that vision thang

Well, I missed a week posting. I've been aiming for once a week- certainly doable, right?

Apparently not.

I've had a very busy week. Every week is busy, but this week was just ridiculous. Fibro and RA is flaring up-- I am supposed to start a new once-a-month IV infusion drug (Orencia), so my other meds have been stopped. Which means that all the pain and swelling is at full force, and any day that I am tired, its a thousand times worse. So its been hard. On top of that, I am fighting off yet another of my endless sinus infections-- with an antibiotic that is wrecking havoc on my stomach (better than the last one's effects further down the digestive track.) It was bad enough that I actually had to leave my classroom to dry heave, and threw up another day before school actually started. That was scary and disgusting. I had started new nutritional supplements, too, trying to ease off "real" meds and try something more traditional, so I wasn't sure which was causing it. After puking up something that felt and looked like wet sand but tasted far fouler, I decided the supplements could wait until after the antibiotic. (Sorry if that's TMI for ya'll.)

Tuesday I went on a fact-finding trip for the charter school I work for to see the Baltimore City public schools, specifically schools like ours-- second chance, low performing, a population of students that every one else has thrown away. What I saw was absolutely frightening. The kids were kids; they are not what frightened me. No uniforms of any kind, the buildings, the low attendance (in the 50% range), the abysmal graduation rate (somewhere around 37%),  the teachers, the behavior that the teachers and administrators did not correct, the classrooms I went into, the absolute rearrangement of curriculum for seniors so that they could be taught to pass the state high school graduation exams while not learning one damn thing else. There were water fountains, which still worked, with big signs saying "Do Not Drink The Water." It took a bit to figure out what the hell that was about, and why every where we went we were offered bottled water, but after hearing that no new schools had been built in 25 years, I got it; lead pipes still in the building. The district has also been taken over by the state (much like the Philadelphia School District was a few years ago), and hasn't had a superintendent stay longer then 2 years in a decade.

How the hell do you fix a system like that?

It breaks my heart to see the state of public schools, and makes me doubley (tripley?) happy about where I teach and what I do. I love these kids. I've always rooted for the underdog, and my students are the underdogs in this life, by and large. The Baltimore administrators and teachers kept telling us how we wouldn't believe the stories of some of their students' backgrounds, and our CEO kept telling them that yes, yes we would. And we would. Some of our students have horrible backgrounds-- years of therapy-- suffer from PTSD-- and have no money at all, so that the school gives them jobs and helps them find health care coverage and get caseworkers, etc. My students are not going to be the doctors of the world, but any stretch of the imagination. But we are turning out some good, solid, every day citizens whose kids might make it to doctor, or grandkids; who are the first in their family to graduate from high school at all, much less attend even a few semesters at community college.

For example, one of my students, who we will just call M to protect anonymity and cover my ass, came back to us after a year in a southern state, where he kept getting suspended for fighting, which he said he had to do protect himself because they kept giving the black looking Hispanic Yankee a hard time. He's a nice kid, not an Einstein but does pretty well considering his reading level, who I taught as a freshman as well. As a freshman, he talked. A lot. But always apologetic when caught, good natured, tried his hardest to understand Beowulf and Romeo and Juliet. This year, he got to our school late, had months less to work on his required senior project and presentation (which they start in their junior year) than the other seniors, and ended up having to move out into his own apartment and support himself with a job at McDonald's mid-year. Which means that he works  from dismissal to midnight, five days a week, and takes an hour or more to get home on public transportation. He is missing a credit from his time down south, so he won't graduate until after summer school in August. But he comes to school almost every day, on time, and is passing all his classes. He stops to see me after school, to make sure that he is caught up on his work and talk a little about his stress (I told him that I, too, had worked full time at McDonald's my senior year, and how difficult it was to do.) This is a kid that can make a decent life for himself with a little support.

We almost lost him in October or November. He injured a tendon in his leg playing touch football-- a freak fall, a turn of his leg with an underclassman falling on him-- and he had no health coverage. He still went to the doctor, kept his appointments, until his leg wasn't fully recovering. He could walk again, but didn't have full range of motion at the ankle. The doctor needed an MRI done to tell if the damage was permanent, or if he was just still recovering. His father, whom he lived with, did not have health insurance. The father, for some reason only fathomable to him, couldn't manage to get the state aid health coverage, open to all children. Other relatives wouldn't let him live with them, wouldn't put him on their insurance. His mother, living in that southern state, wanted him to come back down there so she could put him on her health insurance. He did NOT want to go; he was sure he would never make it to graduation that way. Somehow, somewhere, with the school counselor, he was found coverage, and got the MRI, and has pretty much fully recovered. He failed his senior project, but I worked with him for hours on the rewrite and prepping him for his presentation.

He passed the rewrite, and got an 81 on his presentation.

He is passing all his subjects, and only needs one class in summer school.

He may not be at graduation, but I feel better about the help I have given him than any other student. He is one of my favorites, and I will miss him. But the system failed him. Thank god for my school, and the caring people who work at my school. There have to be people like that in Baltimore, too; there just aren't enough. Every time a public school district asks for more money, spends over budget, there's a reason. M and every one like him, who are what they are as a result of the society we live in.

How can the world prosper and be a better, happier place if most people are willing to throw kids like M away?

We can't. I just wish the rest of the world would realize this before its too late, before the schools can't be saved. Every where.

Current Mood: shocked

 Just a quick update-- total of only ten parents (out of thirty in my homeroom, and the hundred or so total students that I teach) showed up for parent conferences Friday.

And the extortion accuser? No show. At all. The principal had already gone over the extra credit issue, explaining the math (thank goodness she used to be a math teacher), and told me a did a good job of writing the matter in a THREE PAGE MEMO for the parent.

And the extortion accuser was a pain in the butt for another teacher about a field trip this week.

Lots of grading today, for tomorrow, and official observation on Friday. I hope it all goes well. The observation is for Civics, the class I hate the most and am least creative. I'm nervous about it. Really nervous.

I need to cut back on the caffeine again.

