Week 40: June 15-19

Day 181: 090619
I arrived at school a couple hours early this morning in order to finish grading the kids’ finals. As I was waiting for the elevator, I ran into Principal N. She pulled me aside and told me I was safe for next year—just as AP A told me a couple mornings ago. She touched my face and told me not to interview anymore. A tad Corleone, but comforting, too. You know, comforting the way the abusive husband is after he beats the shit out of you.

To further increase my feelings of sappy, stupid sentimentality, the last two questions on the final this year were “What was the best part of English this year? Why?” and “What was the worst part of English this year? Why?” I ask these questions to give the kids some gimme points and to give them a chance to voice off, but also to make myself feel like I have accomplished something in addition to tearing apart my own will to live. It’s much easier to like the kids when they say nice things about you and you don’t have to see them again. A selection of their remarks (edited only slightly, for grammar’s sake):

LMS: My fave part of English is you, Ms. G. You’re funny, nice and I know some of these kids are a pain in a butt, but they can’t help themselves.

RQ: P.S. I’m sorry about ever bad thing I did to you.

DG: My favorite part of my English year was the poetry slam. We had to go up and read in front of a lot of people. I was nervous at first, but I got use to it.

AR: When we play Jeopardy and look at Ms. G dance.

GO: My favorite part of English this year was to get in it all Done with. I hold some days. Ms. G you are the best and you’re so kool. I will miss you.

JK: My favorite part was the vocabulary. Why? because it was mad easy.

KCh: The best part of English was when I turned into an English fan. I hated English so much, but Ms. G turned me around. That was the best part of the class.

AB: My favorite part of English this year was that I got the help that I need for English. I came into special ed at the middle of the year and found the work to be just right for me. Not too bad and not too easy. I really liked the poetry slam too most from the year.

AM: My favorite part was when I passed my class. If it wasn’t for Ms. G, I wouldn’t pass. I would be going to summer schooling. But i went up to her and talk to her and she give me some stuff to do and pass. Just want to say thanks for the help, Ms. G.

DD: Flight vs invisibility because that was a very good kind of battle to come up with.

CG: My favorite part of English was when we would play those games and go against teams. Also when we would watch movies and answer questions. My other favorite part is when you would tell us something nobody knows.

I’ve received no word from the schools I interviewed at this week. My best guess is I’ll be returning here next year. So I packed my room up, filling my teacher closet and some lockers in the back of the room instead of filling up boxes and hauling them out.

Day 180: 090618
It was Ms. L’s last day here. Tomorrow she flies to Greece for the summer, and when she returns to New York City she will return to a middle school opening up in Harlem. Much like saying goodbye to the kids, it was anticlimactic. Also sad. I can’t even predict what it will be like next year without seeing her every day, as she has been such an integral part of my daily existence for the past two years. Don’t tell Ms. L, but I cried a little in the elevator after I left her in the room where she was proctoring.

Day 179: 090617
On my way into school this morning I saw DJe, a student from last year whom I adore. DJe spent his first semester with me in my fifth period. I maybe once threw a book directly at him because he was sleeping and ignoring me in front of the others and he maybe still teases me about it, each time to my deep embarrassment and fear that I may end up in teacher jail because of this momentary indiscretion. Come second semester, he was in my eighth period and the only one who showed up. Most days DJe and I would blow through the lesson with about ten minutes to spare, then we would sit around shooting the shit, waiting for the bell to ring so we could go home. DJe’s backstory is just as devastating as JC’s or GA’s, but he is proof that fucked up backstory doesn’t mean you grow up fucked up. DJe is growing up sweet, responsible and kind of goofy. We said goodbye on the sidewalk in the rainy morning.

Then AP A called me into her office to say I’ve been unexcessed. Huh.

I proctored the first session of the English Language Arts Regents examination this morning. Session 1 includes the listening passage, and my wards were ELL (English Language Learner) students, which means I had to read the passage out loud three times instead of just two. I’d like to say that halfway through the first time I was a little bored with Therapy Dogs (I read it so many times I memorized the website address). Also, the room was goddamn freezing cold. I had kids sitting in front of me physically shivering. Nothing can be done about this, however, so I advised them all to wear pants and sweatshirts tomorrow. I will not be wearing a skirt again as I, too, was shivering in the chill.

