Week 41: June 22-26

Day 186: 090626
Another story in need of an ending: NR. I can’t explain how I feel about NR because I can’t nail it down. But I can say that we have an understanding. Not an understanding in the sense of an all-but-explicit deal, but an understanding in the sense of some deeper, weirder connection that evades description. There is no earthly reason for our getting each other, but we do. Anyway, about a week before the end of school, she just stopped coming. Last Monday, the last day of classes, she came in to say goodbye. Turns out she had spent the previous week in family court and the judge took custody away from her mother. Then she and her siblings were adopted—or put into foster care?—with a family in Connecticut. She seemed quite calm, perhaps bittersweet, about it. She was in the building because her new guardian was trying to arrange for her to take the Regents and RCTs even though she had been discharged from the school. I explained to her that she didn’t need them because she was in Connecticut and not New York anymore. She then said Connecticut was part of New York, and I was reminded of why knowing geography is actually important in the real world. We said goodbye. And I truly wish her the best in her new life.

The last day of school is truly horrendous. For the first hour, we sat in a big line outside with our third period attendance folders and handed report cards out to our kids. I sat next to Ms. H, who is moving to Saratoga Springs over the summer. Ms. H was instrumental in getting me this job back when I started the Teaching Fellows program. I spent the summer before I started as a full-time teacher as her student-teacher in summer school. I was glad to have a chance to say goodbye.

I then spent a good portion of the day hanging out in Ms. Po’s room with Mr. K and, intermittently, Mr. L. For a spell, we also had Ms. T crocheting on the windowsill and fuming about her overall U for the year. She received a U, or unsatisfactory, on the sole basis of her unsatisfactory attendance. Come to find out none of us particularly likes her or respects her, so it was a little awkward when she was looking for our compassion and we were mostly annoyed. We walked to a deli around the corner for lunch, mostly just to get out of the building, and she was gone by the time we came back. Ms. Po and I have reconciled, in that quiet way that happens when you see someone everyday and there’s more you have in common than there is dividing you.

At the end of the day, we picked up our summer pay stubs, signed the attendance, and walked out. I carried my lawn chair out of the building, over the footbridge, and bungeed it into the trunk. And so ended the year.

Day 185: 090625
I carpooled to graduation with Mr. B and Ms. M. On the car ride to Lehman we shared our conspiracy theories about the administration. Everyone in the school has his or her own version of the corruption that must plague our school. Because how else can you explain what happens around here? Our theories on this particular morning focused on the excessing and unexcessing that tore the school up over the past couple weeks.

My particularly far-fetched theory revolves around money—I know: shocker. There’s a deal on with the DOE that any schools that hire ATRs (Absent Teacher Reserves, if you will recall) will only have to pay that ATR the base salary for teachers and the central DOE will pick up the rest of the teacher’s salary. I like to think the administration excessed us so that they could hire us back at a cheaper salary, letting central take the hit of our master’s degrees and years in the system. This is pretty far fetched, but I like to think it could work.

Ms. M was particularly excited to share her conspiracy theory. She thinks the administration excessed everyone really early in order to smoke out the teachers who knew they weren’t going to come back next year but weren’t going to say anything until the absolute last day. In other words, the administration used me, Ms. L, Mr. B and at least eleven other teachers as tools to gather information. As Ms. M pointed out, it makes sense that teachers would wait until the last minute to say they’re leaving for another school because Principal N has functionally alienated her entire teaching staff (which she knows, by the way, see Day 104 for her awkward conversation with Ms. L). So how does the principal solve that problem? By alienating more of her staff by excessing them and then hiring every single one of them back a few weeks later.

I’d write about graduation, but it was remarkable only for the degree to which it was unremarkable. We had to sit on the stage but at least we got to go home directly after the event.

On a matter only tangentially related to the blog, Michael Jackson died today. There aren’t many commonalities between me and my students, culturally speaking, but Michael Jackson was one. Anytime I put “Thriller” on in the room, a half-dozen kids would ask me to leave it on or put it back on when the lesson was over. I think the tragedy of his death is bothering me more than is rational because of the tragedy I see writ large over every school day.

