Mean Girls (and Boys)

Taxpayer, did I fail you today? What is it you pay me to do, anyway?

Sometimes a puppy or piglet or what have you is born and the mother rejects it. Usually it's the runt, but sometimes the little one is rejected for no reason humans can fathom.

Kids do this, too; they will gang up to reject another kid for reasons no adult can understand.

I spent one period in a give and take with a class that I called out as being mean to a student (who was absent, of course). They protested belligerently:
"The student (we'll call her JoJo) posts troubling images on Instagram. "
"The student ignores me when I say hello."
"The student suddenly changed her style and is dressing strangely."

I parried.
"JoJo is pursuing negative attention, because being ignored is the worst feeling ever."
"She has learned that your greeting is sarcastic and has an undercurrent of mockery."
"She is trying to re-invent herself since you persisted in rejecting her true self."

Their protests persisted, but one brave young man raised his hand. "This is my first year here, and I learned that trying to make friends can be a big mistake. I have good friends now, but it was really hard to be rejected." I sensed the lump in his throat before I see his eyes tear up, so I quickly interrupted and turned my head, dragging the kids' attention away from him, knowing (unfortunately) how deadly public tears can be for a young man. "So what T is saying is that this meanness isn't directed at just JoJo. That doesn't make me feel better. Remember when I told you in September that I would soon love each person in here? Well I do now, and imagine how it feels to find out that someone I love is being wounded by people I love!" My eyes filled with tears, but I kept them from rolling out.

"What would you think of a person who enjoyed poking needles into a newborn baby? That's essentially what you are doing. We all have souls that are as tender as newborns, and your meannesses are needles poking her soul."

One kid raised his hand: "My first year in this neighborhood was when I was in 5th grade. I said hello to JoJo, but the other kids said not to because JoJo was weird. I kind of listened to them." His confession and indictment shift the conversation to the practical--the kids start to ask how they are supposed to treat her. But they say it begrudgingly, self-righteously. It is clear they still think she is bringing this upon herself.

What grows is what we water. If JoJo's Instagrams are too weird to like, I suggest, find a comment she has made and validate it. If JoJo says hello, respond. Compliment her about something true and real about her, like a good hair day or a nice nail polish choice. Being nice does not mean you have to marry her or eat lunch every day. Think about how it would feel to be her.

We had gone as an 8th grade class to the Museum of Tolerance just last month, and one well-liked student wrote an unprompted vow (her word) to be an ally to others, an agent of goodness. In the middle of this exchange with the class, I pointed right at her: "I call upon you to fulfill your vow to be an ally to this human being!" Her eyes widened. She nodded once, solemnly.

This conversation went on for over forty minutes. I do not know if many behaviors will change, JoJo's or the rest of the students'. I do not know if JoJo can recover from FOUR YEARS (5th, 6th, 7th, 8th) of belittlement and rejection.

But the vow girl stayed after class to share how she had been rejected in elementary school and knows how it feels, and confessed she'd been mean to JoJo but felt terrible about it. And you know what? I believe she will fulfill her promise, and just that one person might help to turn the mean tide.

Taxpayer, if you expect me to stick to the state standards every day, I let you down. But if you pay me to create better American citizens, I gave it my best shot.

Roll, firedrills, dead fish, and a tender psyche

The bell rings.

In a perfect world with a perfect teacher, this is the time roll is taken.

But the world isn't perfect, and neither am I. Class begins, I launch the lesson, and then--the fire alarm! I did not know (or I have forgotten) there was a drill today! Or is this real?

The law says we have to have one a month

It doesn't matter. I send the students out the door, grab the red backpack containing our first aid and fire drill paperwork, and realize too late that, oh no, I don't have the paperwork AND I don't know who is absent. I fumble around inside the backpack, searching, finally realizing I'll just have to go out there and try to piece this together with my kids' help; I'm the last to arrive at our gathering spot.

We make our middle schoolers sit down for counting ease

When I'm out there, I count and recount students. "Can you think of anyone not here?" I implore the students. I send a paper up to the admin with my best guesses, the last to send the official red paper (except mine is white and unofficial).

After the drill, I search for my boss to apologize. He is angry. Let me write that again, properly: ANGRY.  I tell him I don't have a good excuse but that I feel badly and it won't happen again, offering my hand in forgiveness. He places his in mine and it is as cold and lifeless as the dead fish that cold and lifeless handshakes are often compared to. He can't even look at me, he is so furious. I have made him look bad in front of his boss.

I wake up.  Cheesy, but true. I begin to ponder the dream's significance.

Truth be told, I am quite bad about taking roll even when I am awake. It is one of those secretarial details that I find interferes with my launch into class. It has to be done six times a day because our school receives funding dependent upon the body count--the bodies don't have to be conscious, so far as I can tell, fyi. I have found a way around this which I don't care to share with the wide world; suffice it to say that apparently my psyche has some anxieties about taking roll. And maybe my psyche harbors anxieties about pleasing my boss, or about dead fish. But the bigger question is:

WHY AM I HAVING SCHOOL DREAMS DURING THANKSGIVING VACATION?

