Hi guys. I know it's been a while. I'm going to make an effort to start writing in here more often. For those of you not aware, I got hired at the school where I was doing my student teaching, and am now teaching English full-time.
--
sometimes i am so, so glad that i work at an alternative school that was created upon foundations of social justice.
today during large group, a group of kids got up to do a presentation about a trip they are taking next week to go to springfield and lobby state senators to decrease frivolous spending, and increase monies going into schools. i don't know if you non-illinois people have been paying attention, but illinois is pretty much fucked in terms of budgetary concerns. we're broke. it makes no sense to me, because we have the highest sales tax in the nation here in chicago, but we're broke. this means that transit sucks, programs are getting cut, and teachers are getting fired. schools are closing, and kids are being crowded into already overcrowded classrooms. (i'm talking 40 kids in a class. 40 kids, 1 teacher. do you really think any learning is going on there?)
anyway, i read this article in the paper this morning. and it just pisses me off so much. like, #1: we're broke, and we can't afford to keep our schools open, so let's close the schools and put on them out on the streets, and THEN, let's sic military forces on them?
#2: we, as a nation, have money to spend on putting our citizens on military lockdown, but we don't have enough money to educate our children?
#3: is ANYBODY in springfield aware that next tuesday, may 4, marks the 40th anniversary of the kent state massacre?
from the news today:
Lawmakers seek National Guard to help with Chicago ViolenceApril 26th, 2010
Digital News Report – Illinois State Representatives, John Fritchy (D-Chicago) and LaShawn Ford (D-Chicago) are asking Governor Pat Quinn to implement with Chicago Mayor Richard Daley and the Chicago Police, the Illinois National Guard troops to patrol the streets of Chicago.
They are asking that the National Guard be sent is ASAP to get guns and criminals off of the streets. The National Guard troops haven’t been used, to their knowledge, for general times of violence. Previously, other states have used the National Guard during riots or specific protests or events.
Fritchey explained in a press release, that 113 people have been killed in Chicago so far this year. This is the same number of US troops killed in Iraq and Afganistan wars combined, over the same time period.
They point to the problem related to gang activity and that 80 percent of the homicide victims are black.
26 April 2010
17 November 2009
following yonder star
since the beginning, i had been warned that this would happen. just because of the nature of the school i'm teaching at, family members of students will die by violence. friends of students will die by violence.
students. students will die by violence.
yesterday at 10:00 a.m., a student who attended my high school was shot in a drive-by shooting.
at 10:30 a.m., he was pronounced dead.
during that half-hour interval, when this young man should've been in school, we were having an all-school assembly about gang violence, about the importance of putting street things aside in order to get educated.
the student who was killed had only been enrolled for 3 weeks. my understanding is that he enrolled, and then only attended classes once after getting his schedule.
i did not know this student. he was not enrolled in any of my classes. i had not encountered him in the halls. if you showed me his picture, i probably couldn't pick him out of a lineup.
but my students did know him. they were friends with him. in the face of their grief, stunned or otherwise, i don't know what to say.
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at my high school, the topic of gang violence is a frequent dialogue. we talk a lot about the world of the streets vs. the community within the school, and how the two cannot intermingle. i know for a fact that my principal has, in the past, called the leaders of the latin kings into his office in order to intercede with them about letting our kids leave school, no matter their affiliation. but the influence of the school does not extend as far as we might hope; just a block away, the world of the streets reigns supreme.
and i, i, with my basic suburban white-person midwestern-that-isn't-chicago notion of what gangs are--we were flooded with information about them in the fifth grade; i vaguely remember that the crips and bloods would battle on the football field one thursday afternoon but didn't know who belonged to either--i cannot grasp this. i don't know what it means, if it was expected or unexpected. i don't know if i should be sad, or sorry, or angry, or depressed.
i really thought that going to school to become a teacher would include information about this. but this is what nobody talks about, what nobody wants to bring up--your students, they will die. your students, they will get cancer, or they will get shot, or they will get in car wrecks--and nobody tells you how to deal with that. not as a person, and not as a teacher.
i did not know this boy, and still i am torn up inside.
