It's been a rough week, I'm not going to lie, but now it's Friday and time to switch gears, so here are some little bits of humor from life at the middle school.
Upon discovering that I do not have a TV in my house and that I have seen next to none of the essential movies of the past decades, some of my teacher friends were giving me a hard time, and one of them said, "What, did you grow up, like, Mennonite or something?" I busted out laughing and said, "Yes, actually...Wait, did you know that?", thinking he did and was just making a joke. Then I saw his face get red as he said, "Oh. God. That's embarrassing."
In one of my 7th-grade math classes today, I was teaching one of my favorite students how to solve algebraic equations without resorting to the trial-and-error method. I showed him, "Look, you just reverse the operation, and poof, the number next to the variable disappears! Magic!" He just looked at me, rolled his eyes, and said, as if he were explaining to a small child, "Miss, that's not magic. That's math."
Also today, I got to help chaperone a group of students on a bowling excursion. The other adults and I got in on the fun and bowled as well. Before we started, one of the other teachers, without our knowledge, gave the guy at the desk goofy names for us all to put up on the scoreboard, names like "Z-Rocker," "Abinator" for Abby, and "E-tastic" for me. The rest of us, sitting at our lane, watched our names come up in their five-letter versions: "ROCKR," "ABINA," and then mine: "TSTIC." We nearly died. One of the English teachers told me she'll never be able to think of me as anything else. How am I supposed to go around applying for teaching jobs with a nickname like "Testicle?" I'm just praying none of the students ever find out.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Triage
One of the most valuable practical lessons of my college career came in our senior seminar after student teaching. One of my infinitely wise education professors told all of us aspiring educators that if we left with only one piece of advice, it should be this: teaching is triage. You can't be everything to everyone. Stop the bleeding where the bleeding is worst; anyone who's not dying just has to wait.
At that point, I was still pretty idealistic--still am, to a large degree--and told myself that I would never stoop to that level of educational mediocrity, functioning in survival mode, just trying to keep all my students' heads above water. I had visions of captivating lessons, fascinated students, extraordinary achievements, boundless energy...all in my first year of teaching, of course. If the past three months have taught me one thing, it's to be a little bit more realistic.
Teaching is triage, I believe that now without a doubt, but whom do you rescue first? The kid who can't add single-digit numbers or the secretly brilliant one suffocating in everyone else's apathy? The one who barely speaks English or the one screaming profanity? The one who spends the class drawing gang insignias on his binder or the one talking about the previous weekend's drug use? The one who clings to you begging for attention or the one who has withdrawn completely? The one scandalously dressed or the one without a coat on a negative-temperature day? The one who writes stories about abusive parents or the one who tells you about his brother's and sister's deaths? The one who painstakingly struggles through one-syllable words or the one who flat out refuses to do anything? The one relentlessly bullying other students in your classroom or the one getting beat up in the hallway?
Yes, teaching is triage. And everyone is dying.
At that point, I was still pretty idealistic--still am, to a large degree--and told myself that I would never stoop to that level of educational mediocrity, functioning in survival mode, just trying to keep all my students' heads above water. I had visions of captivating lessons, fascinated students, extraordinary achievements, boundless energy...all in my first year of teaching, of course. If the past three months have taught me one thing, it's to be a little bit more realistic.
Teaching is triage, I believe that now without a doubt, but whom do you rescue first? The kid who can't add single-digit numbers or the secretly brilliant one suffocating in everyone else's apathy? The one who barely speaks English or the one screaming profanity? The one who spends the class drawing gang insignias on his binder or the one talking about the previous weekend's drug use? The one who clings to you begging for attention or the one who has withdrawn completely? The one scandalously dressed or the one without a coat on a negative-temperature day? The one who writes stories about abusive parents or the one who tells you about his brother's and sister's deaths? The one who painstakingly struggles through one-syllable words or the one who flat out refuses to do anything? The one relentlessly bullying other students in your classroom or the one getting beat up in the hallway?
