Week 36: May 18-22

090522: Day 162
Jeff and I drove to Pittsburgh last night. I called in “sick.” We took today to meet with our photographer (two-plus hours to plan family portraits, cuz my family’s a little complicated), meet with the judge, and apply for a marriage license! We also had a lovely lunch en plein air in Shadyside. Tuna salad is particularly tasty with pickled jalapenos. Then we had dinner on the patio at the Sewickley Cafe with my dad and I embarrassed him a little by repeating the things my students routinely say in the classroom. I am ready to leave New York for good.

090521: Day 161
Magical realism must be working because GL—king of the depressives—entered class today, came specifically to the back of the classroom to talk to me and showed me the narrative he had started writing!

Also, I officially gave up on seventh period today. I told AP A that they were unteachable (true), and she suggested showing them Pixar movies. Though it tees me off that these kids can treat me like shit everyday and be rewarded by watching movies, AP A said it wasn’t about learning anymore so much as surviving. I’m still coming to terms with her being right.

The pieces have finally come together as regards the department that cried wolf story and the mysterious meeting that AP P requested of Ms. Po (see Day 152). AP P met with Ms. Po—last week, probably—to gently scold her for downplaying JR’s sexual talk in her class. Ms. Po included JR’s name in the email that started everything simply to introduce the much dirtier comments made by SC and MN in response to JR’s asking if they “eat pussy.” During a conversation with JR’s mom, Ms. Po said that while JR was inappropriate, she wasn’t concerned about it because it’s not a pattern with him and he’s not normally a problem. AP P made the “bending over the backwards” comment to Ms. Po, too, and I assume she was embarrassed to have called a parent unnecessarily.

Fast forward to today, when Ms. Po has a copy of a letter that the administration plans on putting in her file because she made a “false accusation” against a student and if she makes another false accusation, she is in danger of being terminated. (For those of you uninitiated in the ways of the DOE, administration puts letters in your permanent file when you do something good or something bad. Usually it’s something bad, like taking too many absences or being “insubordinate” for forgetting to go to a meeting and reporting to hall duty instead—ask Ms. L about that one.) The administration is saying Ms. Po made a “false accusation” when she downplayed JR’s one isolated sexual comment. I cannot connect the dots between what Ms. Po said and “false accusation” logically, so I’m just laying out the facts of the situation here. Hopefully you can connect your own dots.

Now if any of us—not just Ms. Po—starts making noise about how no one has helped us all motherfucking year, the administration can simply point to the letter in Ms. Po’s file and show how they had a teacher making false accusations. How could they do anything when they knew they had a liar? The way I see it, Ms. L and I could end up with similar letters in our file pretty easily. They don’t seem to be based on much other than covering up a prolonged mismanagement of a hostile and potentially dangerous situation. What’s to stop anyone from giving me one of those letters? Not much. The bottom line here is that we have all been unofficially—or officially—silenced.

Mr. P was pleasantly amused that I was surprised—and that Ms. Po was surprised—by the administration’s nefarious plot to fuck Ms. Po up the ass. It’s not that I’m surprised that this happened; my cynical, tough-skinned hide that spends eight hours a day in this school knows this shit happens all the time. But the part of me that is still human is outraged. What kind of place is this that it destroys its own staff to keep a clean front?

According to Mr. P I have until around my fifth or sixth year for this to happen to me. Fortunately, I’m not planning on staying that long.

090520: Day 160
This week, we are working on magical realism. I love this assignment. I cannot take credit for the idea, as I stole it from two of my grad school classmates. Here’s the idea: have kids write a narrative about something in their own lives. Introduce them to magical realism by providing a sample text—in this case, “Flying” by Stephen Dixon (an old professor) and a clip from “Like Water for Chocolate.” Instruct students to rewrite their narrative to include just a couple “magical” details. So far, the kids have been doing awesome. They enjoyed “Like Water for Chocolate,” which isn’t surprising because I picked a clip wherein dozens of people vomit by the side of the river, and are excited to start magicking up their narratives.

