The Human Car Wreck

Given the level of difficulty this year has presented, as previously mentioned, it has dawned on me that the only way that I will get through it with my sanity intact is tons of good humor.  Thankfully, I have a few characters who have afforded me the opportunity to go duck into a corner to laugh hysterically, then run to my computer to e-mail my co-workers the stories. Here's one such example.

As far as the typical middle school social life goes, Ali's existence could be likened to a car repeatedly careening full speed into a brick wall and bursting into a ball of flames.  His undiagnosed, but very apparent Autism, has removed all filters, all common sense, and all good judgment from him while leaving--fortunately, or unfortunately--the complete ability to speak, learn, and function in the same educational environment as his peers. In the good moments, it can lend to some very fascinating, fun, and rewarding work from the teacher's standpoint. Because he is so black and white, and has a very high moral code, Ali can make things ridiculously and refreshingly easy on everyone. 

For example, he approached me a couple weeks ago about the difficulty he was having with one of his teachers in a class, and I told him in so many words to "suck it up". He listened to me in quiet contemplation, the typical look dawning over his face that told me the wheels were turning full speed up there.  Minutes after our conversation, Ali approached this particular difficult teacher in the hall. "Ms. A," he declared. "Though your class is my hardest, I have decided that I am going to cooperate with you this year." 

Then, there are those Kamikaze-esque, car exploding into the wall moments that leave us all with our heads in our hands.  Ali has no greater desire than to be accepted and liked by his peers, and his new appreciation of the finer sex is very apparent, but he has zero and I mean ZERO idea how to go about making positive connections with other 6th graders.  At best, an exchange with another peer may sound like this. 

Ali: "What is up, my homie?"

Peer: "Ali, I told you not to call me homie, and stop touching me!" 

At worst, he is recklessly tossing around extremely inappropriate phrases or threats at girls which seem to be derived from a combination of rap song lyrics, and quips from R-Rated movies, that I have very seriously told him, WILL end him up in trouble with the police if he keeps it up. Even then, the long, tearful, and absurd processing he goes through to confront the situation in the principal's office often causes all of the staff involved to stifle a laugh. To himself, in a quiet mutter: "No, Ali. Stop it, Ali. Don't go down this road again, Ali. You're going to get yourself in even bigger trouble."

Thankfully, the car crashes have lessened some in recent weeks, giving the hopes that I'm doing some real, tangible good this year in helping Ali survive middle school. But, at my wit's end with everybody and everything on the last day before Christmas Break, Ali had to remind me that there's still a lot of work ahead. 

It was the end of the period in the Science class which I push in to with some of my students.  I was standing at the door chatting with two of the prettier girls in the class with which Ali had already gotten into scads of trouble attempting to woo. 

As we three girls chatted, Ali approached slowly, the starry-eyed grin on his face that told me we were all in trouble.  "Callie," he said to one of the two 6th graders. "I am going to miss you so, so much."  Callie just graciously smiled at him, but having the opportunity to modify this interaction in the moment, I objected.

"Ali, you're going to see her in two weeks.  You only see her once a day as it is." 

But, no, he was going to miss her terribly and didn't know what he was going to do with himself.  A couple minutes later, a bigger group of boys and girls had congregated as the bell was just about to ring. 

"You know," Ali started up again, directing himself to the original two pretty girls.  Uh-oh. "There's a new term that's being used these days: ladies man. That's what I am--a ladies man." 

KABOOM! Up billowed the flames from the wreckage.  The girls giggled wildly.  Several kids looked at him in shock. One boy mumbled, "I'm actually embarrassed right now."  I simply shook my head slowly and didn't hide my disdain from the rest of the students. 

Just before the bell ring, Ali had just a little more fuel to add to the inferno. It seems, as usual he had taken all the shock and awe from his peers as the positive attention he was looking for.

"I'm sure making a lot of friends this year."

Shame on me for my total lack of professionalism, I just couldn't take it any more. 

"You know, Ali. With that previous comment, I think you might have just lost a few." 

Reframing

I've been spoiled rotten.

What I initially thought was going to be a doozy of a year in 2012-2013 turned out to be my easiest group of kids to teach in the 6ish years of my career.  For the most part, they never refused to do work (besides homework; that's another beast all together.), were funny and lighthearted, didn't attempt to challenge me on a personal level, and most of them were pretty darn cute.


I suppose it's refreshing and well-deserved to have years like that in my line of work, but there is a major downside: waking up to reality the next year. 

Well, hellloooo reality.  I'm looking at my biggest caseload to date, and growing by the day, I might add. On Day 5 of the new school year, I was told by one of my students to go away and that I was causing him to fail.  On Day 12, I had an unmedicated student lying on the ground trying to write in his planner, moaning miserably because he couldn't focus for more than 5 seconds. On Day 15,  a student was switching between quiet, maniacal laughter and flashing me a look like he was contemplating slitting my throat.  Teachers talk about their students "honeymooning" in initial weeks of school: coming back acting like a lamb, and slowly morphing into a lion.  Yeah, I didn't get that honeymoon this year.

But, I suppose I had braced myself for this last spring when I found out what I was up against.  Before summer break even came, I walked around saying that the 2013-2014 school year might shape up to be a little less academic and scholarly than other years.  Still, nothing fully prepares you for the first time a kid launches a trash can half way across the room with his foot in a fit of anger.

What I suppose it's got to come down to, if I'm to survive the year, is reframing.  Last year was a real treat, a sort of respite from the typical absurdities this job entails, and  I've had to say a sad farewell to that crew (though, I still wave fondly at them through the window of their new 7th grade class) and head into the trenches.  But, it's okay.  My situation isn't necessarily any worse, it's just different, and will require a different approach.

Last year, it was about helping a student combat anxiety to perform better academically. This year, it's about getting a student to stop crying hysterically and blaming me for everything when the work gets a little too challenging for his tastes...while trying to corral another student whose meds have warn off for the afternoon...and let's not forget the student who is melting down at his desk for no apparent reason in a really scary, tortured, Gollum-esque way.


Last year was a great one for diving into the content and developing my pedagogy.  This year, it's a return to behavior modification strategies and crisis intervention.

Perhaps it's less likely you'll find my classroom pictured on the front of an educational journal this year (because that was super likely last year), but I'll be darned if I'm not going to make the best out of what I'm working with. And to be honest, my little darlings have been much more productive and educable than I anticipated, so that's a win.

For the past few weeks, I've enjoyed the luxuries of my first student teacher, which has allowed me to sit back and see my class from a different perspective.  It's nice not having to be "on" all the time.  But, the experience has also given me a new found appreciation for my crew. The inevitable difficulties of an inexperienced pre-career teacher instructing a three ring circus has me huddling in the corner wringing my hands just dying to be at the front of the room "working my magic" with them again. They're a real challenge, and I've accepted the challenge.  There are no boring days this year, and the smallest of victories can be found in simply surviving a period with no meltdowns, office visits, or being told I've ruined somebody's life.

