Week 29: March 23-27

090327: Day 129
Oh my, CA’s mom came in this afternoon for parent-teacher conferences. She is very supportive and sweet, but she also kept CA home for the first marking period. CA told me earlier in the year that he was almost left back in 8th grade because he missed over 80 days. Over 80 days! That is almost half the school year. While it’s true that CA has health problems, he doesn’t have that many health problems. I suppose when I call her supportive I also kind of meant she is an enabler.

CA’s primary problem in school is that he doesn’t do anything. Truly: hardly anything. He was unable to name to protagonist and antagonist for his short story. He could not answer the question “which superpower is better: flight or invisibility?” No matter how long a teacher sits with him, he will wait them out. He will give them a sheepish smile that says, “I dunno, maybe you better leave to go help someone else.” And eventually you have to, because he can’t even think of a name for a character! His mom understood all of this about him and basically said she had no idea what to do. Then they left, without talking to Ms. Po or Mr. P, who doubtless would have said the exact same things Ms. L and I did. But still.

I swear some of our parents have never heard of taking a kid’s computer or gaming system away until their grades improve.

090326: Day 128
Ms. L and I hit up some Applebees before parent-teacher night. Beer is good. Especially when you know you’re gonna have to talk to parent after parent after parent. That frilly pink drink, however? Disappointingly weak, according to Ms. L. Also hugely exciting: I got to eat buffalo wings, which I’ve been craving ever since I saw that episode of “Man v. Food” where Adam goes to Quaker Steak and Lube.

But I suppose the true story of the night is GW and her mother. While sitting at my conference table, GW and her mom had a rather long, low-level conversation of the “should I . . .” “I don’t know know . . .” “I should . . .” “maybe not. . .” nature—you know the kind. Only, it was in a loud room, in low Caribbean accents, with me sitting right there with them. Awkward. Oh, and then GW’s mom asked if I was a Christian. I like to say that I’m Buddhist in these situations, because it is equally as exotic as agnostic—which is the real truth of my religious leanings—but inspires less questioning and dismay.

Turns out GW’s mom needs to find a new job as a nanny because she hates the woman she works for up in Mt. Kisco, which is also quite a ways from the Bronx. She wants to move into a bigger apartment and keep GW in the same school because she’s doing well there. And, you know, the economy is in the crapper. To get a new job, she needs good references who are White. The woman whom she worked for in Bronxville is a little too slow to return phone calls, and the woman in Mt. Kisco sounds like a beotch. So, she would basically like to me to lie for her, to say that she has successfully and wonderfully cared for my children.

Ethics are a bitch, and I really wish I wasn’t the teacher they picked to approach on this matter.

090325: Day 127
We had our reconciliation today in our house meeting. And by reconciliation I refer to Ms. Po sulking on the floor and letting Mr. K talk for her. It was bizarre and offensive. For those of you following along at home, Mr. K is not part of the freshman house and thus has no direct bearing on the proceedings. (He did have some good suggestions, though.) It was almost as if Mr. K was there to guard Ms. Po as she played with her iPhone.

Ms. L was forced into interpreting Ms. Po’s feelings for her, to which Ms. Po could barely be bothered to respond with a “sure” or “yeah.” I wasn’t exactly expecting an apology. In fact, I was kind of expecting to get beat up on a little more for being holier-than-thou. The reality was far more anti-climactic and frustrating. Ms. Po had no reaction. I expected at least some sort of reaction. Any reaction at all to the way we both stepped in it yesterday. But no, just silent sulking on the floor.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s a giant whatever. The freshman house is dead, for all intents and purposes. And I have a fundamental problem being friends with people who don’t do anything to help themselves out of their own misery. Ms. Po and I were never quite friends. We were almost friends, but now we are mostly certainly not friends.

090324: Day 126
I wrote a guidance referral for GA, regarding his horrible language and behavior and the impact they were having on his academic progress. I included reports from Ms. Po and Ms. L to hammer home the point that his behavior and academic issues pervade his school life. I referenced his propensity to use the word “wetback” as both an insult and an expletive. I wrote of his obsession with the sexuality of JC’s mom (appears to be a theme, BR also spent quite a bit of time talking about the things he does with JC’s mom).

AP A responded to my email imploring Ms. G, the guidance counselor, to get the guardian involved because “the situation is getting out of hand.”

Our response from guidance?

Attention All

GA’s guardian was in yesterday and met with AP L and myself.

I will forward this e-mail to Ms. H his mandated counselor as well as contact the guardian regarding this e-mail.

That’s right, guidance, don’t notify teachers when parents come in or anything. That would be a stupid waste of time.

Also of note today was Ms. Po asking me to eat a little bit of her shit during our house meeting. We were discussing the behavior rubric and, to put it succinctly, its failure. Me being the queen of tact, I mentioned the fact that Ms. L and I have been carrying a disproportionate amount of work for the house, particularly since the new semester began (and we lost Ms. Pe). Of course, I only get the guts—or lose my patience enough—to make reference to my true feelings three minutes before the end of sixth period. Ms. Po reared up at me—in my imagination she is like a horse with steam blasting from her nostrils—and snapped at me, “This isn’t working.” She then stormed out the room as I shouted apologies after her.

