Teaching is not for Sisiyphussies

I am so. unbelievably. tired.  If my daughter ever asks me (and I doubt she will) what the essence of being a teacher means, I will tell her it is exhaustion.  I am exhausted in every conceivable definition of the word:  physically, mentally, spiritually, and psychologically.  When people ask me what I do on my breaks, the answer is always the same.  I sleep. 

My students, for some inexplicable reason, like to ask me if I went "to da club this weekend." My answer usually goes something like this, "No, I did not.  My weekends usually involve my husband hoping that I can make it through a movie we rented without falling asleep--which is typically around 9:30."  I feel like  Sisyphus.  Every morning I have to get up in the dark, work all day doing the impossible, come home and attempt to pay attention to my children and husband's needs, and then fall into bed exhausted, only to do it all again the next day.

Last week was ridiculous--I had to make a CPS call (the details of which I obviously can't go in to, but obviously, that is never a happy thing), "Annie," the muse for my play "How You Gonna Fail Me?" threatened me with bodily harm, and then there were all kinds of fun personal dramas plaguing me.  I happily took Friday off, went to a Barry Manilow concert with my gay bff, had a few drinks and then settled in for a luxurious night's sleep with no requirement to get up at any particular time.

Then I woke up at 5:57.

WTF?

Why is it that Monday through Friday, 6:00 a.m. comes and I am pulled out of a dead sleep by my alarm, but if I don't have to get up, I wake up?  I didn't just wake up; I was wide awake.  Luckily, I was able to fall back asleep...and then...my cell phone rang.

"Miz Nilknarf!  Where are you?"  It was Devon.  I have no idea how he got my phone number.  I don't really keep it a secret--I have no problem with my students calling me.  I just don't recall giving it to him specifically. 

"I am out today, remember?"  I responded with all kinds of dramatic yawning.

"Well, when are you going to be back?"  he demanded.

This brings to mind a phenomenon, that I like to call "You are a teacher, therefore you must not have a life or even exist for that matter, outside of school grounds."  My first department head said that students think we are robots that are powered down for the night after school is over each day.  Don't believe me?  How else can one explain the complete and utter shock students have when they see me out in public?  Say I run into a student at the mall.  They will run to me with eyes wide and say, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"  with the same amount of astonished horror that I would ask that question of say, running into my mother in a crack house.  It's just not fathomable.  Bottom line, they are allowed to skip class, stay home from school, sleep in class, etc.  However, I am expected to be there with a smile on my face no matter what!  Consider this note I found on the top of a test students took when I was absent earlier this year. 

It's kind of sweet actually (if you are inclined to ignore the poor grammar).   It is nice to know I am loved (except  by Annie, who continues to assert that I am failing her for no reason).  Anyway, Teacher Appreciation Week is coming up May 6-10.  If you have kids in school, if you are in school, or if you have a way to contact a teacher that made a difference in your life, take the time to write them a note.  Gifts are awesome, but not necessary.  Tell them you value what they do.  I promise you it will mean so much to that person. 

A Short Play Entitled, "How You Gonna Fail Me?"

Characters:

Annie:  A senior, in my 10th grade English class for the 2nd year.
Ms. T:  Guidance Counselor (or as we just call them now, "Professional Counselor")
Dr. C:  Vice Principal
Miz N:  English teacher supreme


Act I scene i:  Scene opens with teacher sitting at her desk creating rigorous and relevant lesson plans that support the 10th grade SOLs (Standards of Learning). 

Annie:  Miz N, I need to talk to you about making up my work.

Miz N:  Annie, you have not earned higher than a 50 any quarter so far.  You have barely been in class all year.  Repeated opportunities to make up missed work have been ignored.  I have tried to work with you.  It is time for you to accept that you will not be passing this class.

Annie:  But your class is the only one that I'm not passing and because of you I'm not going to graduate!

Miz N:  That is really too bad that you did not do the work to ensure on time graduation.  To pass you would not be fair to everyone else who has come to class and done their work.

Annie:  But I'm not like everyone else!  I gots kidney stones and depression!

Miz N:  I have tried to work with you and you have made no effort. 

<student walks out of classroom and slams the door>

Scene ii:  Counselor's office

Miz N:  As I have told you, Annie will not be able to pass my class due to her ongoing absences and unwillingness to meet my generous deadlines to make up her work.  She claims my class is the only problem.  Is this true?