090519: Day 159
I had four students removed from fourth period today: DS, GA, JCr and JC. I’m telling you: I called home for DS last week—because he never has a writing utensil—and since that moment he has been an unbearable asshole. He’s started up with the trashy sex-talk all the other boys enjoy so much. Some highlights from my dean’s report:

DS came to class late and loudly demanded that I write him a pass to go to Ms. L’s room because he doesn’t like me right now. I told him no because he has work to do in my class if he wants to pass it come June. He continued to demand I write him a pass and then became involved in the constant talking and laughing. He is one of four students in this class who often call out FR’s refrain (spelled phonetically): “ALL-lo FO-kay.” DS’s persistent use of this phrase today made it impossible for me to finish a sentence.

At one point, JC bragged about insulting Ms. Po: “Remember what I said about her? That she has a dirty clit? . . .that was funny.” JC brought this up in response to FR saying something about “smells like Ms. Po.”

GA laughed very loudly and inappropriately at whatever other students said or did. His laughter also seems timed to come at the instant I am about to attempt to teach again. He had a brief encounter with DC, again, in which the two of them threatened each other. GA got out of his seat to threaten DC. He also called out “lesbo” at least two times if not more.

All four kids are in the SAVE room for the rest of the week. Though my (ever-growing) vindictive side wishes they were suspended, the SAVE room at least gets them out of my hair for a moment.

On a related note, remember when AP P was going to set up meetings with parents, assistant principals a police officer and all our students who are sexually over the line all the time ? (See Day 142) Apparently those meetings have happened, but one of the teachers in the special ed department said in the middle of one of the meetings “oh, that didn’t really happen.” I can’t figure out exactly what couldn’t have happened or who would have taken something back, as I’ve read all the emails and everything we’ve said is true. So now AP P is furious with our department because she “bent over backwards to help” and according ot AP A we are the department that cried wolf. Now no one is going to help us or believe us or anything.

Of course, I had this conversation with AP A in the two minutes before the end of second period, so I’m pretty fuzzy on all of the details. Though it’s pretty clear that the administration is going to continue to do nothing while we eat shit.

090518: Day 158
When I unveiled the second writing topic in the Writing Workshop unit, seventh period accused me of trying to make them fail. They claim it is too much work for ninth-graders—having to write one five-paragraph narrative per week. Furthermore, RQ was upset that he did not win Student of the Month for Best Effort in seventh period. In point of fact, there was no student of the month in either fifth or seventh period. There was not effort in either class; exactly one student in fifth and one student in seventh passed the fifth marking period, each with a 65% D. RQ thought that just because he was the kid who managed to pass, he should win a prize. In my book, best effort does not mean doing the bare minimum of work and giving the teacher attitude about copying the notes or writing fucking five paragraphs over the course of a week.

This evening was my last ever class at Mercy. I have finished my second master’s degree. Though I am sad I will never have Saul Brodsky again, I will not miss the industrial park or the repetitive curriculum.

Week 28: March 16-20

090320: Day 124
For the record, it snowed today. It was the first day of spring and it snowed.

I got another runaway notice in my mailbox this morning: SF ran away as of February 28. Of course, we already knew she ran away because Ms. L tracked down SF’s mom (by asking GW if she had SF’s phone number) when we hadn’t seen SF in a couple weeks. SF’s mother said SF had run away. She just didn’t tell the school or anything because, you know, SF has done this before. It took her three weeks to report it to the school. Think about that for a second. I would add an exclamation point but I fear it would ruin the severity of the statement.

On a lighter note, I had to cover Ms. L’s eighth period class because she took ten of our kids ice skating today. It was me and CD, quietly writing for 46 minutes. I wrote many haiku, of which this is the finest:

Nigga please with that
obnoxious pussy talk you
must be a virgin

090319: Day 123
I’m still photocopying the entirety of When the Emperor Was Divine. Me and the rizo have gotten real friendly these past couple weeks. According to Mr. W, we don’t have much ink left in the entire building. So I closed the door while me and rizo got real friendly. I need the copies. What else can I do?