Now I will be the first person to admit to my own shit. But I will be damned if I am going to pretend someone else’s shit is my own. I was hardly tactful or polite in the meeting, but I sure didn’t deserve another teacher—a colleague with whom I should be working closely—invading my personal space to snap in my face and then storm out of the room.

On my way out of school, I ran into Mr. P and Ms. Pe (why does everyone’s last name begin with P?). I again made with the apologies (oh, I also sent a nice, apologetic email after the incident), this time to Mr. P. Mr. P assured he was not offended and suggested to me that my problem is that I am too “wide-eyed.” This is not the first time this year someone has either implied or outright said that I am naive and idealistic. Fuck that criticism. I am hardly naive. I may look like a little blonde girl who just fell off the turnip truck. But truly, I am the product of a “broken home” who suffered through a pretty good period of depression, a trollop who has been dumped and heartbroken a seriously large number of times, an activist (Jeff’s word for me, reluctantly now my own) who spent two years running a creative writing program in the Westchester County Department of Corrections. Fuck you if you think I’m “wide-eyed” after that.

090323: Day 125
I grow tired of teacher absences. Student absences, though they are certainly unacceptable, are much more palatable. When teachers are absent, the students who are still in attendance go kind of crazy. That said, today was the first day of researching Japanese-American internment during World War II in class and my kids did a pretty great job. Turns out that their previous experience using my preformatted research note-cards in “Flight v. Invisibility” prepared them pretty well to research primary and secondary sources in “Aliens and Americans.” Hooray for building on previous knowledge!

Of course, this small victory was preceded by a horrendous amount of harried photocopying that I finished just moments before first period. I hate Monday mornings.

Week 22: January 26-30

090130: Day 93
I made an offhand remark to my AP this morning about having time to sit down with Mr. P, the new math teacher for the house, because I need everyone to be going like gangbusters the second the spring semester starts. AP A looked right at me and said, somewhat loudly, “How did you know that? How did you know it was Mr. P? That hasn’t been announced yet.”

Oops.

I excused myself from naming my source, and AP A explained to me that Ms. Pe’s replacement has not been announced because the replacement has not been finalized. Interesting, though annoying. I really need to know who’s going to be working with us. We only have one shot at making this semester different than last, and I’m not so into fucking it up. Bureaucracy blows.

090129: Day 92
I proctored the Reading RCT this morning, which is to say I read the Reading RCT aloud, in its entirety. This would normally be the worst thing ever, but SR was there. SR graduated last year and was my BEST student. She works harder than most people I know, let alone students. God bless her, she’s taken the Reading RCT half a dozen times at least, without passing it. She came back, after graduating, to try again. Seeing her did my heart good.

Only 16 kids out of the hundred or more who took the test passed it. Hearing she failed (again) wasn’t surprising, but it was still heartbreaking.

090128: Day 91
We learned today that Ms. Pe is to be excessed. We learned this through the gossip underground, which is the only reliable source of information in the school. (That should tell you something.) Many things are said behind closed classroom doors.

It’s hard to be that upset by this information because I really believe the situation vis-a-vis our students cannot get worse. Of course, our students hate change even more than the average kid, so who knows what this kind of change will do to them.

When Mr. R, our kids’ music teacher, was excessed, MN told me the class was deliberately planning on making his replacement’s life miserable. I fear for what they will do to a new math teacher. And how that will bleed into all the other classrooms in their academic lives.

090127: Day 90
Few things are as lovely as Regents Week. With the exception of proctoring and grading a couple of exams, there isn’t a lot to be done.

This morning I watched “Pretty in Pink” and organized my paperwork.

My afternoon was spent grading finals, sitting on my heater, watching “Roswell” on Hulu.

I could hear the papers whispering against one another as I stacked and organized, the scratches of felt-tip marker on file folders, the clink of my keys hanging from my back pocket. The bliss of a student-free week.

090126: Day 89
Today I showed some fourteen-year-olds my awesome bowling prowess. For those of you who know me, you may find the former statement pretty funny, as I do not actually have any bowling prowess. But let me tell you, I gots more game than my students. I bowled an 86! Even had a couple spares and a couple strikes.

GW, however, was the real star of the show. She told me she wasn’t going to bowl, but I had already paid for her games. I made her bowl, because that’s my job. I can’t explain what she did, exactly. She would bring the ball back, swing, and let the ball literally fall onto the alley. She had no follow through. But the ball would slowly, slowly make its way down to the pins and knock at lest nine over almost every time. I have never seen anything like it.

We had lunch at McDonalds and played Two Truths and a Lie. It was quiet, awkward and sweet. The way 14-year-olds should be.

—-

Update: New film picture on Day 67.

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 18: December 22-23

081223: Day 76
The DOE is a cruel mistress, keeping school in session this Monday and Tuesday. Moreover, my principal is a cruel mistress for asking (requiring?) all her teachers to give tests on Tuesday. Or maybe we were supposed to give tests Monday and Tuesday. It is of no matter now, though, as it is over.