This may be the year I finally lose what's left of my sanity, but bring it on, I say!

The Case for 6th Graders

I don't know what shocks people more when I describe my job: that I work with students with emotional disorders, or that I work with 6th graders.

Try as I might to express how great 6th graders are, there are plenty of "qualities" of 11-year-olds working against them.

They're learning how to challenge authority, but they still lack rationality and logic.

They're forced to be more independent, but they can barely keep track of the shoes on their feet.

They're discovering body odor for the first time, but they have yet to discover deodorant.

Yeah, you've got have a wicked sense of humor, endless patience, and a strong stomach to be subjected to this population of people on a daily basis, but it's their awkward and painful journey to being fully functioning human beings which makes them so great.

Allow me to offer a tickling situation from this past week to illustrate what I mean...

Stevie is a 6th grader in the section I supervise for lunch a few times a week, and he has been a thorn in my side all year.  Presumably suffering from undiagnosed and unmedicated ADHD, I spent most of the first part of the year teaching him how to simply stay in his seat during lunch.  About half way through the year I had a mind boggling incident with him where I literally watched him hurl a bunch of crushed up chips into the stairwell, yet he vehemently denied it was him and pegged it on a child with the complete opposite physical features of him (clever, huh?). He's just one of those kids that, upon mention of his name, will ignite a series of grunts, eye rolls, and head shakes from the adults who know him.

But now that May has rolled around, Stevie appears to be picking up on the whole being-a-human-being thing.  It just struck me this week that I didn't even realize he was still in my lunch section; that's how well-behaved he has been. So, in the spirit of "catching kids being good", I decided to acknowledge his improvements to him during lunch.

"Hey, Stevie."

When I approached, Stevie spun around with his typical deer-in-headlights expression, wondering what he was getting into trouble for this time.

"Stevie, I almost forgot you were in my section, you've been doing so well.  The past few weeks have been great! What changed?"

"I am so sorry, Ms. T."

Poor kid. He was so used to getting lectured and reprimanded, he didn't even know praise when he heard it.

"No, no. I'm telling you a good thing. You are doing a good job!"

Stevie responded with a half-hearted, mostly confused smile.  Perhaps he didn't believe me, or perhaps he was so overwhelmed by this compliment that he was crying happy tears on the inside. Either way, I didn't feel like my point was getting across, so I opted for some positive peer pressure. Out of good humor, I asked the 5 other boys at his half of the lunch table to give him a round of applause.

Gladly, they obliged, and for many more seconds than was necessary.  Unsurprisingly, the table next to them--a very loud and boisterous group of girls--caught wind of the clapping and instantly joined in.  Within 5 seconds, about 75 kids in my section were clapping and hooting.  I knew it wasn't going to stop there.  I winced a little as I watched the monster I created sweep across the other two sections in the lunchroom, until roughly 400 kids were on their feet wildly applauding.  The head lunchroom supervisor looked at me with bewilderment as I tried (and failed) to hold back laughter.  The "STOP!" he yelled into the microphone to end the shenanigans was just barely audible.

When I went to explain how this had all come about to the other supervisors, one of them razzed me pretty bad. "Come on, Ms. T! You work with 6th graders every day. You should  know better!" Yes, I did, but I realized it a little too late.  Yet another case against teaching the 6th grade: one wrong move and you could have 400+ kids hanging from the ceiling in 5 seconds flat.

In the moments after the chaos had died down, the hand of a flushed and beaming girl a few tables away from Stevie's shot into the air.

"Miss T! Miss T!"

"Yes?"

"What were we clapping for?"

"Oh, it doesn't even matter, does it?"

In the life of an 11-year-old? Any old excuse--or none whatsoever--to be giddy and happy and carefree? Nope, it doesn't matter one bit.

Another life lost to Gingervitis

Credit goes to Mrs. U. for providing the material for this post.

Emily is one of my former students, now in 8th grade at my school. She's come a long way from the days of hating all her female special services teachers: blaming us for all her life's ills, coming in late to school daily just to avoid having to see us, telling us we are useless and horrible teachers.  When you get past all that jazz, you discover a rather lovely young woman with a wonderful sense of humor and an affinity for cats.

This past week, in Mrs. U's English class, Emily had the task of writing a paragraph using the root words they were studying at the time.  This is Emily's finished product. You're welcome in advance.

The best part of reading this was that, for the first 8 lines, I thought I was supposed to be something profound and heart-warming Emily had produced. When I got to line 9, I simply said, "Ahhhh." From Emily, who responded to my complimenting her beauty last week with, "Go on...", I would expect nothing less

What Dreams May Come (will inevitably be about school)

I am fairly certain that every night for the last two weeks, I have had a dream about my job.  Maybe I should be surprised that it hasn't happened this frequently in the past given how colorful a typical day is in my classroom.  But it's becoming rather exhausting when I can't even escape the teacher life at 3 AM on a Saturday.

There are two main categories these dreams fall into:


1) The Anger-Inducing kind

Remember this episode of "Friends" where Phoebe is super mad at Ross, but she doesn't know why until she recalls a dream she had about him the night before? Yeah, this happens to me a lot in regards to the people in my classroom and workplace.  To get all psycho-analytical, I suppose the dreams are often an extreme manifestation of some negative feelings I'm harboring towards students or co-workers that I haven't quite worked out in my mind yet.  But then I wake up illogically angry at them for something they didn't even do in real life, and I walk into school, and I inwardly snarl at them a little.  Don't worry, the loathing passes pretty quickly. Most of the time.

2) The Paralyzing-Fear-Followed-By-Overwhelming-Relief-When-I-Wake-Up kind (it just dawned on me I could have summed that all up with nightmare. Well, too late now.):

To continue my Freudian trip, these dreams are most likely the by-product of unresolved worry or fears related to my job and they usually come in the form of finding out I have had 15 new students added to my caseload, my classroom has gone completely out of control, I'm teaching in my underwear, or, the motherload of all nightmares: I've been reassigned to my first teaching job--which you can pretty much imagine as Michelle Pfeiffer in "Dangerous Minds". Except, nobody really learned anything in my school. Just imagine me on my knees, crying out, "Why God, Why?!?!" right before I'm startled awake in a cold sweat (okay, a little exaggerated). Then, I breathe a sigh of relief with the realization that it was all just a dream, and a cat--miffed that I have rolled over on him--huffs and goes to find a more peaceful place to sleep.

How much more lost sleep and angry cats am I going to have to endure before my recurring nightmare dissipate?  More importantly, how can I get back my recurring dream that Justin Timberlake is my best friend and we have the best conversations ever?!

Please advise. 