Day 184: 090624
On my way into the building this morning I ran into AR. In the end, AR came through with a passing grade. At the end of first semester, AR had a 60%—a grade neither failing nor passing. If AR earned a 55% at the end of this semester, that 60% would become a 55% and he would fail both semesters. But because he got a 65% this semester, that 60% became a 65% and he passed both semesters. I explained all this to AR—again—and he was quite happy. Then doubly so to hear that I was coming back next year. Then sad to hear Ms. L was most definitely not.

I proctored the US History RCT to a bunch of my kids. BR, AR, CP, RQ, DS, TT, LJS: the kiddies were all there. And it was a read-aloud room, which is kind of the most boring thing ever in the world. And I could see the kids bubbling in the wrong answers as they took the test; the United States is not a constitutional monarchy, people!

At the end of the session, after all the other kids had finished, I was left alone with CP again. He was desperately thinking in order to write those essays. The only difference between the test and our average Monday afternoon together was that I could say no to spelling words for him. And then Ms. B came in to relieve me. God bless her.

The highlight of my day was giving out end of the year gifts (bought because I thought I was never coming back). I got five of these jingling weeble-like thingies on the grounds that the best gift for people you work with is something stupid and whimsical and safe for children 18 months and older. With the exception of Dean B, who I believe was overwhelmed and confused and embarrassed by my gesture, everyone loved them. Ms. M, AP A, Ms. EV and Ms. Po were quite delighted with their prezzies. AP A couldn’t believe that the lucky number that came with her Wish Come True was in actuality her lucky number: five. She and Ms. EV had smiles breaking their faces as they wobbled the little guys all over the counter and listened to their chimes. Never underestimate the power of whimsy.

Day 183: 090623
And I thought there was nothing to do yesterday. Today was endless. I can’t remember the last time I was so bored. I spent a couple minutes poking around the school to discover if we have a literary journal. Because I’m me, now that I no longer have Mercy to deal with I’m looking for something else to fill my time. If the school doesn’t have a literary journal and has any bit of money left in the budget for next year, I’m hoping I can fill that void. And get paid for it, too. After the brief interlude of productivity in the service of the school, I watched Mr. P and Ms. Po throw leftover gak across the room at each other. Imagine filling eight hours with those two stories and you pretty much get an idea of my day.

KC: another story in need of an ending. If you’re a meticulous reader, you probably noticed that KC was a major fixture of this blog in its early days and then disappeared almost entirely. That’s what happened in reality. Second semester, KC was barely in the classroom. On the days he was, I loved him. He was sweet, did the work and mostly kept his mouth shut. As though he was another person. Ms. L and I were discussing it before she left (sob). Her hypothesis is that he was teased for being “Mexican” a little too much. The anti-Mexican sentiment is worthy of remark. I don’t pretend to understand the racial dynamics in the Bronx aside from the broad strokes—Dominicans are not the same as Puerto Ricans and one should never compare the two—but the derisive sneer that accompanies “Mexican” every time it is uttered is disconcerting. I certainly should have done more to pursue the problem, but KC is the cliche: he fell through the cracks.

Day 182: 090622
I didn’t have to report to work this morning until eleven. So I made myself some French toast and took a relaxing bath before heading to work. I was still almost a half hour early. I spent about an hour listening to Child 44 on my iPod and packing up what remained of my room. I left the Word Wall for last. It is one of my favorite parts of the room, reminds me that words are one of the reasons I teach. You know, a reason that doesn’t throw gum across the room or call me his “nigga.” Then I ate lunch and spent a couple hours reading Born Confused, a selection from my classroom library.

Then I read the internet and did some writing for another hour. As I was sitting at the computer, a tiny little mouse snuck out from the radiator and wandered around but a few feet away from me. It’s not like I was being that quiet; the keyboard at my school computer is very clackety-clack. But the silence pervading the seventh floor must have been enough to convince the little guy that all was safe. Sadly, my camera was across the room and by the time I walked over to get the mouse had slipped back under the radiator.