During my afternoon as “relief” for proctoring teachers, I was assigned to the room where half of my kiddies were taking the Math RCT. FR was happy to see me and wanted to know if I’d be back next year. I guess if you’re that toxic of a person you have to gloss over the bad feelings caused when you piss people off or else you would have no one to talk to. MB and QF were thrilled to see me: “It’s so good to see you again.” Then they each said goodbye to me another two or three times, all awkward like. Meanwhile, in my room, Ms. L babysat Ms. Pe’s son, who really likes books.

I had an amazing interview at an academically rigorous middle school in the south Bronx for a general education 8th grade ELA position. I talked to the hiring committee for an hour, which I suspect has to be a good thing. I would love to leave here.

Day 178: 090616
And so Regents week begins in ernest. I proctored a test this morning to non-special-ed students. It’s weird. The test only lasts three hours, the kids weren’t scheduled to take more than one test at the same time, they didn’t get the questions read over and over again. All I had to do was take attendance, read the directions and write the time on the board every fifteen minutes. I got some good reading done.

I had my first interview for a new job today—at a school that teaches Latin to its seventh and eighth graders, no less. Gotta love New York City because principals can be thirty-something barrel-chested men with Lenny Kravitz dreds halfway down their backs who believe Latin is the avenue to better students. I think the interview was going pretty well until it was made clear to me that the job required me to teach all four core subjects and I—honestly—revealed that I know shit all about math and science. The principal proposed an arrangement whereby I would teach ELA and history to sixth and seventh grade and the current seventh grade teacher would teach math and science to both grades. A promising suggestion, seeing as how the above-mentioned Principal Kravitz would alter his teaching program to get me onto staff.

Day 177: 090615
My official last day of teaching at this school has passed. Nothing says anticlimactic like watching kids finish essays and answer multiple-choice questions knowing full well that you’ll see a lot of them again during Regents Week. I passed out the certificates and candy bars for my students of the year, which was satisfying. Last year I didn’t do certificates and I’m sad to think of all those kiddos who were robbed of something pretty to show their parents. Heaven knows the candy bars don’t last long enough for any kind of show and tell. LJS, in a turn of events that surprises no one but himself, was not a student of the year. LJS comes in to class somewhere between on time and two minutes late, never takes notes, needs to be reminded to focus on anything and chitchats with the lovely SA (a rare girl in these classrooms) on a regular basis—and failed every marking period so far—and he’s suprised he’s not student of the year. God bless his relentless optimism and tenuous grasp on reality.

I had a couple awkward goodbyes today, from kids who know I’m not coming back and don’t know how to conduct a social interaction. Both QF and MB said goodbye to me about three times in a minute, clearly hoping for something more than my also saying “goodbye. I’m not a hugger, though, so I hope they were satisfied with winning student of the year—for most diligent and best class participation, respectively.

I had students in my room solid from third period through on until 3:45, desperately working to finish both parts of their final. I actually called Ms. L at the end of the day to remind ES and BU to come back to my room to finish their tests. I could hear BU moan loudly in the background when she passed on my message. But they needed to do well to pass, so I stand by my one last effort at making their lives uncomfortable. When they finished, I had another couple awkward goodbyes to tend to. Then it was me and DD, alone in the classroom again, as he finished up his final. Somehow appropriate that I walked out the door with DD on my last day.

Week 21: January 20-23

090123: Day 88
I used to love test days because they required so little effort from me. This year is a different story. “No talking during the test” means nothing to my students—at least not to third, fourth or seventh periods.

Fourth period talked the entirety of the test, with the exception of AM and SS. Lack of focus I can deal with, but these students’ lack of self-control is beyond the pale. I yelled, I begged, I kicked DD out. By the time I had read the short story at the beginning of the test, they had less than a half an hour to work on their finals. I’m looking forward to failing a lot of kids in fourth period.

Then came fifth period: they settled down, with pens or pencils out, within two minutes of the bell. I read the short story I wrote (a sequel to “The Arcade”) aloud and they had a good 35 minutes left in the period to work on their tests. And then they sat there and worked on their tests. God bless them.

That picture up there, by the way, with the swear words written on the board, is the result of seventh period. LF told me, when I accused him of talking, that he wasn’t talking: “it’s the other personality I have inside of me.” So I moved his entire desk up to the front of the classroom, facing away from the class. He sat there, wrote curse words on the board. I took a picture of it, in front of the whole class. They were shocked. Small victories.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention: our rescheduled meeting with the principal? She canceled it because she had some business in the basement to take care of. That’s correct, the basement. Our original meeting was for Friday, January 16. We will not actually meet until, theoretically, Monday, February 2. Stay tuned to see what happens (or doesn’t).