Committed

On behalf of my entire generation, I would like to apologize.

We, "Generation Y", are the kids of one of the most disastrous eras of recent times, right up there with the feminist movement in my book (put your bras back on, ladies. Yeesh.).  We were among the first to be told that we were "special" just for blinking, and our parents drove us around in cars with bumper stickers that said, "My child is a good citizen at Such-and-Such School". It's no surprise a lot of us ended up getting the notion we were God's gift to humanity without ever even lifting a finger to earn it.  We are the pioneers of the "Age of Entitlement".

There's a lot of nasty by-products that come from this upbringing: lack of responsibility, no work ethic, selfishness...And let me be clear before moving forward that I don't consider myself risen above all the ills of my generation.  Guilty as charged.  But, there's one particular character flaw customary to this generation that I would like to fight tooth and nail:

Commitment Phobia

We sure have a lot of options these days, don't we? Cellphone brands, car makes, clothing lines, restaurants.  Making a choice can be pretty darn overwhelming, and just when you finally get your hands on the latest version of some flashy technology, the new generation is already on its way to the shelves. You have to admit, it's a pretty exciting time to be alive.

The problem is, I think many of my peers have become so accustomed to the "flavor of the week" mentality, they've been led to believe it applies to all areas of life: job, social circle, church, marriage...who can think about signing away 5, 10, 20, 50 years of life away to the same place, people, responsibilities when the iPhone 6 will be out in 6 months?

And what about our personal happiness and satisfaction?  If our cable companies are overcharging us and customer service is rude, we switch our subscription to its competitor.  If our wardrobes are getting boring and outdated, we go buy a new set of clothes.

So, naturally, it stands to reason that if our jobs are getting to be a real drag after 8 months, we start searching for a new one.  If we promised to hang out with some old friends to catch up, but something better surfaces, we break plans and ditch 'em.  Don't even get us started on committing to marriage. Why bother when the generation before us has taught us we'll cut and run at the first sign of things getting really bad?

The further this generation progresses, the harder it is to remember that life wasn't always this way.  Our grandparents endured decades in the same run-of-the-mill job and remained in problem-ridden marriages to their deaths.  True, there were much fewer options for people then. Women couldn't easily obtain financial independence, and job opportunities weren't a dime a dozen like they are today.  But, the children of the "Silent Generation"  didn't hear too much about being *special* while growing up.  If they made mistakes, they atoned for them. If life wasn't going their way, they sucked it up.  And I think that counts for something.

It may be too late for us "Millenials" to overcome our fear of battening down the hatches, though it is one of my crusading points when it comes to helping keep friends accountable. But, there may be hope for the generation coming up behind us, and teachers play a big part.  It's tough to coach an 11-year-old on the virtue of honoring commitments given a 9 month period and their stage in life.  However, it seems to me there are countless other character qualities I can help cultivate in them that play into being able to commit in life:  selflessness, integrity, perseverance, gratitude, motivation, and more.  If I threaten a consequence, I follow through even when they turn on the water works; if an assignment is three weeks past due and worth 0% credit, they're still going to finish the assignment and hand it in; if they're fearful of something, I make them at least give it a try instead of folding.

 I imagine that tough situations such as these were turning points for commitment-phobes of my generation, but they took the path of least resistance and, now that they've arrived at adulthood, they know no other route. As I heard in a news segment called "The Myth of Praise" today, there is a big difference between loving children and trying to protect them from bad feelings. I'm sort of grateful for many of my past hardships today, and my hope is that, with a little guidance from me along the way, my students can one day look back and say that, too.

Mr. Incognito

Mark is a newbie to the world of Miss T. as of December, but he certainly fits right in.  He's the real silent type accomplishing most of his communication through a series of head shakes, nods, and shrugs.  Investigating into what took place during his weekend can be quite the chore, but has turned into a bit of a game for all of us.

Teacher: "Did you see any movies?"
Mark: Head shake
Teacher: "Did you play video games?"
Mark: Head shake
Teacher: "Watch TV?"
Head shake
"Go out to eat?"
Head shake
"Play with Legos?"
Head shake
"Read a book?"
Head shake
"Build a 747?"
Lip twitch.
"Eat a starfish?"
Bigger lip twitch.
"Save a beached whale?"
Split-second, legitimate, but quickly muffled smile. Followed by a head shake.

If I couldn't even evoke a conversation about the free moments reserved for fun in his life, I didn't hold out much hope for forming some New Years goals with him today. Surprisingly, the boy jotted down some realistic aims for the rest of the school year, namely completing homework assignments each night. I was impressed. he's silent, but self-aware.

Now came the time to determine an incentive for reaching his goal. In theory, this would be the easiest part of the task.  But, Mark doesn't do easy. It seemed there was no pleasing him.


Teacher: "Would you like to work toward something from the prize box?"
Mark: Head shake
Teacher: "How about free time in class?"
Mark: Head shake
Teacher: "Lunch with a friend?"
Head shake
"A handshake?"
Head shake
"A pat on the back?"
Head shake
"Thumbs up?"
Head shake
"Round of applause?"
Head shake

It was about this time that Leon stepped in with a suggestion from far left field.
"Hey, what about if he makes his goal, he gets to wear the mustache glasses for the period?"

Ahh, the mustache glasses. The best $11 investment I've ever made to break up tense moments in class and to be completely moronic (per usual).  Yeah, they were great for a laugh and will inevitably come in handy many times in the future. But there was no way that Mark--Mr. Introvert, Mr. Serious, Mr. Blend-into-the-scenery--would go for that.

Just as I went to thank (but no thanks) Leon for his proposal and continue brainstorming rewards, I caught Mark out of the corner of my eye.  Wonder of all wonders, he was nodding.

Little Children

While I can't imagine there are too many people left who haven't grieved in some small way over the events in Newton, Connecticut last month, it seems the tragedy strikes a different chord in different people:  mothers and fathers at the thought of losing their own little ones, police and other emergency workers at the thought of being the first responders to what must have been a horrific scene, and, of course, teachers at the thought of jumping into action to protect the children in their care from harm.

Various stories have circulated about the quick-thinking and valiant efforts of Sandy Hook teachers to save their students' lives, but the most noteworthy are the multiple accounts of teachers who deliberately put themselves in the line of fire in an attempt to shield their students from harm.  While I'm not sure if these reports have ever been validated, they evoke a pretty morbid question in my mind:

Were I in these teachers places, would I have taken a bullet for my students?

When I'm playing the Worst Case Scenario game in my mind, I'd certainly like to think so.  I long to have the steadfast faith of the Columbine High School student who was shot for professing her belief in God and, in theory, I would. But humans are  weak, fallen creatures.  It is not inherent within us to submit or sacrifice. When it's crisis time, baser instincts kick in and it becomes every man for himself. To be completely raw, no matter how much of my time or talents or possessions I sacrifice for others, I can never fully extinguish the innate desire to self-serve. So, I can't begin to comprehend the split-second decision to potentially offer it ALL up in one move.

