UC Irvine to speak at the Future Teacher's club meeting. A former student of mine is an officer.

I was flattered when he called me. He suggested the topic of classroom management, so I wrote my Ten Commandments for New Teachers, threw it onto PowerPoint, made come copies, and jumped in my car.

There were about ten students in my audience, and they were very receptive, and laughed at the appropriate times. Not many questions, but then they're students in an education program, and don't have much experience to base questions on. Anyway, we were at it about an hour, and it was fun for me. I even received a UCI travel mug as a gift for my trouble. Call it an honorarium.

It's a bit odd coming to this point in my career, mentoring student teachers and being treated as if I have something worthwhile to say. But I guess fifteen years gives me some experience to draw on, so I have to readjust the image I have of myself from fresh-faced apprentice learning his craft to grizzled veteran who knows the game and is a mentor to the younger, fresh-faced apprentices. Seniority, so to speak.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Same Song, Different (Uni)Verse

Was told about an amusing blog by a colleague yesterday. Though it's college professors complaining about their students, I can relate to the professors' complaints, because those students were shaped in the same culture of victimhood, inflated self-esteem and rampant entitlement and laziness that produces my students.

No, they're not all bad, and I'm not saying that. But there are enough of them to make me shake my head in wonder sometimes.

Take a look, have a laugh, and then pity me. : )

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Spring, Sprang, Sprung

May first, and also the first day of state testing.

Our school is trying to get all the testing done in a four-day window. The state allows a three-week window. The same group of kids is in my room for a total of four and a half hours in the morning, bubbling in their forms. The results indirectly relate to teacher effectiveness.

Why they put kids through this intense schedule is beyond me. It seems to me that if the test scores are the first priority, we'd spread them out so that students had a better chance of doing well on each test, instead of cramming them into the shortest possible (and it is the shortest possible) time window. Doesn't make sense. Just doesn't make sense at all.

And of course, students adopt the meme that they don't have to have their materials with them for the shortened classes they go to after the two testing blocks, so my job is made more frustrating. Yay.

I'll be glad when this week is over, and I can go back to simply teaching my students.

Saturday, April 28, 2007

The Calculus of Spring

I used to cycle the central coast of California every year as a youth group leader. Climbing long, grueling hills, I learned not to focus on the top of the hill (which, on a curving road, was impossible to see for 90% of the climb anyway), but rather to choose some object 100 yards ahead, make that my goal, reach it, then choose another. You know: that "divide and conquer" thing that Alexander the Great was always on about. Focusing on the end crushes hope when you're miles away from your goal.

So I try very hard not to begin counting down days until the end of school right after Christmas Vacation, as some other teachers do: it just leads to frustration. Better, in my mind, to keep one's head down and only look forward enough to find the next holiday. After New Year's is February, with all those delightful federal holidays (thank-you, Misters Washington, Lincoln, and King). After that, the blessed Easter Vacation, a different calendar week each year, but very, very needed, and what I consider the North Star of school holidays: whether it arrives in March or April, it is the one most desperately needed. Well, at least for me. Easter Vacation makes it possible to slog on until Memorial Day, which is quite a stretch. After that, it's all downhill rushing through the first half of June.

Well, I'm in pretty good mental shape at the moment, so I'll dare to look down the road. Let's see:
Thirty-six school days left (my, that doesn't sound like a lot: I have novels to get through with my classes).
Fifty-three calendar days.

Oh, yeah, I'm feeling that.

Almost at the top: keep pedaling…

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Now That's Strange

I haven 't been able to access my blog for a few days because hitting the "Log In" link started an endless loop on my screen of a half-completed log-in screen. As soon as my specific information began to load, the whole screen would begin to reload from scratch, and I'd never be able to enter my username and password. Over and over and over.

Messed with it today, and for some reason I was able to interrupt this Groundhog Day effect. I don't know how I did it, but I decided to quickly make a post while I can, so that if I get locked out again, at least you can read this last entry, and understand why my blog is tumbling through space, never to be accessed by it's originator again.

That's right: tumbling through space. I said it. And yes, it's corny. But I may never be able to read your snide comment, because I won't be able to log on. So don't waste your time.

Hmpff!

Thursday, April 12, 2007

How Do They Do That?

All right, it's been two months since my televisor started giving me the silent treatment.

