Matching Tracksuits

fun in fours

at risk

Changes

Thursday 27 February 2020

Photo by susanjanegolding

A kid makes a decision to sell something at school and soon, every part of her life is sucked into the whirlpool of consequences that follows. Another kid makes a comment about violence in school and soon, every part of his life is not sucked into the whirlpool of consequences because of parental denial.

Both these kids intersect my own life, and those intersections coincide with other intersections making this web that moves on one end when you tug on the opposite end. Both these changes affect me only coincidentally and fairly significantly -- the paradox of the nature of modern life.

Both these changes get me thinking about our own daughter, the same age as these two non-hypothetical kids who go to schools not all that different from our daughter with peers not all that different from our daughter's friends. So much of these three families' lives line up, and it leaves me thinking, "There but for the grace of God go we..."

I want to say it's not grace. I want to say it's better parenting. But I know that's not necessarily the case. And I add "necessarily" because to think otherwise is almost unbearable.

Progress

Tuesday 11 February 2020

Working with eighth-grade kids, I've learned to accept progress in small steps. Behaviors don't change overnight. They don't even change over-week or over-month. But small changes can happen suddenly. Small changes that can grow. Small changes that serve as a foundation. Small changes that aren't so small.

I have a student that I love. And hate. And hate to love. And love to hate. He's got potential. He's got a great personality. Everyone loves him. But he talks.

Constantly.

No, constantly.

No, I mean constantly.

No, I really mean constantly.

That is almost not an exaggeration. A slight exaggeration, but only very slight. He loves gossip. He loves knowing something someone else doesn't know about someone they know in common. He loves telling people things they don't know. He loves being a clearinghouse of useless personal information about others.

In the midst of this gossiping, this chatting, this constant sharing of information, he often gets called down. And this behavior he consistently exhibits makes him the focus of teachers' attention so that they call him down for everything. And that frustrates him. Leads him to argue. Leads him to be disrespectful. Leads him to making very bad decisions sometimes.

I have him in homeroom and English class. Almost every day as he leaves, I tell him, "K, make good decisions today."

"Yes, sir," he says. (Did I mention he can be a perfect example of Southern manners?)

Later in the day, before eighth-grade students came back from related arts, I saw him again.

"K, have you been making good choices today?"

"Yes." He proceeded to tell me about an instance when a teacher called him down and told him to close his Chromebook. "I was going to argue with, but I just closed my Chromebook."

Two little actions from one decision: to do one thing and not do another. Two actions that most of us would do without thinking about it when told to do so by an authority figure. Two actions that would go unnoticed in other students. Two little actions; one little decision. And so much pride.

"See? It wasn't that hard, was it?" I said.

"No, sir."

"And the whole conflict -- it just vanished instantly, didn't it?"

"Yes, sir," he smiled.

Next step: get him to repeat it. Often.

In Trouble

Friday 24 January 2020

I can’t understand how some students get so fixated on some perceived slight from the teacher because they got called down for something they didn’t do or something someone else was doing at the same time and “Why are you picking on me?” type nonsense that they end up escalating the whole non-issue into a referral-able offense. It’s like someone getting pulled over because the officer wanted to give them a warning about their speed and the person ends up assaulting the officer. What could have ended in a matter of moments will stretch out to a few years as a result of their decision.

“Why am I in trouble?” she asked.

“You aren’t in trouble,” I said. “I’m just talking to you.”

But soon enough, the disrespect of her body language and tone of voice does indeed end up getting in trouble.

I just can’t understand that.

A teacher tells you to be quiet; you feel you weren’t talking then and that it’s unfair -- say “Okay” while showing at least a modicum of respect and let it die a quick and natural death. Don’t start arguing about how it’s unfair or how someone else is talking, all the while letting an aggressively disrespectful edge take over your voice. It just won’t end well for you.

A police officer pulls you over and says you were speeding; you feel you were going about the same speed as everyone else -- say “Okay” and be respectful and hope for a warning. Don’t jump out of the car and start cursing the police officer, threatening physical violence. It just won’t end well for you.

Picture from this Evening

And then

Tuesday 14 January 2020

the little stinker comes into class today and says, “Can I get my work so I can take it to the library? I don’t want to get in trouble again.” Not quite, “I don’t want to disturb class again,” but an apologetic self-awareness that is uplifting and frustrating.

“You what’s so irritating about working with you?” I told Y. “I like you. That’s the problem. If you were a complete jerk all the time, it would be easier because it would be harder to like you as a person.” He smiled.

In the afternoon, he came back and apologized for yesterday.

Maybe the other shoe isn’t completely off — it’s dangling on a toe. Or maybe he’s just trying to put it back on.

The Other Shoe

Monday 13 January 2020

When we get a new kid in the school, we always get a packet of information about them: sometimes it’s a thin bracket; sometimes it’s a fat pocket. But there’s always a packet.