090122: Day 87
First thing MN tells me this morning is that LS and NR were discussing, loudly, what a racist I am in Ms. Po’s class. Then he told me how he stuck up for me: “I said, she’s never racist to us. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” BU was also there, standing in my defense, he said. CG, who is in my fourth period class but is always in my classroom, wandered into first period during this conversation and made a dismissive wave, saying “Yeah, I didn’t know what they were talking about and I told them so.” That from a girl who is friends with NR.

On the one hand, how awesome that I have students who make it a point to stand up for me. On the other, it pains me that any of my students think I am racist.

090121: Day 86
I wash my hands of NR. She accused me today of being too sensitive, running my mouth too much, and disrespecting her and my other students. I know I shouldn’t engage with students in arguments. And I know NR is a capital-B Bitch. But I simply cannot let my students keep talking shit about me—to my face—without defending myself. So I defended myself. And then I kicked her out. Fuck her.

Also, I’ve been catching bits of pieces of conversation today and yesterday regarding AM and his girlfriend—or at least, I presume she is a girlfriend. From what I inadvertently picked up by simple virtue of being in the classroom while these conversations took place, AM’s girlfriend told him she was pregnant. He was freaking out, and much discussion took place as to what he should do with this tidbit of information. Little did the poor kid know girlfriend was just testing him. She told him a day after telling him she was pregnant that she wasn’t ever pregnant. She just wanted to know what he would do if she were. I have no commentary for this aside from exclamation points: !!! !!!

090120: Day 85
Ms. L was in DC all weekend, but decided to come back to the Bronx before the Inauguration—I assume some sense of responsibility and hope (how apropos) drove her back. I myself was pretty excited to have the opportunity to watch Barack Obama take the oath of office with my students in a school-wide assembly of our all-but-entirely Black and Hispanic student body. That right there is proof positive that my idealism and optimism remain, albeit buried somewhere deep, deep inside of me.

The day was a disappointment. Students talked through the entire affair. I have some sympathy for them: the sound was horrible, and I’m not sure even I as a 14 year old would have been able to understand a lot of what Obama was talking about, let alone these students the system forgot. However, 14-year-old me would sure as shit have been quiet during the Inauguration of the first Black president of the United States of America. She would have tried to understand what he was saying.

I’m not sure why I was surprised the day was a bust. In what world would the kids have been quiet and respectful? Strange how that little optimist in me refuses to die.

Week 15: December 1-5

081205: Day 64
After watching an episode of “Supernanny” on the internet the other day, I was reminded of the importance of praise. Supernanny was just being her usual, awesome self, advising sad/crazy mom that she needed to use ample praise to encourage her kids when they were doing well, but it was kind of revelatory for me.

I am embarrassed to say that it took “Supernanny” to make me realize that praising the good kids will probably improve class morale and functionality better than yelling, and take less energy to boot. So many of the kids are abominable, but even more of them are sweet, want to learn, and hold strong in the face of the chaos that is our classrooms.

Sadly, rewards remain canceled (see Day 46), at least partially because I got injured this week due to my kids’ poor behavior, so I photocopied the following note onto florescent paper:

Dear _____________________________,

Thank you for your excellent work today! Let this note show that I recognize and appreciate your effort in class.

best,
Ms. G

I personalized them during class, added a smiley face next to my name, and passed them out at the conclusion to the kids who deserved them. BU was ecstatic–if faces could really glow, his would have been on fire–so I consider the idea a success.

081204: Day 63
I was physically harmed during class today. SC has been sexually harassing SF for an undetermined length of time: he was making sexual remarks about her and her grandmother today in my class and he showed her his penis in the cafeteria earlier in the week. SF finally had enough and she chased him, presumably to hit him. SC ran full bore into my gut, knocking the wind out of me.

SC is suspended for the sixth or seventh time. SF filed sexual harassment charges against him with the school and with the police. AP A called SC’s mom into the school and pressured her to have him reevaluated: he cannot deal with a community school and needs a specialized setting. At least, that’s what we hope the reevaluation will determine.

81203: Day 62
Leaving school directly after the last bell rings is much different than waiting twenty or thirty minutes: all the students are still outside. Busting through them all waiting at the bus stop to get up the steps of the footbridge can be a little challenging. Today it seemed unusually hard. I had made my way through the crowd at the foot of the steps only to find that the crowd was moving with me.

When I went to South Africa with my dad and stepmom, our game ranger drove our Land Rover directly into the middle of a herd of water buffalo. We sat there in wonderment as hundreds of water buffalo rushed around us, parting around the vehicle’s back and closing back together at its front. I could have reached out and touched them.