--
today, when the assembly was called after lunch to talk about the boy that died, i listened. i heard the circumstance. i heard how his dad reacted. and the only thing that came to mind was
my friend, you would not tell with such high zest
to children ardent for some desperate glory
the old Lie: dulce et decorum est
pro patria mori.
because the similarities are very close. we, as a culture, have largely rejected the notion of war. we believe in pacifism, in working things out, in peace treaties, in arguments, in military accords. but we do not believe in people--children--dying for a cause that is not unequivocally just.
and yet--within our cities, on our streets, warfare rages. the battles might take place too late at night, or too early in the morning for anyone to notice--but they happen. the battles might be too subtle--a single shot, a savage yet near-silent beating--but they happen. and for what? for territory, for the right to sell drugs, for the right to stand on a certain corner anywhere in chicago and get recognized?
at this point, my students would inevitably say, miss kate, you're tweakin'.
and yet, dears, i assure you i am not. because i know that many of my kids are the second-generation descendants of gang members, and what were they told? die for your brothers, fight your enemies. and what are they, in turn, telling their children? sure, they're tiny-toddling now, but what about a decade from today? will you want them, guns in hand, fighting for the brothers you keep so close?
and for what? for what?
--
a boy, gunshot to the chest, leaves the place of his assault on foot. he tears down four blocks or so, before falling down. pitching forward, loss of blood, torn of organs, dead.
if a gangbanger falls in the forest, does anyone hear it?
students. students will die by violence.
yesterday at 10:00 a.m., a student who attended my high school was shot in a drive-by shooting.
at 10:30 a.m., he was pronounced dead.
during that half-hour interval, when this young man should've been in school, we were having an all-school assembly about gang violence, about the importance of putting street things aside in order to get educated.
the student who was killed had only been enrolled for 3 weeks. my understanding is that he enrolled, and then only attended classes once after getting his schedule.
i did not know this student. he was not enrolled in any of my classes. i had not encountered him in the halls. if you showed me his picture, i probably couldn't pick him out of a lineup.
but my students did know him. they were friends with him. in the face of their grief, stunned or otherwise, i don't know what to say.
--
at my high school, the topic of gang violence is a frequent dialogue. we talk a lot about the world of the streets vs. the community within the school, and how the two cannot intermingle. i know for a fact that my principal has, in the past, called the leaders of the latin kings into his office in order to intercede with them about letting our kids leave school, no matter their affiliation. but the influence of the school does not extend as far as we might hope; just a block away, the world of the streets reigns supreme.
and i, i, with my basic suburban white-person midwestern-that-isn't-chicago notion of what gangs are--we were flooded with information about them in the fifth grade; i vaguely remember that the crips and bloods would battle on the football field one thursday afternoon but didn't know who belonged to either--i cannot grasp this. i don't know what it means, if it was expected or unexpected. i don't know if i should be sad, or sorry, or angry, or depressed.
i really thought that going to school to become a teacher would include information about this. but this is what nobody talks about, what nobody wants to bring up--your students, they will die. your students, they will get cancer, or they will get shot, or they will get in car wrecks--and nobody tells you how to deal with that. not as a person, and not as a teacher.
i did not know this boy, and still i am torn up inside.
--
today, when the assembly was called after lunch to talk about the boy that died, i listened. i heard the circumstance. i heard how his dad reacted. and the only thing that came to mind was
my friend, you would not tell with such high zest
to children ardent for some desperate glory
the old Lie: dulce et decorum est
pro patria mori.
because the similarities are very close. we, as a culture, have largely rejected the notion of war. we believe in pacifism, in working things out, in peace treaties, in arguments, in military accords. but we do not believe in people--children--dying for a cause that is not unequivocally just.
and yet--within our cities, on our streets, warfare rages. the battles might take place too late at night, or too early in the morning for anyone to notice--but they happen. the battles might be too subtle--a single shot, a savage yet near-silent beating--but they happen. and for what? for territory, for the right to sell drugs, for the right to stand on a certain corner anywhere in chicago and get recognized?
at this point, my students would inevitably say, miss kate, you're tweakin'.
and yet, dears, i assure you i am not. because i know that many of my kids are the second-generation descendants of gang members, and what were they told? die for your brothers, fight your enemies. and what are they, in turn, telling their children? sure, they're tiny-toddling now, but what about a decade from today? will you want them, guns in hand, fighting for the brothers you keep so close?
and for what? for what?
--
a boy, gunshot to the chest, leaves the place of his assault on foot. he tears down four blocks or so, before falling down. pitching forward, loss of blood, torn of organs, dead.
if a gangbanger falls in the forest, does anyone hear it?
