Almost all the classrooms in my school have a mysterious black button on the wall, located somewhere behind the teacher's desk, just to the right of the telephone. This button is NOT labeled. It's presence is RARELY questioned. It's purpose is NEVER to be discussed with students. And it is NEVER to be touched lightly.
It is to be pounded frantically three or four or even five times when a classroom situation requires back-up. It is the Security Call Button.
I have pressed this button exactly one time in my three years on this particular campus, and while the events are old, the story stays fresh. This is the story I tell at parties, when someone asks "And what do YOU do?", or when I need to break the ice.
This is the story of the only time I ever used the Security Call Button.
It happened in my fourth period class, a little over a year ago. Fourth period is right before lunch, which means the kids are usually a bit amped, and bit hungry, and a bit feisty. And if a particular student has a generally amped, hungry, and feisty character, well...that character gets magnified.
"Johnny" was just such a kid. He was actually one of my favorite kids...just not when he was inside the classroom. He was smart. He was friendly. He had a wicked sense of humor. But in class that sense of humor parlayed into inappropriate sexual or racial jokes. "Johnny" of course did not see the problem with that, even as the rest of the class was swinging from the rafters and I was trying desperately to hold it together. He loved the attention. Oh, and "Johnny" suffered from a touch of STP (Something To Prove) and vandal-itis.
What I'm about to tell you is second-hand information. I saw none of this transpire, and only learned about it later when certain sources were sure they wouldn't get pounded into the ground for telling me.
I was conferencing with students about the essays they were writing when "Johnny" had a sudden fit of vandal-itis. He was supposed to be engaged in a peer-editing activity with a classmate, but instead he had grabbed a red expo marker from the white board, and was writing illegibly on every hard surface within a three foot radius. It just so happened that "Mikey's" desk was directly behind "Johnny's."
Now "Mikey" was significantly bigger than "Johnny," and significantly slower on the uptake, but he was a pretty jovial guy who didn't pose much of a threat. I'm particularly grateful for the last two qualities, because this scenario could have played out much worse than it did. But back to the story.
Apparently, "Johnny" had turned around in his seat and tagged on "Mikey"'s desk. Mikey, not wanting to take the rap for said vandalism, frantically wiped off the offending letters. On the streets, this is known as "crossing out," and it isn't done unless one is looking to get one's ass kicked.
"Johnny" stands up. He faces "Mikey".
What I'm about to tell you is firsthand information. I could smell the tension. Tension smells like monkey-bar hands, or dirty pennies.
"You f----in' cross me out, man? You wanna go?" "Johnny" is standing in front of Mikey, with his hands up in a guard position.
Mikey grins goofily. He stands up. He doesn't know. He thinks "Johnny" is messing with him. "Yeah, man, we'll go!"
I heard the dull thud of fist on face before I saw the swing. As I looked up from the desk where I had been working, I saw "Mikey's" stunned expression. "Johnny" was bobbing and weaving, looking for the next shot.
I also saw my co-teacher flying across the room toward the two boys. In a half second, I did a series of mental calculations for possible interventions leading to outcomes that would be desirable given the current situation. I could let them go. I could get between them myself. I could have a brawl of epic proportion on my hands if other students decided to get in on it. Then I remembered. SECURITY CALL BUTTON.
SCB it was. I jabbed that button two or three times in rapid succession, then intercepted "Johnny." My co-teacher has already intercepted "Mikey" and escorted him from the room.
With "Mikey" safely away from the scene, I put "Johnny" out in the hall to wait for security. I returned to the classroom to get the other kids settled and focused.
Within seconds, a security guard cracks my door and beckons me into the hallway.
"Did he take his clothes off before or after the fight?"
I'm speechless. Take his clothes off?
"What?"
"His clothes, ma'am. When did he take them off?"
I step out in to the hallway. I see a pile of red and white at the security guard's feet...and then a pile of "Johnny" with his head tucked, looking sheepish.
I just shake my head.
"After."
Sunday, January 16, 2011
To blog, or not to blog.
That is my dilemma.