So what programming do I miss the most after two months?

Saturday morning cooking shows. Go figure.

I like sitting on the couch, sipping my coffee, and watching really talented cooks (of which I am not one) create really wonderful, or really simple, or clever, or whatever, meals. I admire them.

Then I look in my kitchen, as baffled as if it were Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory, shrug, take s sip, sit back, and watch the gal on TV broast a chicken.

The other TV I really haven't missed much at all.

Monday, April 02, 2007

The Best Laid Plans…

I took my students into the computer lab so that they could upload their book projects to the internet. But of course, there were "technical problems," which in this case means that the printer in the lab was down. Since they needed to print out a hard copy for me so that I can look them over and give grades.

Without the functioning printer, they had to save copies to disc, and now they'll have to figure out a time to get back into the lab, access the website, copy their text in, print the preview page (the thing I'm after), and bring it to me.

The end of the quarter is this Friday. Hopefully, the network printer will be on-line before then. In the meantime, I might have to just take their Word documents, which kind of defeats the whold purpose of the internet publication.

Frustrating.

Friday, March 30, 2007

Eeiny, Meeiny, Miney, Mo

Being absent from work requires teachers to turn over their classes to a substitute. You remember them, and how you used to try to have as much fun with them as you could. You had an advantage: you knew everything about the way that class was run, and the poor sub didn't, and you used this knowlede to try to pull something over on the sub. Don't you remember saying, "Mrs. Smith lets us…"

That's one reason I don't take much time off from work, even when I'm arguably sick enough to stay home. But another of the main reasons is that calling a sub from the pool of labor is a crap-shoot: you really don't know what you're going to get. In my experience, there are three general types of people who wind up working as subsitute teachers:
  1. college kids who are earning a teaching credential, or a contract of their own, and are entering the profession.

  2. retirees, either from teaching or from the private sector, supplementing their income in their platinum years.

  3. people who have been able to earn a Bachelor's degree and pass the CBEST test, but who are, as a group, unemployable in the private sector for some reason or another. In short, misfits. Substitute teaching offers them one-day shots of filling a space, and then the opportunity of moving on: no responsibility, no accountability.

The system doesn't promote watching these people closely. The school is thankful to get someone, anyone "qualified," into that empty class. After that, their problem is solved. If the sub is a disaster, the teacher might fill out the form that exists for rating subs, but it's just filed away. I don't know of any case in which a sub's employment has been terminated for poor performance. We all know there are "background checks," but that's simply a search of legal records, not a personality/skills evaluation.

So if the sub cannot control a class of young people, or complete the lesson, or engages in inappropriate conversations with students, there's little in the system to catch it and screen them out. And there's little motivation to do it, anyway.

Again, it's only that one class of substitutes that I have a problem with. The first class, the young ones entering the profession, often have difficulty with classroom management as well. I know I did for a short while. So I understand that. And those in the second class usually make the best substitutes.

But the end result is the same: I try to find out who a good sub is, and request that person. That's no promise that I'll get her, but at least they will call her. But I still have to write a simple, explicit lesson plan that gets something accomplished and that just about anyone can apply, and that requires skill. And that's why it's work to take a day or two away from my class.

Monday, March 26, 2007

Bueller, Anyone?

Once in a great while (like once every other year, maybe) I'll take a day off from work.

I call it a "Mental Health Day." I can usually feel the need coming for a long time, and it usually happens in the second semester. Well, today is the day. It's been about a year since I took even a sick day, and I don't take many of those; about one sickness a year, and then it's one, maybe two days off. There are reasons to keep it brief: it's an expected professional courtesy to always leave a lesson plan for the substitute teacher, and it takes effort to write a good one (I'm not a "pop in the video tape" kind of guy: school is school, and they'll do something productive, thank you very much). And you never know who you're going to get as a sub or what mayhem will ensue while you're gone. The lesson has to be well-written (idiot-proof is literally the correct term here), complete with six or eight notes about individual students and contingency instructions for their behavior. So it takes quite a bit of effort in my profession to lie on the couch doped up on Day-Quil with Kleenez stuffed up one's nose. I keep an abundant supply of Alka-Seltzer Plus in my desk, and the coffemaker, my true friend, is always ready. Between the decongestant, analgesic, and caffeine, I can be pretty sick and still be at work & running things for myself, even if that means I'm behind my desk and they're doing bookwork and coming to me with questions. That can be infinitely easier than gambling on a sub & student behavior, and losing. Maybe more about substitute teachers later…

My students tell me "You're never absent." Maybe their other teachers are more sickly than I am.

