Last Day Eve

Right now I'm laying in bed typing, finishing off the last of my Haagen-Dazs vanilla milk chocolate and almond ice cream bar (which almost brought me to tears), and considering how to tackle the task of reflecting on my time as a teacher leading up to this point. 

Tomorrow, I will say goodbye to kids who I have spent almost 400 hours with since August.  I've seen them at their worst and their best, and they've seen me at both of mine.  I have spent more "real" time with these young people than I did my own family, friends, and even my own roommates in that same amount of time, and tomorrow our relationship will, for the most part, come to a pretty abrupt halt.  Some of them I have had for two years in a row now.   So (counts on fingers) like 800 hours.

There will be other goodbyes tomorrow-- the incredible and crazy teachers I work with, cleaning staff that I might kidnap, clerks and administrators, my classroom, and the drive to school that has become so natural.  A goodbye to familiarity itself.  There will be a lot to write about.


But not tonight.  It's my bedtime.

Love,

Teach

P.S.  But seriously, the Haagen-Dazs was amazing.

Student Appreciation Week: Up Close and Personal

Just in case you needed to restore your faith in humanity, I thought I'd share some of my students' reflections on this week with you.

From Day 2: Worthy

Reflection: Write a statement about your worth.

 "People say I'm weird, but I KNOW that I am my own unique individual.  And I'm okay with that."

 "I need to stop thinking that I'm ugly, fat, unpopular, and unworthy because actually I'm worthy I'm opposite of all that."

 "I need to shake off all the things people say about me because I'm not what they say I'm strong and not weak."

From Day 3: Powerful

Reflection: Write a statement about your power.

 (From top)

"I feel powerful when I am happy"

"I feel powerful when I do the right thing"

"I feel powerful when I start dancing, I know I'm shy to dance in front of people. But music is my life!"

 "I want to use my power to help people and help people fix their problems."

 "I feel powerful when I hep hlep help someone." :)

From Day 4: Unique

Reflection: Write three things that make you unique.

 "It's hard for me to get mad, I have a really good sense of humor, I'm always jumpy and happy"

(Students were instructed to write three things that make them unique)

"ADHD makes me my version of normal, my thinking makes me my version of normal, my agility and flexibility make me my version of normal" (We discussed the non-existence of "normal" :)

"Fastidious, full of positive energy, thoughtful-- full of thoughts"

From Day 5: Capable of Greatness

Reflection: Finish this sentence: "I am capable of...."

 "I am capable of going to high school and college and a lot of other places"

 "I am capable of changing the world artistically"

 "I am capable of bringing more happiness to the world :)"

"I am capable of doing whatever I want to do"

Yeah you are! :)

Love,

Teach

What Happens to me During Standardized Testing

Imagine being locked in a room with 30 middle school students. You have never met these students before.  The students are quiet because they are taking a test, and your job is to monitor them.  You may not speak or answer any of their questions. You may not sit. You may not check your phone or email-- in fact, your phone and computer must be turned off and your phone left off campus.  You may not draw, write, or have anything in your hand besides testing instructions.  You may not even stand in one place for too long, or look at a spot on the wall for too long. For the next SEVEN HOURS, your job is to walk around the room and watch 30 students take a test.  And if you don’t, you will get fired, audited, or some other scary word. 

For public school teachers across America, at least once a year this nightmare becomes a reality.  It is called standardized testing.

As with many other aspects of the teaching profession, it is impossible to convey to non-teachers exactly how mind-blowingly boring it is to administer a state-mandated test.  (Lots of hyphens in that last sentence.)  In fact, I bet it comes off as whiny. Some of you may even be saying, “Why, I would love a day to sit around and do nothing!”  No, no, honey.  First of all, you’re not sitting-- you’re walking.  Second, I’m betting that any other time in your life that you THOUGHT you were “doing nothing,” you were actually doing a lot.  Looking at magazines in a doctor’s office, listening to music on your iPod in line at the post office, checking your phone while waiting for a friend to show up for coffee-- you were doing plenty.  Even if you really did have nothing to do, chances are you were at least allowed to gaze off into the distance and come close to nodding off.

I dread standardized testing more than anything else at school. And while I’m particularly prone to being dramatic and/or overusing superlatives, I can say with certainty that that is the truth.

I go through 7 phases during standardized testing:

Phase 1: Optimism

In the Optimism phase, things are ok.  I’ve passed out the tests, things are going smoothly, and I am pleased with the silence that only happens when these kids have been threatened to do well within an inch of their lives.  “This won’t be too bad!” I think.

