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.

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.

What Dreams May Come

I don't usually remember my dreams, so when I do, they're, well, memorable. This sure qualifies.

I'm at the DMV to take my driver's license test. I'm a teenager again, except that I look exactly as I do today. I'm also naked.
Someone tells me I'm naked, and a pair of BVDs appear in my hand. I put them on, and then feel perfectly at ease.

I walk up to a low table with a pile of papers on it and a grandmotherly woman standing on the other side. I hand her some kind of card that I was holding in my teeth while donning the underwear. She seems not to notice my state of undress. She reads my name, and tells me that my friends have already been there. She mentions the name of a friend I had in high school, says his test in in the pile, and begins pushing the pile around in order to see the names in the corners.

But they're not long strip-like DMV tests. It's all lined notebook paper, folded length-wise, with the names showing. I've had my students fold their papers like this when wrapping them around Scan-tron forms. But there are not Scan-trons. I think I recognize my friend's handwriting on one of the papers.

Then I woke up. Very odd.

If anyone can interpret that one, please keep it to yourself: I don't think I want to know.

Cars I've Owned

1. 1972 Chevy LUV pickup (an Isuzu in disguise. Never ran well, but when I was 16 mini-trucks were in)
   
2. 1972 Audi 100 LS (smooth on the freeway, my date crashed it on the way to Knott's Berry Farm)
   
3. 1966 Volkswagen Bug (learned to work on cars keeping this one running)
   
4. 1981 Kawasaki KZ 550 motorcycle (5-year daily commuter)
   
5. 1963 Rambler American 440 (for when it rained)
   
6. 1973 Volkswagen Bus (ten years, three engines, lots of fun)
   
7. 1968 Volvo 144s (never buy a car from your father-in-law)
   
8. 1984(?) Volkswagen Rabbit GTI (totaled on the curb by a drunk driver after 36 days. I was upstairs, asleep)
   
9. 1991 Volkswagen GTI (135,000 original miles and going strong)
   

I wish I had photographs of them all. I'd assemble an album, and include the best stories from each one.

Jobs I've Had

1. 7-Eleven clerk (~ 3 mos.)
   
2. Christmas sales, shopping center (2 weeks)
   
3. Salesman, Leo's Stereo (2 weeks)
   
4. Stockman, National Lumber (4 mos.)
   That gets me out of high school. Then:
   
5. Janitor, apartment complex (6 mos.)
   
6. Quality control inspector, production line (3 mos.)
   
7. Warehouseman (waterbed mattresses) (7 mos.)
   
8. Nighttime office cleaning (3 days)
   
9. Auto parts assembly line worker (1 week)
   
10. Bus boy (8 mos.)
    
11. Document courier (14 mos.)
    
12. Lifeguard (1 yr.)
    
13. Swimming instructor (2 yrs.)
    
14. Pool manager (2 yrs.)
    
15. Warehouseman (medical supplies) (14 mos.)
    
16. Substitute teacher (1 yr.)
    
17. English teacher (14 yrs.)
    

So far, this gig is working out…

A Missed Opportunity

Had to refer a student to the assistant principal today for plagiarizing whole sections of his quarter project. I don't enjoy that, but it had to be done.

Happened to meet the kid and mom in the corridor as they were exiting the office. She asked me if there was any way he could re-submit the work, and declared that the kid's penalty, a two-day suspension from school, was harsh.

So many things about that encounter is causing my head to spin. Let me count the ways:

First, it's PLAGIARISM, not throwing spitballs. You know, academic dishonesty. Intellectual theft. This is a pretty serious offense, and a violation of the state's Educational Code. The point here is that we're trying to hold students to a standard of honesty, integrity and dilligence. It's about the kind of person he will grow up to be. What's that word our culture used to use pretty regularly? Oh, yeah: character.

Second, Mom tries to get me to let him do the project all over again and submit it for credit, to save the kid's grade. Part of the penalty for any cheating is an "F" on the assignment in question. Officially, it's not discretionary. I can't allow him to re-submit work that will nullify that part of the penalty. It would be both illogical and rather dishonest of me. The grade has to take a hit. Turns out even with the "F" he passes the quarter, barely. It could have been worse.

Third, the two-day suspension is at the lower end of the Discipline Matrix (the "sentencing guidlines" the administration uses to, well, administer punishment for naughty boys and girls). Other acceptable consequences in the Matrix for this violation include up to a 5-day suspension, placement in an alternative environment (change of schools) or expulsion from the district. For all I know this was the kid's first offense, but it was the quarter project, not merely a piece of homework, so I think he got off rather lightly. I was thinking he'd get three days. It definitely was not "harsh."