That’s what I felt like walking to my car as a tens of dozens of students streamed past me, jostling against each other to get through. I saw a number of my own students–one actually paused briefly to say hi–in the crowd. It wasn’t until I got to the top of the steps that I heard a student say there was a fight, between two girls no less.

Hive mind is the only explanation I can find for the affair. The teenagers were like bees–or the Borg. Once one knew about the fight, instantaneously they all knew. They swarmed in unison to the epicenter of action with barely a mention of the event itself.

081202: Day 61
I had to skip school to complete my graduate work. I sat at that study carrel from a little before 10 this morning until 4:45 this evening. Oh, I peed a couple times and went downstairs to buy a Pepsi, but that’s it. I am still not done, and my integrated unit plan is due Wednesday at 6:30.

While I was away from school, at least one of my students was suspended for behavior in my class. According to Ms. LATR (in the ATR, bless her), BJ stole my metal ruler–stupid, I thought I put everything away–and then refused to give it back. There is some question as to whether he actually had it, but either which way the end result of his defiance was Ms. LATR’s calling security. Then everything went to pot: BJ refused to leave, swore at Ms. LATR and took a swing at AP L.

Yes, he punched AP L in the face. Apparently, he’s a lousy punch, though, so AP L was unharmed. BJ’s been suspended for only three days because AP L took off his jacket before escorting him out, which could be considered “provocation.”

081201: Day 60
I am a special educator. I teach students with IEPs who are variously classified as learning disabled, ADD, ADHD, speech and language impaired, and emotionally disturbed. In fact, more than half my students this year are ED. I make this clear so you will understand the context that surrounds today’s installment of “God, get me out of here!”

Earlier in the year, Mr. C complained to me about the drumming that goes on in my classroom. He is in the room directly below me and was bothered by the rhythm section that is my fourth period. I expressed my empathy by pointing out that I have to be in the room with the kids so I understand how annoying they can be–all the more than he does. I also said I can’t really do anything because the kids themselves cannot stop themselves. It’s called ADHD and it’s real.

Today, he sent Dean B up to my room after third period to complain for him about the drumming. I suggested to Dean B that perhaps it was my walking around in heels that was doing it. Apparently the drumming was rhythmic and thus my kids, not I, were implicated. I then mentioned to Dean B that there was little I could do to control it as I teach special education. It is in fact against the law to deny a kid his right to an education based on disability (see IDEA and NCLB), so I don’t consider removing students who drum from my room a viable option.

Fourth period is far away the most ADHD of my classes–DJ and SS truly cannot control the energy in their bodies–and is also filled with students who have what one could call Oppositional Defiant Disorder. (I find the “diagnosis” of “oppositional defiant disorder” rude and probably politically motivated when it shows up, but it is a good descriptor). Mr. C called up to my classroom–interrupting my class, by the way–and asked that I ask my class to stop drumming. Not sure who pissed in his Wheaties this morning, but such was his request. My fourth period did not take kindly to some dude they don’t even know yelling at them over the phone for their disabilities. So they stomped on the floor and picked up their desks to drop them a little. In short, it was a disaster.

Oh, but it didn’t end there. I don’t know what your experiences are with yelling at outraged students who in the best of situations say “fuck you” to authority figures, but I can tell you it isn’t a good strategy. I myself was going the “do it for me” route, which tends to be much more effective. I had just told them that I don’t care about the drumming, but Mr. C seems to be in a bad mood and I have to work with him, so please, for me, stop being extra loud and stompy, etc. Then they all yelled at me! Fucking ODD bastards. But they’re my ODD bastards, not Dean B’s or Mr. C’s–a distinction both my students and I appreciate. So when Dean B came back and yelled at all of them, their anger only spiraled and the stomping became worse.

I’m pretty sure Dean B came back another time, but I kicked him out. He wasn’t so much helping when he told my kids with disabilities that they needed to grow up. I do that all the time and they don’t care. He offered to take out any kid doing the least bit of drumming, but I won’t let that happen. I understand they were doing a lot of it on purpose today, but I think they were in the right. They have a right to an education, ADHD and ODD notwithstanding. Who is Mr. C to tell them to stop being themselves?

This interlude wasted about fifteen minutes, which, on top of the good ten minutes fourth period wastes daily, pretty much killed more than half the period. Fortunately, my lesson came in a good ten-fifteen minutes short today when done with minimal discussion. We were still able to get everything done.

———-
Update: New film picture on Day 56.