Yes, teaching is triage. And everyone is dying.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Drama
You'd better believe it. In every sense of the word. I mentioned in my last post that I recently started co-directing an after-school theater class, along with Abby, another para at the school who has become a very dear friend and true lifeline when middle school life is just too much to handle. Our theater class began last week with a course intro and auditions, but our first actual rehearsal was yesterday. Heaven help us.
The excitement began as soon as we brought the kids to the auditorium: preteen actors chasing each other through aisles, banging on pianos, screaming into microphones, and swinging from curtains. After a good bit of corralling and explaining how important it is to respect school property (and teachers), we finally got everyone relatively settled down to highlight their lines in the script. That endeavor went reasonably well. Except that a few students complained continually about who got which part. And that the Jester decided he didn't want to be married to his Wife, and they started hitting and calling each other names, just like any good married couple. And that the King disappeared. We eventually found him hiding wrapped up in a curtain, saying he didn't actually want to be in the play at all, that the Jester had recruited him so he wouldn't be the only boy in the twelve-person cast.
Then we began a read-through. Oh, pain. Most of the leads did a decent job and even used appropriate inflection on occasion, but a few seemed to stumble over every other word, which prompted some others to make scornful remarks and mutter under their breath how they should've gotten the part. Cell phones kept ringing throughout the reading, and one of the Ladies of the Court crawled across the stage to where I was sitting to tell me that she had gotten in a fight that day. By the end of the read-through, restless actors were rolling all over the stage--and the entire script is only eight pages long.
We thought we were doing pretty well when we finally got everyone pulled together into the front row of the auditorium to discuss the rehearsal schedule and expectations, until we noticed the Queen bawling in her seat. Upon further investigation, we discovered that the Jester's Wife had accidentally put the Queen's seat up just as she was about to sit down, and she fell right on her elbow. Several Ladies of the Court tried to console the inconsolable Queen, while the King badmouthed the Jester's wife, who consequently whacked him in the face with her script and then started crying as well. Good lord. Gives a whole new meaning to the term Drama Queen.
I went home absolutely exhausted, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this nightmarish scene would turn out like one of those inspirational movies about inner-city kids and their clueless-but-determined white teachers who somehow succeed in spite of the odds and prove everybody wrong, earning fives on their AP calc exams and playing their quarter-size violins with Itzhak Perlman at Carnegie Hall...sigh. Right now I'll settle for everyone surviving until the performance.
The excitement began as soon as we brought the kids to the auditorium: preteen actors chasing each other through aisles, banging on pianos, screaming into microphones, and swinging from curtains. After a good bit of corralling and explaining how important it is to respect school property (and teachers), we finally got everyone relatively settled down to highlight their lines in the script. That endeavor went reasonably well. Except that a few students complained continually about who got which part. And that the Jester decided he didn't want to be married to his Wife, and they started hitting and calling each other names, just like any good married couple. And that the King disappeared. We eventually found him hiding wrapped up in a curtain, saying he didn't actually want to be in the play at all, that the Jester had recruited him so he wouldn't be the only boy in the twelve-person cast.
Then we began a read-through. Oh, pain. Most of the leads did a decent job and even used appropriate inflection on occasion, but a few seemed to stumble over every other word, which prompted some others to make scornful remarks and mutter under their breath how they should've gotten the part. Cell phones kept ringing throughout the reading, and one of the Ladies of the Court crawled across the stage to where I was sitting to tell me that she had gotten in a fight that day. By the end of the read-through, restless actors were rolling all over the stage--and the entire script is only eight pages long.
We thought we were doing pretty well when we finally got everyone pulled together into the front row of the auditorium to discuss the rehearsal schedule and expectations, until we noticed the Queen bawling in her seat. Upon further investigation, we discovered that the Jester's Wife had accidentally put the Queen's seat up just as she was about to sit down, and she fell right on her elbow. Several Ladies of the Court tried to console the inconsolable Queen, while the King badmouthed the Jester's wife, who consequently whacked him in the face with her script and then started crying as well. Good lord. Gives a whole new meaning to the term Drama Queen.