Bad Teacher/Good Teacher

When it's summer, I am able to settle in and get a lot of deep planning done, weeks worth of lessons, and it is a good thing, because there isn't much spare time once that very first bell rings. We catapult into the year. How fast does an object hurled into the school year travel?

that gray round thing is me

d = 1/2at^2 + Vit  (I remember that from 10th grade physics with Mr. Owen. Just showing off, it's not relevant.) All I know is that I start to run out of my deep plans toward the end of October. Weekends begin to clog with paper, so deep planning, since I taught the same subjects last year, gets short shrift ("Shrift" means "confession," the kind Roman Catholics do. I learned that from Mrs. Gross in 9th grade as we read "Romeo & Juliet"--minimally relevant.). It's not good, but it's reality.

This morning snuck up on me and as I was posting the day's agenda on the whiteboard, I blanked. I vaguely remembered telling my English seminar class that "we will do That on Friday." What was That? I couldn't recall, so I threw together a clever little constructed response lesson about an e.e. cummings poem. (Mrs. Kirby taught us the poem in 11th grade. I didn't like her, but loved the poem; moderately relevant.)

"Loneliness" by e.e. cummings

Bell rings, kids sail in, some with their psych evaluations in hand, ready to turn in, triggering my memory--NOW I REMEMBER. OK, so I was SUPPOSED to go home Thursday night and figure out a way to coordinate their psychiatric evaluations of the confessor of Poe's Tell-Tale Heart. They were to be expert witnesses to the court, proving either that the accused was not guilty by reason of insanity, or that the accused knew exactly what he was doing when he killed his roommate with the creepy eye (Incidentally, Mrs. Kirby again. I really did not like her, probably because she did not like me.).

So 35 kids, 35 assignments completed (which is wonderful in and of itself). I wing it: "If you decided he's crazy, sit to my right. Sane, sit to my left." And because my God is merciful unto me, almost exactly half of them sit on either side of me! Unless you teach, you may not comprehend the amazingness of that moment. Remember, I did not have a back-up plan. OK, now what, Lord?

I sternly admonish them that we are no longer 8th graders, but a room full of experienced and respected doctors, presenting evidence as expert witnesses, and that we will address each other as such. In a flash of inspiration, I run to my closet and pull out the black choir robe I use for our history court simulations. The kids yell, "Hammer!" and I turn around and respond, "Gavel!" as I wield it. They cheer lustily.

Gavel is kind of like teachers in a nonteacher family

I invite them to share their reasoning with each other and we ping-pong back and forth. It. is. wonderful. They use textual support, from the obvious ("Normal people do not kill someone because of their weird eye") to the subtle ("The suspect never names the victim beyond 'the old man;' I think is a way for him to emotionally distance himself from the victim whom he claims to have loved").

I wait for them to flag, but the arms keep waving, decidedly un-doctorlike. One student forgets our name protocol and refers to something "C." said earlier. A chorus of "Who is 'C'?" erupts, and the student corrects himself, "I mean, Dr. S," and the class, appeased, lets him proceed.

I try to stop it to collect their papers but the hands are insistent and the reasons keep coming. "Tearing up floorboards and hiding the crime shows he has a clear understanding of consequences." "Well, what kind of person enjoys watching the terror of a person he supposedly loves? A crazy person!" I count to myself how many kids have voluntarily shared their text-based opinions: 28. THAT IS ANOTHER WONDER. I pause the flow to ask the perennially quietest people if they have anything to share, and they do, no stammering, no shrugging, no weak "I agree with Dr. S" comments--they each have something to add.

The bell rings, the kids want to know how I rule. I hem and haw, because honestly, both sides have done a magnificent job using the author's words to make their respective cases. I realllllly don't relish choosing a side. Suddenly, the normally diplomatic K. commands, "ADJUDICATE!" My jaw drops open.

Have you ever in your life heard a thirteen year old use that word? (First time for me. Never learned it in school.)

I smile...."On Monday." The class wails in mock anguish.

I am writing this so that I will remember what I'm supposed to do on Monday: must remember to adjudicate.

On my to-do list

Launching 2015-2016

The first week has passed, and with it, these events:

1) The debut of Friedrich, B-5's air conditioner. He manages to keep my classroom below 80°, no small feat when the room is made out of cardboard, surrounded by blacktop, is stuffed with 36 people, and it's close to 100° outside.  I am no longer slick and shiny and moments away from heat exhaustion when I leave school. I love you, Friedrich.

2) I have no heavy burdens this year in terms of behavior. Last year The Powers That Be saw fit to give me my third most challenging classroom combination right before lunch. Everyone was friends with everyone, and everyone thought everyone was hugely entertaining, and only about three students had a record of academic success. Through sheer force of teacher will and mother prayers (yes, I had my praying mom lift this class up on the daily), things held together most days and there were even some success stories. But this year everyone seems willing to learn and to come ride my crazy academic pony with no hard coaxing (or threats). Is this the power of Friedrich? An exceptional group of kidlets? I don't care, I'll take it.