But when it comes to children, it's a completely different story. When I'm babysitting for friends, or helping take care of my nephew and nieces, or helping my students with their work, or interacting with children in any form, the thought of personal gain is washed away.  Children are so precious and are assigned to all of
our care--so precious that even the incredibly busy, earthly Jesus made them a priority (Matthew 19:13-15).   Completely lovable or a pain in the rear end: they all deserve our protection.

As I watched one of my students skip happily to get supplies for the project he was working on today, I knew that, Yes--were an intruder to ever enter that classroom, I couldn't help but make myself the first line of defense for those children.  I imagine the Sandy Hook teachers that defended their students were simply following the drive that had brought them to their career in the first place: loving children unconditionally.

I Got Skills

During my typical family gathering on Christmas Eve this year, a long-buried tradition was resurrected: the game of charades.  After I had acted out my charade and had it successfully guessed by my team, a couple family members immediately remarked how good I was at the game.  I humbly chalked it up to my years of experience playing with the family years ago, but someone had a better explanation: 

"She's a teacher!"

While I would have preferred, "She's a pantomiming genius!", I knew this person was on to something. There are some things I was born with a natural propensity towards, but there is also another set of skills that have been honed quite unintentionally and without any concerted effort as a result of living my life as an educator day-in and day-out. 

 For better or worse, here are the top 4 teaching habits that have translated into semi-useless daily life skills:

1. Multitasking

It isn't unusual, any given day, to find me writing a pass for someone while giving a lecture to a student about his lack of homework completion, all the while ensuring the rest of the class isn't swinging from the rafters.  Accomplishing multiple tasks simultaneously is a necessity when dealing with children, and it's a hard habit to lose once at home.  If I'm watching television, there's probably some other productive activity going on like online shopping or painting my nails.  I've started a new competition with myself in the mornings during the approximately 35 seconds it takes for the coffee to pour from my Keurig to see how much I can accomplish by way of packing a lunch and making breakfast.  It's a pretty worthless aspiration that only buys me a couple more minutes a day, but don't worry. I won't be taking it to the extreme like the people who brush their teeth in the shower.

Although...

2. Flying by the seat of my pants

I'm almost ashamed to admit how little long term preparation goes into the units and lessons I teach, but it comes with the territory of being a special education teacher.  Sometimes, I don't find out the regular ed. teachers' plans until mere periods before I have to teach. Sometimes, half my class is gone or the students are being such psychotic hosebeasts that I have to scrap my plans.  Sometimes, I'm an idiot and plan an instructional lesson the last day before Christmas break and then I get a clue about 30 minutes prior to the class and have to scramble for a fun-yet-educational holiday themed activity. 

Though it flies in the face of everything I ever learned in teacher prep, and it's not going to score me a Golden Apple Award, teaching on the fly has become somewhat of an art for me, and I'm darn proud of the ability. Also, it is another skill that has followed me into the rest of daily life.  I'll never forget a few years ago when my small group was volunteering at a church-based after school program.  Some of us were relegated to cooking dinner in the kitchen, or setting up equipment for games, but I was assigned to the bible lesson session.  Figuring I would just be helping with some good old bible crafts, I was pretty astounded when a kids bible was shoved in my hand and I was told I'd be teaching the story of Zacchaeus the tax collector.  There were probably a few short seconds of panic, but as any teacher knows there's no room for panic when you have a class full of children staring up at you expectantly.  I threw that kids bible open, sped read through Luke 19 in 20 seconds flat and delivered that lesson without a hiccup.  

3.  E-mailing Expert

I probably average 10 e-mails a day at work to parents and colleagues.  One of my neuroses in life is the inability to let an e-mail go unanswered for more than even a couple hours when I know there is someone awaiting my response, but that is complicated by the necessity to tend to my students for 90% of the day.  So how do I reconcile the two?  I Super E-mail.  Using my previously acquired typing skills, I roll out itemized, multi-paragraphed messages free of grammatical and spelling errors and goodness gracious are they well worded! (Okay, I'm really tooting my own horn here, but I'm talking about my e-mailing skills. I think we can both admit it's pretty pathetic).  I've gotten so good at professional e-mails that I tend to all but black out when writing them.  Many times I have to check my "Sent" box to confirm that I composed the intended response, and occasionally I'm quite surprised at the content as if I'm seeing what I wrote for the first time.

4.  Yelling at other people's kids 

Whether it's the community pool or the Sunday school halls at church, when I come across unsupervised children acting like screecher monkeys , the need to behavior manage is ingrained in me.  I was recently at a Starbucks waiting for someone when it was overtaken by about 8 high school boys who proceeded to all attempt to pile onto one seat, wrestle each other, and whoop and scream at the top of their lungs.  My eyes went from huge saucers of disbelief to narrow slits of loathing as I resisted the urge to give them a lecture on human decency and consideration.  It was when I looked around the rest of the place to find no one else bothered (in fact, one older man who was in danger of being crushed by the pile of teenagers was actually amused) that I decided it was time to put away the ruler and let kids be kids.  Still, if ever there's a band of young hooligans in need of silencing, I'm ready to come swooping in with a loud voice, bleeding sarcasm, and a mean stink eye. 

And there you have it.  Not exactly the items I want listed under my legacy as a teacher at my retirement dinner in 2040, but one day you just may be in dire need of a super e-mailing, multi-tasking, improvising disciplinarian, and you will thank me. Just maybe. 

3-Peat

So, Leon--of stuffed animal fame--is pretty good for a laugh, or five, on a daily basis. He's pocket-sized with an elf's voice, five years behind socially, but also has a finely tuned sense of humor that goes beyond his years.  Lately,  his mornings have gotten exceedingly more difficult in terms of focus until around lunch time when the, er, "necessaries" as we ED teachers code them, kick fully into the bloodstream. 

While this has been a source of frustration for work production, it has been quite the blessing on the comic relief side.  If I had a journal nearby at every minute of the day, I'm sure I would have logged hundreds of quotes or notable events by this point, but I think the last 3 days of the school week were really the most worthy of mention. 

Wednesday

Not surprisingly, homework has been a major issue for the crew lately. Leon seems to be the one exception who rarely misses an assignment.  I attempted to make an example of him this week in Resource class by engaging him in a conversation in front of the whole class about the positive effects of following through with student responsibilities.

Me: "Leon, how does it feel that you get your homework done every night and turn it in on time?"
Leon: "Um, okay?"
Me: "As a result, what do you think your grade is in Resource?"
Leon: "I would say a 1...2...3?"
Me: "What? No, no. Your letter grade. You know 'A', 'B', 'C'..."
Leon: "....ABC...It's easy as 123...oh, oh God. I can't believe I just sang that."
Me: "Okay, Leon focus, here. I asked you what you think your grade is in Resource."
Leon: "Um...an A?.. ABC...It's easy as...oh, God. I did it again!"
Me: "Nevermind."