I will use a sick day when I'm "no good to anyone, should be in bed" sick, and I'm grateful for the sick days that are provided in our contract, but I'm not sick today. I'm using a category in our contract known as "Personal Necessity." Three PN days are allowed every year, and the first two times it's invoked, the teacher doesn't need to give a reason for its use. I told my principal this morning that I was using a PN day. So I'm within the letter, and the spirit, of my contract. I don't feel any ethical conflict, because I'm not ethically compromised. The contract is clearly protecting the privacy of the teacher here, and "personal necessity" can have a broad definition, applied by the user.

I know some teachers who have all their sick days planned out. Obviously, they can't tell when they're going to be sick, so they're cheatng the system. With PN days available, I don't have to do that, so my conscience is at ease.

I left a lesson plan for the substitute teacher, and I know my students are fully capable of living without me, so I don't feel guilty about not being there, as I used to when I was a less-experienced teacher.

I'm sitting at home, doing some research online, relaxing, re-energizing. Funny how I just had a relatively slow weekend, but now that I'm taking a workday off, I feel immediately better. The psychological impact of getting out of the usual loop is strong.

Or maybe it's just the pleasure that comes from play hookey… : )

Friday, March 23, 2007

Relax, Observe & Let the Muse Whisper in Your Ear

When I was a new teacher, some days I'd be driving to work thinking, "What am I going to do today?!" in a semi-panic. Now, sometimes I think to myself, "Hmm, I wonder what I'm going to do today," deep in contemplation. That's what experience does for you.

Today, I needed a quick writing lesson. And since it's Friday, it needed to be something they could accomplish in one class hour, then clean up over the weekend. So I came in early this morning to think something up.

So what rabbit did I pull out of my hat? I took them out to the quad with pencil & paper, and told them to find something to describe in detail. It could be anything: a tree, a trash can, the vending machine. The ants crawling along the crack in the concrete. Whatever. Just get down to minute descriptions, and stay with one subject. Beat it to death with adjectives, similies, & sensory detail.

Kids really got into it. I had to separate a few kids who were tempted to talk instead of observe and write, but after I played the bowling ball to their pins, everything went swimmingly (I've always wanted to use that adverb do describe something. It probaby has a broader range of usefulness in British English; here, it's better saved for sarcasm, I think).

Well, one must experiment. This time, it worked.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Please Remove Your (Tinfoil) Hat

The first half of my fifth period class coincides with the middle school lunch, and it gets noisy enough outside that I typically close the door so I can lower my voice and we can hear each other.

A very sweet girl in that class is known to be a bit of a "ditz."

Halfway though this class, the bell rings that ends the middle-schoolers' lunch period, and three minutes after that, the it's pretty quiet again outside. Well, a couple of minutes after this is happens, the girl begins to roll her eyes up and to the sides, an expression of concentration on her face. Then she blurts out "Do you hear those voices?"

Maybe there still were voices outside, but I didn't hear any voices, and none of the other students heard any voices. She heard voices, though.

I just couldn't resist. I said, "No: what are the voices telling you to do?"

She scowled at me. Other kids laughed. She looked into the corners of the room again, and satisfied that the voices had gone, turned her attention to her work.

Precious.

Quote of the Week

Last week I'm teaching Robert Burns' poem "To a Mouse." I'm helping a group of kids in the back of the room understand a question I wrote, and it's a bit noisy while pairs of students discuss and answer their questions, and sneak in some socializing.

So a girl asks me why the poem is so difficult to understand, and I say something like "The poet wrote this about two hundred years ago."

She looks at me in surprise and exclaims, "The Pope wrote this?"

Of course everyone around her laughed, including myself.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

I'm Ready For My Close-up, Mr. Demille

"Are we going to watch the movie?"

I wish I had a dollar for every time I've heard this in class whenever I've introduced a new novel. It usually takes this pattern:
"Is there a movie of this?"
"Are we going to watch the movie?"
"Hey, everyone: we're going to watch a movie!"

