One of the beloved members of our staff passed from a massive heart attack last week, so I went for the first time to a teacher funeral.
Call me young and silly, but I always imagined that a teacher funeral would be like this big dramatic inspirational moment where great crowds of people would emerge somberly from throughout the community to honor a fallen hero. There would be folks from all walks of life lining up to share amazing stories of how the teacher saved their lives or made their lives better. Maybe there would be famous or prominent former students would stand up and honor them. I guess this fantasy might be my way of trying to compensate myself for all that I put into the job now. You know, the they-may-not-appreciate-it-now,-but-I'll-definitely-get-it-once-I'm-dead kind of thinking.
Turns out, it doesn't really happen even after your dead.
The teacher who passed was the kind of teacher I would love to be after 40 years in the field.
He had been at the school since 1969 as a P.E./Health teacher and sports coach. This year he was working full time as our Athletic Director. His love for the school and its students was prevalent in all that he did. Even I, having known him for only a few months, noticed the extraordinary amount of dedication he poured into his job.
Don't get me wrong, there were still hundreds of people at his funeral. And they were people of all ages, races, etc. It just wasn't the big dramatic production I had imagined in my head. A small handful of people stood up and shared, we said a prayer, sang a few hymns and it was over. In lieu of flowers, his family (likely in accordance with his own wishes) asked the money be donated to the school athletics dept. God, he was such a cool teacher~
Even though my ridiculous dreams for a glorious funeral were shattered, I was humbled and surprised by one thing: the man's family. When they stood up and spoke about him, it really did sound like a hero's funeral. They were just so proud of him, and when they spoke about it, every eye in the place started tearing up. It was then that I realized that love, respect, and honor matter the most when they come from the people who love you the most. All the people in the world could come to your funeral, but it doesn't mean a thing if your son can't stand up there with tears in his eyes, and tell the world how much you meant to him.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The Fear
The interim reports are about to be sent home, and my students have become afflicted with the Fear. They come to me at all times with palms outspread begging for absolution for half a semester of apathetic stares, classroom clowning, innumerable absences, and missing work. The teachers with experience warned me. Handouts enable academic apathy and lower standards, they explained. It hurts to be harsh, but they'll rise to your standards. I knew that they knew better, and their advice ran true. Yet I chose to ignore their advice, and give the students the chance they begged for.
The result: burn out and disillusionment
Bombarded with make-up work at the end of each grading period, I would grade for hours and hours at books-a-million with no end in sight. Students who came in for make up work managed, after much effort, to only pull their grades up to a D or not at all (thus wasting both of our time). Foolish as I was, despite all of this, I still believed in giving the students a chance to succeed.
It's not until now, when I've taken an extra teaching load and literally CAN'T give them that chance, that I'm realizing the truth about what those other teachers said. It's like I'm seeing it with new eyes: these same students who despite my constant promptings, refocusing, encouragement, and calls home throughout the semester, managed to get nothing of substance completed and are now begging for handouts at my door. And they do it, because they know they can get away with it. Accomplishing the absolute minimum passing grade by putting in no effort during the class, a bit of shameless begging, and a whole lot of copying at the end of the semester was their goal from the start.
Honestly, it's a heart-breaking, frustrating, and infuriating realization. However, it's a lesson I could only learn by experience. Were I to merely follow those gems of wisdom given by my coworkers without fully understanding why, I would inevitably revert back to my naive reasoning of second chances. Just one more challenge faced and overcome in my journey towards becoming the best educator I can be. I feel I am so much better for it.
The result: burn out and disillusionment
Bombarded with make-up work at the end of each grading period, I would grade for hours and hours at books-a-million with no end in sight. Students who came in for make up work managed, after much effort, to only pull their grades up to a D or not at all (thus wasting both of our time). Foolish as I was, despite all of this, I still believed in giving the students a chance to succeed.
It's not until now, when I've taken an extra teaching load and literally CAN'T give them that chance, that I'm realizing the truth about what those other teachers said. It's like I'm seeing it with new eyes: these same students who despite my constant promptings, refocusing, encouragement, and calls home throughout the semester, managed to get nothing of substance completed and are now begging for handouts at my door. And they do it, because they know they can get away with it. Accomplishing the absolute minimum passing grade by putting in no effort during the class, a bit of shameless begging, and a whole lot of copying at the end of the semester was their goal from the start.
Honestly, it's a heart-breaking, frustrating, and infuriating realization. However, it's a lesson I could only learn by experience. Were I to merely follow those gems of wisdom given by my coworkers without fully understanding why, I would inevitably revert back to my naive reasoning of second chances. Just one more challenge faced and overcome in my journey towards becoming the best educator I can be. I feel I am so much better for it.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Killing Trees
Doing better these days. This year has been such a rollercoaster ride! There are so many emotional highs and lows when it comes to teaching in a school like this.
Bookbags must have black holes living inside of them. Everytime I hand out a worksheet, it disappears to the same unknown as planetary dust, meteorids, and even light. I've passed out the same worksheet at least four times to no avail. I should charge a 10 dollar fee for missing worksheets, then maybe I would break even on my bills each month.