Thursday

Since he had nothing to work on in Resource, I let Leon start a game of Yahtzee with the substitute aide for the day.  I heard him throw the dice into the cup and begin to shake it.
"Shaken or stirred?" he cried to the aide.  Imaginably a little taken aback she didn't answer. "Shaken it is!" And he tossed the dice onto the table.

Friday

Already quite revved up for the morning, I was surprised when Leon went to the bathroom a few minutes into class. This is not part of his typical routine.  I should have known.  Two minutes later he returned, without a peep,  a foot of toilet paper wrapped around his head in a ninja-style headband.  All the adults in the room silently cried tears of laughter, Leon merely smiled and returned to his seat. Class went on. 

The kid had a pretty solid 3-day streak going. I'm almost sorry the weekend interrupted it...Almost.

The Teacher Haters Club

Last weekend I traveled to a pub with a friend to meet up with some of her old friends, and immediately engaged in some conversation with one of the attenders who had clearly had a few prior to our arrival.  When he found out I was a teacher of yet another district with contract agreement woes, he began an assault on the teaching profession, informing me that most teachers make $80,000 a year, and that when a teacher gets his/her masters, he/she immediately makes $60,000 a year.  "Nope, don't make $80,000...Nope, don't even make $60,000 with my masters," I attempted to calmly interject as he went on telling me how teachers have it made, and ultimately spewed out the core issue of the problem (as an ED teacher, I've become quite versed at getting past all the verbal vomit to arrive at the real problem) which was he is miserable in his current job in finance.  I knew there was no point in attempting to defend the long hours, emotional stress, parental strife, etc. because the guy had "ALL ABOUT ME" scrolling across his forehead at that moment.  So, I went for my little back pocket trick reserved for just such moments when friends or acquaintances start whining about teachers' summer breaks and 3:30 PM releases: "So, why don't YOU become a teacher?"

My conversation partner stumbled for a second before sharing that he had actually thought about just that, becoming a professor or something, but nothing below seniors in high school.  If I had been a real snot, I would have prodded  him as to why he wouldn't be able to teach younger children until he submitted to the fact that teaching is a difficult job that deserves some rewards.

As it was, I don't think I would have time, because seconds later others at the table had joined in on the mob action to whip the teacher.  "Blah blah blah teachers make over $100,000 a year...if they're a gym teacher they don't even do anything...so on, so on."  I was starting to get a bit heated at this point, but I managed to calmly throw out that conversation ending, "So become a teacher if it sounds so good!" Finally, I managed the victory of silencing the conversation after the second round.

But I was steaming for several minutes after the whole exchange, and I had to admit that my pride had been hurt just a smidgeon.  While I feel very blessed by my salary, I'm not exactly living like a queen. Furthermore,  I know plenty of teachers who make far, far less than I do to perform the same job, perhaps even a harder one. Also, while I know firsthand that I have a difficult job, I lay no claim to my job being any more stressful or time consuming or unpleasant than anyone else in the working world (except maybe dolphin trainers. I mean, that is a sweet deal right there.)

So, when did this nation decide, amongst all its many economic ills and struggles, that teachers were the greedy, ungrateful, lazy bottom feeders behind it all? Yes, the wave of teacher strikes in recent months seems like an understandable reason to begrudge teachers if one does not know what they are fighting for, but these strikes have not been the catalyst, rather the backlash to the nation's finger pointing.

I don't need to have people lauding me for my career choice, and I don't need my name or the teaching profession in big bright lights.  But I also make an effort not to roll my eyes and baulk when someone else shares with me their line of work, and I would expect the same from other strangers I happen to meet.

Please be kind to your local teachers, everyone.  It's very likely they've already plenty of abuse from an ill behaved child or two that day while simply trying to help and care for him.  They don't need another dose of ungrateful and disrespectful whining.

We Inherited a Zoo

So, I haven't written something here in awhile.  I considered many different weighty, profound topics for my next entry, because it's been sort of a weighty year.  I contemplated the issue of how the smartest group of students I've ever had makes for the most stressful year, the woes of unhappy teachers unions, and life under a microscope as a teacher.

It's been a busy year so far, what with attending far more teacher meetings than I ever have, and also plowing through a 6 week middle school endorsement class.  I just don't have the mental stamina to write one more scholarly article with APA citations, I tell you!

Instead, I will resort to the brainless and comical as it pertains to my school.

So here it goes: my school is a zoo.  Whether it be the result of the drought, elevated animal reproduction rates, or the exterior of the school eroding, all I know is there are more beasts than children in the school right now.

Here is the current line up for the Animal Kingdom Parade!

 The Box Elder!

                                                                             The Centipede!








 





 The Wolf Spider!

                                  And....

                                                         The Mouse!





Okay, so the mouse hasn't made an appearance in a couple of years, but we still find remnants of the past in the form of tiny shreds of Hershey's Kisses wrappers. I'll never forget the time I turned around from my computer to find Ralph--sans motorcycle--sitting a few feet away just staring at me. I think there were a few moments' confusion as to who really belonged in the room.

The mouse is a distant memory, but the three aforementioned critters are alive and well and terrorizing our school.  Spiders have scurried over children's feet mid-class; a box-elder landed directly in my hand while I waited for the copy machine the other day; bookshelves have been broken in attempts to apprehend the intruders.  Teacher pleas for pesticide have not been well received, so I'm thinking it's about time to go vigilante on these mugs.

So I've done some research (would ya look at that?  The brain cells aren't all used up yet!) and here's what I've found out. Some home remedies for repelling wolf spiders include hummingbirds, lavender, and diatomaceous (???) earth. Also, wolf spiders just love trees, logs, brush, and other foliage.  So, I will probably pave the prairie in the school's backyard and put up a parking lot.

For centipedes, one website suggests setting out a sticky trap and catching multiple at once.  The image of a sticky trap full of centipedes has just insured at least one nightmare tonight.

Apparently box elder bugs can never be completely killed off as they have an "unlimited source" and migrant box elders will come from neighboring places to replace the dead ones. Great.

Probably the best way to handle any future mice infestations is to get them on a motorcycle.  I hear those things are pretty dangerous.







This school ain't big enough for all of us. Either all these guys get wiped out soon, or I have a feeling us teachers are going to be carried off by an angry mob of many-legged creatures.

The war begins.

