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Follow-Up
Dear Terrence,
I’ve said it before, and I’ll probably say it a million times more: nine times out of ten, when you get in trouble, it’s not what you originally did that gets you in trouble but how you react to teacher redirection that causes the issues. Today was no different: had you simply moved when I directed you to, things would have ended right there. Instead, you decided to turn it into a battle of wills. By insisting that I tell you why I wanted you to move, you put yourself on the same level as I, or at least tried, suggesting that my authority depends upon the legitimacy of the instructions I give you. By asking “Why” — and not just asking it, but asking it time after time after every calm repetition of the direction I provided — you suggested to everyone that you might move if you think the instructions were justified, and if you didn’t think they were justified, you would simply refuse. In other words, it was a direct challenge to my authority as a teacher.
After your week of excessive talking, if you didn’t know why I wanted you to move, I would be surprised if you didn’t know why I wanted you to move. The fact that you continually asked “Why?” — and in an increasingly disrespectful tone — suggested to me that you were never going to move anyway. It was a losing battle, and it was sucking time from the class and doing serious damage to the classroom atmosphere, and that’s why I decided to end it then and there by requiring that you get out your school-provided discipline card for me to notate the incident.
“Oh, the card!” you replied sarcastically. “I’m scared! I’m terrified! The card!”
And at that moment, young man, you sealed your fate. Previously, you’d simply been disrespecting me and my authority. But mocking the school-wide discipline program, you disrespected the entire school, the entire administration, and the entire teaching staff that came up with a school-wide plan to help you and students like you change some of the damaging behaviors you and students like you so clearly and brazenly exhibit. These are behaviors that will destroy your future if you do not make a serious attempt to change them, and our school discipline plan is intended to help prevent that, to help you see in an on-going basis the negative (and positive) behaviors you’re showing. And so it is not intended to scare or frighten or even punish: it’s intended to help. But you showed that you don’t want help, that you’re set the way you are, that you see a bright future with your behaviors. Ironically, it was that very short-sightedness that we’re trying to help you correct.
Sad because of the disciplinary referral I now have to write,
Your Teacher.
Apples and Pairs
Chores
Evening Walk
After a few administrative matters were taken care of -- moving the car, taking the trash out to the street -- we headed out this evening for a brief walk. As we headed up the street, K playfully commented on how dirty L was.
"Well, if I had to choose between a child who is filthy," I said, "and a child who is obsessed about being clean, I'd have to go with the filthy child. At least it's a sign that she's outgrown her princess phase."
The Boy, of course, has still not outgrown his machine obsession.
Defining Up
Dear Terrence,
It really wasn’t that much I was asking you to do: put your head up. Simple. You began the class as you almost always do: head up but not really attentive. Within a few minutes, though, you folded those arms and dropped your head into the angle of your elbow.
“Terrence, put your head up, please.” Notice: I was polite. I was respectful. You can’t learn anything with your head down, so I needed you to raise your head and your attention. And you did. For a few seconds. Down it went again.
“Terrence, put your head up.” Notice: I was a little less polite. It’s hard to be polite with someone who’s being so disrespectful, and that’s really what it amounted to. When you don’t do what a teacher instructs you to do, it’s disrespect. Whether or not you agree with that is, sadly, irrelevant, because most of the world would accept that as a fair description of what you were doing. Your head went up, but this time, so did your arm, with your head now balanced on the side of your hand as you rested your elbow on your desk. So in a sense, you were obeying: your head was more “up” than it had been a few moments ago, but you knew perfectly well what I meant.
“Terrence, put your head up.” Notice: I was still polite. I tried to keep the edge out of my voice, because I was getting quite irritated with the whole situation and the disrespect you were showing in front of the whole classroom. The child in me wanted to respond in a similar fashion, with disrespect, with sarcasm. But thankfully I reminded myself that I am the adult, and while you could choose to act like an adult, you generally choose to act as you did.
It was at this point that you really crossed the line. But standing up and walking out of the classroom, you disrupted the class, you showed incredible disrespect, and you left me with no choice but to refer the matter to the administration. And you know that will mean an immediate three-day suspension. With your dreams of playing football — I eavesdrop in the hall, as do other teachers — that doesn’t seem like something you’d want. A discipline record and poor grades guarantee your disqualification from school sports. So it seemed very short-sighted of you.
See, here’s what you don’t understand: if I didn’t care about you, I’d just let you leave that head down. It’s much easier to let you sleep. So I ask you to put your head up knowing that I’m only making my life more difficult. I do it every day because I refuse to give up. You might force my hand as you did today, and if that’s the case, then I’ll do as instructed by my superiors and write you up every single time you do it. It doesn’t seem like a very productive way to spend my time, but I follow instructions. All I’m asking is that you do the same.
Still a little frustrated,
Your Teacher
Day Trip to Charleston
The Yorktown at Patriot's Point
USS Clamagore
Isle of Palms
Technical Difficulties
I was hoping to get caught up on grading over the weekend: a long weekend is good for that because I don’t have to do it all at once. I can tinker at it around the edges, so to speak. However, I am currently unable to access the Google Drive account issued by the school district because the district routes all log-ins through their servers, which apparently are experiencing some difficulties. The login page has been replaced by this page, which has no “Submit” button!
So I cannot access my school Drive account, which means I cannot access my Google Classroom account. They’re both Google products, but because of technical problems at the district’s servers, I am unable to access them.
Technology is great until it doesn’t work.
Too Many Toys
Every night whoever has Boy Duty (as opposed to Girl Duty) reads to the Boy, and my selection tonight was Too Many Toys by David Shannon of No, David! fame (one of the best children’s books of all time). The story was a little predictable: “Spencer had too many toys,” it begins, and the astute child or the typical adult will guess where this is going.
Tonight, we reached the page that showed all of Spencer’s toys spilling down the stairs. “Spencer liked to make his toys into a parade that stretched from one corner of the house to the other and back again!” E pointed to the huge line of toys and said, “He poured them all out.”
“Yes,” I laughed. “I know someone else who likes to pour his toys out.”
E looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, then concluded, “Babcia doesn’t.”
Indeed. Every time we visit Babcia, she complains, only partially in jest I’m convinced, that she’ll be glad when we’re all gone and she can get back to normal. “No more toys here, there, and everywhere!”
No, Babcia would not be a fan of Spencer’s train of toys.
After a thoughtful second, E continued: “I do too.” Up went his eyebrows as they always do when he’s about to raise an index finger to emphasize a point. “But I clean up.” Another small pause. “Sometimes.”
“I’m Going to Poland”
Ever since we returned last month from our visit to Poland, the Boy has been obsessed, absolutely obsessed, with going to Poland. He constantly asks when we’re going back, and when we finally explained that we won’t be going back for a long time, he simply declared, “We’ll I’ll go alone.”
“And how will you get to the airport?”
“Mama will take me.”
Every Saturday morning, when talking to Babcia via Skype, he proclaims, “Idę do ciebie!”
Since then, he’s been packing. He’ll pack up toys into a box and declare, “This is for Poland.” He’ll put things in a pile and explain that “this is for Poland.” The other night we couldn’t find his toothbrush because he’d packed it in with his toys “for Poland.”
When we ask him what he’s going to do in Poland, he explains that he’s going to play.
“You can play here. Anything else?”
“I’m going to Poland to visit my friend Babcia.”