It's ironic because my kids are always encouraging me to "go green" on the paper. Much as I would love to delude myself with the idea that my kids are informed and altruistic enough to have this motivation on their own, alas I must face the reality that they really have no concept of what "going green" implies other than what Kanye tells them (which isn't much). The same conciencious young mind that reminds me to pass out less worksheets has no qualms about leaving scads of blank filler paper all over the floor at the end of the day. Sometimes I wonder if I have students or hamsters in here.
Bookbags must have black holes living inside of them. Everytime I hand out a worksheet, it disappears to the same unknown as planetary dust, meteorids, and even light. I've passed out the same worksheet at least four times to no avail. I should charge a 10 dollar fee for missing worksheets, then maybe I would break even on my bills each month.
It's ironic because my kids are always encouraging me to "go green" on the paper. Much as I would love to delude myself with the idea that my kids are informed and altruistic enough to have this motivation on their own, alas I must face the reality that they really have no concept of what "going green" implies other than what Kanye tells them (which isn't much). The same conciencious young mind that reminds me to pass out less worksheets has no qualms about leaving scads of blank filler paper all over the floor at the end of the day. Sometimes I wonder if I have students or hamsters in here.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Another day in paradise
I used to think that crying because of your job was just a first year thing. I never imagined that I would be fighting back tears 4 years into my career, especially since I survived my first year without a single tear. I realize now, however, that in an urban school, crying is quite normal for teachers at all levels of experience. I've never seen so many coworkers sitting in their classrooms during planning or after school with red eyes and crumpled tissues.
Today I had an eye-welling moment as I was trying to get through Caesar. Progress through the play had been painfully slow because certain students would interupt the class shouting out, "I need to go to the bathroom" or "I don't got a book". Those I did not allow to put their heads down during the class shouted disruptively until I had to send them down to the office. Every other day I need to call security down to pull another defiant or disruptive student out of the class. The more I told them to remain silent, the more some of them protested, joked, laughed, and caused mayhem. Finally, I grew so frustrated trying to move on with the play that I told them they could figure it out themselves and take the quiz on their own. I sat down and ignored them while I made up a quiz. To my amazement, they grew quiet. The two noisiest students actually started trying reading the play on their own. The one student who, no matter what, would not listen, got up and walked out. The rest were silent.
I waited another minute or two, then asked the class if they were ready to continue on. They were and we were able to move forward. It was so hard to let go though, you always want to keep working and helping them. But I had enough of their manipulating. Once I started ignoring them, it came clear to me that they merely wanted attention, and I was giving it to them by telling them to be quiet or trying to regulate them. It was a really hard lesson though, and before I sat down and ignored them, I was 2 seconds from breaking into tears.
Our job is so difficult. Most people in the outside world seem to understand that, but you never really understand it until you've lived it. That's why no amount of classroom education can prepare you for teaching. The experienced teachers told me about the ignoring thing, but I didn't really understand it until I went through it today. There are so many aspects of this job that you have to learn the hard way, step by step, and day by day.
It's all worth it though. I look at myself and sometimes marvel at how much patience I've acquired since I started. I'm so much stronger in ways I never would've imagined. Most of all, I actually did something to help people. I love that. I love that I help people all day long. I love my job! It kills me, but I love it.
Today I had an eye-welling moment as I was trying to get through Caesar. Progress through the play had been painfully slow because certain students would interupt the class shouting out, "I need to go to the bathroom" or "I don't got a book". Those I did not allow to put their heads down during the class shouted disruptively until I had to send them down to the office. Every other day I need to call security down to pull another defiant or disruptive student out of the class. The more I told them to remain silent, the more some of them protested, joked, laughed, and caused mayhem. Finally, I grew so frustrated trying to move on with the play that I told them they could figure it out themselves and take the quiz on their own. I sat down and ignored them while I made up a quiz. To my amazement, they grew quiet. The two noisiest students actually started trying reading the play on their own. The one student who, no matter what, would not listen, got up and walked out. The rest were silent.
I waited another minute or two, then asked the class if they were ready to continue on. They were and we were able to move forward. It was so hard to let go though, you always want to keep working and helping them. But I had enough of their manipulating. Once I started ignoring them, it came clear to me that they merely wanted attention, and I was giving it to them by telling them to be quiet or trying to regulate them. It was a really hard lesson though, and before I sat down and ignored them, I was 2 seconds from breaking into tears.
Our job is so difficult. Most people in the outside world seem to understand that, but you never really understand it until you've lived it. That's why no amount of classroom education can prepare you for teaching. The experienced teachers told me about the ignoring thing, but I didn't really understand it until I went through it today. There are so many aspects of this job that you have to learn the hard way, step by step, and day by day.
It's all worth it though. I look at myself and sometimes marvel at how much patience I've acquired since I started. I'm so much stronger in ways I never would've imagined. Most of all, I actually did something to help people. I love that. I love that I help people all day long. I love my job! It kills me, but I love it.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Occupational Hazard
The weather has been working in cahoots with the tooth fairy's evil twin, so for the past few days, everyone (including myself) has been having tooth pains. My collaborating SPED teacher took off two days to see the dentist, I took one day to take my mom to the dentist, and I finally scheduled a President's Day visit to the dentist for my own dull aches.