Mom cries in front of me, trying to get me to make this go away. I tell her that considering the nature of the situation, I'm not willing to accept replacement work, both from a standpoint of the intent of the "F" policy for cheating, and my personal policy. Then she tries to get me to lighten the consequence. I explain that I have nothing to do with deciding what happens to him; that's the assistant principal's decision, and they've just come out of his office.

She cries. He cries. I offer my sympathies, wondering to myself how she has the chutzpah to stand there trying to get him off the hook. She repeats her plea, and I, my condolences and explanation of why her request cannot be entertained, and my heartfelt desire that the boy be the kind of person who turns in his own, honest work. Mom is unrelenting, so finally, the assistant principal comes out to pry her loose and shoo her away. She wanted to take it to the principal to try to persuade her, but she (the principal) was off campus today. So they left. Not that Mom would have gotten anywhere with that, anyway.

Later I found out why Mom was so tenacious. Seems the boy is in the marching band, and the two-day suspension, which takes effect immediately, means he won't be wearing his uniform and playiing his instrument for tonight's CIF play-off football game, or tomorrow's field show (battle of the marching bands competition). Two lousy events that will be missed. All the needling, pressuring, tears, for that.

Let me contrast against that what my life would be like if I had been in a similar situation during my high school career:

My parent, likely my Depression generation, Okie, grew up poor-but-proud, stay-at-home mother, would have come into the assistant principal's office, heard about my behavior, viewed the plagiarized project with all the grace and dignity of a queen at a state reception. She would have agreed that this evidence was damning, and told the assistant principal that cheating is certainly not a value with which I was being raised. She would tell him that not only was the academic punishment acceptable, but that my punishment would continue at home. She would give him her word that nothing like this would ever happen again, turn to me and ask, "Will it?," to which I would be expected to agree, with head hung. I woudn't dare look her in the eye. She would then stand, thank the assistant principal for his time, shake his hand, and march me out, with me longing for the protection of the afore-said administrator's office. Head held high, stride dignified, all the way to the car. The ride home would be unbearably quiet.

Later, the lecture from both my parents would communicate how disappointed they were in me, and it would be worse than a restriction, loss of privilege, or any other punishment I could imagine. The knowledge that I'd let them down would burn through my teenage facade of detachment and stir my soul. I would be, in a word, ashamed. And it would cause me to vow to never cheat at my schoolwork again. Altogether a good and proper punishment by itself, but that would only be the half of it. I couldn't spend two days out of school watching television; those hours would be spent doing chores, specially selected for me: pulling weeds, cleaning out the dusty garage, or splitting wood: some physical labor that would engage my body and allow me the opportunity to meditate on my dishonest actions and the unanticipated embarrassment they'd brought upon my family. The calluses would be merely the outward sign of the better person I was becomming.

Maybe that's why I'm so dismayed today. Not a shred of dignity, just tears and pleading for exceptions, reductions in penalty, and the reestablishment of priviledge. Sigh.

Glutton for Punishmet

I took on an extra period, after school, designed to get struggling sophmores to pass the high school exit exam (coming up for them after the new year). Of course the kids don't want to be in an extra class while their friends are happily skipping home, and they're not the most academic kids to begin with: they were chosen for the class based on low state test scores and their grade point average. Yesterday was our first class meeting, and I can tell it's going to be an uphill battle.

The materials (a workbook) were ordered to be the primary resource to use, and of course the books hadn't arrived by yesterday morning. I used the advance copy to make photocopies of the first two lessons, so I'd have something to do with them. The books were tracked down from across town and delivered to me 20 minutes before the class was to begin, but I was in the middle of teaching a class, so had zero opportunity to look at the teacher's copy.

Such is life in a bureaucracy. I'm already regretting agreeing to the whole thing. I'ts going to be a long two months.

Past Burned

I'm here after school, sitting at my desk, just staring into space. I turned in quarter grades today. Over the three day Veteran's Day weekend, I must have read hundreds of thousands of words, scoring book projects, character diaries, and assorted papers, camped out in a coffee shop to get away from the distractions at home.

Now I'm brain-dead. Can't hold a single thought. And tired, because all the caffein I consumed both stole sleep and put a strain on my nervous system. I'm supposed to start a Shakespeare play with my sophomores, but I just don't have the energy, so I'll put it off for a week while I recuperate.

I gave up a three-day weekend on the yacht (with some great wind) to grade papers, so I'm pouting a bit about that, too.

After a weekend like that, I need a break from my work.

Hmmm.