Mr. L and I spent some time shooting the shit, waiting for 4:45 when we were set to proctor. Fortunately for both of us, all the kids in our test room were finished with their tests by the time our shift came around. Mr. B was in the same boat. We wandered into AP A’s office and asked if we could leave early, seeing as there were no kids left to proctor to. She said yes, as long as we signed a whole boatload of IEPs. Super-illegal! Mr. B and I signed them all, though, because once you’re chest-deep in the shit it seems a little silly to get prissy about another inch of it.
___

New pictures all over the place: Day 163, Day 168, Day 169, Day 173 and Day 175.

Week 20: January 12-16

090116: Day 84
Bad day.

First period: During discussion of the presentation for the final project, MN brought up Ms. Po’s calling him a pussy. In front of Ms. EM, who would have to report it to her AP except I intervened and offered to deal with it in-house if possible. Ms. Po apologized and all is well. Until MN goes around calling Mr. K a pussy again, probably.

Third period: RQ throws together a last minute presentation with LJS, who was absent Thursday. When they get up to present, the entire class boos. Ms. EM, with her typical suavity, says, “I know it’s tempting to give RQ a taste of his own medicine. but give him the respect you wish he’d given you.” They do not.

Fourth period: DD complains loudly that he’s going to sue me for not teaching him. Of course, I’ve provided him with an English literature activity and I answer all the questions he asks me—I am fulfilling my end of the bargain. AP A happens to be walking by and tells DD that I will give him her name, email and phone number (which I do). If he has a problem with my lessons in English, he can have his mother call her and set up a meeting to discuss DD’s behavior in my class and the resultant lesson plans. Then DD and DJ go chasing after someone in the halls, flying out the door in the middle of the period. Once again, AP A is conveniently there and she takes them off my hands for the rest of the period.

Fifth period: LS accuses me of racism. No shit. The crux of her argument is that I have no business, as a white woman, teaching my black students about black people, like those in Forged by Fire. I stand agape and attempt to defend myself against her attack. Then she gestures at the labels on the desks for assigned seats and informs me that my racism is the reason why the kids in those classes don’t like me. I have virtually no self-defense mechanisms left; I leave the room crying. Poor A, the RAPP intern, was left to deal with my kids. Pretty sure that’s illegal, but oh well. I landed myself back in AP A’s office, crying again. I don’t want her to mistake how bad the situation is.

Sixth period: We were supposed to meet with the principal, but her secretary messed up the scheduling and wrote us in for next Friday, not this Friday. I pretty well say bullshit to this. We have been blown off once again. I cried a little during our meeting, again, when Ms. L asked how we’re doing. I’m not doing well. Ms. Po said virtually the same thing. We joked about how funny it would be if the entire freshman house quite next year. Only maybe it’s not so much joking as looking forward.

Seventh period: I simply do not care anymore. They can probably tell.

090115: Day 83
RQ has become as terrible as any other kid in the house. Much like JM, he started the year as a good kid. He maybe called out a little too much, but he was enthusiastic and bright. He did his work. He was kind. Now, not so much. RQ will not let a person finish a sentence. Literally. Yesterday, Ms. EM told me she had gotten through this whole year without actively disliking a student. And then she met RQ.

Today, students were to work in small groups or individually to prepare presentations for tomorrow. RQ put his head down and refused to do anything. Until the last ten minutes of class, wherein he proceeded to walk around the room asking the other kids, “What are we doing?” To a person, they responded: “We’re not doing anything. I’m doing this.” Go kids!

On a sadder note, SC has been suspended again. Ms. L had the whole story, which is long and complicated. It involves SC running away from deans and school safety agents, school safety agents calling SC vulgar names, an iPod, and I don’t know what else. I really like SC (he’s the one who ran into me—Day 63—in case you forgot), but something is obviously wrong. At this point, I’m inclined to say the school is what’s wrong. If school safety agents, who I’m pretty sure are technically NYPD, go around making disparaging remarks at the size of a 14-year-old’s dick, then it’s no wonder that said 14-year-old treats them with no respect and tries to run away from them.