Phase 2: Recognition of the problem

Less than an hour in, I remember why I hate standardized testing. I have ran out of lists in my head, already having completed Groceries, Errands, Things I will Do this Summer, My Pop Culture Crushes in Chronological Order, and Foods that Start With the Letter D (there are hardly any!). I have looked at each child’s face and determined in my head what animal he/she would be.  I have tried (and failed) to mentally translate T. Pain’s “Whatever You Like” into Spanish and French.  I’m running out of things to think about, and definitely not running out of time.

Phase 3: Determination

Determination usually follows a break of some kind, usually lunch.  In Determination, I manage to pick myself up by my bootstraps ever so slightly. The sugar in my bloodstream kicks in, and I’m certain that I can get through the rest of the day. “Alright,” I tell myself.  “You can do this.  Plenty of people in history have been bored.  And you’ve got twice the imagination those poor suckers do.”

Phase 4: Resignation

I have resigned to the idea of ever experiencing happiness or sunshine again.  The sugar rush is over, and I am only capable of thinking, “I will die here.”

Phase 5: Delirium

I am only capable of thinking, “Wabbits, wabbits, wabbits.”

Phase 6: Relief

Yes! The announcement to turn in testing materials. I skip down the hallway.  Literally.

Phase 7:Flashbacks

Occasionally, I’ll have testing flashbacks.  They’re not pretty.

Love,

Teach

P.S. No idea why #4 has tiny sharp teeth and an underbite, but it has been making me laugh.  Probably because I tested today. 

Just like when I blew up that crate, yo

If you've never read the Hunger Games, you should just skip this post.

If you have read the Hunger Games but have an aversion to other forms of pop culture, you still might want to skip this post.

For the past few weeks, my students have been working on projects as a wrap-up to our Hunger Games unit.  I let them choose between art, writing, and performance-based projects, with several choices in each category (record and edit your own movie trailer, write your own fan fiction chapter, design a movie poster, etc). There is nothing more fun to me as a teacher than watching my students be their creative, weird selves, and I can practically see their synapses firing as they work hands-on.  Winning for everybody!

As I was watching them work, the same sentiment kept coming up.

"You guys are so lucky!" I'd say, watching students use my Nerf arrows to stab each other dramatically in front of their "cameraman," poised with my iPhone. "I don't remember doing anything this fun in junior high.  In fact, I think I only smiled three times." 

"I'm so jealous," I told one student as she quietly edited her partner's script. "I wish I was in 8th grade again."
"You were in 8th grade once?"
"Don't look so surprised."

I kept wishing I could be back in 8th grade to do one of these projects.  The only thing I remember about 8th grade English class is thinking the rest of my class were complete idiots for not understanding sentence diagramming. The only thing I remember about the rest of middle school English was a friend and I almost getting kicked out of my 7th grade class for laughing hysterically during "Rikki Tikki Tavi." That's it.  Sentence diagrams and a weasel.  No projects, no technology, no laughing.  Well, unless we were reading a story with a hilarious name.

On the last day before Spring Break, my students presented their projects.  I was blown away.  They put so much time and energy into these projects (I imagine partly because my rubric was almost impossible.)  Look at this movie poster one of my students drew!

 

After everyone had presented, I told my students how today had been my proudest day as a teacher, and how I was so amazed at their creativity and talent.  Then I told them how jealous I had been watching them, and how I had been wishing there was some way I could participate as their teacher.  By the time I got out my guitar from the closet and sat down, they were already screaming.

My dear readers, I give you: my first song.

"Hunger Story"

Original lyrics by: Love, Teach

Melody by: Taylor Swift

(to the tune of "Love Story")

Verse 1: 

We were both young when I first saw you

Outside the bakery I was starved

You threw some bread

Luckily it missed my head

I see Effie at the District Reaping

See her make her way through the crowd 

And say, "Primrose"

I couldn't bear to see her go

Chorus:

Then she drew Peeta Mellark, the boy with bread

And Claudius said, "Don't you eat that nightlock yet!"

And I was crying in the hovercraft

Begging you, "Please don't go,"

And I said,

Peeta, take me to the cave that's by the stream

I'll forget that you are Merchant I am Seam

Girl on fire and the boy with the bread

It's the Hunger Games, but, baby, we'll stay fed

Verse 2:

So I sneak out to the roof for some fresh air

The windchimes blow, and you whisper, "I dare

For them to see

That they don't own me..."

See the lights at the Capitol party

See you tell Caesar how I stole your heart

Is it a lie?

Or just a method to survive?

(Chorus)

Bridge:

I got tired of waiting

Wondering if your fever would ever go down

My faith in Haymitch was fading

When I saw that parachute floating down

And I said,

Peeta, let me get that backpack from the Feast

Just lie back now, have some syrup, go to sleep

You'll be unconscious, I'll fight Cato

Just like when I blew up that crate, yo

Peeta, run there's some mutts about to eat us all

An "X" on his hand, with my last arrow Cato falls 

Is this in my head? I don't know what to say

Claudius gets on the speakers and the Anthem plays,

"Only one victor; the two of you will have to choose."