I went home absolutely exhausted, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this nightmarish scene would turn out like one of those inspirational movies about inner-city kids and their clueless-but-determined white teachers who somehow succeed in spite of the odds and prove everybody wrong, earning fives on their AP calc exams and playing their quarter-size violins with Itzhak Perlman at Carnegie Hall...sigh. Right now I'll settle for everyone surviving until the performance.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Hit the ground running
Hmmm, looks like I haven't written in over a month. Let's say that's a testament to how busy I've been and not to how much I've been slacking in communication. Or rather, that I've been focusing on catching up with people in person instead of online. In any case, the past month has indeed been a full one: traveling back to PA, spending Christmas with the family, visiting with high school and college friends and lots of relatives, playing many hours of street hockey and Boggle and ping-pong, and making a trip to DC for New Year's Eve. Ah, winter breaks like this are not the least of the reasons I choose to work in public schools.
Since that beautiful vacation, life has been anything but boring. At school, I'm right back in the swing of administering English proficiency tests, working with struggling students, and, most recently, creating an after-school theater class and co-directing a play and musical number. I've also been updating my resumé and looking for teaching jobs for next school year, or even for this semester--stressful even to think about, but exciting nonetheless.
Also, happy Inauguration Day! I skipped my 10:00 lunch this morning to watch the proceedings on the big screen in the auditorium with a bunch of our students. (Granted, political awareness is not necessarily one of their fortes, as evidenced by our inauguration discussion in ESL class today, in which we asked 6th and 7th graders who would become president if something happened to Obama. Their answers: His wife. John McCain. George Bush. And Martin Luther King, Jr.) I don't think many of them fully grasped the significance of what was happening, but they were excited. It was...beautiful. Watching them watching him, I felt more hopeful about the future of this country than I have in a long, long time. Here's to a new day.
Since that beautiful vacation, life has been anything but boring. At school, I'm right back in the swing of administering English proficiency tests, working with struggling students, and, most recently, creating an after-school theater class and co-directing a play and musical number. I've also been updating my resumé and looking for teaching jobs for next school year, or even for this semester--stressful even to think about, but exciting nonetheless.
Also, happy Inauguration Day! I skipped my 10:00 lunch this morning to watch the proceedings on the big screen in the auditorium with a bunch of our students. (Granted, political awareness is not necessarily one of their fortes, as evidenced by our inauguration discussion in ESL class today, in which we asked 6th and 7th graders who would become president if something happened to Obama. Their answers: His wife. John McCain. George Bush. And Martin Luther King, Jr.) I don't think many of them fully grasped the significance of what was happening, but they were excited. It was...beautiful. Watching them watching him, I felt more hopeful about the future of this country than I have in a long, long time. Here's to a new day.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Bowling
Who knew a bunch of middle school teachers, paras, and office staff could be such a good time when they don't have any students to worry about? Turns out we can be a heck of a lot of fun when we're not trying to act like responsible adults. And bowling, of course, brings out everyone's best side. The holiday party after school today included several hours of bowling, trash-talking, stuffing ourselves with Mexican food, exchanging white elephant gifts scavenged from our classrooms, and singing terrible karaoke. I won a bowling-pin-shaped water bottle for winning the bowling-through-someone-else's-legs contest and a Rishel Rangler jacket for being a member of the night's worst bowling team. If only our students could see us like this...they might lose all respect for us. Or they might actually start to see us as real people and respect us all the more.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Sage advice
Looking back in my journal, I came across a little snippet of conversation that I had written down from two weeks ago in school:
(I walk into the all-boys' math class and run into another teacher standing at the door.)
Teacher: Are you helping out in this class?
Erin: Yeah, it's my first day for this one.
Teacher: Do you drink?
Erin: (looks puzzled)
Teacher: I recommend you start.
(I walk into the all-boys' math class and run into another teacher standing at the door.)
Teacher: Are you helping out in this class?
Erin: Yeah, it's my first day for this one.
Teacher: Do you drink?
Erin: (looks puzzled)
Teacher: I recommend you start.
Monday, December 8, 2008
All in a day’s work
I’ve been working as a para at Rishel Middle School for just over a month now—although it seems like much longer—and it deserves a little more coverage than the first-week impressions I’ve given so far.