09 November 2009
winding down
well, here it is, folks. this week is week 12 of my student teaching experience. what with days off for veteran's day, thanksgiving break, and the like, i've got 16 days left. SIXTEEN. SIXTEEN DAYS OF SCHOOL LEFT TO GO.
this is my last full week of teaching--and by "full," i mean i teach tuesday, thursday, and friday--and then next week, my cooperating teacher will transition back to the forefront. the following week is thanksgiving week, meaning classes on monday and tuesday are normal, then wednesday is a big all-school potluck. the week following that is the last week i'll be there, when i'm supposed to observe other teachers (meaning i will start saying my goodbyes and get really weepy).
last week, i wrote a note to my principal and put it in his inbox (he's notoriously hard to get in touch with, unless HE wants to see YOU) asking him if there might be room for me on the staff as a part-time teacher next semester. everyone was frantic all week with the alternative school network inspection, so i didn't really get a chance to talk to him about it. i'm going to try and track him down sometime this week to discuss it further. i know for a fact that one of the history/social science teachers is leaving in january. in an alternative school, you don't have to be certified to teach your particular subject, or certified at all; while i'm not saying that i'm totally qualified to teach latin american history...dude, i bet i could pull it off. also, i bet they could stand to add another section or two of an english class (or two).
i'm hoping he'll go for it. last night i had a horrible dream about going back to work in the restaurant that i used to work in and plan on returning to (and guess i still technically work for). i couldn't find my vest and my manager was yelling at me and my locker was full of putrid frozen yogurt (don't ask; we don't even sell frozen yogurt there).
i'd just rather keep on being with these kids, teaching them, learning from them, however you want to put it. i'd rather not go back to upselling high-end half-size pastas if i could do something more in line with my future career, y'know?
--
additionally, a propos of nothing, here is my menu for the upcoming thanksgiving holiday. i'm hosting 9 people--10, including myself--and i'm really excited about doing it all up. to the point that i'm having a hard time delegating.
THANKSGIVING MENU 2009
--
earlier this week, i was talking to a student about varying things. he showed up in my classroom really early--around 8:00 or so, when i first get there--and we ended up talking for nearly an hour before 1st period started. at some point, we got around to talking about places i've travelled, and amsterdam came up. i realize that all my students think it's So Crazy Cool that i've been to amsterdam--they know exactly what amsterdam is known for, and so i see no point in pretending that i didn't partake in the activities while i was there. anyway, we were talking about amsterdam, and stuff i did while i was there, and the following conversation occurred:
student: what's it like there?
me: what do you mean?
student: like, what does it look like?
me: i'm still not sure what you mean.
student: like, are the houses made out of mud and sticks and stuff?
and while i wanted to say, "WHAT!?", instead i said, "oh, honey, no. amsterdam's been a city longer than we've been a country," and then told him about all the canals.
this is my last full week of teaching--and by "full," i mean i teach tuesday, thursday, and friday--and then next week, my cooperating teacher will transition back to the forefront. the following week is thanksgiving week, meaning classes on monday and tuesday are normal, then wednesday is a big all-school potluck. the week following that is the last week i'll be there, when i'm supposed to observe other teachers (meaning i will start saying my goodbyes and get really weepy).
last week, i wrote a note to my principal and put it in his inbox (he's notoriously hard to get in touch with, unless HE wants to see YOU) asking him if there might be room for me on the staff as a part-time teacher next semester. everyone was frantic all week with the alternative school network inspection, so i didn't really get a chance to talk to him about it. i'm going to try and track him down sometime this week to discuss it further. i know for a fact that one of the history/social science teachers is leaving in january. in an alternative school, you don't have to be certified to teach your particular subject, or certified at all; while i'm not saying that i'm totally qualified to teach latin american history...dude, i bet i could pull it off. also, i bet they could stand to add another section or two of an english class (or two).
i'm hoping he'll go for it. last night i had a horrible dream about going back to work in the restaurant that i used to work in and plan on returning to (and guess i still technically work for). i couldn't find my vest and my manager was yelling at me and my locker was full of putrid frozen yogurt (don't ask; we don't even sell frozen yogurt there).
i'd just rather keep on being with these kids, teaching them, learning from them, however you want to put it. i'd rather not go back to upselling high-end half-size pastas if i could do something more in line with my future career, y'know?
--
additionally, a propos of nothing, here is my menu for the upcoming thanksgiving holiday. i'm hosting 9 people--10, including myself--and i'm really excited about doing it all up. to the point that i'm having a hard time delegating.