Week 14: November 24-26

081126: Day 59
In lieu of a two-day midterm, I asked my students to create characterization maps for an assigned character in Forged by Fire and then take a mini-test. They had two days to complete these assignments. Periods 1, 3, 4, and 5 had no problem–well, they had minimal problems–and completed their work. Mostly.

Seventh period. The lack of activity in seventh period remains incomprehensible to me. MM, EFS, QF and DCr did nothing for all of Tuesday. I went over to help them a bunch of times, and yet every time I returned, they still had done nothing. MM is typically a star student, but he was disgruntled. And angry at me for giving him work. At least, such was my perception. When MM asked me when the project was due, I told him Wednesday, as I had told him a couple times already. He reacted with outrage and further doing of nothing.

So, today, the drop-dead day on the project, MM and EFS (typically the leaders: QF does his own thing a lot of the time and DCr was blessedly absent) sat once again like bumps on a log. I confronted MM about his attitude, in response to which he told me I had given them too much work. When I gestured to the many completed projects around the room–my proof that the project was not impossibly hard–he insulted them: “Miss, those look like crap.”

I looked away, stopped speaking for twenty seconds or so, and regained my composure. Fucking kid won’t do work for two days running and then insults the work of classmates who actually bothered to try? Happy Thanksgiving to you as well!

081125: Day 58
BU and I had a day of it together. At 7:55 this morning, BU came into the classroom, as usual. We had this exchange:

BU: Miss G, I woke up this morning and it was like I had peed. But I hadn’t.
Me: [waiting it out]
BU: Should I tell you what was in my boxers? No, I shouldn’t tell you what was in my boxers–
Me: You should talk to a guy about that.
BU: I’m not that gay. Should I talk to Ms. C [related service provider] about that? Yeah, I should talk to Ms. C about that . . .
Me: [waiting it out]

I am rather proud of how I handled the situation; I’m pretty sure I didn’t even turn red.

Fast-forward to eighth period as I am walking through the hallway to take work down to my four (four!) suspended kiddies. I saw BU walking in front of me, heading to the water fountain. By the time I caught up to him, I could see that he was furious: tears were dripping off his cheeks. He told me AR and TE grabbed him by his hoodie and hit him in the head. I talked BU into coming back to my classroom with me, so we could send an email to the Deans’ Office reporting the incident.

BU dictated the incident to me, and I used my Life Spaces Crisis Intervention skills to establish an accurate timeline of what exactly had happened. We mailed it to Ms. L, Ms. Po, Ms. Pe, Dean M, Dean G, AP B (because BU loves AP B, who is his music teacher), AP L and AP A. Then I walked BU around, trying to find someone who could take better care of his intense emotions than I: AP A, who referred us to Ms. C (his counselor), who wasn’t there, so we went to AP B, who then called TE down to his office to try to settle the problem.

All this while, I was wearing brand new (clearance-rack!) Enzo Angiolini high heels. They are beautiful, but made of pain. I was counting on wearing my Isotoner slippers for pretty much the entirety of both my prep periods and my lunch, but instead I trooped all over our endlessly big school. My feet were still hurting when I woke up Wednesday morning.

081124: Day 57
The bells on the seventh floor broke a couple weeks ago. Most people on the floor cannot hear them in their classrooms, but can faintly make them out ringing in the hallway. As a result, security or a school aide rings the fire alarm bell, somewhere between seconds and a minute or two after the first bell. All announcements have also been rendered silent in the classrooms by this peculiar malfunction.

Today, while walking to get a picture taken for a school ID during my eighth period prep, I heard an announcement for a rapid dismissal. I walked into Ms. Po’s class to let them know there was going to be a rapid dismissal, you know, because no one in classrooms can hear announcements. The bell rang, the kids left, and Ms. Po and I proceeded to shoot the shit for awhile, thrilled at the extra twenty minutes of calm.

Mr. K dropped by and asked us if we were heading down to the required staff meeting in the planetarium. We looked at him confused because, you know, no one in classrooms can hear announcements. We pulled our stuff together, got yelled at by a school aide for not going to the required meeting–but we can’t hear ANY announcements!–and headed downstairs.

It was a nice faculty meeting, though. Progress reports came out and our school has improved five or so percentage points and gone from the 45th percentile to the 55th. We got USB drives as a thank you. The staff left disoriented and vaguely pleased.

