I Don't Teach History, I Teach Finishing School

Or, in my case, 9th grade world history

One day this week started out pretty awful; in my first block my students absolutely refused to do their work and expressed so much antagonism that I was unable even to get three words out. It was at some point  after I got called a bitch that I buckled and snapped, “I’m sorry, I don’t speak teenager” (kind of bitchy, but also pretty funny). When one of the security guards came to haul the student out, he must have seen the giving-up look in my eyes as he held up his arm to keep the girl from launching herself back into class (or at me? I’m not sure), because five minutes later, as I was getting ready to call security for a second student, the class called me back from the phone, “Ms. W., don’t bother, security’s outside.” He was, and after him strode the 9^th grade administrator, who asked me what was going on, and when I just shook my head, sent me out to relax while she spoke to the students.

I stepped out of that dark smelly trailer into the briskly sunlit day with a sense of freedom. Then I closed my eyes, pictured the hidden fjord crag where I used to end my jogs at Gamlehaugen in Norway, and repeated to myself the words of Anne of Green Gables: I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.  And I’m so glad that I don’t have to be in that trailer with those kids right now. Poor kids. I’m sure they’re being read the riot act. Well, they wanted nothing more than to be free of mercantilism, and now they’ve got it.

As I waited for the administrator to finish whatever lecture she was giving to my students, I saw three TFA staff round the bend to observe their corps members in class. They were hilariously heartening, and amid the oft-repeated “we’ve all been there,” one of them threatened to go into my classroom and pound some respect into those kids with such seriousness it made me feel like she was their grandma coming to visit and yell at them.

Afterwards, in the office, the admin and another dean sat down with me to make certain I didn’t feel bad about the students’ chaos. They were hilariously supportive and concrete in their suggestions, and even as I wondered where on earth to begin with that class, all the little tips coalesced nicely. To tell the truth, I feel like I need a total rehaul there, and am just floating until the weekend when I can take the time to really figure it out.

My students exactly

My third block perked me up entirely and by the time fourth block rolled around, I was ready for anything again. When a student slowly crumpled up and dropped tiny balls of paper on the floor, I made her stand and pick it up, cracking, “I don’t teach history, I teach finishing school,” at her. When a student freaked out that there wasn’t enough time to finish the exit ticket, I put on her tone of panic exactly and said, “oh no! You’d better hurry, then!” She laughed so hard she fell out of her chair, and from the floor told me, “I didn’t know you rolled that way, Ms. W.” 

When I came home, I shucked the pencil skirt and flats and jumped straight into the pool for an hour of October brisk sunny swimming and Henry James tanning. It was cathartic, and I’m not sure what I’ll do when the pool closes at the end of October. Perhaps move back to Norway where they swim in all seasons.

By the way, my vocabulary is becoming increasingly enhanced by teenagerisms. Yes, I roll that way, Imma hundred percent and not trifling so let’s turn it up I ain't kidding… For sure got one of those wrong, but anyhow that’s the language they speak, and when I said, “I don’t speak teenager,” it was more true than you’d believe—I have a really hard time understanding a lot of what my students mean! I’m sure they have the same complaint about me; today I told my students we are not addressing sartorial concerns in the middle of class as they passed around and compared shoes (except of course the umpteen times I remind gentlemen that I’d rather not see their underwear hanging out of their pants and ladies that their tummies better get tucked back into their shirts. –A debate for another day: are dress codes sexist? Not when I consider an exposed bottom a much more egregious violation than a little midriff), and they kvetched that I use words that are too big. I chuckled inside at that—all is relative—today I taught my third block the word “hegemony” and they lapped it up.

You see, we were talking about the Middle Passage. I’d cringed at the idea of starting with slavery as the curriculum said, and introduced them to the idea that stuff happened in Africa before Europeans arrived there—Ghana, Mali, and Songhai were exhibited in all their glory, never mind that they won’t be on the test. When we moved along to the Middle Passage, they perked up and, hands waving furiously, competed to get their questions out:

“Is this when racism started?”

“Why are people different colors?”

“Is it true all people come from Africa?”

I have an ESL co-teacher in that class, and as an African-American Muslim woman she had bases covered that I had never thought of. It’s a pleasure to teach with someone who knows all the things you don’t. And a pleasure to engage with such inquisitive minds as my students possess. 

When one girl suggested that maybe it was good some slaves copied Jesus’ submissiveness and believed it was G-d’s will they be slaves, I decided it was about time to introduce them to the concept of hegemony, and so I did, with the caveat that this was a college-level word and they did not need to remember it and they were having none of it, right away they demanded I write it on the board so they could copy it down and use it. It got left there during my fourth block when students were popping in and out, repeating some phrase that I still don’t understand even after extensive googling, in a kind of ironic sneer of what students are capable.

Today in my first block I changed my attention-getting signal, which used to be a trigger for misbehavior, and the students are into the chorus of “Athens—Sparta!” that one of the administrators advised (he’d done turkey—gravy, but I’m less into Thanksgiving, and I love all those kids yelling “Sparta!” at the top of their lungs to my whispered “Athens!”).  They also racked up more class points at one go than they ever had before, finally investing them in the class behavior competition, but leading my fourth block to question whether they’re my favorites. I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to crack up the way I did at that suggestion, but at least it satisfied my students. 

Tomorrow is the last day of the week, and students will be learning about slavery today as well as making posters against transatlantic slavery. I can’t wait to see their creativity; most of my classes have at least two or three creative geniuses, and some simply darn good artists floating in the bunch.

P.S. I was startled to receive an email from a parent that ended with "Try Jesus", but like a good sport wrote back that I'm sure prayer will help her son improve his grade. Since then I've realized that a whole lot of parents here sign off with religious email signatures, and I'm now really embarrassed that I took it personally.