Every now and again, I have conflicting feelings about whether I should be sharing some of my work-related experiences with people who don't know me personally. Those people won't know how earnest I am about my work, or how defensive I can get when it comes to my kids. They are children, after all, and I wouldn't want to come across as ridiculing or exploiting them in any way.
But on the other hand, they say and do some of the most bizarrely entertaining (albeit strange) things I've ever heard and seen. And I sort of want the public to know that there's so much more to teaching than, well, teaching...in the textbook sense of the word. Sometimes, its a sociology experiment gone awry.
With that disclaimer, I throw caution to the wind, and I give you the first glimpse into the second semester. It is the story of the girl who tried to decapitate me with a single piece of paper.
Ok, I'm exaggerating on the decapitation part of it...but still, it was pretty strange.
School had just reconvened from winter recess, and it was maybe a Tuesday or Wednesday morning. Nobody had their mojo yet, and some of the kids were just out of sorts. Totally understandable. Then there were those kids who were so elated to be back, they couldn't contain their emotions. Or their need for attention.
My second hour class was just finishing up their bell work, and I was preparing to begin the days lesson. As I directed the students to put their journals away and take out their notes, "Jane" jumped up out of her seat, and walked up to where I was standing at the front of the room. She squared up to me a mere six to eight inches from my face, planted herself, and just stared.
And stared.
And stared.
And stared.
This, believe it or not, is the type of behavior that will usually extinguish itself if I ignore it long enough. I just have to act like her behavior is completely normal. But "Jane" was steadfast in her staring, and I started to get annoyed. I was forced to address it. Casually, I whispered to "Jane" out of the side of my mouth:
"Jane, I need you to sit down and take out your notes. We're starting the lesson now."
Jane: "I'm staring at you."
Me : "I see that, Jane. I need you to go to your seat and take out your notes."
Jane: "I'm staring at you. I'm staring at you and you're panicking."
Me: "Panicking? I simply asked you to sit down and take out your notes."
Jane: "You're panicking. I can tell. You're a panicking person."
Me: (annoyed, but not panicking) "That's enough, Jane. Sit down please."
Jane: "You're so panicking. You're talking a lot, I can tell."
Me: "It's not panic, Jane. It's annoyance. I need to start class."
Jane: "Oh. Most people don't like to be stared at."
Me : "I'm used to it. I have over 150 pairs of eyes on me every day."
Jane: "Oooohhhhhhh. I get it. I'll have to think of something else."
Normally, "Jane" is a really nice kid, if a little needy, so I was sort of surprised by this antagonistic streak that she was displaying. But I am the eye of the hurricane; the haystack into which flaming arrows disappear with the faintest wisp of smoke. I remained cool and measured, even though she clung to me for the rest of the hour.
Finally, as the bell was about to ring, I asked the kids to turn in their "door pass." Most of the kids crammed the paper into my hand and were off to their third period with no hesitation. All except for "Jane", who stood in front of me, (can you guess?) and stared.
I stared at her.
She stared at me.
I waited.
She concentrated. Then she reached out...ever so slowly.... paper hovering weightlessly in space....and tried to poke me in the neck.
"Jane! That's enough! You need to respect boundaries. If I can stick my arms out and touch you, you're too close!"
"Ok! Sorry Ms. G!"
And she was gone.
Every now and again, I have conflicting feelings about whether I should be sharing some of my work-related experiences with people who don't know me personally. Those people won't know how earnest I am about my work, or how defensive I can get when it comes to my kids. They are children, after all, and I wouldn't want to come across as ridiculing or exploiting them in any way.
But on the other hand, they say and do some of the most bizarrely entertaining (albeit strange) things I've ever heard and seen. And I sort of want the public to know that there's so much more to teaching than, well, teaching...in the textbook sense of the word. Sometimes, its a sociology experiment gone awry.
With that disclaimer, I throw caution to the wind, and I give you the first glimpse into the second semester. It is the story of the girl who tried to decapitate me with a single piece of paper.
Ok, I'm exaggerating on the decapitation part of it...but still, it was pretty strange.
