education and teaching

The Jacket

Monday 24 August 2015 | 0 Comments

Dear Teresa,

You looked really sharp in that leather jacket, I must say. It really worked well with your tight, curly black hair, and you wore it with a confidence that was surprising. In short, it looked great.

Sadly, it was also a dress code violation.

I know, I know — I get tired of the dress code myself. I get tired of enforcing it. I get tired of policing it. I get tired of dealing with it. But truth be told, we all have a dress code. I can’t wear anything I want to school, and while your dress code as a student is much more restrictive than mine as a teacher, I can sympathize to a degree. Still, it’s my job to police it (I choose that verb carefully and deliberately), and every time I have to approach a student for the first time about a violation, I’m a little apprehensive. I know some students can’t handle that criticism well, and it risks turning into a confrontation that I really don’t want to have.

“No one else has said anything to me about it!” is a common refrain. Perhaps no one else noticed — after all, we teachers have a million and one things on our minds. Dress code sometimes takes a backseat.

“I wore it yesterday, and no one said anything about it!” is another common response. See above.

“I’ve worn it all year, and no one has said a word about it!” is one I hear every now and then. See above.

So when I see a dress code violation, I get a little nervous. I just don’t like situations that could escalate into a bigger issue. I always do my best not to escalate the situation, and I think I do a good job of keeping things calm. But there are some students who are determined — absolutely determined — to make an issue of it.

And then there are students like you: I mentioned the lovely jacket was a dress code violation, and you simply put it in your locker. I could tell from your body language that you were not happy at all about it, but still, you put it away without a word. I was more impressed when we talked about it: you said something like the responses above, with a few new twists, but you waited until the appropriate time to discuss it. That showed a maturity that is impressive.

Thank you for handling an unpleasant situation like a true young adult. It makes me feel even more fortunate to be your teacher.

Still smiling,
Your Teacher

Week One

Friday 21 August 2015 | 0 Comments

Week one is under behind us, and it's been a start unlike any other. For one thing, I've been cycling to work, and except for Monday, which was a workday followed by meet the teacher in the evening, I've ridden every day this week. A total of 104 km or just over sixty miles. With my additional evening riding, it puts me at 240 km for the month, with another 120-ish on tap next week. (Add in the walking I've remembered to track and it rises to 350 km.) It's by far the most I've ridden in a single month since K and I became parents, and it's had a tremendous effect on everything else. Starting the day with a good bike ride gets me to the school more alert, awake, and energetic than I've ever felt when going by car. Ending the day with a good bike ride brings me home feeling I've really accomplished something for the day: not only have I spent my day well, working with kids, but I've got my exercise in as well.

Once at school, it's been a start of the year unlike any other as well. Last year was a bear, a real challenge that left me questioning whether I really wanted to keep teaching. I knew it was only an off year, but when you're only five days into a 180-day school year and you already see a year of hard struggle with behavior issues stretching before you, it's enough to make you question your commitment. This year, though, one week in and I see that this year might actually be fun again, not such a struggle.

First Week

Thursday 20 August 2015 | 0 Comments

Dear Terrence,

We’re nearing the end of our first week of school. Where are you? Three days in and I’d always be able to tell who would be my Terrences and my Teresas this year would be. Last year, I could tell within three seconds. You probably think I’m being hyperbolic (exaggerating for effect), but it’s true: one Teresa (and there were so many last year) introduced herself with her actions and words before she even entered my classroom, and several of the Terrences made clear their priorities just as they’d stepped inside my room. This year, I just don’t know where you are. Granted, I’ve seen a glimmer of you in this student and that, but you — that attitude, that consistently disruptive behavior, that anger, that defiance — are nowhere to be seen.

While that does relieve me for the most part, I must admit that there’s a little part of me that’s somewhat unnerved by it. I’m used to seeking you out and working with you and your issues immediately, and the fact that you haven’t appeared makes me think that perhaps I’ve lost my discerning edge or that perhaps you’ve gotten better at blending in and will pop up later than expected. I enjoy the challenge, that’s true, but the fact that I still haven’t figured out who you are this year gives me a bit more hope about the future than I usually have. Maybe my cynicism and pessimism are misplaced. We’ll see as soon as the honeymoon period wears off.

In the meantime, I just want to thank you for keeping it cool. I’m still fairly sure you’re out there somewhere, but you’re blending in nicely now, and that makes my job a whole lot more enjoyable.

With beginning-of-the-year hope,
Your Teacher

First Day 2015

Tuesday 18 August 2015 | 0 Comments

"Goodnight, couch potato!"