So, what exactly do I do? I’m still trying to figure that one out myself. My schedule inevitably changes every time I think I have it worked out, but here’s a rundown of a day that goes precisely as scheduled...although I don’t think I’ve had a single one of those yet.
6:50 Bike three minutes to school, carry bicycle up the stairs and into a classroom, chat with the office staff, clock in.
7:00 Door duty. Stand at the main entrance and tell students they have to walk around the school and come in through the cafeteria, to which they unfailingly whine and complain.
7:25 Learning Families. (Homeroom, essentially.) Abby and I were recently adopted by an existing one.
7:52 This is where it gets interesting. I go to a double-period math class and am still being tossed around doing odd jobs the other period since the girl I had been interpreting for had her schedule changed.
10:04 Lunch. Slightly preposterous, ¿no?
10:45 More excitement. Depending on the day, I have two lunch/recess duties or none. I co-teach a double-period language arts class for ELLs (English language learners) and help out in social studies, more math, and orchestra.
2:30 Clock out, retrieve the bicycle, and head either to English tutoring or home, exhausted.
Writing it down, it doesn’t sound like it should take all that much energy, but you’d be surprised. It’s all the little things. Trying to persuade defiant students to pick up a pencil. Confiscating dozens of worksheets-turned-paper-airplanes. Escorting severely disruptive students to the office. Preventing out-of-control orchestra kids from stomping their violins to pieces. Seriously, it’s happened.
And then there are the redeeming moments, too. Persuading seventh-grade boys that they could have bigger dreams than working at 7-11 and answering their questions about college. Stopping and talking to four of my students walking down the street on my way to the library. Learning a new Vietnamese phrase every day during lunch. Teaching sixth-grade girls to throw a football at recess. Spending a solid class period on solving proportions with a group of students, inventing our own ratio problems about how many of them will drive Porches compared to Ferraris, and watching every single one of them finally get it: "Hey Miss, this stuff in the book is easy!" "I’m gonna take this home and do more of them!" And I remember exactly why I come back every day for more.
So, what exactly do I do? I’m still trying to figure that one out myself. My schedule inevitably changes every time I think I have it worked out, but here’s a rundown of a day that goes precisely as scheduled...although I don’t think I’ve had a single one of those yet.
6:50 Bike three minutes to school, carry bicycle up the stairs and into a classroom, chat with the office staff, clock in.
7:00 Door duty. Stand at the main entrance and tell students they have to walk around the school and come in through the cafeteria, to which they unfailingly whine and complain.
7:25 Learning Families. (Homeroom, essentially.) Abby and I were recently adopted by an existing one.
7:52 This is where it gets interesting. I go to a double-period math class and am still being tossed around doing odd jobs the other period since the girl I had been interpreting for had her schedule changed.
10:04 Lunch. Slightly preposterous, ¿no?
10:45 More excitement. Depending on the day, I have two lunch/recess duties or none. I co-teach a double-period language arts class for ELLs (English language learners) and help out in social studies, more math, and orchestra.
2:30 Clock out, retrieve the bicycle, and head either to English tutoring or home, exhausted.
Writing it down, it doesn’t sound like it should take all that much energy, but you’d be surprised. It’s all the little things. Trying to persuade defiant students to pick up a pencil. Confiscating dozens of worksheets-turned-paper-airplanes. Escorting severely disruptive students to the office. Preventing out-of-control orchestra kids from stomping their violins to pieces. Seriously, it’s happened.
And then there are the redeeming moments, too. Persuading seventh-grade boys that they could have bigger dreams than working at 7-11 and answering their questions about college. Stopping and talking to four of my students walking down the street on my way to the library. Learning a new Vietnamese phrase every day during lunch. Teaching sixth-grade girls to throw a football at recess. Spending a solid class period on solving proportions with a group of students, inventing our own ratio problems about how many of them will drive Porches compared to Ferraris, and watching every single one of them finally get it: "Hey Miss, this stuff in the book is easy!" "I’m gonna take this home and do more of them!" And I remember exactly why I come back every day for more.
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