After some poking with a sharp thingy, about six x-rays by a very young dental hygienist, and an hour of needless waiting in a tilted chair, the dentist comes over to take a five minute look in my mouth. He then asks me about my occupation and stress levels. I explained that yes my job does involve quite a bit of stress and long hours (sometimes 14-16 hour days). His eyes bugged out a bit when I mentioned the hours, which made me again think about how much our profession is underappreciated in the professional world. Then he told me the pains were due to stress-induced teeth grinding at night.
Therefore I must now, in addition to all the stress eating and coffee addiction, wear a retainer-like night guard to keep myself from grinding my teeth down to little bits. Sometimes I feel like you have to be a yoga fanatic in order to handle the pressures of this job without a destructive habit (like chocoholism).
My teacher friends and I have an ongoing fantasy about working as a greeter at Walmart. All the people interaction you could hope for, no brain work, and when the shift is over: go home and live your life!
After some poking with a sharp thingy, about six x-rays by a very young dental hygienist, and an hour of needless waiting in a tilted chair, the dentist comes over to take a five minute look in my mouth. He then asks me about my occupation and stress levels. I explained that yes my job does involve quite a bit of stress and long hours (sometimes 14-16 hour days). His eyes bugged out a bit when I mentioned the hours, which made me again think about how much our profession is underappreciated in the professional world. Then he told me the pains were due to stress-induced teeth grinding at night.
Therefore I must now, in addition to all the stress eating and coffee addiction, wear a retainer-like night guard to keep myself from grinding my teeth down to little bits. Sometimes I feel like you have to be a yoga fanatic in order to handle the pressures of this job without a destructive habit (like chocoholism).
My teacher friends and I have an ongoing fantasy about working as a greeter at Walmart. All the people interaction you could hope for, no brain work, and when the shift is over: go home and live your life!
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Can you teach us not to be so ghetto?
Such was the question from one of my students after several requests of certain members of the class to utilize "inside voices". To which my response was, "Believe me, I'm trying."
I'm beginning to realize that the charms of ghetto-culture do not merely grace the speech of my students in the form of colorful metaphors and shortened word forms.
There is a tone of voice, usually several decibels higher than necessary, that goes along with every phrase spoken with any sort of emphasis or passion. Hence were I to translate this tone into text, a simple inquiry such as: "Would you be so kind as to provide me with a writing utensil" turns into: "I NEED A PENCIL!!!!!!!!" (which explains a great deal about the multitude of issues in their writing).
Although they were not so congenial at the beginning of the school year, my students and I have now achieved a rapport such that most things said in the classroom nowadays lack any sort of malcontent. However, they are said with such volume and gusto that they continue to disrupt the class. It has been an ongoing struggle trying to teach them to lower the volume of their voices. Often times, even when the entire class is quiet, they will shout a random thought or question out or burst out with a laugh so astoundingly loud that I'll wonder if it were a laugh or scream.
Last class period, I gave a lengthy lecture on the overuse of the exclamation point. Too many of my students were turning in essays that contained phrases punctuated with multiple exclamation points. I had to explain to them that a single exclamation point is considered such a potent form of expletive that multiple explanation points simply do not exist. But then again, in the world of formal writing, one can only speak in "inside voices".
I'm beginning to realize that the charms of ghetto-culture do not merely grace the speech of my students in the form of colorful metaphors and shortened word forms.
There is a tone of voice, usually several decibels higher than necessary, that goes along with every phrase spoken with any sort of emphasis or passion. Hence were I to translate this tone into text, a simple inquiry such as: "Would you be so kind as to provide me with a writing utensil" turns into: "I NEED A PENCIL!!!!!!!!" (which explains a great deal about the multitude of issues in their writing).
Although they were not so congenial at the beginning of the school year, my students and I have now achieved a rapport such that most things said in the classroom nowadays lack any sort of malcontent. However, they are said with such volume and gusto that they continue to disrupt the class. It has been an ongoing struggle trying to teach them to lower the volume of their voices. Often times, even when the entire class is quiet, they will shout a random thought or question out or burst out with a laugh so astoundingly loud that I'll wonder if it were a laugh or scream.
Last class period, I gave a lengthy lecture on the overuse of the exclamation point. Too many of my students were turning in essays that contained phrases punctuated with multiple exclamation points. I had to explain to them that a single exclamation point is considered such a potent form of expletive that multiple explanation points simply do not exist. But then again, in the world of formal writing, one can only speak in "inside voices".
First Blog!
Hello Hello everyone!
I've decided to create this blog as a means of blowing off some steam from the rigors and stresses that come from that almighty occupation of teacher. Fellow educators, please feel free to join in the commiseration as well as wallow in the warm fuzzy glow of our altruistic aims to improve the world in which we live.
I've decided to create this blog as a means of blowing off some steam from the rigors and stresses that come from that almighty occupation of teacher. Fellow educators, please feel free to join in the commiseration as well as wallow in the warm fuzzy glow of our altruistic aims to improve the world in which we live.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)