IT DOESN'T GET BETTER; YOU DO

Nearly done with grading my first tests; gave them Monday.
Now-- data tracking! Until I die, possibly.

"It doesn't get better; you do."

Today my favorite 2012 TFAer finished our conversation in the parking lot, and my day at school, with those words. His reminiscences about his first year tend to align exactly with what I'm experiencing, so when he talks about the changes he's made over time I listen spellbound. We came out of a professional development in which we were meant to accomplish something on an online platform I cannot yet log into. But since it doesn't affect my students, I care how much? That's right, not a whit. If they (you know, the techie gods) want it to happen, they'll make it happen, and in their own good time.

The past two and a half weeks have been madness. Some great, some bad, mostly extraordinarily busy.

Today was a fairly good day. I showed the CNN news story of the day about 9/11 and compared it to Roman citizens' emotions in the fall of Rome. I got my second block back into good working order after a chaotic day yesterday. I found five sheets of paper someone left in the copier and did a little victory dance in the library. I killed a bug in the middle of class and without a hitch went straight into how in medieval times there would have been a lot more bugs around so smoothly the class didn't even realize I'd swiveled us back on track until they were already comparing the lord-knight-serf paradigm to principles-security guards-teachers in a school I taught my third block about how the brain is malleable and intelligence something they can work at during our literary period. They had fantastic questions and comments on it, and as someone was observing me I swelled with pride in my brilliant students.

After my students leave...

Later I found out the woman standing at the edge of the classroom wasn't observing me. She came over in break and told me she's an ESL teacher added to co-teach that block. I nearly jumped with joy, though I'm very confused about why the one block where students already help each other and are so well-behaved I can spend time with a single student while everyone continues working, gets an ESL teacher and other blocks don't. While the students did their gallery walk on medieval lives, she helped my SIOP students with the picture-matching worksheet I'd made for them. Then the kiddos made storybooks about the lives of the medieval characters, exhibiting impressive artistic skills and writing up what millers, traders, serfs, lords and knights do in a day. I love seeing the students who understand not a word of English bent over their work intently-- some of them work harder than anyone else in the class. I can't wait to hear her advice and strategies. As we were talking about growth in the brain, I had students talking about language acquisition and words that American ears aren't used to hearing. My Vietnamese, Spanish-speaking, and French-speaking students all volunteered and became the experts for a few minutes, and between them, myself, and the ESL teacher, I think we had about eight languages in the room. Pretty darn cool.

I lost it in my last block. A student used an utterly offensive word as he was reading a note aloud. After I sent him out with a reflection, I asked-- with my voice edged with the cold deep depths of don't-you-dare-go-there-- whether they knew how many of their teachers identify with the group indicated by the word he had uttered. They looked at me, and began to raise their hands, but I didn't want a list. "How many teachers do you unwittingly offend when you say that? How many people do you insult without thinking about it every single day?" The kids listened with more intentness than they have yet mustered for all the glories of Spartan war or Viking raid. "Ms. W. maaaad," one said to me after I released the class into work, and even in my fury I found that I can't resist the grammar-correct: "Ms. W. was very mad," I responded. "Did you find the answer to why traders are integral parts of the manorial economic system yet?"

Cutest student response yet: C.E. stands for "common error." It's a common error. That and a kid asking, "if we bomb Syria, won't they bomb us?" and everyone in the class staring at me in horror.

It's so true. Why is it so true?

In my first block, as I was answering questions for a group, one of the students asked, "why are you always so happy?" (He totally meant that since he and his friend had been causing disruption the moment before, I ought to be upset). "I like teaching," I answered, and as I walked away, I heard him whisper, "gooood answer. I liked that answer." Me too, student dearest.

The district has moved the week's football game to Thursday out of respect for a religion holiday. At first I saw the email and wondered what holiday falls in September on a Friday. Then it came over me and I jumped with joy because I'll get to go to a game. I may be the only Yom Kippur-observant Jew at my school, but now I get to root for the senior football players from my homeroom (one "tagged" me and I had to wear an oversize football jersey that came to my knees for a whole day) and cheer as my student who's in the band and keeps asking me when I'm coming to watch, shows off her baton-twirling skills. Also, I realized that it's going to be the first football game I've ever seen in my entire life. So psyched!

G'mar chatimah tovah!

Pretty much right on.