Ms. T:  No, she is failing almost all of her classes, plus she has not passed her 11th grade SOL.  She is well aware of her graduation status.  I will talk to her again.

Scene iii:  Administrator's Office

Miz N:  I would like to talk to you about Annie.  I have tried to work with her, but it looks like she is going to fail English 10 a second time.

Dr. T:  Oh, I am well aware.  She has missed 65 days of school this year.  She has seat time* to make up and came to ask me for a waiver.  I told her that since she has not made up a single hour of seat time, and continues to miss school, I'm not really inclined to be sympathetic. 

Act II:  Miz N's class, later that day.  Bell Rings.

Miz N:  Ok, projects are due, so let's get those out.

Annie <who doesn't have her project>:  I ain't stayin' here....<walks out, slams door>

Miz N: <calling security on phone>  Hello, Annie Lazy just walked out of my class.

Students:  What's her problem?

Miz N:  She's mad because she hasn't been here all year and her choices are catching up with her. 

<a few minutes later, Ms. T returns Annie to class>

Miz N:  She does not get to return to my class today after walking out and slamming the door.  She needs to go to In School Detention.  <Annie is now disrupting the class, talking to other students about how mean Miz N is for failing her for no reason.>  Annie, can you please stop disrupting the students who have chosen to stay in class and do their work today?

Annie:  How you gonna fail me?  Why you tell them I'm failing?  That ain't none of their business?

Miz N:  Annie, it is no big secret, you haven't been here all year and they know it. You need to leave with Ms. T and go to ISD.

Annie:  I heard you, you ain't gotta tell me 50 Damn Times!

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand scene.

*Seat Time is a completely ridiculous option where a student can still possibly graduate even if they have missed more than the allowed absences (assuming they are passing their classes).  Students literally stay after school or come on Saturdays to "sit" and write essays, thus making up their absences.  The playwrite thinks that is bullshit.

"Just you..."

The opportunity to build relationships is really what can make teaching rewarding.  However, with the population I teach, the opportunity to build relationships that are not just supportive, but can be a lifeline and impact a student in a tangible way is all around me.  Often these kids are not likeable, are discipline problems, and poor students. 

Devon is what we call a "hot mess."  He is frequently in trouble, his grades are marginal at best, and he has a really bad habit of telling outrageous lies for attention.  He came in about a quarter of the way into the school year and my first memorable experience with him was when he came into my mid-term exam saying,

"Man!  I gots to get da fuk outta here!"

"But," I said, more than a little taken aback, "you have to take your exam first!"

"FUCK DAT!" Devon responded, and then he walked out.

 Luckily, we bonded back when I asked him to teach me some moves for the Old Skool Dance we had last winter. The look on his face watching me attempt to imitate him was priceless.  He would shake his head and go, "Miz Nilknarf!  Why you so stiff?  You gotta stop being so white!"

We've gotten to a much better place and now he is like a puppy. An omnipresent puppy, always getting into things and keeping me from getting my work done! He lives with his grandparents and I try to sift through the tales he tells me to discover what is real and what is not.  Whatever it is, it isn't good. I still struggle to be patient with him. He isn't defiant anymore, but he needs constant redirection, puts forth minimal effort, and is very quick to take advantage. 

Anyway, we are doing a project on archetypes in literature (the hero, the villain, the mentor, the faithful companion).  I asked them to create a collage where they are the hero and tell their story, assigning archetypes to significant people in their lives.  As I'm explaining this to Devon again after class he says,

"So would I put Derek Jeter on there for my mentor?"

"No, a mentor isn't the same thing as an idol.  A mentor is someone who is a part of your life that inspires and guides you," I explain again. 

"Well, Derek Jeter does that for me."

"No," I sigh, trying again, "a mentor archetype is someone the hero knows who is involved in his life, who cares about him and gives him good advice.  Like Yoda did for Luke Skywalker."

Literally, the child started tearing up.  He says, "Well I don't have nobody like that...just you."

This is the moment where I want to burst into tears, hug him, and invite him to live with me, and right all of the various injustices that Life has handed this poor kid. 

Instead I smiled and said, "Well, then put me on there.  That would be an honor." 