090114: Day 82
To end “Love, Fear and Abuse,” I asked Ms. EM, the coordinator of RAPP, to help with a final project. RAPP is the Relationship Abuse Prevention Program, and Ms. EM is a social worker in the school. We put together a final project that asks the students to imagine what they would do—as the media, a family friend, a classmate, a neighbor—if they knew about the abuse Gerald and Angel endured in Forged by Fire. Today was Ms. EM’s first day in my classroom.

I ceded the floor to her for first, third, fifth and seventh periods. (Once again, fourth period is in the dog house.) Aside from feeling anxious about not having perfect control of what was being taught in my own classroom, I had a good time watching her evolve throughout the day. I watched her refine her patter, transitions, stories from period to period. And the lesson got better and better as the day went on. I recognized some of what I do, and also why I plan in what order I will ask which questions as part of my lesson planning.

JM graced us with his presence in fifth period, which was a bit of a disappointment. A bit of back story: JM began the year as a bit of a loner who did all that was asked of him. He had a bit of a superiority complex, but it was no big deal because he got his work done. Then he got suspended, in December I think, and hasn’t been the same since. He’s been cutting classes, and his attitude when he does show up has spiraled out of control. As of last week, he decided he would not remove his hat and hood in my class.

AP A gave the house teachers authorization to kick out any student not following school rules and send him/her to the Special Education office to sit out the period. JM refuses to take off his hat and/or hood? I kick him out. I kicked him out last Thursday and Friday and again on Monday. Monday, he said this was “the third time you’re doing this to me.” I pointed out I’m not doing it to him, he is choosing to disobey a New York City Chancellor’s Regulation.

And this is my favorite part. He told me he is not disrespecting me and that he always does his work. You know, so what’s my problem? I respectfully pointed out to him that I do feel disrespected when he openly defies the rules and my authority. He tried to argue, but I simply told him that he could not tell me how I feel. Only I could say how I feel. Also, I made mention of the fact that he is failing my class; obviously, he is not doing his work.

I called home. JM got on the phone and argued with me some more about how he’s not disrespecting me—ha!—and then I listened to his mom give up on him over the course of a five-minute rant. No wonder the kid’s a mess.

Anyway, today he showed up again. He apologized to me, but then he gave his usual attitude to Ms. EM. Now, Ms. EM is not so used to the constant disrespect, so she didn’t take any of it. She called him out immediately for sucking his teeth at her. I love it when a kid gets a glimpse that suggests it’s not just me who feels disrespected by the attitude, it’s everyone who comes into contact with him/her.

090113: Day 81
Due to my disinterest in active teaching, I’m showing “WALL-E” in class. We have so little time left between the end of “Love, Fear and Abuse,” my unit based on Forged by Fire, and the end of the semester that starting something new is impossible.

Fourth period remains in the dog house, reading and answering questions, and word trickled back to them that the rest of my classes are watching above-mentioned movie. NR claims it is not fair. Hilarious! Of course it is fair. Let’s review the actions of fourth period: stolen cookies; KC’s dolphin screeches; chronic lateness on the parts of AM, DJ, DD, BR; talking so much I kicked my trashcan across the room and dented it; talking so much they pushed me over the edge and into AP A’s office crying.

As far as I’m concerned, making them read instead of watching “WALL-E” is more than fair.

090112: Day 80
In an episode of “Bones,” my favorite TV show as of the past few months, the protagonist Dr. Temperance Brennan is accused of being too distant, too unemotional when it comes to dealing with the tragedies of murder and death that confront her and the other characters daily. Angela, her best friend, suggests to her that perhaps it isn’t that she doesn’t care, but that she cares too much. She keeps herself distant from the murder cases because she wouldn’t be able to do her job if she acknowledged how deeply she cares.

I care too much about teaching, literature and my students. I don’t look for relationships with them because I can’t open myself up anymore without overflowing or being overwhelmed. According to Ms. L, the students complain that I care too much. I don’t know how to change that.

When I started this blog, I never imagined it would be the story of my defeat. The results of my caring, my inability to let go: accusations of racism, refusal to work in class, disrespect and disregard.

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?