It takes about eight seconds for this conversation to morph away from the book in their hands and toward the idea of watching a movie in class. Now that's education.

Well, I got tired of it, so I decided to do something different.

After reading Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men, I told the class that we wouldn't be watching the movie. We'd be studying the movie. This statement was greeted with expressions of excitement layered with suspicion. So I passed out the three-page worksheet, explained the basics of storytelling using the genre of film vs. literature, and we were off.

Well, not really. They complained. They didn't like the idea that their pure, unadulterated pleasure of movie-watching was going to be interrupted by work. I was ruining the pinnacle of student existence: two or more days without any work to do, watching a movie. And it rarely depends on how horrible the movie is; the mere fact that it's a movie makes them deem it good. You would have thought I had torn up the Constitution right in front of their eyes. They didn't like this idea one bit, no Sir. I was actually going to require that they think as they watched the movie.

And the questions! Not just "How was the movie different?" but "Why did the film maker choose to eliminate this scene, or add that, or use this particular camera angle?" "How does the actor's interpretation of the character bring out personality traits that we know are essential to the telling of this story?" Like that.

The first day I paused the tape frequently, showing elements of camera work: the establishing shot, the high angle, the close-up, the pan. Editing techniques like cross-cutting & justaposition of elements. They were irritated because they wanted to watch a movie & I kept stopping to ask them to actually look at the art of film making. But by the end of the first day, they were watching the film critically, with an eye to the storytelling skill of the screenwriter, director, editors, score writers, and actors. They answered my questions, and took their own notes in the margin. They were given permission to think for themselves, to apply knowledge they already had to evaluate the same story and themes presented in a different medium.

On the second day they started making comments about how the music was key to establishing mood. I asked why music is important to film. They said "Because it's about emotions." I smiled and let the tape roll.

Two and a half days is a significant chunk of class time, considering everything I officially have to accomplish before the state testing (not to mention June). But I think this was time well-spent.

No News is Good News

I've been without the TV for nearly a month, and I'm still alive. Sleeping well. More work done in the evenings. More alert at work. All is good.

Psychologically, I'm okay (some people might disagree, but I'm just talking about the television here). Sometimes I think of shows I miss, mostly when students who are around me talk about television. But it's pretty easy to forget, actually.

You wanted me to go through withdrawls, didn't you? You wanted me to moan and groan about what was happening on Lost, or 24. But I really don't care.

You really wanted me to break down and have the set repaired, or better yet, to replace it with a big screen, flat panel vondermachine, so that you could justify your addiction by seeing me cave in.

Well, think again. I'm made of sterner stuff.

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Wandering Out of the Vast Wasteland

Okay, so my television shorted out about a week ago after only eighteen years of trouble-free service.

Up to nowI have resisted the desire to get cable or to go with a big Entertainment System, but there are a few shows in particular that I like to watch, either for their entertainment value or because I learn something from them; but, truth be told, there are a lot of hours a week the thing is just running as wallpaper. The TV is on, and it keeps me company in the evening, while I'm on the couch with the laptop, either working, reading news & political sites, visiting sailing bulletin boards to chat with my friends, or just wasting time. I spend quite a few hours a week on line, just surfing around.

So I've decided to let the dead TV collect dust for a while, and observe what I do with the time. I've already noticed a few differences:

  1. I'm sleeping more hours per night: I usually stay up 'til around midnight because there are shows on that I think I want to see. Thinking about it there really isn't anything important on David Letterman that I'd be missing. Now, I'm falling asleep about two to three hours earlier, so I'm feeling more completely rested when that alarm goes off at 5AM.

  2. As a result, I get up right away instead of hitting the snooze and calculating how late I can stay between the sheets.

  3. I've been getting out of the house earlier, and into my classroom 30–45 minitues earlier, sometimes right when the alarm system shuts down at 6AM, to get in a good solid hour of planning/preparing before kids start showing up on campus. One day last week, I use that hour to put together an entire lesson on Powerpoint that I gave the same day that enriched the novel study my juniors are engaged in.

  4. I'm a bit more clear-headed during the day, esp. in the mornig (I'm not a morning person. I think this has actually helped).