Many of the documents included in the packet deal with the student’s behavior. Sometimes the reports in the packet don’t match the student’s behavior at the beginning. For example, a student may have information in their pocket detailing a long history of behavior issues: insubordination, disrespect, fighting, skipping class, and everything in between. Occasionally, the packet even includes information about how many administrative referrals I didn’t and the details about those administrative referrals. In general, the fatter the packet, the more there is to worry about.

The students you really have to worry about are the ones that live up to that reputation immediately. The package says there are behavior issues, and the student shows his behavior issues from the first meeting. These are the kids are going to be a challenge because they don’t even care to try to make a good first impression: Are you unaware of the fact that they are making a person brushing.

In reality, though, the really frustrating students are those who have the thick packet and show excellent behavior at the beginning of their stay in the new school. It’s a honeymoon period: they’re feeling their way around the new school and everyone else figures out what they’re all about. This honeymoon period can last anywhere from a couple of months.

Sometimes the portrayal in the packet is incongruous with the student in the classroom. It seems a miracle has occurred. Previous teachers’ comments in referrals mention insubordination, disrespect, skipping class, fighting with other students, verbal altercations with teacher, and all the student initially shows in the classroom is compliance. The temptation is to think that something has happened, that student has seen the light somehow, some way. That the student has realized the dangerous track he was on and has made a good-faith effort to change. I wish that were the case.

It never is.

The honeymoon period will come to an end. The other shoe will drop. If the kid has been described as insubordinate, insubordination will rise to the surface sooner or later. There are few miracle transformations an education.

We’re dealing with the soon in like that right now. The really frustrating thing about it is that such students have shown themselves capable of successful behavior. It suggests the behavior, to some degree or another, is a choice. If it is a choice, it’s hard not to feel some degree of negativity towards such students. One wants to say to them, “You shown you can clearly do better; you’ve shown positive traits in the class instead of disruption that steals educational time away from other students. Why? It’s hard not to take it personally that you choose the negative with us over the positive.”

It is of course much more complicated than this. But working with such kids is so tiring: it’s one step forward, three minutes of rolling backward because why step when rolling gets more laughs?

Note: This was dictated on the way home from school to a new speech-to-text app I’m trying out. I think I’ve edited out any nonsense resulting from unavoidable technical glitches, but I’m too tired to give it another read to check…

In Line

Wednesday 20 November 2019

We reached the checkout line at Aldi roughly at the same time. I had a cart filled with items; he had a package of bacon.

“Go ahead — you have so little,” I said.

He shook his head.

“Seriously, you should go ahead of me.”

“No, no, you go,” he mumbled. He was an African American man in his sixties, it appeared, with a long, white, disheveled beard, and the faint reek of body odor, alcohol, and feces.

That particular Aldi is in an area of town that can only be described as “economically depressed.” There is one particular section where, when I ride my bike to school and back, I always smell marijuana, even at 7:15 in the morning. So seeing homeless people like that is nothing all that unexpected.

I stood there in line, wondering about the gentleman there in behind me when suddenly the manager of the store walked up to the man and politely asked if he was supposed to be in the store.

“I have a couple of cashiers telling me that you’re not supposed to be here. Are you supposed to be here?”

The man hung his head a bit and started walking out as he said, “No.” There was no defiance in his voice; no anger in his voice; no disappointment in his voice — no emotion at all. He just placed the bacon on a store display as he passed by and walked toward the door.

“If you come back in here again,” the manager continued, still calm, still very respectful, “that will be trespassing, and we will notify the authorities.” The man said nothing and simply shuffled out of the store.

What could he have possibly done to get barred from the store? Perhaps he stole something. Maybe he panhandled and that was deemed as harassing customers. Perhaps he simply harassed customers. I don’t know, but I couldn’t help but feel pity for the man. Mental illness seemed a certainty, but what about his youth? Had life always been like this for the man? Did he have a family? Did they know where he was? Did they care?

I have taught so many students over the year for whom, tragically, such a life seems an entirely realistic possibility. They, too, would leave someone who doesn’t know to wonder whether they have family, whether they have anyone to support, help, or even care about them.

I have to believe that we can do better as a society. I can’t believe someone could watch such an exchange and not feel moved. And the more pessimistic side of me — realistic? — realizes that there are countless who can look at this and not feel that there must be some dark hole in the center of our society that allows such things to happen.

Big Brother

Tuesday 15 October 2019

We got access today to some new software intended to help us rein in students’ abuse of Chromebooks. Basically, it enables all teachers to become Big Brother to students: we can see every single thing they do, block sites, shut down tabs, lock computers — the whole deal short of turning off the computer remotely. Since it’s based on time of day and rosters, I see the activity of students in, say, my fifth-period class whether or not they’re in the room: if they’re on the computer, I see it.

