Fail Again. Fail Better

The first quarter is over. Midterms are in and grades almost finalized. Gandalf’s shout to the balrog thunders through my head at inopportune moments. I have a whole slew of students whom I’ve managed to invest in their grade, if not world history as a subject (I want to teach English! English!), and after-school tutoring sessions in the trailer are becoming popular (I played them Israeli rap last week as they worked… next up, Norwegian heavy metal).

I caught a kid cheating on his midterm. It was a bummer, because I’d already caught him cheating once. I handled it very coolly—most of the other students were unaware and continued testing in peace. I noticed him as I was reading a test aloud to one of my students (the school does not provide for IEPs) and doing one of my frequent gimlet-eyed room scans that misses probably 50% of what it’s supposed to catch. He had his study guide beneath the test, and was furtively checking it for answers. I picked up his test, marked a 0, and as his jaw dropped, replaced it with a worksheet for him to finish. The shame of it is, that by caring enough to cheat, he shows more motivation (albeit external) than a lot of students.

Later that night, I called home to say it’s the second time I’ve caught him cheating on a test. His big brother, who sounded his age, picked up. When I asked for a parent or guardian, he told me that their mom’s in the hospital and they don’t know when their stepdad will be home. Ouch. Self-righteous teacherhood just got punched where it hurts.

My last block is becoming more mellow as we share more and more jokes and the kids realize I’m for real and so are their grades. Earlier in the week they were making up motions to remember the scientists of the scientific revolution as part of a larger project testing various mnemonic devices, and when two of the best dancers (and most hyperactive kids) in the class stood up to mime hoola hooping as a mnemonic for Kepler discovering elliptical orbits, the entire class was floored and giggling. Man these kids can move. When I tried to copy the moves we all collapsed again—Ms. W really can’t dance!

Today my second block was all set to be a hot mess, but I’m learning the feeling of it and beginning to figure out exactly how to steer. Instead of anarchy, we had a really good debate about Locke vs. Hobbes, the nature of humanity, and, ironically enough, the danger of anarchy. I need more ideas on how to play with social studies and up the rigor, and hence engagement—all the buzzwords here are actually right on the mark. I’m getting bored without new stuff, which means the kids must be as well. French Revolution next week… we’re definitely barricading the classroom with desks. Now to figure out how to create a classroom-safe guillotine…

My third block was as good as they get. They're so good that I turned the discussion over to them, and during our literary period they debated passionately about whether 10 and 11 year old criminals should be left in federal databases or removed, while class had them arguing about whether the school would be better run in a Hobbesian or Lockian system. The school definitely is Hobbesian in nature, and I sometimes wonder whether a little more trust in the innocence of our students and their ability to unite to run things wouldn't invest them more than the police state that public school sometimes seems.

My newest mentra is Beckett’s terse lines urging readers to “Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” Fail again. Fail better. That sounds like every day at school, and each day that I try something new I fail better and better until perhaps, some day, without quite realizing it, I’ll reach success.

My third block left my 2nd block a message for tomorrow. I wonder how2nd will respond, and if it's as terrible an idea to leave it up as I suspect, or if it will play on their strong sense of class pride and for once I won't feel embarrassed in front of the custodian...

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. 

Tupac and the Kibbutz Classroom

This Week’s Highlights:

Things I learned:

·      Who Tupac is. Because every time I put the slide up with Machiavelli, the kids shouted “Tupac!” Even the security guard asked about Tupac when he came in to take a student to in-school suspension. I’ve now listened to the song, and no, we are NOT playing it in class.

·      That pretty drawing on the desk in the front row is a marijuana leaf. Mr. B, the janitor, pointed it out to me while he was sweeping.

·      Students are weirdly much more fascinated by Teresa of Avila and the concept of role models than the Inquisition. Go figure.

The most memorable moments:

·      Rejuvenating Sunday brunch with friends who range in conversation from ethnic food to genetics.

·      The student who started out the semester in the back of the room, doing nothing but talking and being sent out, and after being moved to the front and various interventions, this week finished her third draft of an essay that actually made sense! She called me over to read it, and told me it’s the first real essay she’s ever written. Did I tear up? A little. But instead of crying I wrote her a note to take home and translate to her parents about how goshdarn awesome she’s been working.

·      The student who thought an appropriate response to a guy teasing her was to stand up, grab one of my whiteboard markers off the board, and chuck it as hard as she could at another student

·      When my last block was introduced to class points and magically hushed throughout the class period. MAGICAL!

·      The student who called me “racist” under her breath as I sent her out of the room

·      The student who dumped pencil shavings all over another student’s desk

·      The student who ate a piece of his test review in the back of the room

·      Four students who stayed after class three different days this week, one scoring triple his original score on a retest with me there to talk him through the questions. Gotta make that happen more.

·      Calling three parents of students who have had behavior issues to tell them how well their kids did in class that day—one parent said he’d never gotten a positive phone call from a teacher before.

·      The student who stayed during lunch to explain exactly what will help him learn the best.

·       It wasn’t in the classroom, but for my edu. Masters I got to write about the connection between Kohlberg’s levels
      of morality and student behavior—oh baby oh baby oh baby imagine a world where schools were run like kibbutzim, students responsible to a social contract and society they created! I ran wild with the paper and then demurely edited it down to hand in, but what joyous imaginings.  Next up: my attempt at the kibbutznik classroom.

Right now, this year is running a close tie with Norway for the best year of my life. It’s utterly, ridiculously different, but when it doesn't have me furrowing my brow, I'm exhilarated with it!