Current Mood: tired
Current Music: anything loud, rude, and thrash-y

I was at a 70th birthday party last night. It was a 50s theme, and just about all the music and the attendees came from the time period. I actually enjoy the music-- both my senior prom theme and wedding song were 50s music. As the night was winding down, and people began leaving, I sat watching this one couple who were dancing next to their table, completely oblivious to people around them and ignoring the open area for dancing.  Its the same dance I think I've seen every couple in that demographic use for any song that wasn't slow.

I'm not even sure how to describe it accurately. Lots of spinning, coordinated hand holding, some kind of synchronized step pattern-- yeah, I don't dance, as you can tell from my attempt at description here.

I've never really danced, in any form. I think my only public dance performance was in the fourth grade, when I played a dancing flower in Alice In Wonderland. Put a fat girl in a big cardboard flower head and dance leotard, and make her twirl around next to the twig girls. Can you see why maybe I never got up the courage to dance?

Now, if you aren't willing to dance as a teenager, you lose out. That's when everyone learns how to-- dance classes, those silly after Catholic school/CYO things in the gym, just hanging out with friends. Yeah, I didn't do those things, either, so-- no dance skills. Unless you count square dancing in gym class, where no one really wanted to be my partner (the whole isolate the smart fat kid thing,) And although my grandmother wanted me to take ballet lessons, those frequent comments about me essentially being an extraordinarily clumsy bull in a china shop didn't help the self-confidence much, either.

I preferred head banging, a singularly solitary dance-like motion, and moshing, which is more injuring others than dancing and my large size is actually an advantage.

So now, when I am at a function that dancing is a part of, I sit it out. Over the years, I've gotten braver. I did my required dances at my wedding, without too much trauma (but quite a few drinks to loosen up the joints.)  I will dance like a silly, silly woman around my living room with my daughters (as long as the front blinds are closed.) I've ventured a move or two in front of my classes, when they've asked if I will dance at the prom and won't take my I-look-like-I'm-having-a-seizure reason for not dancing. It always gets me a laugh or two. But lately, the talk about dancing and watching people dance has made me want to dance.

Honestly, I never thought it would happen. But watching people who know how to dance and enjoy it is like reading a novel by a really good author, or hearing a very good singer sing. The dance itself does not have to be perfect, by any means. And I don't mean ballet or something. Simple dancing. What makes it good is the enjoyment of the people doing the dancing, which is what I've always lacked. I was always too busy being self-conscious, worrying about how I looked to others instead of concentrating on how it felt to be moving.

I regret that now. At almost thirty-five, I am so much more comfortable with myself, who I am, and not caring a great deal about what others think. My husband and I have created a life together that gives me a place to be myself and have someone who completely supports me, no matter how goofy I may be. We have gathered friends around us over the years that reinforce that. My family's opinion is not as crippling to me if we have a difference, as years of differences and opinions have shown me, repeatedly, that they are not always right. Teaching for eight years and trying to get teenagers to give a rat's ass about anything other than themselves has taught me to laugh at and make fun of myself to get their attention. It has also taught me to be more self-forgiving in order to try and teach them to be less judgmental of themselves and others as well.

But the desire to dance has grown. Music that is good to dance to will make my muscles want to move. And I've grown bolder. Not only did I ask my husband to dance with me several times last night, I even asked two of our male friends. Granted, I stuck to slow numbers and still stumbled and stepped on toes.

But I did it.

Current Mood: contemplative
Current Music: Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers

We got an e-mail at school earlier this week. A '06 graduate-- not one that I personally taught, but one who went to the prom with one of my real pain in the ass students, one that was so smart and shouldn't have been dating that albatross around her neck, one whom I and the English teacher across the hall (who actually did teach her) harassed about her choice in date relentlessly-- died from lupus. She was one with a shot, too.

That's three this year.

Current Mood: shocked

I don't even know what to title this entry. The part of me that uses humor to deal with things callously muttered, "Another one bites the dust." The other part of me wants to cry.

There was a car accident this part weekend-- a drunken hit and run. Six teenager boys were in the car that was hit. The teenager driving died at the hospital. One  was ejected through the windshield and died instantly. Another died the next day. Two were on life support or respirators for days; one was seriously injured but stable and expected to recover. Two-- the driver and one on a respirator- were brothers. I didn't even know it had happened, because I so rarely watch the news on the weekend.

I found out when another teacher at school called to warn me to be ready for all hell to break loose Monday morning. The kid ejected and dead on-site was a sophomore at our school.He had gone through our middle school, been there for five years.

He was seventeen years old.

The loss of any child is terrible. Our school is for at-risk youth, in an urban setting. Our students know about death and drugs and hopelessness and loss. Most have had a friend or family member involved in the criminal justice system, as a defendant or complaintant. Many have had brushes themselves. Many of their family are the soldiers who fighting in a bad war, one that doesn't benefit them, because it pays a decent living and gets them out of here, the place with limited options and a multitude of bad choices waiting to be made. Many of those who have died that they know have been children or teenagers.

But no one from our school, a student their age who was here Friday and gone Monday. Not in years.

I wasn't sure what to expect when I got to school, but I prepared for the worse. To be the typical white woman here, I wasn't sure how the grief would play out. We Irish don't do grief the way the Puerto Ricans do; the wailing and "Dios mio!"s and falling down on the floor. My grandmother used to live across the corner from a funeral home, when the neighborhood was changing over, and I've seen some doozies at a distance. The administration at our school knew what to expect, or seemed to, having dealt with the death of a student some twenty-five times in twenty-eight years. I wasn't sure I could handle a room full of hysterical, emotional students. I am not the touchy-feely type. You want a student yelled at and pulled back into line, I'm your woman. I can make a senior sit down, shut up, an start working with a look alone.

Consoling? Nice? Understanding?

SO. NOT. ME. 

The entire upstairs administrative staff came down to the high school hallways Monday morning, as well as all of our counselors (something like six, I think). The first tears started at 7:20. A student worked was sent out from the day care by the high school principal when she dropped her kids off  (and to the high school office) because the student broke down in front of the little kids.

I had to send out three kids by the end of first period-- or they asked to leave. The sobbing in the hall, as the students left classrooms and headed for a triage room-- discipline, the high school office/conference room, therapist's offices, any empty space grabbed up and stocked with tissues and stages of grief handouts -- was dreadful. One of my students took it upon himself to shut my door as soon someone started down the hall, and reopen it once the crying student had past. I had to put on music to drowned it out, because it was impossible to ignore and harder to teach. I pulled out a week of warm-up worksheets, anything to keep them busy and give them a chance to sit quietly. I did not want to let them talk, because then it was a chain reaction of breakdowns.