School had just reconvened from winter recess, and it was maybe a Tuesday or Wednesday morning. Nobody had their mojo yet, and some of the kids were just out of sorts. Totally understandable. Then there were those kids who were so elated to be back, they couldn't contain their emotions. Or their need for attention.
My second hour class was just finishing up their bell work, and I was preparing to begin the days lesson. As I directed the students to put their journals away and take out their notes, "Jane" jumped up out of her seat, and walked up to where I was standing at the front of the room. She squared up to me a mere six to eight inches from my face, planted herself, and just stared.
And stared.
And stared.
And stared.
This, believe it or not, is the type of behavior that will usually extinguish itself if I ignore it long enough. I just have to act like her behavior is completely normal. But "Jane" was steadfast in her staring, and I started to get annoyed. I was forced to address it. Casually, I whispered to "Jane" out of the side of my mouth:
"Jane, I need you to sit down and take out your notes. We're starting the lesson now."
Jane: "I'm staring at you."
Me : "I see that, Jane. I need you to go to your seat and take out your notes."
Jane: "I'm staring at you. I'm staring at you and you're panicking."
Me: "Panicking? I simply asked you to sit down and take out your notes."
Jane: "You're panicking. I can tell. You're a panicking person."
Me: (annoyed, but not panicking) "That's enough, Jane. Sit down please."
Jane: "You're so panicking. You're talking a lot, I can tell."
Me: "It's not panic, Jane. It's annoyance. I need to start class."
Jane: "Oh. Most people don't like to be stared at."
Me : "I'm used to it. I have over 150 pairs of eyes on me every day."
Jane: "Oooohhhhhhh. I get it. I'll have to think of something else."
Normally, "Jane" is a really nice kid, if a little needy, so I was sort of surprised by this antagonistic streak that she was displaying. But I am the eye of the hurricane; the haystack into which flaming arrows disappear with the faintest wisp of smoke. I remained cool and measured, even though she clung to me for the rest of the hour.
Finally, as the bell was about to ring, I asked the kids to turn in their "door pass." Most of the kids crammed the paper into my hand and were off to their third period with no hesitation. All except for "Jane", who stood in front of me, (can you guess?) and stared.
I stared at her.
She stared at me.
I waited.
She concentrated. Then she reached out...ever so slowly.... paper hovering weightlessly in space....and tried to poke me in the neck.
"Jane! That's enough! You need to respect boundaries. If I can stick my arms out and touch you, you're too close!"
"Ok! Sorry Ms. G!"
And she was gone.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Classics Never Die
I think most people would be surprised to know that my students, most of whom are non-readers, some of whom have language barriers, and all of whom are operating well below a ninth grade reading level, really love classical literature. It's really a shame that there's a movement away from literature towards a non-fiction based curriculum, because I'd love to spend a good quarter of the year exploring Greek and Roman influences. Oh the places we could go...but I digress.
We started The Odyssey this week. Thanks to movies like Troy, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, The Clash of the Titans, and The Clash of the Gods (a mini-series on the History Channel) the kids come pretty well-versed in the rolls of major gods, goddesses, and mythological creatures. They don't usually know the sordid details of the gods trysts and triangles, and the twisted family tree. Certain revelations usually result in gasps, giggles, and sometimes, sheer disgust. And of course, my kids always have such fresh insights into old work.
On the Olympians general lusting and bickering...
- "So they're always fighting and ho-ing? They're worse than us!"
On Zeus marrying his sister Hera...
- "He married his SISTER! Ewwww! Hillbillies!"
On Athena springing forth full grown from Zeus's forehead...
- "How does that work?"
On Zeus's erotic escapades and his resulting progeny...
- "That dude's got more kids than my dad."
- "He TRICKS them into sleeping with him? Can't you go to jail for that?"
On the concept of women as "beautiful evils"...
- "They've been this way for 3000 years!?"
On the prolific nudity in classical art...
- "These people need to get dressed already!"
- "What's with all the balls?"
And, best of all, on Hesiod's account of Aphrodite's birth...
- " . . . " (horrified silence)
- "Heh he...heh heh heh." (nervous giggling)
- "She's made out of her dad's junk?! ARE YOU SERIOUS!!!???"