Week 8: October 14-17

081017: Day 32
This appears to be the week when our disappointing and heartbreaking school life turns out to be the most hilarious of black comedies. During our lunch meeting, Ms. P, Ms. P, Ms. L and I laughed at our students. Really hard, like crying hard. The affair involved impressions: Ms. L does a painfully accurate rendition of BU when he’s frustrated to the point of tears, Ms. P impersonated QF impersonating Stewie and, of course, she continued to do the best ever impression of LF, who has got to have tourettes syndrome. His tourettes is naturally one of the funniest parts of our day.

081016: Day 31
This is DD’s hat. His classmates stole it from him in order to “teach him a lesson.” Apparently DD is always stealing other kids’ things, and they were a little sick of it.

This hat was returned to me by one of those lesson-teachers just moments before I was planning on calling DD’s mother for another, unrelated incident. In this episode of DD Drives Us Crazy, DD was making a poster in Ms. P’s science class. He was using glue. While using this glue he pretended to be jerking off and made the bottle of Elmer’s come. I’m not sure how far the bottle came, but I know that the display disturbed Ms. P profoundly.

So I made my telephone call to DD’s mother, and ended up talking to his grandmother. I mentioned about the hat, how I had it, how he apparently is doing something to bring this stuff on himself, how he wasn’t in his eighth period class when I went to look for him to return his hat, and then realized I could in no way tell this kid’s grandma about the masturbation thing. So I called his mom’s cell phone, told her everything I told his grandma, and then we got around to his love toy, the glue bottle. I told the story with as little titillating language as possible. Mom was sufficiently shocked, and then I pretty much said, “Yeah . . . well, that’s it from this end. OK. Bye.”

081015: Day 30
Despite our not really doing anything today, it was eventful. We gave the PSAT to every student in the 9th, 10th, and 11th grades. “Never mind that it’s an eleventh grade test, let’s have everyone take it and waste a day of instruction!” we say.

I oversaw a room of 20 students with learning disabilities and emotional disturbances as they attempted to write and bubble in their personal information. This took at least twenty minutes longer than it was scheduled to. They do not know how to bubble. They do not understand they need to write their name and fill in the bubbles beneath the letters. To bake up a cake of fluffy Ms. G frustration combine this critical lack of understanding with another cup of stunning ineptitude, in the form of their inability to supply their home address without overly explicit instruction.

Student 1: “Should I write down Boulevard?”
Me: “Yes, include the number, the street name and St., Ave or Blvd. . . .”
Student 2: “What do you mean zip code?”
Student 3: “What zip code?”
Me: “Your zipcode!”
Student 3: “What is it?”
Me: “I don’t know your zipcode. The zipcode where you live!”

Oh, also, we had a faculty meeting at the end of the day and our principal told us she’s already had to give back $1.5 million and will probably have to give back another $1 million before the end of the October. So, that would be 10 staff jobs. But she’s just gonna stop ordering books and hiring substitutes instead of firing people. What a relief that is. Thank god I understand how all this works or I would be really nervous.

081014: Day 29
The elevator incident (080925: Day 20) came back around today. BB himself, however, has been discharged from Truman by his father and taken to Atlanta, making the primary witness as good as nonexistent. This hasn’t stopped the incident from giving me a small heart attack in terms of my own accountability and making me feel like advocating for my students means putting my own ass on the line.

I got a phone call thirty minutes after the last bell from the principal asking me who was on the elevator with BB–what other students, was I on the elevator–and I was unable to answer most of her questions. I do not remember who was on what elevator over two weeks ago. I know SS was on the elevator with BB. I know BB wrote the incident up and mentioned in his report that he could name other students who were witnesses. Not that we can ask him, once again, because he is gone. All of a sudden this has become a priority of my principal, now that it is functionally too late to do anything about it.

SS remembers what happens. The other students whom he remembers being on the elevator with him and BB remember nothing. I sent them down to room 260 so they could tell the AP of Pupil Personnel Services that they don’t remember anything. My AP doesn’t remember who was on the elevator, Ms. P doesn’t remember who was on the elevator, Ms. L doesn’t remember who was on the elevator. I’ve convinced myself that I must have been on the elevator but got off before the incident happened just so I can have a story to tell the principal. I am, however, suddenly the point person in this “investigation,” so I’m the one who looks like she has no idea where her students are.

The situation is appalling. Nothing is going to happen. For a brief moment something could have been done about a cruel school employee who is infamous for his inappropriate comments to students. It’s hard not to look at the situation and see deliberate administrative mishandling in order to avoid taking responsibility for this man’s actions. In order to avoid responsibility. Perhaps to pin that responsibility on me.