So when I saw one of my students who was serving in-school suspension on YouTube, I closed the tab. When he started searching for Louis Vuitton shoes, I closed that down.

When he started searching for it again, I locked his computer with the message, “You won’t be able to afford those shoes if you don’t have a good job. You’ll have difficulty getting a good job if you don’t get a good education.” After a few minutes, I unlocked his computer, and he went back to luxury shoe searches. I locked it again, leaving it locked until the end of the session.

Another student who was in the room with him was talking about how this kid’s computer kept getting locked up. “He was so mad,” this kid told his friend.

If this were a kid who normally did his work, I probably would have just ignored it. If I hadn’t just gotten access to the software (and the class hadn’t been taking a test), I probably wouldn’t have noticed it as I wouldn’t have been on the computer and wouldn’t have had the program open. Then again, if he hadn’t been in ISS, he would have been in my room, taking the test.

If, if, if…

Fear

Thursday 05 September 2019

Dear Teresa,

There are some students that I would believe could be afraid of me. I do try to seem sterner in the opening days of the school year than I actually am — it’s not an accident. It’s an act, but not an accident.

You, though, try to come off tough as iron, as if nothing moves you, frightens you, or disturbs you. That was certainly the impression I got when I met you, and it was certainly the image previous teachers painted. Or at least, that that was the impression you wanted everyone to have of you.

So when Mr. Smith told me that you absolutely refused to come to my room during advisory period to get help with your work on account of being afraid of me, I had to smile a bit.

Don’t get me wrong: I don’t really want you to be afraid of me. But a little fear does go a long way: It has shades of humility that you try so hard not to exhibit. It has shadows of understanding one’s place and accepting it, which you try so hard to suggest you don’t do, won’t do, for anyone. Those attributes are essential for being able to accept help. And we all need a little help.

With hope for a fear-free, help-filled year,
Your Teacher

A Letter to Students

Tuesday 29 May 2018

Dear eighth graders,

As a teacher, it can sometimes be hard to remain optimistic. Every year there are those students who try one’s patience, who test one’s resolve, who feel they are incapable of doing anything good and seem determined to bring everyone down with them. And then there are just the immature attention-seekers who do anything they can to be the center of attention. Within the first class period or two, I can usually tell who all these folks are, and the rest of the year becomes a battle with their stubbornness as I try to help them see that their behaviors and choices are not only not helping them but in fact detrimental. Some never see the light, at least during this school year, and that’s why it can be difficult to fight the pessimism: those students left just as they came in, and I wonder if I helped them at all.

This year is one of the few in recent memory that is devoid of any such students. Sure, some of you tried my patience at times. Some of you sought attention in inappropriate ways. Yet all of you—each and every student—showed growth and maturity this year, and it has been a true privilege to work with you this year. I can honestly say this has been one of the best years I’ve experienced in my nearly-twenty years of teaching. I’ve seen growth in reading skills, gains in emotional maturity, a surge of confidence in cognitive ability, and most importantly, an increase in maturity in so many of you that it gives me real hope for the future.

Many of you developed new reading and thinking skills that help you approach problematic texts in new ways. Instead of throwing up your hands and saying, “I don’t get it,” you dig in and figure out some meaning, understanding that you don’t have to comprehend everything perfectly in order to understand the text as a whole. That kind of persistence will serve you well in the future, and I am very pleased to see that so many of you developed that newly-found tenacity.

Several of you noticeably grew emotionally over the course of the year. You learned to keep your anger in check, to keep your frustrations from determining your path, and to see yourself as in control of your own life. This is one of the most rewarding aspects of teaching eighth grade: kids genuinely mature in a very clear way over the course of the year, but some of you seemed to grow emotionally two or three years. Belligerence gave way to cooperation; fatalism gave way to self-confidence; apathy gave way to self-concern. Instead of worrying how you’ll make it emotionally in high school, I find myself calmly confident about how you’ll handle the challenges of high school.

Many of you became observably more confident in your cognitive abilities. You came into the class thinking that perhaps you couldn’t do the work, that perhaps things might be a bit more challenging than you’d expected, or that it would be just the same struggle as it always is. Instead, you found that your success doesn’t come just from your intelligence, which most of us underrate anyway. Most success comes from behaviors and decisions, and as your behaviors and decisions changed, so too your view of your own intelligence, and that self-possession produced still more confidence.

Finally, almost all of you grew more mature as the year progressed. You began handling challenges like an adult. You started accepting disappointments with calmness. You learned to set goals and priorities, understanding that achieving those aims often requires sacrifice.

To those of you who chose not to live up to your fullest potential, I can only say that I hope at some point in the not-too-distant-future you make the changes necessary for your success. Hard work and focus are never wasted, and it is through challenging ourselves that we grow stronger. Fortunately, you’re only a young teen: there’s still plenty of time to grow into this adult thing.