Death for one would mean that we both lose...

"Wait, wait--stop!  We'll get you out of this mess,"

District 12 victors, baby, just say, "Yes."

I don't claim to have any kind of singing voice, but they made me feel like I was T. Swift herself.   Even if I did cheat in the bridge by making "down" rhyme with "down".

It was a very good day.

Love,

Teach

Why Teachers are Complete Psychos

Ok, other teachers might not be completely psychotic.

But we’re all flirting with it.

I, in particular, have noticed a steady decline in my sanity since I’ve begun teaching.  I can’t make friends the way I used to in high school or college.  People I meet for the first time sometimes frown when I’m talking, or tip their heads to the side politely like my dog does when I talk to her through a cardboard tube.  I talk to myself ALL THE TIME-- not just in the car like I used to before I started teaching. I can pretty much cry on command. 

Why has this happened?  My other friends who have begun their career paths have also reported an increase in stress levels since joining the “real world,” but none of them are crazy.  My mom raised three children (one being me, who spent my childhood doing things like drawing elaborate scenes on the underside of our couch cushions with Sharpies) and she’s normal-- even nice.  Barack Obama has a terrible job and he seems to keep it under control.

It’s teaching, my friends.

Reason #1: We are tired.

Have you ever had to give a presentation for school or work?

Do you remember the preparation you had to do for the presentation?  Creating a Powerpoint, doing research, making graphs, charts, handouts.  You had to practice your presentation, think about what you would say, what order you would say it in, etcetera.  You put hours of work into something that might take 30 or 45 minutes, tops.  After you gave your presentation, how did you feel?  Proud, right?  But probably exhausted?  In need of a stiff, celebratory drink?

Teachers give presentations for 8 hours a day.  5 days a week.  And we plan these presentations or grade papers or fill out inane paperwork or answer hundreds of emails or meet with crazy parents for another 10-15 hours on top of that weekly.  Yes, it gets easier with time and practice, but it never gets less tiring.  In fact, the longer I’ve been teaching, the better and more elaborate my ideas get, and the more tired I am.

I’m not trying to get you to create a shrine to teachers in your home or feel sorry for us.  (We know we’re awesome enough on our own without other people’s help.)  I just want you to think twice before judging me for forgetting to undo my seatbelt before getting out of my car in the parking lot at the bank and almost strangling myself. 

We’re tired, and being tired can make people crazy.

Reason #2: We are in complete control for 8 hours a day.

I think this is the main reason I’m psychotic.

After growing out of a frighteningly bossy childhood, I spent the latter part of my teenage years and my time in college being very complacent, warm, and receptive to others’ ideas and concerns.  You would have described me, for the most part, as “laid back.” “Easy going.”  “Johnny-come-lately.”* I was always totally fine with whatever the group wanted to do; more than willing to accommodate those around me. 

“Heck yes I’ll lend you my favorite shoes!”

“Oh, you’re out of bagels?  It’s cool; I’ll have the breakfast tacos.  My other fave!”

“Oh, no worries about the loud music last night, neighbor--  I eventually fell asleep after awhile.”

I am not “laid back” anymore.

First, you have to understand that I have created an environment, my classroom, in which I have complete control.  Over EVERYTHING.  Not only do my students behave impeccably this year, but they know how everything works-- from turning in homework (no wide ruled paper, proper heading, no hearts or abbreviations or emoticons) to asking questions (“Fellow classmate Raul, would you mind moving your head for one moment while I copy the notes on the board?” not “UGH I CAN’T SEE”;  “I’m having trouble understanding,” not “MISS I DON’T GET IT.”)  We even have a system where they ask to use the restroom silently. Everything operates in the most efficient way possible, which allows us to learn in the best way possible.

Then I leave school and enter the world, where I have no control.

It makes me sad.

What do you mean, 5th red light in a row?

What do you mean, “Sold out?”

What do you mean, sassy drugstore employee?

I am not simply annoyed by these things; I become livid.  I find myself saying, “I just don’t understand why _________________.”  It’s usually something to this effect:  “I just don’t understand why (I can’t have my way).”

I have no idea why I’m still single!

(This reason also explains why teacher professional development days, particularly ones with old teachers present, are a joke.  These teachers have been in control for 8 hours a day for YEARS-- God help the man or woman trying to tell them what to do or how to do it. It also explains why first-year teachers cannot control a classroom.  See any post from the 2010-2011 school year for proof.)

Reason #3: Our job is violently important.

(I’m on this kick of using “violently” as an adverb ever since I saw The Pioneer Woman use it to describe the movement of her back fat.  That, my friends, is prose.)

Sometimes I think that America forgets that teachers fill young minds with knowledge.   And if America does know that, I’m pretty sure they don’t really get it. 