THANKSGIVING MENU 2009
- Roast Turkey with Maple Herb Butter
- Garlic Mashed Potatoes
- Cranberry Sauce
- Chestnut Stuffing
- Maple Glazed Yams with Pecan Topping
- Green Beans with Shallots and Pancetta
- Zucchini Casserole
- Kate's Thanksgiving Cornbread (courtesy of my kindergarten teacher's recipe)
- Pumpkin Roll
- Apple Pie
--
earlier this week, i was talking to a student about varying things. he showed up in my classroom really early--around 8:00 or so, when i first get there--and we ended up talking for nearly an hour before 1st period started. at some point, we got around to talking about places i've travelled, and amsterdam came up. i realize that all my students think it's So Crazy Cool that i've been to amsterdam--they know exactly what amsterdam is known for, and so i see no point in pretending that i didn't partake in the activities while i was there. anyway, we were talking about amsterdam, and stuff i did while i was there, and the following conversation occurred:
student: what's it like there?
me: what do you mean?
student: like, what does it look like?
me: i'm still not sure what you mean.
student: like, are the houses made out of mud and sticks and stuff?
and while i wanted to say, "WHAT!?", instead i said, "oh, honey, no. amsterdam's been a city longer than we've been a country," and then told him about all the canals.
04 November 2009
Week 11 Reflection
**Below is the text of the reflection journal I turned in for my grad school seminar. I know it's long, but stick with me. It's worth it.
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Initially, I had every intention of using this reflection to talk about a multitude of things: the start of second quarter, the upcoming accreditation inspection on Friday, starting my kids in their first big project. However, following today’s staff meeting, I’m going to talk about that instead. I think my rationale will rapidly become clear.
Today at the staff meeting, one of the teachers brought up a recent incident in order to determine consequences / a course of action. This particular teacher is white. Toward the end of a class a few days ago, a student not enrolled in the class came in. Matt allowed him to stay, since class was nearly over. However, the student in question was cursing and being derogatory toward other students. Matt chastised him and told him to be respectful, but the situation kept escalating. It ended when class did—and when, upon leaving, the student got inches from Matt’s face and said, “Somebody needs to fuck your bitch.”
This led into a discussion of consequences, and the culture of the school, and the culture of the streets in which these students live. It seemed pretty clear that no matter where the students come from, the school should not tolerate that kind of language or abuse from its student population.
AND THEN.
One of the teacher/mentors got up and started talking. This teacher/mentor is a big believer in the ideology of early Malcolm X, by the way. (Yes, I’m talking all that “white devil” business—I know he buys into that, even if he doesn’t go around dissing white people all the time.) The teacher/mentor starts talking about how the staff at my school doesn’t understand the culture, races, and lives of the student population that we serve. He said that we are all, always, spouting the language of the White Oppressor, putting our students at a disadvantage because our personal frameworks differ vastly from the realities of the students in the school.
But it didn’t stop at that. This teacher/mentor said that NOBODY in the room—not me, not Matt, not the African-American vice principal, not the Filipino English teacher, not the Nigerian math teacher—understands our students’ lives and minds. He made it seem like he was the only one who did (though his reasoning for this belief was not entirely clear.) He screamed and he shouted and he pointed fingers, and a lot of the staff got out of their chairs and did the same thing right back to him. He brandished a book by a Malcolm X disciple, telling us we needed to read the truth, and then slammed it down on the table.
I don’t feel like I am out of line in saying that the situation makes me uncomfortable. But not because I am white, or because I am female, or because I came from a firmly-middle-class suburban upbringing, or because I live in a nice apartment with my white husband and our $1500 dog.
I am uncomfortable with it because this teacher/mentor is making this a racial and cultural issue, when it IS NOT. Under any circumstances, in any culture—especially a multicultural educational environment—it should be considered inappropriate for a student to get up in anyone’s face—teacher, fellow student, custodian, whoever—and say, “Somebody needs to fuck your bitch.” That is NOT okay, and SHOULD NOT be okay anywhere, at any time
And it makes me uncomfortable because I know that this teacher/mentor, in his mentor role, has students come to him and talk to him about issues with teachers and administrators. I really believe that if a student has a problem with me, or any other teacher, it’s not because we’re of different races or are from different cultures; it’s because one of us has done something unfair, or is being too harsh, or is being unreasonable. It’s not because we’re black or white or Filipino or Nigerian or Sri Lankan or Ghanaian. It’s because we’re two people, differing on a fundamental level about something that happened in the classroom environment. And I’m pretty sure that if a student went to this teacher/mentor with any problem, of any nature, this teacher/mentor will warp the problem into a racial or cultural one. I think he will tell kids that the fundamental issue isn’t that we disagree on a classroom policy; we differ because we’re either infected by, or represent, the White Oppressor. He’ll skew the issue to fit his framework, and then press that framework upon the student in question.