I stopped on my way out the door just long enough to turn and give a smirk smeared with a grin. "Couch potato indeed," I thought. Just because I'd almost fallen asleep while playing cars with the kids earlier this evening doesn't make me a couch potato. I biked to work, wrestled with all the first-day problems that consume a teacher's initial planning periods, taught five lessons straight, and biked home in a fairly substantial rain -- couch potato indeed. Still, I just gave L a smile mixed with a slight smirk, wished her goodnight again, and headed out.

L had a rough first day in a lot of ways. Now in third grade, she heads upstairs to the classrooms that house the third, fourth, and fifth grades. Assigned a teacher known for being strict, she fretted throughout the evening about the news that they will have assigned lunch seats starting tomorrow. "Last year, we only got assigned seats when we were bad!" she sniffled, and I think I know at least part of what's going on: L tries very hard to be a good student, and when she hears that they're getting assigned seats, which she usually associates with misbehavior, she begins doubting her own goodness in class. It's a fairly natural reaction, I would think, but L chews and chews on things like this until she wears it down or it wears her down.

We talked about it a bit tonight, and in the course of that conversation, one of the real concerns became evident, a concern that I myself remember having when I was in elementary school. "We don't have a bathroom in the class." Instead, they must share the facilities with fourth and fifth graders. Who knows what that might lead to, she reasons. And while I certainly think there's little to worry about, I do recall how we're seeing more and more news reports that show children younger and younger growing more and more brutal. It's unlikely, though, that anything worse than a sideways glance from a fifth grader might happen. But I too remember that fear that comes with being thrown in among older kids who are completely unknown.

The Boy, on the other hand, had a completely different experience. "But Mommy, I'm not ready to go," he told K when she picked him up from his part-time K-3 (K-3? Is there any limit to this?!) program. The teacher commented on his manners, which consistently imzpress me, and he likely commented continually about the enormous Thomas the Train play station in his room.

And my day? First day back as an eighth-grade teacher is always a bit stressful. I'd already had my visit with the seventh-grade assistant principal to find out which students could be most challenging and therefore which students I need to focus on as I developed relationships with 100+ new thirteen-year-olds. But despite the schedule I feared would be brutal, I mounted my bike feeling I might not have had a better first day in my entire teaching career.

Plans, Rain, and Barszcz

Thursday 06 August 2015 | 0 Comments

It's usually not until the end of the day, when it's too late, that I realize I haven't been living my life that day as if I had chosen, out of all days, to relive that one day. It's not until I'm with L, working through our examen (which we have re-initiated with our reunion after a summer break) that I see that I've been going through the day relatively blindly. I look back on the day at that point and realize I wasted time and energy wallowing about in this or that negative emotion, letting this or that frustration take control. I look back, I see these things, I promise to do better the next day, and I promptly forget.

During tonight's, though, it occurred to me that I'd been constantly aware of how lovely the day was as it unfolded. I rode my bike to school and was pleasantly surprised at my average speed. I had a long productive meeting with the other teachers on our instructional team, planning a multi-disciplinary unit that might not only teach some academic skills but also affect change in the kids' lives. Despite the afternoon rain, I made it back to the house relatively dry. I had a lovely dinner with my family, marveling at how the kids both devour beet-root soup, which seems unimaginable given the pickiness of L. We had a pleasant walk after dinner, with the kids scooting ahead and returning on their various vehicles.

And then, during our examen, I looked down at our wiry, energetic (often frustratingly so), intelligent daughter, and I realized that simply being around all the wonderful people in my life should be enough to make me aware of the marvelously blessed life I have. I have incredible colleagues at work; I always work with a great group of students; I have children that make me beam; I married a woman that constantly astounds me; I have parents that give to our own family unconditionally. I am lacking nothing. We are lacking nothing. Nothing of any importance. Simply being aware of this is the trick to having a great day, day after day.

Tuesday

Tuesday 04 August 2015 | 0 Comments

I always maintained that Tuesdays had nothing going for them. Don't get me wrong: I'm not about to suggest that Mondays have a lot going for them, I would continue. Mondays, though, have the force of the weekend behind them and the sheer necessity to get going. You push through Monday like you push through a two-kilometer, 5% grade climb at the beginning of a long bike ride: it's not pleasant, but you still have the energy to do it, so you just do it.

Wednesday carries the advantage of being the mid-way marker of the week: make it through Wednesday, and it's all downhill from there. Thursday is almost Friday, and Friday is Friday. Only Tuesday has nothing going for it.

This all carries the assumption that the only enjoyable part of the week, the only part of the week really worth enjoying, is the weekend. In the summer, for a teacher, that just isn't true: every day is the weekend in a sense. Every day can be a day of exploration, a day of getting stamped with anti-bug, anti-wild-attack-cat antidotes. Every day can include some discovery and rediscovery with one's children.

That's the easy part. The challenge is getting that to carry over into the school year, to think, "'Tuesday has nothing going for it' is nonsense because all days have something going for them."