  5. I'm reading for pleasure a bit more. I used to sit on the couch with the TV remote in my hand, glance over at my bookcase and think that I'd like to spend a relaxed evening behind a book instead of in front of the idiot box; the other night, I actually did.

To be honest, I'm also viewing more movies in the evenings on my laptop, so my video addiction, if you can call it that, is still being fed to a degree. And a week really isn't a long time. But I haven't had any desire to take my tube to the repair shop yet, so for now, I'm going to let it remain blind and mute.

I'll be updating. I know you'll be waiting for my capitulation, just to justify your own television addiction. While you're waiting, why don't you pick up a book?

Saturday, February 24, 2007

Pulling Strings, but not Punches

So I started off my 6th period class by telling each student what I liked or appreciated about his character or personality, and with encouragements to push him on to whatever his next level is, as I see it. Some of those students are in their 3rd year with me, and I know them well enough to have unique insights into them. Down each column of the room, student by student. Less than a minute for each person. That took the majority of the class period.

Then some of them wanted to tell me about what they appreciate about me, or the way I run my class, or the way I treat them. I didn't ask for anything like this, but I thought they had a right to their opinions, and it certainly was the right moment, so I sat on the edge of a table in the front of the room and let them have at me. Several students (more than I expected) had something complimentary to say, and as it go rolling, new hands went up as they took advantage of the opportunity.

It was a powerful moment. I received many unexpected insights, and a few responses that validated much of my approach to the student-teacher relationship, my expectations for deep thinking instead of busywork, my helpfulness to them in their task of learning, or my availability to them concerning their academic challenges or willingness to be a confidant to listen to their personal problems and offer advice. It was all very touching (poignant is the official vocabulary word). The one I cherished the most was the simple "You treat us like real people." Not everyone volunteered; maybe half the class. I looked each one in the eye when I thanked them

I wanted to break the bad news to them sooner, but I had to let them have their say, and that left just three minutes in the period for me to tell them that today would be our last meeting, and briefly explain the unpleasant truth about life that sometimes there operate powers beyond our control. I figured this way was better than telling them at the beginning of the period, giving a three-minute explanation of why, and then having forty minutes of awkwardness to get through. And part of it was selfish on my part: I was counting on having the rest of the year to say those things implicitily. With just one class meeting left, I had to use it to give that one thing to them. I saw no other way. When time is short, you tell the truth.

When the bell rang, no one moved, because our business together wasn't quite done. A few students asked if I had any room in any of my other junior classes, and I encouraged them to go staight away to their counselors (just twenty-five feet from my door) if they were serious about wanting to go to June with me. A handful did, and a couple of them actually walked out with new schedules.

About five o'clock, I'm in my room with another teacher, helping her edit an application essay for a summer seminar, trying to get my mind off the disappointment of the day and reconciling myself to the reality of my new situation, when one of the counselors popped her head in the open doorway and asked, "Did you hear?"

I thought she was referring to the loss of my class, so I shrugged my shoulders and scrunched up my mouth to express "Que sera, sera." She realized that I was behind the information curve, so told me that the AP was able to find someone else to take that sophomore class, and that my juniors weren't going anywhere but back to me on Monday.

You could have knocked me over with a horribly-written first draft essay. Of course, my first response was relief. Then laughter, at the now-unnecessary mental and emotional anguish I (and they) had gone through that day. Then appreciation for the dedication of our AP, who really went the extra mile after I came to him to explain my disappointment earlier in the day. He didn't have to do anything about it: his problem was solved the moment I said "If it has to be done, it has to be done" that morning.

So it will be business as usual on Monday, except that I will be bonded even more closely to those young people who walk over my threshold after lunch. There won't be any more emotionally comfortable pretending: we will know a particular truth about our experience together, a truth that has been spoken, and now cannot be unsaid, and cannot be denied. We like each other. They are my students, and I am their teacher.

And that ain't nothing.

Friday, February 23, 2007

I'm Feeling the Carpet Being Pulled Out from Under my Feet

The assistant principal called me during class today. Another teacher's resignation has caused a reshuffling in the master schedule.

This means I lose my 6th period juniors, and pick up someone else's sophomore class, because that teacher needs to coach 6th period. Who gets my 6th period, I don't know yet, but I'll have to call back and find out so that I can tell my students. They're sure to want to know.