That’s wrong. Anywhere you go, that’s wrong. It’s wrong to push and impress and batter your beliefs on other people—especially when those other people are in distress.
Just like it’s wrong to say “Somebody needs to fuck your bitch” to anyone, it’s equally wrong to shout and point and throw books at your colleagues. And I don’t think that’s my white, female, suburban ideology saying it’s wrong; I think that within any human context, that’s disrespectful.
There’s no difference. And this is supposed to be an environment advocating social justice? Really, you could’ve fooled me.
Maybe next time I’ll bring a copy of Inga Muscio’s Cunt to throw right back.
-----
Initially, I had every intention of using this reflection to talk about a multitude of things: the start of second quarter, the upcoming accreditation inspection on Friday, starting my kids in their first big project. However, following today’s staff meeting, I’m going to talk about that instead. I think my rationale will rapidly become clear.
Today at the staff meeting, one of the teachers brought up a recent incident in order to determine consequences / a course of action. This particular teacher is white. Toward the end of a class a few days ago, a student not enrolled in the class came in. Matt allowed him to stay, since class was nearly over. However, the student in question was cursing and being derogatory toward other students. Matt chastised him and told him to be respectful, but the situation kept escalating. It ended when class did—and when, upon leaving, the student got inches from Matt’s face and said, “Somebody needs to fuck your bitch.”
This led into a discussion of consequences, and the culture of the school, and the culture of the streets in which these students live. It seemed pretty clear that no matter where the students come from, the school should not tolerate that kind of language or abuse from its student population.
AND THEN.
One of the teacher/mentors got up and started talking. This teacher/mentor is a big believer in the ideology of early Malcolm X, by the way. (Yes, I’m talking all that “white devil” business—I know he buys into that, even if he doesn’t go around dissing white people all the time.) The teacher/mentor starts talking about how the staff at my school doesn’t understand the culture, races, and lives of the student population that we serve. He said that we are all, always, spouting the language of the White Oppressor, putting our students at a disadvantage because our personal frameworks differ vastly from the realities of the students in the school.
But it didn’t stop at that. This teacher/mentor said that NOBODY in the room—not me, not Matt, not the African-American vice principal, not the Filipino English teacher, not the Nigerian math teacher—understands our students’ lives and minds. He made it seem like he was the only one who did (though his reasoning for this belief was not entirely clear.) He screamed and he shouted and he pointed fingers, and a lot of the staff got out of their chairs and did the same thing right back to him. He brandished a book by a Malcolm X disciple, telling us we needed to read the truth, and then slammed it down on the table.
I don’t feel like I am out of line in saying that the situation makes me uncomfortable. But not because I am white, or because I am female, or because I came from a firmly-middle-class suburban upbringing, or because I live in a nice apartment with my white husband and our $1500 dog.
I am uncomfortable with it because this teacher/mentor is making this a racial and cultural issue, when it IS NOT. Under any circumstances, in any culture—especially a multicultural educational environment—it should be considered inappropriate for a student to get up in anyone’s face—teacher, fellow student, custodian, whoever—and say, “Somebody needs to fuck your bitch.” That is NOT okay, and SHOULD NOT be okay anywhere, at any time
And it makes me uncomfortable because I know that this teacher/mentor, in his mentor role, has students come to him and talk to him about issues with teachers and administrators. I really believe that if a student has a problem with me, or any other teacher, it’s not because we’re of different races or are from different cultures; it’s because one of us has done something unfair, or is being too harsh, or is being unreasonable. It’s not because we’re black or white or Filipino or Nigerian or Sri Lankan or Ghanaian. It’s because we’re two people, differing on a fundamental level about something that happened in the classroom environment. And I’m pretty sure that if a student went to this teacher/mentor with any problem, of any nature, this teacher/mentor will warp the problem into a racial or cultural one. I think he will tell kids that the fundamental issue isn’t that we disagree on a classroom policy; we differ because we’re either infected by, or represent, the White Oppressor. He’ll skew the issue to fit his framework, and then press that framework upon the student in question.