To live each day as if, given a choice of any day in your life to relive, you chose today.

At this point in the year, less than two weeks before the kids head back into the classroom, I'm always confident that I'll succeed. Last year, that confidence didn't even make it through the first week of school, so challenging were a couple of classes. But in the end, that too is a choice.

Break

Tuesday 09 June 2015 | 0 Comments

K informs me that I work probably fifty to sixty hours a week during the school year. Grading, planning, grading, planning in the evenings, on the weekends, in the evenings, on the weekends. It adds up, she tells me. I never keep track, but I'll go with her assessment. That's why, when summer break comes around, it's an absolute relief, at least for the first couple of weeks.

And it allows me to do things like cleaning up a trampoline we got for free from a family whose boys have long outgrown it and doing it in the early afternoon of a Tuesday.

Which is also good, because as L helps, she gets tired, which bodes well for a restful night's sleep.

So we all get breaks.

Time Capsule Letter

Wednesday 27 May 2015 | 0 Comments

Dear Teresa,

When I met you as a seventh grader as you held the door open for students in the car line, I almost immediately found myself thinking, “I do indeed hope I get to work with her next year.” Such was the power of the first impression you made. As you progressed through eighth grade, you confirmed and deepened that first impression on an almost daily basis with your dedication, intelligence, perseverance, and humility. I know that I need not wish you all the best because you are the rare type of person who will make the best happen, who will grab every opportunity and not wait for life and blessings merely to happen but instead will bring opportunities and blessings with you everywhere you go. It has been an absolute honor and privilege to work with you this year, and I know without a doubt that when I look back over my career at some point, having you in my classroom will stand out as one of the brightest highlights.

Warmly,
Your Teacher

The Note(s)

Friday 17 April 2015 | 2 Comments

As I am going over the parameters of the practice test we're about to take, I notice her pass him a spiral notebook. Kids pass notes that way these days: they would fill a whole spiral notebook with slang-filled (and profanity filled for some) notes if a teacher doesn't confiscate it. I ask him to put it up; he continues writing. I continue giving instructions, then tell him to put it up. He continues writing.

I take the notebook away from him, and he pulls another sheet of paper from his binder, with a smirk. I tell him, "Mr. S, don't do it." He continues writing. I let him write the note as I continue addressing the class then take it from him as he folds it. He takes another sheet of paper from his binder and begins again.

How many times could we continue this? By handling it this way, am I not just building steam in him, potentially creating a bigger issue shortly? If I were the type of teacher to do something deliberately provocative, I could push the kid to an anger that would get the best of him and give me something I could easily write him up for. These kids are so easily provoked, so easily manipulated, so short tempered, so fragile.

In the end, I just send him out of the room before either of us provoke the other any further.

Change

Monday 13 April 2015 | 2 Comments

It was bound to happen, because it happens to all children these days. L came home crying that her friends -- her best friends in her class -- were bullying her. I don't think she used that word: it was a label added afterward. The first moment K and I had alone when I came home that day, she said, "Well, some kids are bullying L at school." And while at first blush, it sounded like it might not necessarily be bullying (we're so quick to call everything "bullying" these days): some of the Girl's friends were chasing here around the playground, grabbing her, not letting her go. But with each new detail, it became more likely "bullying" was not a misapplied label in this case. The girls, it seems, had recently decided that, because L had wanted to play alone during recess for a couple of days, that they didn't want anything to do with her. They were ganging up on her, chasing her, and then holding her by force, squeezing her arm so that it caused pain, and doing it all despite L's requests not to, despite L saying that it hurt. What was worst was that she took her entire free time one day in class to write cards of apology to her three friends, the instigators, basically saying, "For whatever I've done to make you angry at me, I'm sorry." One girl ripped the card up in front of L while another took some makers and scribbled all over it. L was literally in tears as she told me, and she had been in tears earlier in the day when she told K.

So many questions running through K's and my conversations about this. Do we know that the Girl, normally a sweet girl but capable of mean streaks like everyone, didn't in fact antagonize a bit? Does she know, for that matter? At what point do we get the teacher involved? What do we tell the teacher? She didn't want to tattle on them, for she still hoped to salvage the friendship, but she realized she needed help.

The most pressing question, though, was, "What do we tell the Girl?" In the end, we suggested that she hang near the teachers when they go out to recess, and when the gang begins to approach, move as close to the teacher as possible, then when they try to chase her, don't move. "They can't chase you if you aren't moving, right?" And then when they begin the squeezing, the plan was to say loudly, "Stop -- that's hurting me." The plan was that the teacher would hopefully hear and intervene, and technically, the Girl still wouldn't have to tattle.

The next day, the debriefing: "We're friends again."

K and I smiled. It's still coming, but it just hasn't quite made it.