It would be one thing if we were cranking out burgers or graphic tees or expense reports.  We could meet up with our friends or go to concerts on weeknights.  We could email our friends from our work computers, or take a long lunch, or maybe only put in 75% one day.

But we can’t.  We’re creating scientists, writers, historians, Nobel Prize winners, moms, dads, farmers, executives, counselors and teachers. We’re investing in our students, not as commodities to be shuffled through the conveyor belt, but as individuals with unique visions and gifts. Some of us are putting in 150% to make sure that these people will hopefully leave the world a little better than they found it.

That kind of effort and pressure would make anyone a raging lunatic.

But it’s something worth being crazy about.

Love,

Teach

*Gotcha.

Week One, Year Two

“How was the first week?”

I’ve been asked this question a lot lately-- by friends, family, hairdressers, and grocery store cashiers upon seeing that my only items for purchase are peanut butter, red pens, and Tylenol Extra Strength.  I’m still not quite sure how to answer it.

It’s sort of like being asked by others how things are going in a new dating relationship, you know, the “SoooOOOO....  how are things with that GUUUYYY?” (I tried to type out the intonation of the typical delivery of that question).  You don’t want to say, “Things are SO good!  I’ve already started doodling our names together in my composition notebook and stocking up on diapers for our future children,” but you also don’t want to be completely untruthful; that you aren’t excited or hopeful. 

So I will say this: the first week has gone well.  It’s already been very, very different from my first week last year, for several reasons.

1) I realize how the first week is supposed to work.  Last year, my goals for the first week were things like: “Get them to like you!  Make sure they know you care about them! Don’t worry about having things organized just yet, just get to know them! LOL!  I love everything!”  Yikes.  It’s no wonder why August, September, October, and November felt like the bowels of hell.  This year, my goal (singular) for the first week was, “Make sure they know how to work and how to act in your classroom.”  This doesn’t mean I operate by the Don’t Smile Until December rule, it just means that boundaries and procedures have to be set and understood before teaching, learning, and relationships can take place.  Did I communicate that with this set of kids? Let’s talk in December.  I will either confirm that or I will probably be in a coma.

2) I am organized.  Everything-- from homework to hall passes to supplies-- has its place as well as a very specific way it is handled. I now have class jobs for things that waste my time and bore my students like answering my phone, writing things on the board, and lending books to kids for silent reading. Also, EVERY desk is now marked with painter’s tape on the floor where it belongs so I’m not spending 20 minutes putting desks back where they belong the place at the end of the day.  I could write a book on the phenomenon of Student Desk Creep.  It’s mind-blowing.

3) I have orthopedic shoes.  One of my pre-AP students commented that my shoes seem “practical and satisfying.” I would agree with both of those adjectives.  They also prevent my foot bones from turning inward, giving me little clenched claw-feet.

So, to answer that question, the first week has gone very well. But if I learned anything from last fall, I’ve learned that things can go from sunshine and Beach Boys to full-force hurricane, bat-poop craziness in milliseconds. 

I guess the biggest difference is that this time I have an umbrella.

Love,

Teach

Nearly There

School is winding down.  I have almost made it through my first year.

If you had asked me back in September (or October… or November) if I thought I would have ever made it this far, I would have answered with an emphatic, “Oh, hell no.”  Ooo, child, I was a sad case.  Recently, my mom recalled a Sunday afternoon last fall in which she drove 40 minutes to my house to do my laundry because I was so miserable just thinking about the week that awaited me that I was practically paralyzed.  This post from September does a pretty good job of summing up my sentiments from last semester. 

Then, for whatever reason, something clicked after Christmas.  I figured a lot of things out.  I changed what wasn't working, and found ways to improve what was.  I forced myself to have a life outside of school, however small it might be.  I became a teacher who is firm, but kind.  I finally managed to use my classroom's bedamned projector system.

Yesterday, I was one of three teachers who showed up to school in the 7^th grade hallway.  Substitutes had been called, but few showed up and my assistant principal was visibly frazzled.  I ended up redistributing the kids from the unsupervised classes into classrooms where a substitute or teacher was present.  I then taught five, hour-long classes with 36-40 students in my room.  I missed lunch because I met with a parent who is worried that her ex-boyfriend will kidnap her child.  I read 20 pages out loud to each of my last two classes of a book they love.  After school, I went to my students’ talent show where I screamed myself hoarse.  Before falling asleep, I typed up two quizzes for the following day and sent some emails about scheduling.  And yet, as I was laying in bed waiting the few moments it took for sleep to settle in, I felt empowered.  The day was chaotic, but I was the anchor.  I felt proud—of my students and myself.  It had been a good day.

Maybe I will burn out going so hard like this, but it’s miles better than being miserable.

Or worse, bored.

Love,

Teach