090318: Day 122
In our house meeting we discussed the fight SP got into last week, in which he had his two front teeth punched out. According to Mr. P, SP didn’t even understand what was happening as he prepared to rumble. He knew a dude was running at him, which meant there was going to be a fight, but he didn’t know why the dude wanted to fight him. He didn’t realize this dude was going to cream him because he had been shittalking him and his girlfriend for a week. Hello, McFly. My favorite part is SP’s initial reaction to said dude running at him was to remove his jacket. Picture it in your head: dude runs at SP, with the intention to fight, and SP takes a second to remove his jacket. As he is removing his jacket, his hands are behind his back. And dude takes his opportunity to crunch him in the face.

Also on the list of completely ridiculous and confusing incidents of the day was LS’s purported running away. I got a memo in my mailbox this morning saying she had been reported runaway/missing as of the day before. Then I got a phone call from Ms. S, her related service provider, at the end of third period asking if LS’s para was in my classroom. I replied yes, and Ms. S said, “Oh, you’re kidding . . . Can you send her down here. LS is here, wondering where she is.” I had that weird feeling you get when there are giant holes in the official story. Did Ms. S know she was “missing”? I talked to AP A later that day to report that LS was in the building—not missing, as previously thought—and AP A had no idea she was in school. What the fuck, people? Either which way, LS was not at home the night before, so who knows where she was? She did make it to school, though.

090317: Day 121
I passed out grades for the fourth marking period today. The number of students who are confused to be failing is more upsetting than the sheer number of failing students. I find myself explaining the class requirements everyday. “Your Aims and Answers sheets count for points. If you are not doing them, you will lose points. The behavior rubrics count for points. If you are not doing them, you will lose points. There is a vocab quiz on Friday. Do not be surprised on Friday when I tell you there is a quiz. . . . Everything counts. If you are not doing classwork, you are losing points. Everything counts. Let me repeat, everything counts.”

That is not an exaggeration, for those of you who were wondering.

090316: Day 120
Turns out the Designs for Learning series of courses at Mercy isn’t just frustrating when your professor is crappy. Even with a decent professor, it is pointless. I understand how to lesson plan and how to unit plan and how to evaluate student work. You know, I pretty much get how to teach at this point. Everyone else does, too. As a result, we spend at least an hour of class bitching about one thing or another while our professor tries to assuage our anxieties nigh on the end of our Mercy career.

I make phone calls during the first half-hour of class now. We’re not talking about anything, and I try to sit next to the door because there’s also an outlet there for my computer (which has a bum battery, by the way: Apple please take notice). It’s very easy to just slip out the door and make a few phone calls to various parents. The fourth floor corridor more often than not has at least one teacher-cum-grad-student on a cellphone talking to a parent, so I know I’m not egregiously out of line.

The purpose of my phone calls this evening? DJ and CM’s incredibly dumb face-off in fifth period wherein they called each other ugly and asked each other to suck their respective dicks. For the record, CM is a girl. The best part of the fight was when DJ got louder and louder as he was taken out of the classroom and away from any chance of CM’s physically harming him.

Also called home for LF because he is failing hardcore and says really, well, hardcore things in the classroom.

Week 19: January 5-9

090109: Day 79
Ms. L met with Ms. N, the principal. This would make me much more nervous, but I can’t imagine our lives as teachers can get worse. Of course, I’ve been saying that all year, and the bottom keeps dropping. So, who knows?

Ms. L told Ms. N our many problems in the house, and Ms. N said she didn’t realize it was this bad. Ms. N said she knew about the behavior rubrics, though. Why does she think those are necessary?

I figure one of two things. 1: She absolutely knows what’s going on and lied to Ms. L’s face. 2: She has kept herself willfully ignorant, in order to not deal with what’s been going on.