No Superstar

Norman, one of the pocket-sized 6th graders I inherited this year, is a friendly face in the crowd. Literally.  If you happen to lock eyes with him, even accidentally, you are probably in for an ear-to-ear grin and frantic wave. Even if it is a manifestation of extreme social discomfort, it's so precious.  Norman is also the only student on earth to ever fist pump at the mention of a math test. Even his weirdest quirks are adorable.  During his weekly meeting with Brandon, the Social Worker, Brandon had to step out for a moment.  "Okay," Norman replied. "I'll just wait here and do my favorite thing in the world." "What's that?" Brandon inquired. "Talk to myself," Norman answered matter-of-factly.

And talk to himself, he does.  I was fortunate enough to eavesdrop on one of these intimate conversations between Norman and Norman this week as he was creating a title page for a paper.

"Let's see," he pondered, mulling over the directions on the proper format for the title page, "should I put my last name?"

"Yes, yes," he replied, confidently. "I should put my last name. I am NOT a superstar."

Oh, Norman. So wise. If only every middle schooler was as self aware as you.

Getting Mine

To this day when I am reminded of my student teaching semester, nearly 6 years ago now, I nearly vomit in disgust.  I h-a-t-e-d it with a vengeance. After becoming quite the professional at acing papers, and being surrounded by fellow teacher candidates all getting our hands held through fake teaching experiences, I was spit out of the cozy college life back into lousy Lake County all by my lonesome to get my first true taste of the teacher life.

It sucked. I was thoroughly overwhelmed by big, scary, confusing projects on top of attempting to play teacher to kids who were as little as TWO YEARS younger than me in a student teaching assignment that really was not conducive to my program requirements (Way to go, Uni. STILL holding a grudge on that one.)  I'll never forget the post-observation conference I had with my supervisor, when she shared with me that as far as my written knowledge of the teacher profession went, I was solid.  What I needed to work on was the teaching component.  In other words, what I had set out to do all along was not working so well for me.

Okay, she wasn't exactly calling me a failure; and looking back, I'm sure I looked terrified up there, still in the mode of perfectionist honor student, rather than passionate educator.  But I remember being so frustrated at the discrepancy between the potential others saw in me and the potential I knew I had.  I was so confident in my calling and so self-assured in my abilities that it felt like total injustice to be told I just wasn't that great.

I survived student teaching, but my pride wasn't done taking severe blows.  Next, it was the administrators at several schools who failed to see my potential and passed me by on employment.  The only school who seemed willing to take me--my first career experience--was so hard up for teachers they would have hired an armless chimpanzee if it had a valid teaching certificate. Meanwhile, I watched old college classmates who had exerted far less effort and seemingly far less teaching potential, score jobs in really great districts, and my one person pity party continued.

When I was going to get MINE?!

Then, my shining moment came.  I was finally deemed a good fit for a wonderful district and the skills and quality attributes I knew I had to offer were finally put to good use!  I pinched myself to have gotten something so good, and I felt so spoiled that I was content to be low on the teacher totem pole, watching my P's and Q's and playing by the book so as not to lose the best thing that could have come along.  Being employed here was reward enough.

I have to say it really wasn't until very recently, under the perfect combination of achieving tenure and the right supportive administration I finally felt acknowledged. Originally, I intended to come here and gush about how affirming and refreshing and encouraging it is to be told by someone who really counts how valuable a teacher I am; how satisfying the reward is for honest-to-goodness hard work.

Then, I got served a couple helpings of humble pie in the form of two sermons from two different pastors in one day...two weekends ago. 

The first message painted a metaphor of our earthly struggles as an Olympian's grueling training and pursuit of a medal. The only difference: ours is one that can't be earned in this lifetime. The second message was a call to evaluate our lives and identify the aspects that we tend to claim as ours, knowing full well nothing in our lives is truly ours to own--tangible or intangible. To me, the message was loud and clear:  forget the reward, Miss T.  You aren't in line for one this side of heaven. 

I've been so preoccupied with achieving my personal success story in the teaching world that I've failed to remember that it's pretty meaningless as far as my worldly existence is concerned.  And my current circumstances are proof of that fact. Has the figurative pat on the back from administration made me any happier? Has it made my life any more easy and care free?  Nope.  As well it shouldn't. 

The approval of man can only get us so far, and I set out long ago on this career path seeking something far greater than the acknowledgment of others or even myself.  Pride and selfish gain just seem to get in the way of the truth from time to time.

Thank goodness for the "little darlings" in my classroom who remind me quite frequently I'm not so magical as I may think.

Haters Gonna Hate

As previously mentioned, I am surprisingly good at leaving any high emotions of the teaching day at the door, or at least ridding myself of them on the therapeutic drive home.  But there are some days when the frustrations remain with me, set to "Continuous Play" in my brain.  I find myself replaying dreadful scenes from the day and repeatedly curse crazy parents, or the inventor of whatever technology failed me and thwarted my plans of for the day.

Today was definitely was one of those days, but nothing that a good 40 minutes of speed walking couldn't fix.  Even better, as I was in the homestretch of my quasi-workout, I was suddenly reminded of the very best moments of the school day which had occurred first thing in the morning, and had been buried under a load of "junk" meanwhile.   How unfortunate the way the burdens of the day had nearly erased a refreshing moment when I was reminded why I love my job!  But, no matter, the good memory was salvaged!

My student, Leon, should be the star of the next movie about a mischievous, but irresistibly adorable child and his antics to befuddle the adults in his life.  Also, he could voice Ralph in a re-make of the movie "The Mouse and the Motorcycle." He is physically on par for a seven year old, and his emotional capabilities are not far behind.

That's why I wasn't all too surprised when he came into first period today proudly clutching a small, sort of dirty stuffed dog.  Knowing Leon's propensity to throw mini temper tantrums when he's not getting his way, I began to slowly and tactfully lead him to the conclusion that stuffed animals--even cute stuffed pugs named Indiana Jones (Indy for short) were not appropriate in middle school.  Whether Leon was fully listening or not was unclear as he removed his glasses, put them on Indy and began making him dance to a cheerful little tune.

A polite hand went up at the other side of the room.

"Uh, Miss T?" Westin chimed in. "I think I have something that might help Leon with this situation."

Having already proven himself incredibly articulate and profound for a 6th grader, I welcomed Westin's input.

"Well, when I wore my 'My Little Pony' belt to school yesterday..."

OH NO.

"...well, I got some nasty comments, but I just said to myself 'you know, I don't care because, you know, haters gonna hate..."

My eyes shot to the three other adults in the room hoping I was transmitting the message: Is this a dream come true, or what?

Out loud, I simply said, "Haters going to hate".  Instantly, I regretted my little too precise, white bread pronunciation of the saying, but figured I safe in this room.

  Au contraire. Of all people it was Leon, still loving on his stuffed animal at his desk, who corrected me.

"It's haters gonna hate. You have to say it right."

Was I really just out-streeted by a kid with a plush toy and a "Pony" belt.