This is my favorite class. I look forward to them all day. I have students in that class that I had in middle school, and in 10th grade, and have invested myself in. For years. We've bonded. We're friends. They're easy to teach. We understand each other. I'm completely disappoiinted, and I know that they are going to be even more disappointed.

UPDATE: I just went in to see the AP. We looked at the master schedule together, and saw that there were very few options. One possibility is that a certain other English teacher is willing to take on this orphaned 10th grade class. But it would mean that he picks up a third prep (he'd be planning for three different subjects: in this case, his day will bring students in three different grades into his room). Three preps is legal, but normally our admin. tries to only burden us with two when it can.

If I can talk the other teacher into taking on this additional prep, I'm out of the problem. But now I have to go to him and ask him to increase his workload so that I can keep the continuity of my classes, an act that is motivated by an admixture of concern for my students, and obvious self-interest. I won't push him too hard, but I've got to at least try.

UPDATE: Nope. I can't change the course of the meteor, so I take the hit. Damn.

Curtain Rises

My student teacher to be has hijacked my class this week to do a very creative lesson on Julius Caesar. Productions companies with directors, actors, sound effects people, artists. It's been controlled chaos all week (sometimes no so controlled). A whirlwind of activity, with us conferencing during my prep. period, doing on the fly adjustments, creating assessment tools, etc. And this doesn't count the two dozen e-mails that have been traded leading up to this, putting me in the place of consultant on retainer. I guess I'd better get used to it: she wants to be my student teacher in the fall, and I want that, too.

Today the kids presented their altered (modernized into a current storytelling genre) scenes of the assassination of Caesar. The kids' performances were actually good, and the effort they'd put into their work was apparent. There is another class to go today, so we'll see how it goes.

One thing is for sure: I don't have the energy to live at this level on a consistent basis.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

A World Without America? No Thanks, Comrade

In Europe, were Anti-Americanism is becoming a common attitude, America has been called "the greatest threat to world security." But there are those in the UK who see Britain and America as sharing a unique relationship: America is the product of the democratic ideals of England, a democracy freed by it's rejection of stifling effect of socialism, supplied by its abundant natural resources and fired by its spiritual vision of optimism, purpose, and inalienable rights bestowed by a Creator (life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are not transitory rights given by the whim of the state, but rather "inalienable" rights bestowed to every man by the Creator; as such, the state cannot revoke them) that results in a dignity for the individual unseen in the history of the world.

In that vein, the people at http://www.britainandamerica.com. has started an intriguing ad campaign titled "A World Without America" to remind us what that world might look like wthout the Statue of Liberty's torch shining to the world.

Here's the video (2 min.)


This short video delivers the message, but one could go on and on about the effect of a world wihout America. The purpose is not to claim that we're perfect, but rather that America has been a force for Good in the world that far outweighs its occasional stumbling and failure to live up to its own ideals, and is, in fact, an engine for technological innovation, the establisher and guardian of free peoples, the compassionate hand of relief for the poor and downtrodden of the world, and the best shield against Middle Eastern and Asian domminance Europe has.

The bottom line: a world w/out America is a world with more disease, more poverty, more danger (and more tryannical rule).
Thank, Chaps.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Wakeup Call?

By mistake, I picked up a pound of decaf at the store, and didn't discover it until I'd already opened the package.

What in the world am I going to do with it?

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay

I'm at my desk (unusual). The students are quiet (unusual).

My sophomores are taking the California High School Exit Exam. They're with me for three or four periods both today and tomorrow. They must pass the English and Math sections of this test before being granted a high school diploma. About 80% pass both sections as sophomores the first time; if not, they get two shots per year at it in both their junior and senior years, and virtually all of the remaining students pass both sections before their caps and gowns arrive in those little plastic bags.

Unlike the state testing, students realize that this test has real consequences for them, and so take it seriously. Some are very worried about passing.

All in all, the test is a good thing: students should have certain basic skills to hold a high school diploma, and it just might be a conflict of interest to let individual districts decide who is proficient and who is not. Reminds me of Garrison Keeler's Lake Wobegon, where "…all the children above average." Figure the paradox in that.