090108: Day 78
My students stole another USB drive from me. I had to rebuild another grade book based on my attendance records, homework chart, memory and backup copy.

I was kind of giddy all evening. I can’t even care when they steal from me anymore: I expect to be stolen from. Too much misery has tipped back into black, black comedy.

090107: Day 77
As per AP A’s suggestion, I am no longer teaching fourth period. We had the good students moved to other periods—thus my seventh period binders busting out of their crate—and now fourth period is to come in everyday, read Because of Winn-Dixie or Bridge to Terabithia and answer study guide questions. This is the plan for the rest of the semester (i.e., till the end of January). I played Mozart and read The Tale of Desperaux. I felt guilty for little more than a couple seconds about this plan as fourth period has proven to me that they do not care what I have to teach. Thus I will not teach them for the time being.

We met with Mr. B, our mentor, today to continue the discussion about our discontent. I told him what I told the kids yesterday, and not so surprisingly he was disapproving. Too bad I don’t even care anymore. Those kids had it coming, and I don’t think they deserve an apology. I told Mr. B as much. I also told him if I get in trouble because of what I said, then fuck the school. Really, fuck the administration and school: getting fired would probably be better than what happens on a daily basis. Once again, my job made me cry.

Ms. L lost it in the meeting, too. She’s been planning the trial of Andrew Jackson for a couple weeks, and today—the day before the trial—most of our kids decided it was too hard and stopped trying. They refused to write their names on the handouts. What do you do when you work for hours to plan something awesome and the kids won’t even write their names on their papers? So Ms. L ended up crying in our house meeting, too.

Any questions about how bad the situation is?

090106: Day 78
Weather forecast this morning predicted snow, sleet and ice. But the drive at seven in the morning was dry as bone, belying the coming storm. I had that feeling like something was coming—something ominous.

I’ve come to realize that there is nothing that makes me feel more disrespected—worthless, really—than having students talk over me. I’m not talking about brief side conversations or a quick question. I’m talking about having half the class carrying on loudly despite my asking (over and over) for everyone to be quiet so I can teach.

Today my tolerance for being made to feel worthless dissolved, and I cursed out fourth period. I threw the homework assignment I was holding down and yelled, “Fuck you guys for treating me this way.” They laughed. I followed up: “You think it’s funny? Get the fuck out of my classroom.”

I have never seen students pack up so quickly in my life. NR—a girl for whom I advocate tirelessly, whom I praise on a daily basis for going from a 20% for the first marking period to now having nearly an A—laughed at me on her way out and said, “Fuck you, too.”

There were only a couple minutes left in the period when I kicked everyone out, so I had some time to gather myself before fifth. Only I couldn’t. So I locked my door and walked myself over to AP A’s office. I told her exactly what I said—the best way to cover my ass? Tell my boss—and cried for a good bit in her office. I told her I hated my job, to which she replied, “You don’t hate your job; you hate the kids.” And I had to tell her that no, I hate my job. I cry at least once a week because of it; dread grows in me the closer I get to the school in my car.

I am a strong person. When I say I am in really bad shape, I don’t sound like I’m in bad shape. People don’t believe my words. They believe my tone of voice, which suggests I’m still ok. Except I have not been so miserable since I was clinically depressed. The problem is I don’t know how to be more clear: I’m not ok.

090105: Day 77
Nothing says welcome back to school like being sick. And having a faculty meeting, extending the day by an hour.

January faculty meetings are pretty darn boring: we review how to give Regents and RCTs. The procedures don’t change by that much from year to year, so I took the time to grade some papers. I did catch some interesting tidbits of knowledge. Over sixty percent of our high school’s students enter their freshman year having scored a Level I on the eighth grade ELA test. For the record, you cannot get lower than a Level I.