Another three students asked to leave the room by third period.

A good third of my students were not in class at all- absent or with the counselor from the previous period. The morning itself was absolutely eerie-- the halls were so subdued, there was no talking on the way to homeroom, in homeroom. Even the ninth grade, usually the loudest group in the hall, wasn't talking, much less joking and laughing. It was like Stepford students without the vapid empty smiles. They all sat like little robots and just did the work they were given. No one volunteered to answer questions or put work on the board; there was no complaining when I reminded them of a test in Latin the next day. I almost don't know what to do with myself.

Administration told us to carry on like any other day, just give them work to keep them busy, and don't discuss the student's death in classes. I guess I do understand that approach-  they have to keep the school functioning and under control, and they don't have time to deal with any more mass hysteria that a teacher not trained to handle this could cause. But the students were in pain, and unhappy, and it was so difficult to watch. I just want to give them a hug, because there is nothing else I can really do for them. They all thought they knew how cruel the world could be, that life sucked in the North Philly hood/barrio already; then they found out that it can actually suck more.

What's worse- this school is safe place for them. We are always here, always running according to expected rules. We make exceptions when necessary, and they know this; we will work with them, because we care for them. When there are problems, people on staff help them to work it out.

We can't do anything to make this work out. Their safe place is now sullied with the outside world they come here to escape.

This was probably the most stressful and draining week I've ever taught. Two thirds of the students were out on Friday, the day of the funeral; not all went, some are riding the coattails, but many did. Monday we are off; Tuesday is very much a catch up day, as it is the last grading day of the quarter. Midterms start Tuesday. The next week, the seniors have the final draft of their written research project, a requirement for graduation, due. As stressful as it is for me right now (and I write this with my house a disaster and people coming over for a two-year old's birthday party in four hours. Oh, and the cake's not finished yet.) these kid are close to breaking. I'm actually afraid for a few of them; they were teetering so close to the edge already. I lost another one to dropping out this week, too.

It's just a bleak time right now.

Current Mood: sad
Current Music: Another One Bites the Dust by Queen

Well, I have to preface anything I say here with the fact that I am averaging less than 5 hours of sleep a night right now. I was up until 1:30 AM last night working on grades; about the same time on Sunday night. It's the middle of the first report card crunch, where reality is hitting both me and some of my students very hard and very quick. Suddenly, all those stacks to grade HAVE to be done, yesterday. As fr the students, I have amended my teaching approach over the years. I used to be hard nosed and tough and unbending. If a kid didn't do his/her work, they failed. No last minute Hail Mary extra credit saves.

Then, I went to work at a school where most students really weren't capable of doing the work I required, and I had to adapt, had to learn how to teach those students that many would call unteachable, the future McDonald's workers of America. I hate to admit, I used to believe that, too, in my first year of frustration in a new school, with a new subject, after feeling four years at School A made me a battle-forged vet of semi-public education. My students are not unteachable. I have finally learned the meaning of multiple intelligences; truly understood the need to use what they know to explain what they don't; to value the person and heart that fills my classroom seat as well as the body.

Some days that's harder to remember than others. Some days, I get a big honking reminder of why I love teaching and the school I'm at.

Yesterday was a BAD day. Kids were restless, noisy. New students in my room, in the most crowded class I teach, where freshman and seniors are mixed together. First period got the "knock it the hell off and cut me a break speech." Second period got threats of detention and "what the fuck is wrong with you today?"  {I do not curse like that, really- its just paraphrasing, and trying to get you to understand the desperation of my mood.} Third got actual detentions, and decided to shut up- they aren't stupid. Fourth, though- the new student/crowded/mixed class? One of my admirers (he of the shoes comments and after school visits still sweaty from sports- ew) decided to talk. A lot. After the class had been told to quiet down three times. He got five minutes detention; continued to talk. Then he was doubled and given ten; he decided to talk back to me about the unfairness of it all. That meant that he got fifteen; to which he said it might as well be twenty, because he was not coming to any detention.

That was the point that I told him to get out and go to discipline.

Can I just tell you that I NEVER throw people out of my classroom. Ever. It was three people through all of last year- the same one twice. You pretty much have to refuse to do anything or threaten my children for me to kick you out. There's no point. The trouble maker just has to come and see me after school anyway, and throwing someone out just gets them a conduct failure for the quarter. Plus, it's much more fun to torture students IN my room.

At any rate, fifth period is supposed to be a quiet reading period. I don't have the energy to fight students on what I feel is a stupid waste of time- and I feel that time is better spent as a study hall. The problem is that my class was taking advantage of my buck-the-system attitude and getting too rambunctious. My room shares a wall with the principal's office- so noise is an issue. If we get too loud, I get a visit (not often, and we have to be pretty loud.) Well, they couldn't be quiet. For weeks. So I told them we were actually going to follow school policy and silently read for a half-hour a day.

Oh, yeah. Expected joyous response.

So, by sixth period, I was ready to rumble. They surprised me and were well behaved- or were well forewarned, and chose wisely. They did what I asked, when I asked- and asked intelligent questions. We had a really wonderful discussion about racial epithets, racism, white flight, values, etc. I am white- Irish and German- teaching about Asian Cultures to mostly Hispanics (of various origins, but majority  Puerto Rican) and African-Americans in an urban area. Race is part and parcel of what I do and what they need to learn. Often, they throw in quick one-liners and casual slurs and don't think about them. Every year, its a constant fight as to why they aren't allowed to used the Spanish word for Asian- Chino- in my room. (Sounds too close to chink, which they don't even realize is a slur.) But this year, a girl asked why a co-worker got offended when she called him Chinese, to which he let her know that he is Cambodian. When I explained, a light bulb went off and she ACTUALLY GOT IT. The whole class got it, after talking about the difference between nigga and nigger, and why some people can and some can't use it.