That’s wrong. Anywhere you go, that’s wrong. It’s wrong to push and impress and batter your beliefs on other people—especially when those other people are in distress.
Just like it’s wrong to say “Somebody needs to fuck your bitch” to anyone, it’s equally wrong to shout and point and throw books at your colleagues. And I don’t think that’s my white, female, suburban ideology saying it’s wrong; I think that within any human context, that’s disrespectful.
There’s no difference. And this is supposed to be an environment advocating social justice? Really, you could’ve fooled me.
Maybe next time I’ll bring a copy of Inga Muscio’s Cunt to throw right back.
02 November 2009
Success v. Fail
Appropriate Staff Meeting Topic: How can we best prepare ourselves for the ASN accrediting visit this Friday? Who should we pick for student and staff focus groups? What do we need to be prepared to know?
Inappropriate Staff Meeting Topic: When you eat seedless grapes, you are absorbing less knowledge than if you were to eat grapes with seeds, because the seed of a fruit is what contains all the nutrients and knowledge. Ditto seedless v. seeded watermelon. Agree or disagree? Discuss!
(One guess as to which one we spent more time (i.e. an hour) on at today's record-breaking 3.5 hour staff meeting.)
Inappropriate Staff Meeting Topic: When you eat seedless grapes, you are absorbing less knowledge than if you were to eat grapes with seeds, because the seed of a fruit is what contains all the nutrients and knowledge. Ditto seedless v. seeded watermelon. Agree or disagree? Discuss!
(One guess as to which one we spent more time (i.e. an hour) on at today's record-breaking 3.5 hour staff meeting.)
30 October 2009
The Bearer of Bad News
Today is the first day of my three-day Halloween weekend, and even though I have zero plans to dress up like a sexy [insert profession / object here], I'm going to enjoy it because I know that I have earned it.
Wednesday and Thursday of this week were evaluations. The school I'm at doesn't do the report card business that I remember from high school, where we went to our first period class at the end of the day and picked them up. They don't even follow the model that seems to be the case these days, where they have a report card pickup at the end of school (because the students! they can't be trusted to not edit their report cards with scanners and Photoshop! what I want to know is, where were the scanners and Photoshop when I was getting Fs and Ds in physics?! but I digress.)
No, my school has students sign up to come in and conference with their teachers, one at a time, on a one-on-one basis, to talk about everything from attendance and behavior to ability to work in groups. And, oh yeah, give out grades.
Wednesday was fine, because I mostly gave out As all day. I don't blame those A-getting kids; if I knew I'd rocked my classes, I'd want to get in there early and get the proof and then get out and enjoy a 4-day weekend. So I got to make a lot of kids smile, tell them they're awesome and smart and their grades indicate this, now go and take your two kids trick-or-treating, sweetie!
Thursday? Thursday sucked.
Thursday was the day when the stragglers came in. Thursday, I got to tell a lot of kids, to their faces, and to their great surprise in some cases, that they'd failed. Even with a curve, even with bonus points, even with a grudging addition (on my part) of points of attendance, they'd failed. F. Failed. Sorry, baby.
It sucks to have a kid sit down next to you, all smiles and anticipation, and have to look into their face and say, "You failed the quarter." It's hard to see their faces fall, the disappointment and confusion cloud their eyes, when to you, the proof was obvious--if you miss class 10 times in one quarter and don't make up the work...what did you THINK was going to happen? And it's even worse when it's a kid whose attendance has been fine, but their focus is nonexistent and the work doesn't get done and there are no points for 20 assignments in my gradebook. Those kids think they should pass the class on the simple merits of having shown up, when that's just not how education or the real world work.
These kids made me saddest of all. I'm thinking of one in particular. I know his crazy backstory, and that his home life sucks. He only missed two days, but when he's there...his body is there, but his mind is somewhere else. He can't stay on point long enough to accomplish much of anything, without running his mouth or taking a nap or doing everything BUT his class work.
If it were me, and my whole life was turmoil, I think I'd be glad for the quiet and order of school, the departure from the distractions and violence and poverty and fear. Just to do something DIFFERENT.
But these kids? No. The worst part of all is, they are so smart. They are so goddamn capable of doing the work, of getting As, of going on to do bigger and better and impressive things...but they don't. They can't, maybe.