Also, more than forty percent of our students fall under the special education umbrella. This particular statistic makes scheduling proctors for the Regents and RCTs particularly exciting, because all those kids get accomodations on their tests. To make it more complicated, different students get different accomodations: questions read aloud, questions read and reread aloud, directions read aloud, directions read and reread aloud, use of a calculator . . . the list goes on. It all depends on what the IEPs say.

AP B is in charge of coordinating the tests (I do not envy her at all). She was explaining that if students use the restrooms while the tests are in session, they are to be escorted from the classroom to the bathroom and back again. “I’m not saying they’re cheating–I mean I know they’re not cheating . . .” Because, you know, the scores prove the kids aren’t cheating. Unless they are the stupidest cheaters ever.

——
Update: New film picture on Day 76.

Week 16: December 8-12

081212: Day 69
Today, my lesson plan consisted of a longer-than-usual quiz and independent work finishing up a creative writing assignment from Thursday. I haven’t been so in the mood to actually teach, recently, given how I hate my job. So I attribute the following miracle to assigned seats.

Fourth period was well-behaved for an entire period. Moreover, they sat in complete silence for a good five minutes or more during their quiz. I was in the back of the room, wondering to Ms. D about it—”They’re so quiet!”—when Ms. N popped through the door to watch my worst period working diligently. It was one of those moments of convergence where you can sense the underlying mysteries of the world coming to light.

Ms. D and I had the same thought at the same time: I can’t believe this just happened. These kids are never quiet and well-behaved. Until this very moment, and this is the very moment Ms. N happened to see them.

I was positively humming with excitement. It was like being in the presence of a god.

081211: Day 68
There’s something about assigning seats that goes beyond simply separating the talkers and misbehavers. It has to do with an assertion of will, which is to say my will.

Day 1: The talkers and misbehavers bitch and moan. They refuse to sit in their seats. I write their names on the board under the heading “Zero for the Day and Phone Call Home.” A minute or so later, everyone is sitting in his or her assigned seat.

Day 2: Students sit in their assigned seats automatically. Students talk less, work more, and swear less. They know who is in charge, and it’s me.

Bitches, yeah.

081210: Day 67
We talked with Mr. B today, briefly, during our house meeting. He reported that it’s not just us having severe discipline problems. Teachers school-wide—from first-year teachers to 15-year veterans—complain of the vulgar language and lack of self-control among the student body. They also complain of the all but missing disciplinary consequences. I believe the word Mr. B used was “disgust”: disgust with the behavior and, furthermore, disgust with the administration’s failure to do anything. This, not so surprisingly, does not make me feel better.

My USB drive—on which I store everything from my gradebooks to a spreadsheet that contains the names, parents, phone numbers and emails of every student in our house—was stolen from my computer yesterday after second period. Mom says I need to lower my expectations, and I have. Ms. V pointed out that I need to lock everything up, which I do. But it’s too hard to lock everything up all the time—I can’t help but forget something once in awhile. And the second I forget, some fucker steals it from me.

So I was standing there after class, talking with Ms. L and Ms. V. And Ms. L is very kind and optimistic, so she kept offering solution after solution. Hell, I came up with some of the solutions, so I’m familiar with them. But I don’t really care anymore. I feel unsafe in my classroom. I hate going to work. I hate teaching these kids. No solutions are going to assuage my recurrent feelings of desperation or the dehumanizing effects this year is having on me.

Ms. V accused her of being a man for offering so many solutions and hugged me instead.

081209: Day 66
In my dream, my fourth period refused to sit in their assigned seats. They ripped the note cards from the desks and rearranged them so as to sit very close to one another. I was crying and crying. And then I was naked, huddled on the floor, weeping in the back of the room. Ms. D, the paraprofessional, kicked me in the ass to make me teach them. I refused and continued to wail.

I woke myself up crying.

081208: Day 65
An email I received last week, presented for your amazement and enjoyment.