It was great. Really great. I've had this discussion many years. I've never openly used the slurs as part of my speech,  but the students openly did, so I did back. They acknowledged the words were volatile but wanted to know the serious history of them and what some of the words mean. (The students also wanted to know what other than cracker or honkey was an insult for whites, and where 'spic' came from.) This moment- the real reason for teaching- is so rare.

It ended up such a good day.

Current Mood: excited

Okay- two posts in two days? Don't fall over in shock.

The Elder Flower is being difficult again. Double sigh.Temper tantrums, trips to the Director's office, biting herself when she didn't get her way hard enough to bruise. I'm too tired and upset by it even talk at length about it. I'm unsure how to deal with her, and so exhausted by it that I know something has to change. Any advice for dealing with a willful, smart, sneaky, immature 4 1/2 year old? Feel free to send it to me.

I have tried to bring my family and the Hubby's into the modern age, and created Yahoo groups for each family. My father's side got off to a rip-roaring start and died down; my mother's side and the Hubby's side are doing nothing. Makes me feel a little silly, and annoyed. Oh, well. I keep posting in the hopes others will. One thing I did choose to share was the picture I took of the Elder and Younger Flowers trying on their Halloween costumes- take a look. I was so damn thankful that this year was NOT another Disney year. And I am going along with the super hero theme, having been assembling my own realistic, plus size Wonder Woman costume for almost three years now (one year of pregnancy and one year of Elder Flower's picking out a family theme interrupted my planning and actual execution. I've had the boots sitting in my closet for years.) I have a red corset, blue dance skirt, clearance ugly boots to sprat paint, a cape (thanks to a friend), a head band, real cuffs (from Ebay), a belt (Target clearance, $3, needs to be spray painted), and a golden lasso (trim from the material store.) I also bought silver and gold material to craft my skirt stars and my chest piece eagle. Well, to attempt to- I'm not sure my sub-par sewing skills will actually be able to accomplish this, but we'll see. A friend of mine is having a Halloween party the weekend before, too, so I will get a bit of use out of the costume. When it's finished, I'll post pictures.

While I was shopping for the metallic material, I found out that the material store in my neighborhood, a Joann Fabrics that has been there for as long as I can remember, is closing. So are all the stores around it to make way for re-development (rumor is its another frigging Wal-mart, that anti-Christ corporation I absolutely hate.) This is bad news for me, but worse was that the Orleans 8 Movie Theater was closing. Not that I go there anymore- if you are from Northeast Philly, I bet you don't go there anymore either, it is not well maintained and the clientele leave a lot to be desired. My last visit there was all of five minutes before I demanded my money back and left, my feet sticking to the dirty floor the whole way out. But this was the theater that we used to go to all the time when I was allowed to go to the movies by myself. This is the movie theater that Star worked in throughout high-school and even into college. Where she met both her first and second fiances (one of whom became her ex-husband.)

This is one of those memories that just sticks with me. I spent a great deal of time at the Orleans, especially after closing waiting for Star or going to employee-only showings. The movie I most remember? Mostly because it was so insane, with morning showings (only for blockbusters- usually they didn't start until after 12) and lines out the wazoo, and Star bitching about the craziness and extra long and extra shifts that it necessitated.

Batman. The original start to the franchise, with Keaton.

I also saw Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles there with the Hubby (still only the Boyfriend) and Big. Big was with Star and the Hubby, before he was even the boyfriend. He managed to spill an entire soda, ice and all, on his crotch. It was hysterical. We teased him mercilessly about it for YEARS. I also remember after some movie there- a 7 o'clock show, but I can't remember the movie- in the pouring, freezing rain, having to walk most of the way home (quite a distance, even for a younger, more in shape me) with Gina Wink and Star, stopping at every pay phone (no cell phones back then) and trying to find someone who could give us a ride. The bus finally came, after I was almost all the way home. (Star and Gina had farther to go than me.)

And the death of the Orleans marks the death of all the NE Philly theaters that I used to go to as a kid. There was one on Castor Avenue, a single screen, that sometime after Good Morning, Vietnam turned into a fur sales room, and then a Sari Palace. (Now it's a furniture store, I think.) I can't remember the name. Also, there was the GCC Northeast, at Welsh and the Blvd., which has been gone for some years, although the building is still there. And there's the one I never actually went to, although we made plans several times that fell through, the discount Devon Theater )near Frankford and Levick) that has been re-done for the local civic association as a place to hold events, although other than the opening, I don't think I've seen a single event advertised.

All this had combined to make me feel nostalgic and very, very old. I didn't need this the same week that I came to the conclusion in both Asian Cultures and Civics that I was teaching about events (the end of the Cold War, the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the passage of the Americans With Disabilities Act) that had happened before most of my students had been born.

I now know how my history teachers felt when I didn't think what we were learning was relevant because it happened so long ago.

I'm sorry, gentleman. I owe you one.

Karma- however delayed- sucks.

Current Mood: nostalgic

I have to say that my writing ambitions have been buried, as I fully expected, by the crushing waves of going back to work. It seems that I NEVER manage to grade everything I have to, update my teacher web page, or plan more than a day in advance- not matter how much or how little I have planned for the weekend. I understand this is a fact of life for us working moms- especially in fields like teaching, which never pays truly equal to the required amount of work- but it isn't resting easy with me. The magic of the summer, the hyper active muse who blew through my door- gone, baby, gone, the love is gone. 

Sigh.

There are a ton of things I wanted to blog about, had a momentary thought to start plotting out the entry, then one thing or another- stinky diaper, screaming child, progress reports, sheer exhaustion- just interrupts and I never get around to it. So, I will try and remember all the blogs that have gotten lost in the fog of my mind, and start putting down at least a paragraph a day, making the time to do so.

This is one that I really had trouble figuring out what I thought about it, much less write about it and not be melodramatic. So forgive me if it is a bit heavy-handed, but I need to start with this one.