The idea behind giving tests right before vacations is that they will encourage attendance on days when everyone knows the students are not going to come. This is no more an encouragement for attendance than telling kids they must attend class on the Tuesday before Christmas because that’s the only day we can pull their fingernails out with pliers.

So my day was spent dealing with grumpy, emotionally disturbed students (many of whom I have really grown to hate) who wanted nothing more than to do absolutely nothing, eat free food (CG, to me: You didn’t bring no cookies? Me to CG: You didn’t bring no cookies?) and bitch about the tests they had to take.

Vacation did not come soon enough.

081222: Day 75
Movie day! Ms. Pe and I took the kids who earned the most points on the behavior rubric (See Day 70) from last week to see “Seven Pounds.” While the movie was kind of awful, despite its having Will Smith, the kids had a really good time. And I didn’t have to teach two of my five classes—we left after fourth period—so I was pretty happy.

I have some pangs of guilt when it comes to Ms. L, who stayed behind and taught all of our kids for periods five-eight. All of them except for the twenty best-behaved. I am a horrible person and left no work for my fifth and seventh periods to do, thus forcing them to work on her trial of Andrew Jackson project for two periods. And also forcing Ms. L to deal with their having to work on her project for two periods. According to her, period five was fine, but periods “seven and eight were train wrecks.”

So, to Ms. L: Sorry. If it’s any consolation, the movie theater was freezing cold. We all had to wear our jackets to stay warm enough. And, like I said, the movie kinda sucked.

Week 17: December 15-19

081219: Day 74
There is magic in snow. Period after period, as students came into my classroom they ran to stand on the chair by the window to get a better look at the fluffy flakes coming down. FR noticed the second the snow began and announced it to third period. Every eye in the room turned to look, wide with wonder. FR himself applauded.

(Alliteration is awesome, as is assonance).

081218: Day 73
Ms. Pe, Ms. L and I spent a couple hours after school setting up the new house bulletin board. (Ms. Po, where have you gone?) The board is beautiful, filled with graffiti fonts and our new house name—as voted by the students—The Newcomers. I think it’s supercute.

I’m feeling a little victorious now that the behavior plan is taking, we have a house name, and, at the least, far fewer students are coming late to class. So I called Jeff as we finished the bulletin board and asked him to happy hour. Energy is good. I miss it. It lets me talk to my boyfriend.

081217: Day 72
A selection of student remarks, made during class time:

BR: (upon entering the classroom late, escorted by a dean, and being told, by me, to keep it down) What the fuck’s wrong with you [me, other teachers] niggers?

DD: (yelling and slamming his fist on my desk) That’s a lie! That’s a damn lie! . . . No, no, no. I’m just playing.

KC: (of CG, as JK borrowed a pen from her) She’s going to rape you up the ass.

WR: My mom’s gonna tell you some shit. . . . I’m about to blaze you up right here. I’m gonna blaze this school up at the end of the year.

081216: Day 71
Forged by Fire is the melodramatic tale of Gerald Nickelby, a young man who has a drug-addict mother, a sweet half-sister, and a stepfather who physically abuses him and sexually abuses his sister. My kids are so into it.

Usually, Monique, the mother, excuses Jordan, the stepfather, and his abuse by claiming that he deserves respect and he loves them all. But in today’s chapter, Jordan slaps Monique full across the face, giving her a bloody lip. As if by magic, she declares to Gerald, “No, I didn’t like that at all.” The moment she said these words, RW began to applaud and whoop in the back of the room, with a giant smile on his face, so amazed was he by the character’s transformation. The rest of the class just missed it, at least partially because RW was clapping and whooping. We played it again so everyone could celebrate.

081215: Day 70
At the suggestion of Saul, my Mercy professor whom I adore, I put together a behavior modification plan for the entire house. At the beginning of each week, students receive a sheet that asks them to rate their behavior in their core classes, on a daily basis, in these six categories:

Lateness: Were you in class before the late bell?
Preparedness: Did you come to class with a pen/pencil, notebook and homework?
Participation: Did you work from the beginning of class to the end of class to the best of your ability?
Language: Did you speak to peers and teachers respectfully and appropriately?
Physicality: Did you keep your hands and feet to yourself?
Maturity: Did you respect your learning environment and everyone in it?

At the end of class, they are to give themselves a check ONLY if they can answer yes to the question. At the end of the week, we as their teachers will review the sheets, award five points for each check, and plant our John Hancocks on them to certify their legitimacy. The points will determine if students can go on field trips with us.

We had an assembly during fourth period to introduce our students to the program. In a happenstance that surprised none of us, the students were horribly behaved. AP A was appalled and took down names of students for whom she had designs on calling home. She had such a shocked look on her face that I couldn’t help but wonder why she thought we have been talking about the behavior problems so much. We are not wusses; these students, en masse, are horrible. How could she be so shocked when we have been discussing this problem—to pretty much the exclusion of all others—since mid-September?