Thanks for the information.
am glad SS is improving it is good to hear from you guys it makes it wearthwhile, lets keep communicating with one another so he can achive his goal. in another note we just found out yesturday that im going to be a mommy again not that i was never but your a mom like for ever,ha-ha but that theirs going to be a new member in our family and SS very supportive. You are the first tcher to know in sharing this news so you can pass it on.

mrs g.

Week 11: November 3-7

081107: Day 47
I could barely teach today. I gave them a quiz (as promised) and then we discussed “What To Do In Class” and “What NOT To Do In Class.” I read them my letter about canceling all rewards. The only students who complained were those who are the worst offenders in all of our classes. And the students who deserve rewards–and there are many, I know, and I feel for them–were sympathetic and understood my position. CA stayed behind after first period to tell me, “I understand why you can’t do it anymore.”

I feel much better. Lighter. The heartbreak is still there, but I’ve let myself off the hook for rising above the chaos.

Ms. P told her mom about the cookies, among other insane stories from the week, and her mom commented that it was hilarious. And the year is comedic in its exaggerated proportions, unless, as Ms. P told her mom, you feel responsible for teaching these students.

I’ve come to some sort of temporary peace with the idea that I will teach my students but no longer go beyond my bare bones responsibilities. No more treats and privileges. No more lending pens and pencils to have them stolen or vandalized. No more lawn-chair-lounging for a relaxing period.

Lessons, worksheets, quizzes, projects, and I’m done.

081106: Day 46
I make homemade cookies for students when they win Student of the Month. Today I brought the cookies in for students who won for being “Most Respectful of Peers and Teachers.” Kids in my fourth period (KC? TE? BR? JK?!?) stole student-of-the-month cookies from my desk. I know it happened during fourth period because CG confirmed for me that she saw LFo’s and JR’s cookies sitting on my desk during the period and that they were gone at the end of the period. I suspect she knows who took the cookies, but being a “snitch” is worse than stealing from the teacher and your classmates.

I have canceled all rewards in my classroom. There will be no more cookies, candy bars, homework passes, raffle tickets or grab bag prizes. Student of the Month is suspended.

I pulled down just about everything that makes it feel homey. The fucking flowers won’t stay up anyway, and the thought of any of my students–even the kind and sweet ones–sitting in my lawn chair with their backs squishing my handmade pillow as they nod off or refuse to take notes is intolerable.

I cannot hold onto the idea that all of my kids are honorable and worthwhile. Believing in them has once again opened me up to heartbreak. They have proven time and again that they will not change their behavior. I don’t know what else to do other than change my own behavior, hold myself at a distance.

This means I will be a worse teacher. I have to be a worse teacher in order to save myself from stinging betrayals and continual disappointment. This week, this month, this year: the good I do is not worth the emotional price I pay on a daily basis.

081105: Day 45
Mr. L, the assistant principal of security and safety is doing us a huge favor; he has created conduct sheets for our worst offenders to help us control their behavior. The boys (they’re all boys) have to ask their teachers at the end of each period to initial the sheet under “proper behavior” or “improper behavior.” We have no idea what the consequences of these sheets are–it’s possible Mr. L doesn’t know yet, either, because it seems like he’s kinda doing the job of our departmental AP (ahem) and afraid of stepping on toes–but they have certainly pissed off certain of our kids. Whether this translates into improved behavior has yet to be determined.

081104: Day 44
Chancellor’s conference day: Ms. P, Ms. L and I went to the American Museum of Natural History for our professional development. We checked out African animals and dinosaurs, ate a tasty lunch and drank some afternoon tipple. Ms. P treated us to the Manhattan’s largest, tastiest cupcakes at The Little Red Hen, where she used to work. I spent most of the day in a daze.

I lost my shit on the subway ride back to Grand Central. A woman tried to stand on top of me despite the copious amount of room to her opposite side. Then I moved away from her and a man put his arm in front of my face. I can acknowledge now that this was normal crowded-subway-car behavior. But in the moment it was the latest in a string of incidents of being treated like I’m invisible and have no needs.

So I took a step backward, off the train. Then Jeff held me while I sobbed on the platform.