To those of you who did your best in this and other classes, thank you. Your focus and hard work are rewards in and of themselves, and they bring rich dividends, but I’ll willingly (and somewhat selfishly) admit that they make my job easier.

I have only one wish for you as this year closes out: I hope that you can look at your life at any moment and truthfully say to yourself about yourself, “I am doing the best with what I have where I am.” If you can always say that about yourself, the brightest of futures awaits. Thank you again for a wonderful year.

Best regards,
Your teacher

Enemies

Thursday 17 May 2018

Sometimes, the Boy can be his own worst enemy. It's true of all kids his age -- and older. He'll get upset about something, fuss about it, then escalate it when the resolution doesn't appear to be going his way. The trick is to get him to see that habit and stop it.

Today he was upset about something. About what, it doesn't really matter, but it involved L, who was helping me clean the bathrooms in preparation for the Boy's birthday party Saturday. We have too much to do in too little time, so some of Friday's cleaning shifted to today. The incident spilled over to a whine-fest with his mother, then with me. I sat him down and talked to him about what was going on.

"We're all getting things ready for you. For your party. Every single thing we're doing, we're doing it for you. I think if someone was doing this much for me, I wouldn't be upset because they weren't paying enough attention to me at that moment. I'd be thankful. I'd say, 'What can I do to help?'"

He calmed himself down with the little breathing exercise I taught him -- basically, slow, measured breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth -- and then went to ask K if there was anything he could do to help. She set him to washing dishes, a chore he adores.

"Thank you for showing me how fun it is to work together today," he told me in the midst of his toothbrush session. "If I'd kept fussing, I would have missed out on a lot of fun."

Later that night, as we read Tashi in bed, Tashi had an opportunity to escape from bad guys who'd kidnapped him. He ran by the river, where he saw the wife of the Chief Bad Guy drowning. I stopped.

"Do you think Tashi should stop and help her?"

"No!" the Boy said incredulously.

"Why not?"

"Because she's his enemy. If he helps her, she might just grab him and take him back to the other bad guys," he explained earnestly.

"Or," I said, thinking carefully how I could explain it, "she could be so impressed and touched that he helped her that she stops being his enemy."

"Yeah, but in Smurfs: the Lost Village, when [some character whose name I don't remember] fell of the boat and the Smurfs helped him out of the water, he said, 'Yeah, but I'm still bad!' and captured them. And it was their boat. They made it themselves!" His patience in explaining that was enchanting.

"Yes, that happens sometimes," I replied, "but sometimes, something different happens. Sometimes they stop being enemies." I knew this was going to happen in the book, and it rings true in my own life.

Just today, I had an encounter with a student that made me feel I was in Groundhog Day. During morning duty, I'm charged with keeping all the kids sitting in the hall quietly and the hall calm and to do this, we teachers enforce a basic rule: "You can whisper, but you can't talk." Suzie -- not her real name, of course -- always talks. She speaks in a fairly low voice, but she's engaging her vocal cords, which means she's talking. Plus, I can occasionally hear her thirty or forty feet away.

"Suzie, whisper please," I said calmly. Respectfully. As I've done every day I'm on duty for the entire school year. Her response is to quiet her voice at first but to continue talking, not whispering. Her response to being redirected again is to suggest that because other people are also talking, that I'm unfairly targeting her. Today I explained the simple fact: "That's because you've taught me to expect it from you. The other people are not consistently disobeying me. The other students do it once and a while; you do it every single day." Again -- quietly, calmly, respectfully.

Today, I talked to her about it again. It turns out, she doesn't know what whispering is. "I am whispering," she insisted. I explained again that if she puts her hand on her throat when she talks and she feels vibrations, she's not whispering.

"Go ahead, try," I said, smiling.

"No!" she cried, breaking into a smile herself. "It's embarrassing!'

I pointed out to her that I wasn't picking on her, that I in fact like her a lot and see a lot of potential in her. "As long as you can keep these little things under control." (She also has a tendency to grow increasingly disrespectful when redirected multiple times.)

Here's a girl that could have easily become my enemy. I could have simply snapped at her, signed her discipline card, or by this time, probably, simply have written an administrative referral. But instead of seeing an enemy, a rebellious little brat (like many adults would), I try to see something a little different: someone who just hasn't had anyone take the time to show a genuine interest in her regarding the little things. It's easier just to brush if off with sarcasm or a referral.

The funny thing is, in spite of the fact that she still grows disrespectful with me, I'm fairly certain she doesn't see me as an enemy either. Sure, it's not the same as saving the life of the wife of the bandit who threatened to pull all your nose hairs out like Tashi did, but it's moving in that direction.