I just wanted to put my hands on their shoulders and look them in the face and say, "You are SO smart. You are SO talented. You have SO MUCH to offer...and you're fucking it up."
Instead, I looked away from the disappointment in their faces. I wrapped up the conference. I told them that next quarter is a fresh start. I told them that I know they can do better this time around.
And then, I watched them walk out the door, shoulders slumped. And then I did it all over again, to someone else.
Wednesday and Thursday of this week were evaluations. The school I'm at doesn't do the report card business that I remember from high school, where we went to our first period class at the end of the day and picked them up. They don't even follow the model that seems to be the case these days, where they have a report card pickup at the end of school (because the students! they can't be trusted to not edit their report cards with scanners and Photoshop! what I want to know is, where were the scanners and Photoshop when I was getting Fs and Ds in physics?! but I digress.)
No, my school has students sign up to come in and conference with their teachers, one at a time, on a one-on-one basis, to talk about everything from attendance and behavior to ability to work in groups. And, oh yeah, give out grades.
Wednesday was fine, because I mostly gave out As all day. I don't blame those A-getting kids; if I knew I'd rocked my classes, I'd want to get in there early and get the proof and then get out and enjoy a 4-day weekend. So I got to make a lot of kids smile, tell them they're awesome and smart and their grades indicate this, now go and take your two kids trick-or-treating, sweetie!
Thursday? Thursday sucked.
Thursday was the day when the stragglers came in. Thursday, I got to tell a lot of kids, to their faces, and to their great surprise in some cases, that they'd failed. Even with a curve, even with bonus points, even with a grudging addition (on my part) of points of attendance, they'd failed. F. Failed. Sorry, baby.
It sucks to have a kid sit down next to you, all smiles and anticipation, and have to look into their face and say, "You failed the quarter." It's hard to see their faces fall, the disappointment and confusion cloud their eyes, when to you, the proof was obvious--if you miss class 10 times in one quarter and don't make up the work...what did you THINK was going to happen? And it's even worse when it's a kid whose attendance has been fine, but their focus is nonexistent and the work doesn't get done and there are no points for 20 assignments in my gradebook. Those kids think they should pass the class on the simple merits of having shown up, when that's just not how education or the real world work.
These kids made me saddest of all. I'm thinking of one in particular. I know his crazy backstory, and that his home life sucks. He only missed two days, but when he's there...his body is there, but his mind is somewhere else. He can't stay on point long enough to accomplish much of anything, without running his mouth or taking a nap or doing everything BUT his class work.
If it were me, and my whole life was turmoil, I think I'd be glad for the quiet and order of school, the departure from the distractions and violence and poverty and fear. Just to do something DIFFERENT.
But these kids? No. The worst part of all is, they are so smart. They are so goddamn capable of doing the work, of getting As, of going on to do bigger and better and impressive things...but they don't. They can't, maybe.
I just wanted to put my hands on their shoulders and look them in the face and say, "You are SO smart. You are SO talented. You have SO MUCH to offer...and you're fucking it up."
Instead, I looked away from the disappointment in their faces. I wrapped up the conference. I told them that next quarter is a fresh start. I told them that I know they can do better this time around.
And then, I watched them walk out the door, shoulders slumped. And then I did it all over again, to someone else.
23 October 2009
Long Time Gone
Sorry for the break in updates, folks. I had big intentions of writing on Tuesday night, but Blogger was down and I wasn't feeling up to writing in a Word document and re-pasting things here later.
Let's do this by the numbers:
9: Weeks of student teaching I've completed so far.
6: Weeks of student teaching I have left.
4: Weeks during which I will be actually teaching; the last week, I'm back to observing.
2: Days next week which are business as usual aka class (Monday & Tuesday).
2: Days next week which are devoted to evaluations, aka the report card system designed with the express purpose of making teachers crazy. (Wednesday & Thursday).
1: Day next week that I don't to go to school (Friday), giving me one
3: Day weekend. And I don't have a Halloween costume. Yet.
45%: Of students seem to be failing my classes, even though I'm grading on a HUGE curve and giving them ample opportunity to make up late work. I kind of want to cry.
1: Big freakout that I had on Wednesday, thinking I might never get hired anywhere, because postings for the 2010-2011 school year aren't really happening yet.
1: Big compliment that I got from my principal today, when he asked me how things were going and I told him I love my school and he told me that they would hire me.