3) I had a special delivery of amazing cookies on the first Friday--spectacularly delicious. I think my favorite were the Reese's Pieces/peanut butter cup/Butterfinger kind, but the Almond Joy white chocolate and Oreo cookie's n cream gave them a run. A former student (on my wall of fame for other reasons, but I shall add "Gourmet Baker" to the list of accomplishments) had them sent to me and my hips. All of us are grateful.

4) As the bell finished ringing period 7 on Friday, R. stayed to make sure all the chairs were on the tables so the custodian could vacuum, generally straightening books as he went along.

"Do you need help with anything, Miss M?" R. asked.

Smiling at his middle school boyishness, I looked around at the classroom: "Not today, but how kind of you to offer. I so appreciate that."

"Because I want you to know that even if I didn't have your class at the end of the day, I'd still come over here to help you after school."

And that, friends, is why I know I have the best job in the world.

How to Exponentially Increase Attention, Learning, Energy, and Morale of both Students and Teacher

AIR CONDITIONING:
Among God's many blessings
You are the coolest.

This is Friedrich, everybody.

In Summmmmmmmer!!!

So it's summmmmer!!! I've been busy doing summer things. What might that mean?

FUN THINGS!!

RESPONSIBILITIES

   Well, there are some very fun things.
   1. Hawaii for the first time
   2. Catalina Island
   3. The beach



             Some are less fun.
             1. Blood test at Kaiser
             2. Tune up
             3. You get the idea.



    For teachers, there is always a weird tension about summer; as an educator, what's it for?

A. For taking care of all the things I neglect during the school year? (Hello, messy sock drawer.)
B. For having all the fun I was denied every Saturday for 36 Saturdays? (Hello, travel, friends, books.)
C. To relax and get recharged? (Hello, work outs, afternoon naps, evening jacuzzis.)
D. For professional development? (Hello, big ugly giant new writing unit for our school by Lucy Calkins.)

The answer should be all of the above. But that last one....

Toward May, a student monitor came into B-5 and plunked down the huge Lucy Calkins series of writing units thingy on a table. Rationale? The Boss told us it's what his boss wants us to do; not very compelling, if you ask me. We had one (optional) day of professional development about it. I (opted) out. And now The Boss has a new boss. So do I still need to read all this?

It really is big and ugly, isn't it?

I have been guilting about these units all summer. (Yes, I just coined a new word. It's all part of my summer's work.)

In June, I opened one of the four books that comprise it. "Ick, I can't read this now. It's JUNE. I'm packing for Hawaii. This is too heavy."

In July, I opened it again. "Ick, I can't read this now. I am too busy with guests and to-do lists and Harper Lee's first novel that was released second and books for three book clubs and Catalina. I'll read it later."

It's August...
I
am
running
out
of
excuses
and time.

But do I want to use my last precious days of summer reading a unit that The Boss's new boss might not even care about?

Vote now!!

Bill Gates, Star Trek, Charlie McCarthy, an Avocado, and Tegretol

I thought if I ever stopped teaching it would be because of someone wonderful--"Oh, yes, well, ha ha, my mother always said it was just as easy to marry a filthy rich man as it was a poor working sap--meet my new husband, Thurston Howell Rockefeller-Gates Spielberg-Bono!"

Or because I hit a magic number of years that the retirement people say will leave me protected from eating cat food in the twilight years--"Eh? Speak up, sonny-- when you are 117 it's a little hard to hear--oh, glad you are coming to my retirement party..."

Or because of something awful--"She's dead, Jim..."

But you never think of the in-between awful stuff that doesn't quite kill you. As it happens, I have this evil condition that, if unchecked, makes it impossibly painful to say my Ms, Bs, or Ps. (Try teaching about the Missouri Compromise with that problem...) For a week and a half I was talking like a ventriloquist. If unchecked, it makes it incredibly hard to eat. I was reduced to cutting up peanut butter toast and sliding it into my face like a letter into the mailbox and chewing gently, swallowing fearfully. With an unchecked condition, I didn't want to move my face for fear of disturbing the volatile Angry Nerve.

But think about it: all I do at work is talk and smile and eat. (Yes, I eat at work, don't judge.)

Can I tell you that the kids didn't seem to care about the ventriloquy? About my frozen smile? They went right on learning. They empathized. They wished me well at the end of class. And maybe some didn't even notice, so self-oriented are some middle schoolers.

One a co-worker was so worried about me not getting proper nutrition that I had a little gift bag one morning: a delicious cold chocolate protein shake...a banana...an avocado...some applesauce...and a spoon. Soft foods for me to slide into the mail slot, to get past the Angry Nerve. And a little John Lennon quote to feed my soul: "It will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end." I cried a little, the good kind of crying.

And now that I have the right med dosage to appease the Angry Nerve, I can go back to my wondering what will really take me out of the classroom.