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 9: October 20-24

081024: Day 37
Last year, I met maybe 14 parents total during parent-teacher conferences. I read the Norton Anthology of Poetry to keep myself amused in the downtime between conferences. I ate almost all of the cookies I made.

This year, we had something like 35 parents show up over the course of two days. We sat at the four tables in the back of Ms. L’s room and talked to parent after parent after parent with almost no break in between. We put out cookies and snacks at the beginning of the conferences and looked up two hours later to find all the goodies gone and the trash can busting out with napkins and cups.

Listening to my coworkers–and myself–I was proud. I work with amazing women who are truthful and compassionate and dedicated to supporting their students. I’m sorry for the parents who didn’t take the opportunity to sit with us and discuss their child’s school life. Hearing our conferences, it’s hard to believe that they can’t make a difference.

081023: Day (and Night) 36
Sweet crap, parents. Ms. P, Ms. P, Ms. L and I divvied up our kids and each called 20 or so parents to remind them of parent-teacher conferences. It worked. We sat down to talk to parents at a little before six o’clock and didn’t stop at all until ten after eight. Ms. L talked until nine–a half hour past the end of conferences. It was awesome, both in scope and consequence.

The number of kids who look almost exactly like their parents kept me privately tickled as I explained the poor choices many students make in my class.

DD’s mother (with whom I had the most awkward phone conversation ever) wasn’t sure where he was instead of being in class to take my test earlier in the day because she was fed up with him and had dropped him off at his grandmother’s the night before. Maybe his dad came and took him–she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure. Aside from that, I thought she was quite lovely, actually.

Spoke to two mothers of boys who never–truly, never–come to first period English. I don’t know exactly how those conversations lasted more than two minutes, because I certainly don’t know anything about the kids. You know, because they don’t show up. Ever. But still, the mothers kept talking.

Oh, and then there was the pain of meeting GL’s mom. GL has not adjusted well to high school. He is terrified daily and won’t even say hi to his teachers. Our other kids try to talk to him and be friends with him, but he won’t say one word to them and actually looks terrified if they speak to him. But he’s sad he has no friends. Ms. L and I watched his mother turn from encouraging to mad as shit (her word) because GL hadn’t turned in any history homework yet. But her anger was dispassionate: she seemed like she was trying to make herself mad enough to really yell at him. For our benefit (so we would see she cared?). She told GL that she wanted to “jump across the table and strangle him,” and it was unconvincing but terrifying. Clearly, the kid needs more therapy than we can provide.

081022: Day 35
I expect a certain amount of chaos in the classroom the morning after I return from a day off school. It’s usual to find books strewn about, handouts left on desks, and the desks themselves scattered about the room. Last year, my sixth period seniors stole all of my candy one day I was out, which was disappointing but not entirely unexpected.

So, I wasn’t surprised to find chaos in my room: my fake flowers were falling down, the desks were everywhere, books left on the floor, desk and heater, etc. But I also found one of the stupid little toys on my desk underneath the lawn chair, a desk covered from edge to edge in blue pen scribble, my candy bucket empty (though I told Ms. L to empty it and eat the candy, in order to prevent my kids from doing that–I wonder if she did?), and my bouncy ball stolen.

So far this year, my kids have stolen 10 or so overhead markers, uncountable pens and pencils, and my purple math pencil that Ms. V gave me for my birthday last year. The loss of pens and pencils I take as a given–I bought a lot to compensate for this–but the overhead markers, my bouncy ball and my math pencil kind of piss me off. I have to buy new overhead markers, and those fuckers are expensive. I know my kids understand the difference between “mine” and “yours.” Why can’t they apply that knowledge so I don’t have to spend more money?

081021: Day 34
I played hookie, and it was good.

I made peanut butter squares and peanut butter cookies and chocolate chip cookies to get ready for Parent-Teacher Night, except the peanut butter squares are just for me and Jeff. Yum.

I spent hours on the bed reading Clown Girl, which people on Goodreads seem not to like but has me completely enamored.