We started The Odyssey this week. Thanks to movies like Troy, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, The Clash of the Titans, and The Clash of the Gods (a mini-series on the History Channel) the kids come pretty well-versed in the rolls of major gods, goddesses, and mythological creatures. They don't usually know the sordid details of the gods trysts and triangles, and the twisted family tree. Certain revelations usually result in gasps, giggles, and sometimes, sheer disgust. And of course, my kids always have such fresh insights into old work.
On the Olympians general lusting and bickering...
- "So they're always fighting and ho-ing? They're worse than us!"
On Zeus marrying his sister Hera...
- "He married his SISTER! Ewwww! Hillbillies!"
On Athena springing forth full grown from Zeus's forehead...
- "How does that work?"
On Zeus's erotic escapades and his resulting progeny...
- "That dude's got more kids than my dad."
- "He TRICKS them into sleeping with him? Can't you go to jail for that?"
On the concept of women as "beautiful evils"...
- "They've been this way for 3000 years!?"
On the prolific nudity in classical art...
- "These people need to get dressed already!"
- "What's with all the balls?"
And, best of all, on Hesiod's account of Aphrodite's birth...
- " . . . " (horrified silence)
- "Heh he...heh heh heh." (nervous giggling)
- "She's made out of her dad's junk?! ARE YOU SERIOUS!!!???"
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Youth Truth
Bill Gates asked for it, but I don't think he can handle it.
On Monday I lost an hour of class time (which is a HUGE loss considering the kind of pressure we teachers are under these days) by having my students take the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation Youth Truth Survey. This annoyed me for several reasons, but I will withhold my opinions and let the kids speak for me.
Anyway, the survey was only supposed to take 20 minutes, but it was quite long and repetitive. That was the first problem. The second problem is that it was written for kids with actual high school reading levels. The biggest problem was that the kids had to type out explanations for several of their choices. My kids, being master manipulators, tried to get around this by going back and changing their answers, hoping to choose the "right" answer, which would allow them to skip the explanation part. (In their defense, the explanations were unnecessary..."You said getting extra help from the teacher after school would help you succeed. Explain why getting extra help from the teacher after school would help you." Seriously?)
Needless to say, they were frustrated about 15 minutes and 3 questions into the thing. To expedite the process, and to prevent anyone from defacing the library computer lab out of spite, I read the survey to several of the kids. This is an actual conversation I had with "J" while helping him through the Youth Truth survey.
Me: (reading from the survey) "Do you feel that you will have better opportunities after graduation because of what your school has done for you?"
"J": "What's an opportunities?"
Me: "Opportunities are like chances to do something you'd like to do."
"J": "Like what?"
Me: "Like go to college, or culinary school, or be a mechanic, or a comedian."
"J": "Helllllls yeah!" (clicks "yes")
Me: (reading from survey) "You indicated that you feel that you will have better opportunities after graduation because of what your school has done for you. Explain why you think you will have better opportunities after graduation."
"J": (Clicks the back button, clicks no) "Awww man!"
Me: "You're going to have to explain your answer either way."
"J": (sighs, starts typing out his answer)"Does this crazy white guy think he's cool 'cuz he made this survey? He's white, right?"
Me: "He just wants to know how you feel about your school."
"J": (finishes typing) "Ok...next question."
Me: (reading from survey) "Which of the following changes could your school make to help you be more successful in school?"
"J": (clicks on a response)
Me: "You indicated that challenging and relevant course offerings could help you be more successful in school. Explain why challenging and relevant course offerings could help you be more successful."
"J": "Ai ai ai...Did he go to fancy college or what? I can't hardly understand him." (starts typing)
Me: "He went for a little while, but he didn't graduate."
"J": (whips his head around, shocked)"What the - ! Are you serious?!"
Me: "Yep."
"J": "That's it! I'm not using any capitals OR periods!" (deletes response, and retypes with NO caps and NO periods)
Me: (reading) "You're almost done. Before you finish, is there anything you'd like to tell us?"