2: Hours at the end of the day that I spent wondering if I can parlay this compliment into a part-time job until the end of the school year. I'd love to stay with my kids, and I'd love to build my resume. Everyone wins!
3: Episodes of 'Mad Men' that I watched while making an interminable stack of very boring flash cards for the APT.
22: Days until I take the APT. Aside from the flashcard-making...I haven't studied.
1: Hot stone massage that I'm getting tomorrow, having finally scheduled my birthday present from my husband.
1: Very big reason to be excited--my final grad school class is available with an online option. Hooray for a potential lack of midwinter nighttime commutes on the train! Hooray for completing my Master's in a very 21st-century way!
3: Class periods next week when I will allow students to make up missing assignments in attempt to get their grades from Fs to Ds.
1: Long Tuesday night when I grade all those papers and re-do the curves to make sure all my information is accurate and up-to-date for evaluations.
1: Very endearing student who got very, VERY happy when I informed him today that not only is he doing well--he's got the best grade in his class.
5: Cups of Dannon Light&Fit yogurt that I go through every week, eating breakfast at school.
25: Minutes I stood outside in the rain this morning, because I was
5: Minutes early, and the custodian was
20: Minutes late.
25ish: Minutes I stood under the hand dryer in the womens' bathroom in attempt to dry off my jeans, so that I wouldn't have to wear wet pants all day.
24.5: Minutes of this process that I felt like a total creep and hoped nobody would come into the bathroom and see me drinking coffee with my left thigh held under the hot air.
I think that's all for now. I actually have a lot on my mind worth mentioning regarding this evaluations process, but it's Friday night and I'm really tired and I'll write about it tomorrow after I use a gift certificate to have somebody rub my body with hot stones for an hour (gratuity included!).
Let's do this by the numbers:
9: Weeks of student teaching I've completed so far.
6: Weeks of student teaching I have left.
4: Weeks during which I will be actually teaching; the last week, I'm back to observing.
2: Days next week which are business as usual aka class (Monday & Tuesday).
2: Days next week which are devoted to evaluations, aka the report card system designed with the express purpose of making teachers crazy. (Wednesday & Thursday).
1: Day next week that I don't to go to school (Friday), giving me one
3: Day weekend. And I don't have a Halloween costume. Yet.
45%: Of students seem to be failing my classes, even though I'm grading on a HUGE curve and giving them ample opportunity to make up late work. I kind of want to cry.
1: Big freakout that I had on Wednesday, thinking I might never get hired anywhere, because postings for the 2010-2011 school year aren't really happening yet.
1: Big compliment that I got from my principal today, when he asked me how things were going and I told him I love my school and he told me that they would hire me.
2: Hours at the end of the day that I spent wondering if I can parlay this compliment into a part-time job until the end of the school year. I'd love to stay with my kids, and I'd love to build my resume. Everyone wins!
3: Episodes of 'Mad Men' that I watched while making an interminable stack of very boring flash cards for the APT.
22: Days until I take the APT. Aside from the flashcard-making...I haven't studied.
1: Hot stone massage that I'm getting tomorrow, having finally scheduled my birthday present from my husband.
1: Very big reason to be excited--my final grad school class is available with an online option. Hooray for a potential lack of midwinter nighttime commutes on the train! Hooray for completing my Master's in a very 21st-century way!
3: Class periods next week when I will allow students to make up missing assignments in attempt to get their grades from Fs to Ds.
1: Long Tuesday night when I grade all those papers and re-do the curves to make sure all my information is accurate and up-to-date for evaluations.
1: Very endearing student who got very, VERY happy when I informed him today that not only is he doing well--he's got the best grade in his class.
5: Cups of Dannon Light&Fit yogurt that I go through every week, eating breakfast at school.
25: Minutes I stood outside in the rain this morning, because I was
5: Minutes early, and the custodian was
20: Minutes late.
25ish: Minutes I stood under the hand dryer in the womens' bathroom in attempt to dry off my jeans, so that I wouldn't have to wear wet pants all day.
24.5: Minutes of this process that I felt like a total creep and hoped nobody would come into the bathroom and see me drinking coffee with my left thigh held under the hot air.
I think that's all for now. I actually have a lot on my mind worth mentioning regarding this evaluations process, but it's Friday night and I'm really tired and I'll write about it tomorrow after I use a gift certificate to have somebody rub my body with hot stones for an hour (gratuity included!).
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