Yearbook and the Moment I've Been Expecting Since my First Year

Over the last school year, I have alluded to the challenges of my first year as yearbook adviser.  I haven't really had the energy to go into it because sometimes something sucks so much that it's not worth the emotion and energy it takes to write it down.  Yearbook was like being a first year teacher again.  Here is why:  I had no idea what I was doing, I had no idea how to manage the kids, I lived under constant fear (self-imposed) of being fired, the kids had absolutely no concern at all about the yearbook or their grade in the class, and that was all just the first few weeks!  After many nights of insomnia worrying about how I was going to meet deadlines and many afternoons coming home frustrated to the point of tears, I am happy to say that a yearbook I am proud of was uploaded on time.  I also came to have a great relationship with the kids and we became a family.  I went from saying no way on this earth would I ever do yearbook again to being excited about next year.  I am in the process now of interviewing staff (which is nice, because I can pick kids I know and have a relationship with) and making plans for next year.

Typically, the staff should consist of well-behaved, bright students, who are motivated and require little supervision.  But since there are only about a dozen of those in the entire school...bwahahahaha!  No seriously, I've got some good kids coming in.  I also picked a student that I actually failed in English 10 last year.  Jordan is good-natured and personable, but he slept through most of my class last year and never turned any work in.  When I called his dad, I was told that, "Jordan has a first class case of the 'I don't give a shits' and we are out of ideas."  This year, Jordan has matured quite a bit and also comes to visit me every single day.  He volunteered to do work for the yearbook, taking pictures after school, to prove to me that he deserved a chance.  He is a great example of not only how a kid can mature over the course of high school, but how building a relationship with a teacher can facilitate that. 

Other big news--the moment I've been expecting since about 8 weeks into my first year teaching, came when our principal announced that he is leaving.  I'm not sure what exactly the story is, other than that his five year contract is up and either he decided not to renew it or the county did.  I have mixed feelings about his leaving.  On the one hand, after a rocky start, he and I have built a great relationship and I know that he likes, respects, and trusts me.  He also has been very supportive of me in some pretty intense situations (see my previous blog post for an example).  For better or worse, I understand how the school works with him as the head of it and know how to navigate it.  That said, it would be super awesome if we can get a real ball buster in there who the teachers all can get behind and who the students can respect and trust.  I am hoping that one of our current vice principals gets the position. 

Finally, I am back to enjoying teaching again.  After months of the tedium of teaching 5 paragraph persuasive essays to prep for the SOL, I am so excited to get back to the kind of creative lesson planning that teaching literature can inspire.  With us into the last quarter of the year, which always flies by, I know that summer will be here soon enough.

We Are (Dysfunctional, Crazy) Family

Who here has a family member that annoys them?  That sometimes hurts their feelings?   Makes you feel unappreciated?  Who here knows that for all the dysfunction, when push comes to shove, your family is there for you?

What I learned this week, is that not only am I valued by my coworkers, but that I am cared for, and we are a family.  I won't go into details, but I will say that true to form, my yearly SOL-induced funk was in full force by last week.  A couple of things happened when I was already feeling low, and next thing you know, I was filling out the paperwork for a transfer.

This weekend, I had a family emergency.  My coworkers, my department chair, my administrators, and my principal came out in full force.  They didn't just step up, they went above and beyond.  I literally have been moved to tears by the amount of compassion and love I have been shown in the last 48 hours.

I have only been teaching three years, but I have been in the workforce for 25.  I have had jobs I loved and jobs I hated.  I have made great friends at work in the past.  I have had great bosses--in fact, one I named my son after.  Never, across the board, have I worked with such a big-hearted, brilliant, beautiful group of people.  For each one of you (coworkers past and present) reading this who has held my hand, commiserated with me, made me smile, listened to stories about my dog, watched my class so I could go to the bathroom, forced me to come to Zumba, had a drink with me, pretended we have a thing going on because the students think it's funny, let me steal your lesson plans, given me chocolate, given me Tylenol, answered my texts, sent me inappropriate emails that make me snort while my kids are taking a test; I adore you.  It is an honor to call you not just coworkers or friends, but family.

I withdrew my transfer paperwork this afternoon.   

Goodbye Breaks my Heart

“But the wild things cried, “Oh please don’t go - we’ll eat you up - we love you so!”
And Max said, “No!”
The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws but Max stepped into his private boat and waved goodbye.” 


I care about all of my students. Some I enjoy teaching because they are smart, some because they are funny, some because they are horrible and I consider it a challenge to draw them out.  Some I care about because they need someone to care about them.  I have a few students who, for any combination of the above stated reasons, steal my heart and when I have to say goodbye to them, it hurts.