081103: Day 43
My despair is great. My mom came with me to school today and watched my fourth period treat me inhumanely. Again. I think she is the only thing that stopped me from screaming and crying at them. I do not like them. They are not kind. They make me hate teaching.

Behavior is not improving. It is getting worse. Worse and worse. I don’t think it is going to get better. I do not know how I will be able to keep teaching these kids day after day.

Dad gave me the speech about the greater good. And I’m all about the greater good and how the results of my labor may remain invisible for years before they are apparent. I get that. But that doesn’t mean I can stand in front of students on a daily basis and have them insult me.

I don’t have words for the hole in me about this.

Week 10: October 27-31

081101: Bonus Day
In taking my Saturday workshop on helping students deal with crisis, I came to a realization about an incident that occurred during seventh grade. We were discussing the fact that as teachers we can’t always spend a half-hour talking to students in crisis because we cannot–legally–leave the other students in our room alone.

This reminded me of a day in band during seventh grade when Mr. P left us unattended. We were alone long enough for half of us to wander into the percussion section and begin to play all the percussion instruments. When Mr. P returned, he was furious and took us out into the hallway. He lined us up along the lockers and began to write detention slip after detention slip. This is the only time in my entire life I was in genuine danger of receiving disciplinary action.

In the end, he didn’t give any of us detentions. Looking back, knowing what I know now, he couldn’t have given us detentions. If he’d given us detentions, he would’ve had to admit that he wasn’t in the room–that he’d left 12-year-olds alone in the band room for an extended period of time. It also explains why he was so angry (it seemed out of proportion at the time) about our playing the percussion instruments–we could have directed unwanted attention to his leaving us alone.

081031: Day 42
Halloween tends to be a slow day around the school. Kids stay home, either because they have mayhem to cause elsewhere or because they are afraid of getting caught in such mayhem. To prevent problems before they begin, security is out in force and we have a rapid dismissal: the bell rings 10 minutes early and all kids must exit the building immediately through the nearest exit and leave school grounds.

For the students who showed up, I had a writing workshop. They worked on organizing their short story ideas into plot pyramids. Using the ideas they brainstormed about setting, protagonist and antagonist, and conflict, they created the bones of a story with exposition, rising action (3-4 events), climax, falling action and resolution.

It worked amazingly well. LMS is writing a romance set in the WWE locker room. LF’s story is about a cat protecting his territory from a band of defiant rats. JK is writing about a drug boss and his new dealer who have a conflict over money. DCr’s story is called “The Cop Killers” and involves an antagonist who loves honeybuns and hates tall people.

Incidentally, my story is set in 1987 in an arcade. The protagonist is a bully who is in love with a curvy Pac-Man maven. Tune in later for a rough draft; right now, I only have a plot pyramid.

081030: Day 41
Ms. L gave up teaching her seventh period. She sat down behind her desk and refused to teach through the constant roar of conversation in her classroom. Of course, the kids immediately begged her to keep teaching. They wanted her to answer questions. They wanted to know things about U.S. History all of a sudden. She still refused.

I am proud and jealous.

She wants to transfer the good kids out of the class, but I kinda put the kibosh on that idea. Our classes are already busting out–I had 17 kids in my third period, which is illegal–and what would happen to the crappy kids who are left in her class? I’m not gonna say I want to teach the kids (see below), because I don’t, but that doesn’t change our responsibility as educators.

We have students who need to be removed from the class for their behavior. The answer has to be to take out the problem students, not the good ones. We made a hit list: we’re calling parents and compiling incident reports in order to get certain students suspended. I don’t expect the phone calls to make a difference in the kids’ behavior (they haven’t so far), but they are documentation that we have exhausted our resources as classroom teachers and the students need consequences doled out by those above us in the ladder of discipline.

081029: Day 40
In the movie of my life, I am the protagonist and fourth period is the antagonist. I once again lost myself to frustration and anger. I cannot keep teaching through the swearing and conversations and throwing of paper balls.