A few weeks ago, I had the very unpleasant experience of learning that a student I taught has died. The chain of events that even led me to  knowing this is remarkable. I have taught at two charter schools in Northeast Philly that are less than five minutes apart, but are worlds apart in population, age of school, teaching approach, discipline, etc. I have had a couple of students that I taught at both schools, or remembered me from The First School (I Have Ever Taught At) when they had me at The Second School (I Have Ever Taught At.) Part of my beginning of the year spiel is a bit about me, why I teach where I teach, my experience- so it becomes generally known where I used to teach. One of my students this year, remembering where else I worked, was looking pretty long-faced in the hall one morning, and I harassed him as I always harass all my students. David said he'd had a bad weekend (it was a Monday), I said it couldn't be that bad, and he asked me if I knew So-and-So from The First School (no last name, but the description of the kid is very distinctive; there was no doubt who he was referring to, given his unusual last name and size of the kid, who was hugely tall.) When I said I did, there was no preamble, just a "He dropped dead last night playing basketball. It was his heart."            

I had remembered this student because, although I hadn't taught him for much more than a quarter before he was transfered into another class, he was distinctive and still talked to me/said hello in the halls long after I was his teacher. And he had a horrible Polish last name that, sad to say, I could not learn to correctly pronounce. I also saw an article about him in the neighborhood paper right after I left The First School, when he was arrested for a stupid teenage prank that could have been very dangerous (but luckily was not.) I spent two periods at school trying to search the web for that stupid article, so I could find that last name and check with the student at The Second School and make sure that it really was the same kid.

It was.

Josh was not a great student. He could be big and goofy and annoying as hell. But he wasn't mean, he wasn't nasty. Josh did what I asked him to do, although it might take a few promptings- which my six years of additional experience now tell me was him having trouble due to his learning disabilities and I just didn't pick up on it. Josh was full of life, whenever I saw him- big booming voice, lots of laughing and joking. And now, Josh was dead.

It suddenly didn't matter that I hadn't seen Josh in five years. It didn't even matter that I hadn't particularly connected with him as a student. What mattered is that I had been allowed to share the start of Josh's life as his teacher in high school, had high hopes that he would be one of the ones that made a decent life for himself, and that he would overcome the difficulties that had been his lot in life. And now, that life had tragically been cut short, and I mourned it.

I teach a high risk population- students who have failed multiple years, are gang members or on parole/probation, have kids of their own, don't speak English as their native language, etc.- in a city (Philadelphia) with a very high homicide rate. I have taught for eight years, 7 1/2 full time. Five classes per year- an average of 30 students per class; that means I have taught around 1100 students in that time. One death, well, that's decent odds, right? My principal has taught for ten years and been a principal for four; she lost two students while she taught them, and one after she had taught him. I asked her, in my bad mental place, because I was so thrown and off that entire day that I needed something to compare to.

I considered finding out when and where the funeral was, going or sending flowers, but in the end, chose not to. I wasn't sure what to say to the family- to explain who I was or why I was there- and took the coward's route. Except that I have kept a very close eye on the boy who told me about Josh's death, and make sure to ask him how he is frequently. He plays basketball for our intramural club, and will probably go out for the team, whenever the season starts. I wonder if he thinks about Josh, about how Josh died, every time he picks up a ball to play. I don't ask him about Josh, though. If he wants to share, I'm here and I make sure he knows that.

The best way I can think of to remember Josh is to keep doing my job, and trying to do it well. I often feel badly about students from my early years, when I was still trying very hard to figure out what the hell I was doing and how to pass on this knowledge in an interesting way and discipline students, and manage my time and marking and web pages-- things I can do now without much thought, after years of perfecting the way I do things to make it easy and manageable, but back then I was dreadful at. If I had been a better teacher, maybe Josh would not have had to be moved out of my class. He did well where he went, and it was a good move, but still. How many have Joshes have I missed that I could have helped better?

So, a final thought, cast to the heavens. Josh, you are thought of and missed. I hope death was not painful, that you didn't have too many regrets in that moment.  You allowed me a stronger connection to a current student, as well as helped me be a better teacher for students like yourself. Brief as it was, something good came of your life. Not every one, even old, old people, can say that with certainty.

But I can say it for you.

Current Mood: melancholy

Apologies- this has been sitting in the "For My Eyes Only" setting for weeks, and I simply forgot to make it public to post it. Life is hectic- students are in- time is precious. Hopefully, I will steal a bit of time here and there to update, but gone is the age of three-times-a-week updates.


Ah, summer. One of the advantages to being a teacher *** is having a few weeks where the real world largely does not dictate what you do, and when you do it. Multiple that by the unreality of entertaining preschoolers and toddlers for weeks on end and playing for hours on the Internet and afternoon naps and you can understand where my mind currently is.

That time of rest officially ended last week when I went back to school for teacher orientation.

Things still feel a little unreal, though. Orientation was amazingly painless (I don't sit well for hours while people talk at me, and the school is particularly frigid in the late summer, requiring sweaters as thick as parkas.) I spoke in front of over one hundred faculty memebers without turning bright red, stuttering, or having a panic attack. I met some new people I think I will get along with, and I reconnected with old friends (already scheming together- we covered newly married colleagues' doors with wedding decorations and wrapped the door closed with crepe paper.)

I had been going in for the week before, nominally to work on my room (as a pack rat, it is annoying to have to pack everything up once a year for the floors to be waxed- it takes two days to pack and a week to undo the damage) but really to enjoy the silence of being absolutely by myself while the little critters were in daycare. It's a Zen sort of moment.

I teach three subjects this year, by choice- Latin, Asian Cultures, and Civics. So I needed to re-arrange the room a bit to accommodate a new set of textbooks and another subject bulletin board. A new subject meant that I could justify buying stuff for my room! After seven years of teaching, coming from a pack rat family, and emptying out a few inherited houses, I have quite the collection of stuff in my room, even after switching subjects and schools and jettisoning butt-loads of crap. (For example, at my last school, I had a collection of board games- at least twenty- in my room that I had to give away when I left because I just didn't have room for them at home.) I am the only teacher in my school, for instance, that has a large metal storage cabinet (the school's) and three metal filing cabinets (my own) in their room. AND HAS THEM FILLED.

So, I needed another small book shelf, some stylish decorations (I tend to buy dollar store), new art supplies (amazing how hard kids are on markers and glue sticks in two years...), etc. This is the truly fun part of school. I love setting my room up, coming up with new ways of arranging and projects and lessons, before the actual students wreck everything and aggravate me. This is the time of year when you are still idealistic and not tired, and probably the most creative. When you are compiling resources and ideas and have time to truly think. And when I can justify hours on the Internet!