"J": (typing) "giv me monny"
On Monday I lost an hour of class time (which is a HUGE loss considering the kind of pressure we teachers are under these days) by having my students take the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation Youth Truth Survey. This annoyed me for several reasons, but I will withhold my opinions and let the kids speak for me.
Anyway, the survey was only supposed to take 20 minutes, but it was quite long and repetitive. That was the first problem. The second problem is that it was written for kids with actual high school reading levels. The biggest problem was that the kids had to type out explanations for several of their choices. My kids, being master manipulators, tried to get around this by going back and changing their answers, hoping to choose the "right" answer, which would allow them to skip the explanation part. (In their defense, the explanations were unnecessary..."You said getting extra help from the teacher after school would help you succeed. Explain why getting extra help from the teacher after school would help you." Seriously?)
Needless to say, they were frustrated about 15 minutes and 3 questions into the thing. To expedite the process, and to prevent anyone from defacing the library computer lab out of spite, I read the survey to several of the kids. This is an actual conversation I had with "J" while helping him through the Youth Truth survey.
Me: (reading from the survey) "Do you feel that you will have better opportunities after graduation because of what your school has done for you?"
"J": "What's an opportunities?"
Me: "Opportunities are like chances to do something you'd like to do."
"J": "Like what?"
Me: "Like go to college, or culinary school, or be a mechanic, or a comedian."
"J": "Helllllls yeah!" (clicks "yes")
Me: (reading from survey) "You indicated that you feel that you will have better opportunities after graduation because of what your school has done for you. Explain why you think you will have better opportunities after graduation."
"J": (Clicks the back button, clicks no) "Awww man!"
Me: "You're going to have to explain your answer either way."
"J": (sighs, starts typing out his answer)"Does this crazy white guy think he's cool 'cuz he made this survey? He's white, right?"
Me: "He just wants to know how you feel about your school."
"J": (finishes typing) "Ok...next question."
Me: (reading from survey) "Which of the following changes could your school make to help you be more successful in school?"
"J": (clicks on a response)
Me: "You indicated that challenging and relevant course offerings could help you be more successful in school. Explain why challenging and relevant course offerings could help you be more successful."
"J": "Ai ai ai...Did he go to fancy college or what? I can't hardly understand him." (starts typing)
Me: "He went for a little while, but he didn't graduate."
"J": (whips his head around, shocked)"What the - ! Are you serious?!"
Me: "Yep."
"J": "That's it! I'm not using any capitals OR periods!" (deletes response, and retypes with NO caps and NO periods)
Me: (reading) "You're almost done. Before you finish, is there anything you'd like to tell us?"
"J": (typing) "giv me monny"
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Hobophobia
It has come to my attention that I have a hobophobic in my class. I was grading essays (yeah, AGAIN) when I came across this:
"Some students think there the (BLEEP). Those students who think there the (BLEEP) ruin it for everyone else your teacher is just trying to help you. No teacher wants there students to be hobos." (Sic to all, by the way. This is an exact quote. She even wrote (BLEEP), rather than the actual swear word.)
SAME kid that said hobos shouldn't have human rights...
I've got to keep an eye on this, lest the hobophobia become an epidemic.
"Some students think there the (BLEEP). Those students who think there the (BLEEP) ruin it for everyone else your teacher is just trying to help you. No teacher wants there students to be hobos." (Sic to all, by the way. This is an exact quote. She even wrote (BLEEP), rather than the actual swear word.)
SAME kid that said hobos shouldn't have human rights...
I've got to keep an eye on this, lest the hobophobia become an epidemic.
Monday, November 22, 2010
What's my age again?
For as much as teaching has aged me, the students keep me young. It helps to have a sense of humor. As one of my charges put it, "students like the teachers that can take a joke and not get all butthurt about everything." She's right - getting butthurt is not helpful. Keeping it light is an ace in the hole. On the Westside, nothing says "I care about you" like trash talk and teasing. It goes a long way in getting the kids to be compliant.