My new aides have been coming in today, and because of the test, I have had time to sit and orient them to the gradebook & cetera. An unusual luxury. And since sememster grades are turned in, I really have nothing pressing do, which is why I can sit here and blog in class. Oh, I could be straightening my files, or previewing an upcoming unit, but at the beginning of the term there aren't many Liliputians tying down Gulliver quite yet, so I can still scratch my nose if I want.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

More Aide Talk

Just for the record: the aides I have now are terrific. I don't want to short-change anyone. I went through my first few years thinking "I can barely keep up with what I need to do; how am I going to manage a teacher's aide, too?"

I didn't seen the irony of that thought then. Now I think good aides are a Godsend.

Well, The Meeting took place at lunch. Sara had a whole Powerpoint presentation she's put together the night before ("It only took me a couple of hours," and that on a finals night) ready to go: she'd e-mailed herself a copy and burned a copy onto CD as a backup. At lunch, she commandeered my laptop, set up the LCD projector, and gave the new aides the essentials. I only made a couple of brief comments. The other girls were very interested.

Get this: Sara has no intention of leaving. She'll be coming in on Fridays, volunteering an hour to manage things, organize, see what needs to be done, leave notes for the other aides, and generally preside over the paperwork end of my classroom in absentia, all while being an aide for another teacher this semester: Paul, you're going to love her. Oh, and I'll get a couple of drop-ins per week during lunch or after school, or whenever she said she'd be here.

I used to think I had a great aide one semester who'd take papers home to grade. But now the dedication bar has been raised considerably. Truth to tell, I really don't want to lose her, but it's only fair to give others their shot.

I had her leave the presentation on my hard drive, and I added some screen shots of my gradebook with some step-by-step instructions. I'll see how it plays when I'm done.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

The Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune*

In my fourteen years in a classroom, I've never been so grieviously mistreated by a parent as I was today.

Well, except for the two other times I had contact with this person.

Sigh.

* Hamlet, Act III, sc. i

Teacher Aides and Friendships

Unless I know a student by reputation, I require all of my aides to be former students. This semester I had an extraordinary girl, who kept me organized (she understood that was her primary job), told me to pass papers back, made lists of kids who needed to take make-up tests, made up keys to grade things because she was tired of waiting around for me to do it, and generally cracked the whip while I jumped. It was great.

She was a student of mine in middle school, and then again in 10th grade. And she has been a regular drop-in after school for years, this year often doing aide work gratis while waiting there to meet her sister after school. She even organizes work and leaves written directions for the other aides, because I don't take time to do it often, and once class is running, I seldom find time to give them any instructions. That's bad, because then aides are sitting behind my desk not knowing what to do. Well, that doesn't happen with Sara around.

The semester is ending, so I get a new set of aides. Three is the right number for me, and all of the new ones coming in have been waiting at least a year to spend their elective sitting behind my desk. All three are very orgainzed and trustworthy, and I think one of them can take the role of The Organizer that is being left open by Sara's departure (no, Jessica, I don't have you lined up for your sister's position, though I know you'll do a fine job).

Sara is calling a meeting for the three new aides, in my room tommorw at lunch, for an orientation to being my aide. I don't know what she has in mind, but it could include showing them the paper flow and how to operate the gradebook program on my laptop (she's totally trustworthy), and in what ways they will be able to be especially useful to me (by nagging me to pass papers back, etc., etc.). She didn't tell me to be there, so I'm just going to sit in the corner, eat my lunch, and try not to get in her way. Things always go better that way.

I can just hear her: "Look, you guys know how much of an idiot he is, so here's what you're going to have to do…"

Oh, the title promised friendships. They're all my friends, and it's going to be a pleasure to have them as regular parts of my day.

Free at Last

The quarter-long prep class for sophomores taking the California High School Exit Exam had its last meeting today, and I couldn't be more relieved. It was a grind.

Some of the kids were sweet, but some of them were very difficult. Attention spans like goldfish. I was talked into doing this by one of the APs, and enough years had gone by since I had done something like this that I'd forgotten how exasperating it is.

We met four days a week (Fridays off, thank God!), and at the end of that hour, I was so exhausted, I went straight home.

Besides, I miss the kids hanging out after school. I hadn't realized how pleasnat that is intill it stopped. Now most of them have gotten out of the habit, though some still show up on Fridays. I wonder how long it will take to re-establish the old pattern. Heh: I might be surprised by how quickly they come back.