Although this blog is primarily for fan-fiction, I have thrown a little bit of everything in here over this fun summer, and my time for the next few weeks really will have to be school-focused, until the kids come in and I beat them down in to the proper way of doing things (mine.) So- teachers out there- I am going to share my teaching stuff here, and I hope somebody can find something useful in here.

WEB SITES

Current Mood: rejuvenated

I should know better than to do something completely for myself on the spur of the moment, without checking with the hubby. I was out at the doctor's. I didn't have the kids. It was fairly early. I needed to buy some articles of clothing- actually really did, not just wanted to look.  Sears was across the street. Look slyly one way, then the other. Coast is clear- shoot across the street and into the lot. Amazing that I could do that across four lanes of traffic on a very busy street. That alone should have made me suspicious. More suspicious should have been the one entrance shut down by ambulances, fire engines, and cop cars next to the big "We sell fireworks" sign and obvious smell of burning. But- no smoke, and the door's still open. There's even a cripple spot (I have cripple tags- its completely legal and appropriate for me to park there, if not for me to refer to them as "cripple spots") outside the door. Decision is made. Although Sears didn't have what I needed, I heard the clearance rack calling my name.

I refuse to buy anything at full price- and most things not even at sale price. I'm thrifty (okay, cheap.) I'm also hard on clothes, and it seems a waste to me to spend much money on something I'll probably stain the first time I wear it. So I shop clearance whenever I am wherever I go, picking up things I like very cheaply (I won't pay over $10 for anything), but might not need right then.  I found these two really cool (to me) Japanese style kimono blouses for six bucks each. One was purple and brown, the colors I love to wear, the other classic black and red. No, I don't need them. I just wanted them. I teach Asian Cultures and they'll be neat to in class wear. Insert your own self-justification for completely unnecessary purchases here. So I go to pay for them.

The line is long. It's not moving. My usual reaction to long lines is kind of embarrassing; I am the annoying one who keeps asking if there's anyone else who can open up, along with the repetitive angry noises. Now that I've been medicated with mood drugs for my Fibro, I can say I am way more laid back. I just stood in line, playing with my tongue piercing (a nervous/bored habit), and caught part of the conversation behind me. A pre-teen discussing streaking her hair blue with her mother. I am assuming, since the last part of the conversation I overheard was about  bathing suits, that my hair sparked the topic. I decide to share, in  wise older adult fashion, my  latest  horrible hair experience***. Needless to say, I point out that pink might not be a great idea, that it hardly ever turns out the way you think it will from the box (point to own hair emphatically) and maybe start with something non-permanent first.

I give my whole Kool-Aid-- as-- hair--dye speech. Eyeing my hair, the mother seems interested in this cheap temporary dye. Then it's my turn in line, after the cashier has heard the entire conversation. The girl takes my shirts, and I see her name tag pouch. God forbid any kid should ever actually put their name tag where you would expect it; instead, there's a prom picture there. With a background that is very familiar. And I had a horrible moment of realization. Holy frak, that's my school's prom. This year's prom.

She's a student.

Now, I often run into students that I teach/have taught. I live in a neighborhood where many of them live; one lived two doors down from me, two more across the street. Many, many times I would see them at the local malls. The most embarrassing time was when I got my nose pierced (the first time.) While I was waiting, in walks a student from my first year that I actually talked to throughout his four years. Musical Theater boy had driven me crazy as a student, but was always very nice. (Coincidentally, my cousin had taught him in elementary school, as well.) i went to a bunch of his plays to show him my support- even after I no longer taught him. He was there to get his nipples pierced, which he proudly showed me afterward (TMI/more than I ever need to see of any student, EVER.) So there have been worse cases of seeing students out of school. But-

Crap. I have a huge ring in my nose piercing, my hair is lavender, platinum, and pink, and I've just spent five minutes flashing my new purple (to match my hair) tongue barbell to the entire store while lecturing on the qualities and uses of various unnaturally colored hair dyes. See, I am the sole senior Social Studies teacher, so unless you are in special ed or learning support, I will teach you as a senior. Since I teach HR and in two departments, any particular senior may have me up to three times a day. What are the odds she's a senior?

Of course she recognizes me from the school. The moment comes, I see it- "Do you teach at...." and I have a moment to decide- lie, or just deal with it. My usual response comes out- Yes- because it is so much easier to just tell the truth and deal with it. The usual exchange- what grade? Of course she's going to be a senior this fall. Who did you have for homeroom this year? Of course it's a class- the ONE CLASS THE WHOLE DAMN YEAR that I had to cover- I had covered. Of course, its the homeroom that will likely be mine in the fall.

A student had now seen me with purple hair all decked out in piercings and tattoos. Well, there went some credibility.

God really enjoys my life, apparently, and making it difficult.

Teachers have to maintain a certain aura in order to keep control of classrooms. You must be tough- fair- professional. Otherwise students don't see you as an authority figure and run all over you like a door mat.

 I'm fairly certain that purple hair is going to interfere with my image.


*** In an effort to tone down the fuschia and brighten the failed Kool-Aid wash, I dyed my hair again. I chose a purple that ended up more lavender; the pink is still pink, but not nearly as bright. And platinum (part of the peroxide lightening that is in the dye) is everywhere. And there are roots, because you can't put that kind of dye directly on your scalp or you'll burn it. This summer seems destined for hair disaster, and my  father hasn't even seen it yet.

I apologize to those of you who have no interest in the topic of teaching- I promise to post some more fan-fic soon. For now:

TOPIC ONE
After reading that blog that I ranted about earlier today- I went back into my files to find something I wrote in reply to a series of posts on a Yahoo Group a couple years ago. A parent was complaining that her daughter had been corrected for reading a book during English class because she had not brought her assigned materials, and assigned detention. The parent could not believe that 1) a teacher would correct a student for reading (even though it was not the assigned work and the girl was ignoring what was going on in class), 2) the teacher would not allow the student to go to her locker to get her assigned materials, and 3) the girl was assigned detention for this behavior. The parent told her daughter to ignore the teacher's detention and went right to the principal instead of the teacher. This was also part of an ongoing "issue" with the teacher and the student's IEP.