Unfortunately, we have a very transient population.  I have students leaving and new ones coming in all the time.  No matter what, I have to say good-bye to them when they graduate. A few weeks into the school year, a student I will call Brenden joined my class.  He was rambunctious, to be sure.  He wasn't disrespectful at all, just kind of challenging to get focused to complete his work.  One time, he started making random mooing noises in class.  They were shockingly realistic.  It was incredibly amusing. That said, it was really disruptive.  Finally, one day I said,

"Hey Brenden, you know, I grew up going to my grandmother's farm every summer.  She had cows and so I am really good at cow noises, too. So on Monday, you are going to stay after school for detention and you and I are going to moo together until you get it out of your system."

We did just that.  For about 5 minutes.  Then we talked.  Brenden is from Puerto Rico.  He has moved 15 times in the last 5 years.  He talked about how hard it is to move, make new friends, and then experience the loss of saying good-bye over and over. His mother had returned to Puerto Rico to care for her ailing parents and so he was staying with a friend. He said, "Please don't think I am a bad kid.  Sometimes I just make bad choices."  My heart melted.  Then I drove him home.

From that point on, Brenden became really enjoyable to teach.  He tried to work hard for me and I let him be his crazy self just enough to let him have fun.   We break for lunch a quarter of the way through class and often he stayed behind to have lunch with me.  We talked about Saturday Night Live and he would show me other silly videos on Youtube that made us both laugh. I started referring to him as "Moo Moo," and he loved it.

Last month, Brenden was incredibly withdrawn in class.    I asked him if he wanted to talk.  When everyone else filed out for lunch, he stayed at his desk.  When he looked up, big tears were running down his face.  His mother had decided that they needed to move back to Puerto Rico permanently.  I immediately thought of asking my husband if we could keep him with us or doing whatever necessary not to only prevent him from having to go through moving again, but to avoid my own pain of saying goodbye. 

Brenden's last day was on Thursday.  He must have come by between every class to give me a hug.  At one point someone said, "Man, you are moving? Why didn't you tell me?"  I knew why. Telling people is painful.  Saying goodbye is painful--much easier to just slip away.

At the end of the day, he came to hug me one more time.  I wanted to cry, but I didn't.  I knew that would make it so much worse for him.  So I smiled, and I got his email address and I told him to keep in touch and that maybe one day we will come visit him in Puerto Rico.  I can't imagine what my 5th period will be like without him.  I can't imagine what my 5th period would have been like, if I hadn't kept him after school that day for our mooing session.  It just shows that every kid has a story and sometimes, we as teachers get to be a part of that story in a really meaningful way.  Even if it is only for a very short time.

The Winter of our Despair

I have started to write this post so many times since the unspeakable horror in Newton, CT.  What can I say that no one else has said already?  My perspective is not unique; I have no words of wisdom, no words that will make sense of something so tragic.  As with any other time something goes on that is painful in the world or in my backyard, I just get up the next morning and do the best I can. 

There are no easy answers.  The NRA suggested armed guards at every school.  Not so shocking to me because we already have two armed police officers at our school.  Would I carry a gun?  Absolutely not.  Would I work at a school where staff and faculty were permitted to be armed?  No way.  Which brings me to the biggest question....

Do I feel safe?

Yes.  Kind of.  If I look at it logically, I feel safe.  Although it is happening entirely too frequently, the fact is that teachers and students go to school without incident the majority of the time.  We have gaps in our security, true, but I have a much, much higher chance of getting in an accident on the way to school.  Everyone is on high alert, new safety considerations are being instituted.  It has never been more safe to go to school than right now. 

But, do I feel safe?

No, not really.

I've had nightmares.  My mind has gone to dark places.  I have cried.  Even though I made every effort to not watch coverage, I still know entirely too much about the shootings and am haunted by the victims' sweet, little faces.  The fact is, anyone could walk in our building and do great damage before our officers could get there.  We found a bullet on the floor of the cafeteria this week.  "No one is in any danger, it could have been dropped by anybody.  We had 400 people in the building last night for a game..."  Right.  

The first week, I locked my door every minute we were in the classroom.  This week, I have not.  I'm going to move on and teach because that is really all I can do.  I have SOLs in just 8 weeks.  Then I can take a breath and then, I will be just steps away spring.