We got cable. Our cable woman sounded exactly like Paula Poundstone and had a manicure. She was awesome. I proceeded to waste the rest of the day coloring my flocked monster poster with my tiny crayola markers and watching TV.

081020: Day 33
KC (see Day 19) has been doing pretty well in my class the past couple weeks. That doesn’t mean he’s being good, per se, just that he’s being good enough in fourth period. Fortunately for him, his good behavior saved him when Dean B brought him to my door at the beginning of the period.

Dean B was quite excited and ready to take KC on down to room 144, our in-house suspension and SAVE room, probably because KC was talking smack at him and just generally making life in the hallways hard: “Ms. G, you want me to take him down to 144? I would love to . . . I’ll be on this hallway all period. If you have any problems at all, I’ll be happy to . . . ” etc., etc.

I couldn’t in good faith send KC away, though, because he’s been doing his work in my class and kind of containing himself–only one or two dolphin screeches a day.

Week 5: September 22-26

080926: Day 21
The rain kept students at home, or made them late, or caused them to leave early. I can only imagine how the disaster of organizing binders would have been magnified if my classes had been fully attended. I do not know how to be clearer than to write a list of the order the papers go in, hold up a sample binder and walk around helping students find papers. Yet, my students could not organize their binders. I’m sure there’s some sort of processing difficulty, but this is also a giant listening problem. Again. How long will it take for me to teach them to listen?

080925: Day 20
I gave the first test of the year, but fourth period had to miss it because the principal called an assembly during fourth period for our students. On the elevator to the assembly, the elevator operator threatened to pull a knife on BB. I am actually inclined to believe BB, as many other students heard the operator and report that “that guy is always saying stuff like that.” I managed to get a phone number out of BB–his aunt’s, because his father’s doesn’t work right now–and then I had BB write an incident report so that we can deal with the problem appropriately. I have a more than adequate amount of empathy for the elevator operator: I can imagine how many kids shit talk him every day. But you cannot say inappropriate things to students. You particularly cannot say inappropriate things like that to students who are in special education due to their emotional problems. Our assistant principal has the report in her hands and is following up with the assistant principal of security.

I hope something comes of BB’s report. Despite my desire to kill him on occasion (empathy, again, for the elevator guy), if I as his teacher do not advocate for him now, he may drop off the map for the rest of high school. So I advocate.

080924: Day 19
I am quite the sadist. Yesterday, KC made my 4th period English unteachable for the third day in a row. Allow me to quote from the email I wrote to assorted assistant principals and administrators:

Friday, Monday and Tuesday–three days in a row–KC has made teaching my fourth period nearly impossible. His behavior today is representative of his behavior every day in my class. Today he entered class on time, but would not sit in his seat and stood in the doorway. He refused to take off his hat, even though I asked multiple times. After the bell rang, he continued to stand in the doorway and refused to sit down. When he finally sat down, he began to make loud screeching noises, pretending to be a dolphin. When I say loud I mean just shy of ear-splitting. He continued to put his hat on and then his hood on and I had to keep asking him to take them off. He then wandered around the room, asked to use the pass, and banged on the lockers at the back of the room when he returned to his seat. During this time he took no notes in my class and took a marker from a cup on my desk. He proceeded to use the marker to draw on one of my posters. When I asked him to return my marker, he became defensive. He told me if I tried to have him removed from my classroom that he would “tell Ms. N [the principal] you hit me and you stole my marker.” He then made a remark to suggest that he had done something similar with Ms. P–told the Principal on her–but Ms. P has no memory of this event.

The principal kindly emailed me back and we set up a time for KC to meet with her in her office. I was gleeful when I got a security officer to remove him from his sixth period Spanish class and walk him down to the principal’s office. Gleeful.

080923: Day 18
This is funny for many, many reasons. The most obvious is the effect that dyslexia had on the word “hellboy.” Even funnier, however, is that TT has so much anxiety and fear that he has only started smiling in the past week. And by smiling, I mean kind of, maybe smiling a little in my direction. Sweet, yes. But hellboy?

080922: Day 17
My feet have stopped hurting. Strange how it only took a couple weeks for the nerves in the balls of my feet to die again.