This is a prime example of what teachers deal with everyday, in both suburban and urban districts. (Every where has its problems. I've only experienced urban, though, so that's all I can speak about.) And this was my response (sorry for the odd spacing; it was saved from the Group):


> I just finished reading some other replies to the original post,
and
> I have to vent from the teacher's perspective. Be offended if you
> want, but at least calmly think about what I'm stating. No one side
> is 100% right- but teachers always seemed to be blamed, and its
just
> ridiculous. Its a symptom of a greater problem in society, but its
> the one I deal with every day. I'm not saying that every teacher is
> great or can follow an IEP, BUT-
>
> 1) Your child is not automatically exempt from general rules of the
> class just because he/she has an IEP. Rules can be bent, ammended,
> accommodated- but not forgotten. Your child must still follow them.
>
> 2) Never assume your child actually told you everything or told it
> accurately. You need to check with the teacher.
>
> 3) Teachers ARE allowed to have bad days. We are human. It is
> important that children learn that, as well as learn from us how to
> handle the world when you have a bad day- even if its how NOT to
> act. School is social learning, not just subject, and no one is
> perfect. What is important is learning from everything you
> experience, not just the "good stuff." No one- NO ONE- is perfect.
>
> 4) The teacher was perfectly right in telling the student never to
> read a book in class again. You got the student's version of that,
> not the teacher's. See #2 as to the phrasing of the teacher's
> statement. Having corrected many students for doing just that- the
> first correction was always prefaced with "It's great that you want
> to read, but right now is simply not acceptable," although the
> student usually ignored that part, and I will not keep repeating it
> by the third time I have to say it.
>
> 5) Students, especially high school students, need to learn
> responsibility. That means bringing supplies to class, among other
> things. Letting a student leave the room to retrieve a forgotten
> item teaches them absolutely nothing and is highly disruptive, both
> to that particular class and to the rules in general.
>
> 6A) Parents who insist their rules always win out over school
rules,
> home school your kid(s). We handle hundreds of children everyday,
in
> every circumstance, and the rules- whatever the rules are- are
there
> for a reason. We are highly educated and experienced. What parent
> has handled thousands of kids? How dare you presume to tell us how
> to run a school or a classroom, unless you yourself are an
> administrator or teacher in a similar situation.
>
> 6B) It doesn't matter if you agree with the rules or not, it is
> still necessary for you to support them in words and actions.
> Because if you don't, you are setting the example that it is okay
to
> ignore rules. Explain to kids that they can disagree with the
rules,
> but the rules still have to be followed, and that there is are
> appropriate and inappropriate ways to address those issues. The
only
> acceptable reason to outright ignore a rule or openly challenge it
> is because you have a deeply held, ethical difference of opinion.
No
> such ethical difference applies in 99.9% of school rule situations.
>
> 7) Always talk to the teacher first, no matter how wrong you think
> they are, and do it with an open mind. See #2 and #6A. Think about
> yourself. How would you feel if someone had an easily resolvable
> issue with how you do your job, but he/she goes right to the head
of
> the company instead? You would resent it. Especially because it
> doesn't matter if you were wrong- your name has already been
> wrongfully tarnished.
>
> 8) By arguing with the teacher- over the need for a detention, how
> many detentions, if the detentions can be reduced- all you are
> teaching your child is to complain and whine in the hopes that
> he/she will get what he/she wants. It does not address the child's
> role in this mess, or what the child did or didn't do wrong. This
> child learns no personal responsibility. If he/she doesn't learn it
> now, he/she will never learn it.
>
> 9) No one who is mean, petty, or a generally bad person chooses to
> become a teacher, no matter what you think. Teachers are caring
> individuals who give up a great deal to help make our world better.
> We choose to take less money and work more hours in the hopes that
> what we do will make a difference sometime in the future. None of
us
> realistically expects to be thanked, but it sure would be nice if
> you all (meaning the world in general, not the members of this
> group) would make it a little easier for us and act like parents,
> not another set of students to deal with. Our job is difficult
> enough.
>
> Sorry if this offended you, but I feel that the teacher's
> perspective is just too often overlooked and that the focus on
> education (its purpose as well as manner) gets lost in the emotions.
>
> PTB


TOPIC TWO
Some articles I found interesting that I read on-line today...
Safety officers denied on-duty death benefits
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17704748/
Everyone who knows, has benefited from the efforts of, or appreciated the efforts expended on the anonymous public’s behalf by those brave enough to take on these jobs should write to your senators and congressmen/women to protest this terrible tragedy.

9 firefighters killed in S.C. furniture store blaze
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/19301684/?GT1=10056
My heart goes out to the families of these brave men. They died saving others. It does not make it easier, I know, but we appreciate their bravery and sacrifice all the same.

Cloak of invisibility: Fact or fiction?
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15329396/
This is old, but I don’t remember it getting much press. Us sci-fi nuts were excited, though. Hopefully, the next thing after this is transporter technology.

I just read the most insulting blog. I stumbled upon it by chance- I was researching teacher salaries, and this came up as part of my search. http://www.coyoteblog.com/coyote_blog/2005/05/the_teacher_sal.html

Essentially, it claims that teachers are not as qualified as private sector professionals and yet are paid more for less work. This is an old argument that really cheeses me off. I've sat and figured out how many hours I work versus what I get paid, and it is no where near the total this guy came up with it. And what annoyed me even more is that the comments were closed, so I couldn't vent.

That's part of the beauty of your own LJ. I can do it here.

First- yes, many teachers are stupid. I've had many unqualified teachers in my life (as a gifted and talented student with an IQ of 139, it seemed to my obnoxious self at points that they were almost all dumber than me). I've met many more in the course of my college education (summa cum laude BA and 4.0 MA) and seven years of teaching experience (two different charter schools in an urban area.) But I've also worked in non-teaching fields for twelve years- since I was 16, from crappy retail and food service to office and cancer research data processing, as well as doctor offices- and met an equally number of dumb and/or difficult people with various educational degrees and levels of job responsibility. Teaching is a job, and any job will have idiots. That's the nature of the world. There are many gifted and talented and SMART teachers out there, too.

