I Must Have Some Middle School Karma To Work Through.

Back at middle school. Same one. Yet again. The best part about being at this school in this particular assignment is that I have such a long planning period, just over two hours. It occurred to me today that I could easily go home, eat lunch, have a quick lie-down and be back in time for my last class period and no one would even notice. But I don't think it would be right. Plus, this gives me time to read and sometimes squeeze in a meditation if I have enough privacy. And the special ed. office in this building is so nice and soothing that I don't mind being here for a while. This is the second day of the two-part assignment that I started last week.

 

Friday found me at another special ed. classroom, this time as a teacher assistant in an elementary school. It was nice to get to observe, and the other teachers in that room were cool and chatted with me, but I didn't have much to do so the day really dragged on. Plus, it was cold in there.

 

But I did get to go with one of the other teachers and take the kids to their music and gym classes, in which they are integrated with the rest of their grade level. In music they got to try playing the autoharp, which got me thinking about the movie Walk the Line and one of the songs Reese Witherspoon sang in it, "Pale Wildwood Flower". I think the instrument she was playing when she sang that was also an autoharp. In gym all the kids played dodgeball, which was painful at times but mostly hilarious to watch, and if they got tagged out they had to do exercises before they could get back in the game. The best part of that class, though, was the warm-up, during which they had to run laps around the room. Two of our kids from the special ed. class ended up just running around in circles in the middle of the room and laughing. It was so adorable, they were having a blast just running in circles, the other teacher and I cracked up watching them.

 

Anyhoo, I figured out how to publish posts from my email, since I can't access my blog from the hyper-restrictive locked-down school computers.

 

We did more work on the persuasive essays in language arts today, and I got to take a group of students to the media center to work on them there, which was nice. I helped them research sources for their outside expert source or whatever. It's a good assignment, but there I feel like their teacher is being a bit too formulaic about it. Who knows, maybe that's how "the county" wants them writing these days. Either way, it was nice to get out of her classroom and out from under her somewhat oppressive energy. In math they took a test. Social Studies should be fun, though. I'm looking forward to it, the teacher is a riot and he lets me participate in class. I think the idea is that if I, having apparently been labeled as a "cool sub" by the kids, get excited about social studies then the rest of them will follow my example. Whatever works, it beats sitting around and zoning out, and I always liked learning about other cultures and all that junk. This week they're learning about the Middle East so I might tell some stories about my trip to Egypt back in 2001. Shake it up a little since most of the personal stories are told from the teacher's experiences during the Gulf War.

 

Well....... I guess I'm going to read for the next hour. Woot!

Seventh Grade Again

I'm writing this segment of my blog while I'm still at school because I'm so bored and I need some semblance of communication with the outside world, and I already sat in my car and bugged people at work (sorry, J-Dawg) and responded to a text and junk like that.

Today I'm subbing for a special educator who serves as a co-teacher in classrooms where special ed. students are integrated into the "regular" class. I basically help out in the classroom and make sure everybody's on task 'n' junk. Schools in this county operate on a block system, where each class is 86 MINUTES LONG. I repeat. Eighty. Six. Minutes. Long. Each! I am so worn out I can barely function, and I've had a two hour break that consisted of lunch and a planning period. No wonder these kids are so annoying. They're trapped in these unnaturally long sessions, most of which are held in open classrooms and have so much noise from neighboring classes I personally feel like I'm about to lose it half the time.

My first period class, language arts, was with a teacher for whom I substituted a few posts ago. The class remembered who I was but they were on their best behavior and didn't say much to me. I can see why. Their teacher is mean! I don't know if "mean" is the right word, but she's overbearing and doesn't really smile, and she talks too much and doesn't ask questions except to check and make sure they're paying attention. She also doesn't articulate herself very well, which isn't the best quality in a language arts teacher. Worst of all, the energy she projects is very... heavy. I felt so weighed down I had to get up and excuse myself to go to the bathroom, just so I could breathe, ground, center, and try to remind myself of a funny inside joke I could keep in my mind so I could perk up the vibe in there a bit.

When I returned to the class I picked a seat in the middle of the room next to one of the students I was supposed to keep an eye on and casually started helping the students around me. They have to right a persuasive essay where they argue for a change that they'd like to see happen in their school. For once, my creative writing degree came in handy. I helped several students write fun opening paragraphs, gave tips for those who were stuck, and even helped one finish his entire first draft outline thingy. (His was about how middle-schoolers should have recess, which is a cause I believe in.)