Case Study in the Application of Trash Talk to Gain Compliance
One of my favorite kids is a quiet, serious cholito. He has a little oppositional/defiant streak, and needs to be checked regularly. Of course, it is unwise to get authoritative on a cholito. It's always preferable to charm and disarm them, even if it requires an unorthodox approach. Today, he refused to take a writing exam that will account for 10% of his final grade. This was our conversation:
Cholito: "Maaaaaan! I'm not taking this stupid test! It's BORING."
Me: "It's 10% of your final grade. You're taking the test."
Cholito: (Throws test on floor. Smirks)
Me: (Picks up test, places it gently on Cholito's desk) "If you don't take the test, I'm going to pinch you."
Cholito: (Half horrified, half delighted expression illuminating face) "WHAAAAT!?"
Me: "You heard me. I"ll pinch you!"
Cholito: (completely delighted now, but faking indignance) "That's immature! You're immature!"
Me: "That's what happens when you hang around with 14 year olds all day. It rubs off."
Cholito: "You're like a 14 year old stuck in a 90 year-old body!"
Me: "Finish the test before I hit 100, OK?"
Ultimately, the little guy accused me of being a 14 year old boy in a 95 year old body, but I let him have that. In the end, he took his test.
Case Study in the Application of Trash Talk to Gain Compliance
One of my favorite kids is a quiet, serious cholito. He has a little oppositional/defiant streak, and needs to be checked regularly. Of course, it is unwise to get authoritative on a cholito. It's always preferable to charm and disarm them, even if it requires an unorthodox approach. Today, he refused to take a writing exam that will account for 10% of his final grade. This was our conversation:
Cholito: "Maaaaaan! I'm not taking this stupid test! It's BORING."
Me: "It's 10% of your final grade. You're taking the test."
Cholito: (Throws test on floor. Smirks)
Me: (Picks up test, places it gently on Cholito's desk) "If you don't take the test, I'm going to pinch you."
Cholito: (Half horrified, half delighted expression illuminating face) "WHAAAAT!?"
Me: "You heard me. I"ll pinch you!"
Cholito: (completely delighted now, but faking indignance) "That's immature! You're immature!"
Me: "That's what happens when you hang around with 14 year olds all day. It rubs off."
Cholito: "You're like a 14 year old stuck in a 90 year-old body!"
Me: "Finish the test before I hit 100, OK?"
Ultimately, the little guy accused me of being a 14 year old boy in a 95 year old body, but I let him have that. In the end, he took his test.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
On Human Rights
I'm grading essays this evening, and I've come across quite a few gems. The assignment was to respond to the following prompt: "Human rights" is a term frequently used but seldom defined. What rights should belong to every human being?
Responses varied from thoughtful, to cliche, to incomprehensible, with a few WTFs thrown in. Here are some of the more entertaining musings on hobos, freedom, voting, and pleading the fifth.
"My opinion about the rights of people from a long time ago is, they should of gotten them right away instead of starting a lot of drama. Human rights belong to everybody. Except hobos. It's their fault they don't have or own anything!"
"Last but not least, every person with a soul should have freedom. Like...come on....freedom. It's a beautiful thing."
"Another important right is to vote. Voting is a way to speak your beliefs. It's a form to have a voice in the government. Remember, the people are the power."
"One human right everyone should have is the 5th ammendment. Also, the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th ones. Another right is the right to bear arms. It's not our fault if people can't control thereselves." (I have a pretty good idea of what his extracurricular activities entail.)
Responses varied from thoughtful, to cliche, to incomprehensible, with a few WTFs thrown in. Here are some of the more entertaining musings on hobos, freedom, voting, and pleading the fifth.
"My opinion about the rights of people from a long time ago is, they should of gotten them right away instead of starting a lot of drama. Human rights belong to everybody. Except hobos. It's their fault they don't have or own anything!"
"Last but not least, every person with a soul should have freedom. Like...come on....freedom. It's a beautiful thing."
"Another important right is to vote. Voting is a way to speak your beliefs. It's a form to have a voice in the government. Remember, the people are the power."
"One human right everyone should have is the 5th ammendment. Also, the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th ones. Another right is the right to bear arms. It's not our fault if people can't control thereselves." (I have a pretty good idea of what his extracurricular activities entail.)
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