Second- yes, for the most part teachers are paid a decent annual salary. In the Philadelphia area, teachers with my level of education and experience will make $40,00 to $50,000, depending on the district or charter. (We won't discuss private schools, which are hit or miss as to salary and teacher quality because they are not required to use state-certified- read quality controlled- teachers.) I have a dual bachelor's in English and History, with Creative Writing and Classics minors. I have a master's in Secondary Education for English and Social Studies. I have taught long enough and well enough that I have Level II certification from the state of PA. I still have to take two graduate classes (six credits) or 180 approved credit hours every five years to maintain that certification, all from my own pocket. I also have to buy supplies and professional items and memberships to professional organizations every year, which average around $600, when all is said in done (some years more, some years less.)

As for the hours of the job itself...  I am in the school building from 7AM until 5PM, with one 50 minutes block of time off.  I do not get a lunch to myself, or coffee breaks. If I have to pee, I have to get someone to cover my class, or make it there and back in two minutes between classes. If I don't feel well, I don't get to sit and ignore my 35 students; I still have to interact with and entertain them. I get sick days, yes- but I have to leave work for the students to do and GRADE IT when I get back, so that it is important and counts. Sometime between 3 and 4 PM, I have parent phone calls (to make and return), lesson plans, photocopies, and meetings to make- every day. If I have special education students, I have to do separate lesson plans and tests for them, as well as special, additional report cards (mandated by the state.)

I teach three different subjects, all of which need materials, lesson plans, projects, tests, etc. made up for them. (my assignments have varied from two to four subjects in different years.) Don't forget grading!!!! I need to research and plan each one EVERY YEAR. Even if I am teaching the same subject again (and I have taught ten different classes over time), I do not use the same lesson plan over and over- each time it is evaluated and tweaked. I have to maintain a web page with daily summaries of the work done and what's coming up. I also do after school activities and tutoring two times a week. That means that most planning is done at home- and everyone who had read this blog knows how little a mother of two under 4 gets done at home unless the kids are asleep. Most nights, I work an additional two hours, minimum. That means that I actively work 12 hours a day when school is in session. Over ten months, that's 4 hours most than most people per day, 4 weeks a month- that's 800 hours, or 100 days, of work. That's MORE than what I get in days off and summer vacation. So those eight weeks I get off in the summer? That's comp time for hours already worked.

Add into this the fact that teachers don't get to have a bad day. Snap unnecessarily at a student, and you get a phone call. You must be pleasant and understanding ALL THE TIME, or you make your life much more difficult with the students. You have to be a cheerleader- encouraging them even as you are yelling at them, making sure they understand that you KNOW they can do the work if they would just put their mind to it, yes you UNDERSTAND that they have to work (in my urban area, it is a reality), and yes, life can be difficult but they can triumph over the crappy hand inner city, mostly non-native English speaking minorities get dealt.... It is emotionally uplifting and draining at the same time. Not to mention the germ factor in meeting/greeting 150 children a day.

So anyone who thinks that teachers are overpaid should get off their asses and work in an urban district for a year, then get back to me. There is a reason that 50% percent of teachers change careers after five years in this field.

And yet- there is no other job I want, no other students I would want to teach. My students, even the pain in the ass ones, are wonderful. If they are there, in the seats, they know they need to be there to go anywhere in this world. They might fight me tooth and nail to actually learn the material- they might have problems outside of school to distract them- they might have some very real skill deficits and no way to bridge the gap on their own, but they have met me half-way. That's better than some adults I've worked with in my many careers.

Current Mood: frustrated

As a teacher, this is a great time of year. School is over!!! All the problem children who have pushed every button and tap-danced across my last nerve are gone, now. I teach seniors, and all but one has graduated. That one will attend summer school, and I will not be teaching it (my saying is, when asked if I am teaching summer school, that I put them there, I don't teach them there.) So this is a time for self-evaluation. Problem is, I am so tired and I have been doing this for so long (next fall will be my eighth year) that I am worried that I am stagnating. I think I am doing a good job. After all, the students generally don't fall asleep in class, and none of them outright say that there is no point to what I am teaching (any more.) I only failed 1 out of 125 students, which is much better than the 25-30% I used to fail. Only one student failed my mid-term or finals. Most students turned in their projects. Most students do their homework.

Is the fact that this year went so well because of my experience and ability to adapt work for my classes and students, or did I just have a particularly good group of students? I guess I will have to wait until this time next year to answer that, but I am nervous for the fall. I am teaching three subjects, one of them new, and- thanks to motherhood- have essentially no time to do work at home. Plus my health issues, which can complicate things at any time.

Well, I just need to ignore all that until August, because I am now home with my two difficult yet wonderful daughters, and my niece (who's a year older than my oldest) for the duration of the summer, save two weeks of vacation. I am planning on running my house like the pre-school my kids attend, because the eldest 1) loves it there, 2) likes to play Pre-school at Home, and 3) needs to be kept constantly busy to keep me sane. This is the first summer I will be home with them; normally I still have so much going on that they stay in day care year round. But trying to save money for private school tuition in a year is good motivation to try something new. Tomorrow, the eldest is helping me set up Pre-School at Home, and my niece won't be joining us until next week. I guess I can ease into it. Problem is, I teach high-school for a reason. Most parents are terrified of the teen-age years; I feel more comfortable dealing with teenagers than snotty-nosed, temper-tantruming, need-to-wipe-their-butts 0 through 5 year olds.

On the bright side, the eldest new hobby is board games like Candy Land and Hi-Ho Cherrio, so I may not have to dress up like a princess and dance and sing silly songs to keep her happy. The youngest is growing like a weed, and is much more of a terror than the eldest was at her age. Well, terror in a different way. The eldest was a drama queen, throwing  extended attention-grabbing temper tantrums every where and anywhere, the more public and embarrassing the better. This one is quiet, and intent, and mechanically inclined. Less than two, and she can turn the TV off and on and the volume up or down, on demand. At my aunt's house yesterday, she decided that the police scanner in the living room (off, now that my EMT cousin no longer EMTs or lives at home) was more fun than the toys. Anything that has buttons (like the blender in our kitchen) must be pushed. She even defeated child-proof cabinet locks!!!

All in all, the summer should be an experience. Hopefully, I will have time to write. Original fiction and finish up some fan-fic. I hope. I pray.

I'll try.

Current Mood: restless