I am kind and it does not work. I am angry and it does not work. I give rewards and it does not work. I use I-statements–”I feel disrespected . . . I feel hurt . . . when you won’t listen to me”–and it does not work. I tell them I don’t like teaching their class and they don’t even listen to more than half of the sentence. I call parents and it does not work. I speak to individual students after class and it does not work.

Ms. D, one of the paraprofessionals, warned me a couple weeks ago that I have to be careful of my heart because these kids are not. But I have to teach them, which means I have to at least pretend to like them, which means they break my heart almost daily.

081028: Day 39
I got my first ever whiff of student-fart today.

081027: Day 38
In light of it being Halloween week and the fact that most of my students have already read “The Black Cat,” we read “The Most Evil Sorcerer” by R. L. Stine. Over the course of four days, I used that creepy little YA short story to teach characterization, antagonist and protagonist, conflict, and plot structure. Rats are thrown up, spiders crawl under a dude’s skin, an evil wizard is turned into a black, disgusting bug.

You should have heard me acting out the the rat part. It was inspired.

Week 4: September 15-19

080919: Day 16
We read Bush Makes Surprise Visit to Work, from The Onion, which was met with mixed reactions. JC, who has Asperger’s, had a bit of a hard time picking up on the sarcasm and exaggeration. MN, however, had already made my day near the end of first period when he said, “I think I know what satire is now.” Fourth period was a meltdown. Fifth period, once again, renewed my faith in students. And seventh period was blessedly easy without the bipolar presence of EH.

080918: Day 15
AP A joked at the beginning of the year that our kids need more attention than your average high school students: “They’d follow you into the bathroom if they could.” It’s worse with the 9th graders than ever it was with 10th or 12th. I’ve taken to covering the windows on the doors to my classroom with paper in the morning and hanging a sign that says “I will not open the door until the 5 minute bell rings.” Still, LE and CT (sweetie, from last year) knock of my door. LE yells, “Good morning Ms. G!” and knocks again. I ignore him.

Almost as bad, but not quite, at the end of the day CP comes in to “fix his binder.” (This has happened more than once this week.) I tell him, straight out, he can’t stay because I’m trying to leave. Usually I have more work to do, but it’s better to go home anyway.

080917: Day 14
Shattered glass as visual metaphor: our students are coming into ever more dramatic relief. It’s almost impossible to believe that there was ever a time I couldn’t tell them apart.

Ms. L has had a dean intervene in her seventh period because DJ and AR were about to get into a fist fight. Seventh period, incidentally, was the period that she invited the police officer into so the kids could get a lecture about proper behavior.

I had an incident with DJ as well when he was escorted into my class 20 minutes late by another police officer. How we ever believed DJ when he told us that he was anxious to do well, to get on our good side, to be student of the month . . .

080916: Day 13
Few things as beautiful as a newly made bed at the end of a long day.

080915: Day 12
I am bereft of goodwill and interest in my Designs for Learning class at Mercy. The professor is perhaps the most boring man alive. Also ineffectual. My classmates have taken to smacktalking one another. Worst of all, they are shittalking their students like it’s funny. I have three more months of it.

Week 2: September 2-5

080905: Day 6
I finally met GA, who is uncertain as to whether he will ever get up early enough to make it to first period English. He brought me a chocolate from Ms. H.

080904: Day 5
It’s surreal saying the pledge of allegiance again.

080903: Day 4
Boobie prizes came in the mail today. Who does not want one of these?

080902: Day 3
Turns out that, according to the contract, we don’t have to do hall duty. Or cafeteria duty. Or bathroom duty.

Week 1: August 28-29

082908: Ms. A did not want me to take a picture of her. I warned her I would.

082808: I pulled my whiteboard markers out of my teacher closet after the long summer. I couldn’t remember if the bunch I was holding had been used or not. Then I pulled out the second bunch, conveniently labeled for just this moment.