After the initial shock at this interesting turn in events, the class launched into a fruitful conversation about the fine line between being unique or young at heart, and setting yourself up to be a target and undesired by your peers.  The students were surprisingly receptive to the information; some of them clearly craved it as it were groundbreaking for their social lives.  My heart began to break when students earnestly raised concerns about their inability to make friends, or their awareness that they just weren't well-liked by most students.  But there was such joy in being able to begin unpacking this scary new world for them.  This was what I had set out to do in my job:  help the helpless--those not running on all cylinders from the start.

And God bless these kids, they're starving for the basics, right now.  They're just peeking into the world of social norms for the first time to find out that the people you play on X-BOX Live are not your real friends, and failing to bathe will ruin your relationships with others. 

Sometimes it's refreshing to get back to the basics, but being reminded that even then, haters STILL gonna hate.

Summer break is tough

I already sense this post's title is not getting any of your sympathy. You can stop growling at me now.

 I acknowledge the gaping hole in my work calendar each year is a a luxury that the greater part of the working world doesn't enjoy.  But,  too much of anything is never a good thing and I am reminded of that each July when my short summer school stint comes to an end and my annual travels are still far on the horizon.  With no wake up time, no schedule, little to no obligations, and not very much company, I inevitably fall into a restless funk where I throw daily pity parties for myself and do everything short of jumping in my car and driving aimlessly just to stay busy.

This lack-of-routine-itis is easily cured by an international journey--somewhere around the end of July--which reminds me how darn blessed I am to be afforded such an opportunity, then thoroughly exhausts me and gives me a new found appreciation for the lazy comforts of home.  By the time I return in August, or thereabouts, I'm struck by the realization the new school year is only weeks away and my mind is consumed with thoughts of planning, organization, and anticipation (err, anxiety more like it) of my new "little darlings" for the year.

It isn't until the final full week of summer break (which, if you're keeping count, is right now) that I fully appreciate and truly embrace the gift of summer break.  My only explanation for this phenomenon is the understanding that life will be hectic again in a very short time and, as a result, I feel much more entitled to and deserving of my freedom in the present moment. 

If the close relativity of my summer break to the beginning of the school year is what breaks me out of my summer break funk, it makes me toy with the idea of endorsing year-round schooling (I think I just heard a teacher somewhere reading this scream).  In this format, teachers still receive the same quantity of days off, they are just much more spread out, in much smaller increments.  If this were my situation, I imagine I might have greater access to the contentment of blissful nothingness for days on end, knowing I'll be back to the grindstone very soon.

But, no. I am left to the miserable fate of 80 days' break for now.  At least I don't have to worry about lack-of-routine-itis again until December when I get another 2 weeks off.  Sigh.

You may commence throwing tomatoes, now.

Easy Street - Part II

In my last post, I was busy counting the blessings of holding a job that many people, at the mention of, may run and cower 

Looks can be deceiving.

So far, I've hit up 3 of 5 very good ways my job can be easier than the typical middle school teacher:

1) The evils of Inclusion: 2) Academic freedom:
3) Isolation--the good kind

Onward!

4) A good excuse for bad behavior
Any given day at my job promises some sort of behavior abnormality and/or dysfunction amongst the students.  A day free of that would be, frankly, a little bit scary.  But I signed up for my fair share of bad behavior when I signed my name on the line to an ED position.  Though I'm not saying I'm always going to handle the run-of-the-mill outburst, shut down, or work refusal with total grace, my tolerance runs quite high for it because these kids are coming in the door with a piece of paper (the IEP) that's a license for deviance. 

What really tests my limits?  The kids who act much the same way but without the piece of paper that says their behavior is medically/psychologically/intellectually proven.  They're just plain old bad boys and girls. Degenerates, menaces to society, what is this world coming to? When I was their age....!  Yeah, regular education kids quickly turn me into stubborn, crotchety old man convinced the world is going down the drain with every new generation of kids.  They're the future of America, for crying out loud!

And my kids?  The ED population?  Well, they get a free pass.

And finally, the ultimate reason my job is better than other teachers'...

5) Blondes (from a bottle) have more fun--particularly when they're special ed. teachers
With all the freedom and isolation and good excuse for bad behavior, Annie and I really make those lemons into lemonade as often as we can. 

I ask of those in the mainstream teaching profession:  When was the last time you helped out a student too nervous to present in front of the class by giving him a pink handle bar mustache to wear while he did it?Or how about required everyone to end all of their sentences with "Meow".  Taught a lesson on how to express emotions using finger eyebrows and mustaches? ( Mustaches are a pretty big deal in Room 501).

While using humor in the classroom is sort of an afterthought in the good teacher textbook of your undergrad years, it's pretty much a prerequisite to developing solid relationships with students and getting things accomplished.  I don't know about you, but a job where inciting laughter is mandatory and you actually get a decent salary and benefits to do it (sorry, stand-up comedians), sounds like a sweet deal to me.

Easy Street--Part I

"You are an absolute saint for what you do."
"God bless you, Miss T., because I don't know how you do it."

It's not uncommon to hear such praise and lauding from friends and family who learn of the population with which I work, or a neighboring teacher who catches me giving a run-of-the-mill discipline lecture outside of my classroom in my most patient but firm tone of voice.  The sentiments come much appreciated, particuarly when I become so entrenched in my job that I forget that it is outside the realm of normalcy for a public school teacher (yes, I've actually forgotten that my students are considered "weird" by most standards).

But, lately, I've begun to ponder if such kind words are undeserved. What's more, should I be the one bestowing them on others--namely the teachers with the normal population?

I just may be inclined to believe that when you put my job side-by-side with that of a typical middle school regular education teacher, I've got it infinitely easier.  Here's just 5 of the reasons why...

1) The evils of Inclusion:
Whoever masterminded the idea of Least Restrictive Environment for students with disabilities, clearly never experienced the joy of teaching a science class of 30 students, 5 of whom are diagnosed with some form of emotional disorder or pervasive ADHD disorder.  My personal instructional classes can get a bit batty when Joe Schmo has shut down and Sally Sue is crying and Billy Bob has forgotten to take his medication.  But, I have the luxury of bringing my class to a halt until I've got functioning students again.  For a regular education teacher with no aide, there's still obligation to 25 other little brains.  Oh, yeah, and you still may have to answer for that "F" you gave Joe Schmo even though he didn't do a darn thing in class. 

2) Academic freedom:
While collaboration and team work and all that stuff valued by the Professional Learning Community is fantastic, it often gets taken to the extreme when teacher teams feel bound to teach the material in an identical manner, at an identical pace, with an identical test taken on an identical day.  Then, there's the recent roll out of the Common Core teaching standards which will soon become the material of standardized testing, and is so specific and rigorous in nature that it is bound to quickly fill every teaching moment of the school year with non-negotiable and requirec content.  Whatever happened to the days when Mr. Jones could throw an extra day into the Tom Sawyer unit to come to class in the character of Mark Twain and let the kids interview him?

Now, it's not to say that my little island of students is immune to school and federal policy, but as an instructional special education class, it's sort of a given that we are going to take our own routes to the same destination.  We'll stay on the same lesson 5 days in a row if we have to, and if yoga or a dance off or spending the whole class speaking in different accents seems a necessity, well by golly...My room is where Academic Freedom comes to party.

3) Isolation--the good kind
There's nothing like the delightful solitude that comes when you are left alone by administrators, fellow teachers, other students--pretty much everyone.  Remember your school days when the BD kids were banished to the basement or the untraversed wing of the building--a mystery and enigma to the masses?  Well, that's not us exactly.  Sure we've adoringly nicknamed our windowless room-formerly-known-as-a-closet "The Cave" or "The Dungeon" or "Hell".  But, it's got a rightful spot in the same hall as the normal classes and, by all appearances, is just a mini-me version of the other classrooms (minus any glimpse of daylight). 

Still, at times, I wonder if it is only visible to those who need it (a la the Room of Requirement from Harry Potter), and I have to say I like it.  It's a little bit of a terrifying realization that I could be alternating my days playing "Twister" and reciting Mother Goose rhymes to the kids without anyone ever knowing the better (and it sounds like a whole lot of that was going on in here prior to my hiring), but since I'm actually working my butt off, being left alone makes me feel very confident, self-assured, and self-sufficient. 

Recently, Annie inquired with our principal how some of the sweeping changes in the school would affect our classroom and program next year.  Mr. Principal responded, with arms open and shaking head, "We just want you and Ms. T. to keep doing what you're doing."

If ever words were music to my ears...

[Stay tuned for Part 2 of the List]

Made It

I'm pretty stoked.

Two Fridays from now, after my work day is done, I'll be getting all gussied up, heading over to the local country club and enjoying a $50 meal at no expense to me, and schmoozing with both the big wigs and my induction "class" in honor of my impending tenure. It feels equally awesome and surreal.

[We'll omit, for the time being, the fact that tenure is about to lose much of its significance in the state of Illinois and will probably be eradicated all together within the next five years. Let me have my moment of glory, gosh darn it.]

There were plenty of moments in the first two years at my current job that I feared my every move held the potential to get me fired. It's just common knowledge in the teaching community that you lay low and don't make any mistakes those first four years, because schools are within their right to let you go if you so much as look at an administrator the wrong way. No justification is needed for employee release prior to tenure.

But, I gained boatloads of confidence and reassurance heading into my 3rd year that I was wanted and proficient in my role, and for the past year or so, as life has roller-coastered a bit around me, the job has become sort of a given--an assumed part of my every day existence.

I fear I've started to take it for granted. Can it be that, amidst financial turmoil and economic chaos, with unemployment rates soaring and hardly any teaching positions open for my newly graduated/graduating friends, that I have forgotten just how blessed I am to wake up to a job each and every day? And what's more, a job that I actually enjoy? It wasn't so long ago I absolutely dreaded the morning alarm and another unpredictable day in the school from hell. Though I promised myself 4 years ago I never would, have I lost sight of how good I've got it here?

That little "T" next to my name on the evaluation list will make it less likely that this privilege will be taken from me (not that it has been all that likely up until now, anyways), but more importantly I think it will be a good reminder that I'm right where I'm supposed to be with little thanks to me. Sure I've put in the hard work and passion to get this far, but in many ways I feel like I don't deserve much credit at all.

Ten years ago, when I first decided I wanted to go into special education, the LAST sub-group I imagined I'd want to teach was these kiddos. Yet, here I am, feeling like the perfect job was dropped into my lap, constantly waving off exclamations of others to the effect of, "It takes a special person to do this job. God bless you!" Yeah, I honestly don't see it that way. I'm not really sure what else I'd be doing at this point.

So, did I earn the accolades? I suppose. But I'm of the mind that nothing that ever happens to us is truly in our control. So, there's nothing else that I can choose to be but grateful.

Lasers Make me Sad

There aren't many 4 letter words that scare a teacher, particularly one in the BD/ED population. But, there's one in particular I think my colleagues and I agree can cause us to recoil in dread:

ISAT.

No one in their right mind enjoys standardized testing season, but it's been especially offputting this year as our school scrambles to recover from some deficits in test scores from the past couple years. Instead of lumping the test sessions into a couple days as usual, they were spread out over two whole weeks just one hour a day, making teaching any normal lessons the rest of the day very painful for all involved. Then, there were the highlighter yellow "Rah rah for ISAT" (well, that's not EXACTLY what they said) t-shirts that we had to wear 7 days, nearly consecutively. By the time the make-ups were over, test booklets were turned in, and t-shirts ripped to shreds (oh yes, there were teachers that tore them to shreds) everyone--adults and kids alike--was ready to be locked in the looney bin.

The natural progression from this point was to begin an intensive one week poetry unit with my 7th graders, squeezed between gruelling ISATS and a long overdue spring break, and complete with an extended writing assignment, right? NO! Of course not! Worst teaching practices ever!

But I really didn't have a choice. Due to the quite exceptional needs of this group of students, we've been trailing behind the rest of the 7th grade English classes the entire year, and right now it's imperative that they catch up because their next writing unit is tied into another class's project.

Amidst the madness, I had to miss my English class one day this week and I was forced to assign a 20 line poem with a sad mood and several other required elements (figurative language, sound devices, and so on) that day in my absence. When my meeting got out right at the end of 8th period, I caught Alejandro walking out of the media center where he was to be working on the poem.

"How did your poem writing turn out?"

"Good [trademark Beavis/Butthead laugh]."

Alejandro skipped town before I could inquire any further into the progress he had made while I was gone. But I gathered a better understanding once I returned to my room and found a typed, finished first draft of his poem on my desk.

And now, for your viewing pleasure, an Alejandro original:

LASERS MAKE ME SAD

Not a lot of things make me sad

People dying is one

It is sad

In movies they die dramtic deaths

In some movies, when people die they make people bbreathe heavy

It is like they just jogged

It is sad when I lose at a video game

When I lose I practice more so I can own and p'wn (gaming term)

And then I eat a scone and break a bone

It sounds like a crunch

It is sad when people get cramps

When they keep eating beets

They want to cry

When they cry they go boo hoo!

Instead of swimming they should ride their bike

It is sad when I get in trouble and get bad grades

When I get bad grades the school building gets mad at me

The school throws pencils and carpeting at me

It is sad, and I feel awkard because schools should not do this

There are the things that make me sad

There you have it ladies and gentleman: the tried and true cure for standardized teaching exhaustion and general teacher burn out. Thank you, Alejandro. Thank you.