Then it was on to math, where i basically had to walk around and around and around the classroom and make sure people were copying down all of the answers and showing their work on this review worksheet for a test, and on all of the other papers that they did. By the end of the block I was ready to jump out of my skin, I was more than ready to go. I somehow got back here to the special education office (this building is so impossibly labyrinthine, I keep waiting for the frickin' Minotaur to jump out around every corner) and shut the door. The cinder block walls in here are painted a nice relaxing blue, not too bright, and it's got a cozy greenish-blue carpet.

Another special ed. teacher and I griped about how long the class periods are. It's different when you're teaching and you've got all these things to do, multi-tasking makes time fly. But now that I experience the tables turned, I have a new perspective on the students' experience.

Luckily, in about ten minutes I get to go to the fun social studies class I've been to when I last subbed for special ed here. The teacher is fun and likes me a lot, we tell the kids stories about the places we've traveled to and it's fun. After that I'm out of here! I can't wait to take the dog for a walk, it's kind of cold but misty and I yearn for some nature time. I'm reminded of a wee snippet from a poem by William Butler Yeats: "Away, come away, Empty your heart of its mortal dream..."

*Deep breath* I'm goin' in!

* * *

As predicted, the last class was fun. Hooray, social studies! When I walked in the kids remembered me and shouted stuff like, "You're back!" and "It's the nice sub!" I don't know where they get these crazy notions, but it was nice to hear. Then a few of them told me I should be a real teacher, which I shut down faster than... a jackrabbit? I don't know, I completely blanked on that simile. Then they said I should be a yoga teacher, which is something I could handle. Apparently word of my yoga sessions with the language arts classes I subbed in before got around. It was nice, though, thanks seventh graders for redeeming yourselves at the last minute.

The teacher asked me to sub for his first two classes next week and give some kind of standardized test to his higher-level students, so I said yes. Always nice to have work lined up.

A**hole Larvae: A Plan.

So it turns out I have a coming-home-from-work ritual that I just noticed today. On the way up the drive my dog barks at me from the yard and spins in circles, and I call out a greeting to him. Then I walk inside and see if anyone is home which they usually are not. I kick off my shoes at the door (we are Icelanders, after all), drop off my purse and jacket by the little bench/coat rack and the mail on the counter. Usually by this point I have emitted several high-pitched "Aaaaaaah's" like an untalented opera singer in training. This is the typical way in which my initial relief at arriving home issues forth. Then I go upstairs to my room, and if it has been a particularly harrowing day, I do an Esther Williams style swan-dive onto my as-yet unmade bed, and lie there groaning for a few seconds. Then I roll off, open the blinds in my room (since it's still dark when I leave and I'm paranoid about peeping toms among other things) and quickly change into jeans. From there I spring to the bathroom, where I wash my hands, wash off that blasted makeup, take care of any other bathroom needs, and then return downstairs to drink a glass of water and decompress. Then I am officially home and it feels so good.

Today was a particularly harrowing day, so I did require the swan dive onto my bed followed by some groaning.

I was back at my old high school again, back in that same teacher's room, and back with those illiterate monsters who will one day take over the world.

I feel I have to say... I am not a misanthropic person by nature. Sure, I prefer frolicking in fields to grocery stores, and being trapped in a shopping mall full of small spaces would be a more-than-ample personal hell for me, but I still like the occasional city, culture, art, the theater. I'm a hopeful future actress, for god's sake. I need an audience, don't I? And beyond that, I know that I am supposed to try and shine my light onto the planet, we are all related, give peace a chance, look out for your fellow brothers and sisters just trying to make it in this crazy, mixed up world of ours, one love... I'm mixing my metaphors here, but the point is, it's not that I hate people. And it's not that I hate all teenagers. I don't think of myself as a snob. But today, like all days I spend attempting to teach the unwashed pubescent in its myriad forms, I came up with a plan. And it's not a nice one either.

What if... stay with me now... what... if. We did IQ tests. And personality tests. And observed classroom behavior. Of students, through all of their elementary and middle school years and up to maybe their junior year of high school. And if they had not yet mastered reading and writing at a reasonable level for someone who should have learned how to read by age six, they would be interviewed. They would be offered tutoring, extra help, tested once again for learning disabilities. If they had all their faculties and still didn't give a good goddamn about their education, or ever getting one, and had no interest in a useful trade or art form, they would be thenceforth removed from school and the rest of society and would be used... for manual labor. Stay with me!

Think about it. These are the larval versions of the idiots who don't know how to drive on the road. The numbskull at the DMV who sends you home three times to get paperwork she claims you're missing, when on the final time you demand to see a list of passable documentation and it turns out you had everything you needed the first time around. Your neighbor who parks his ancient, enormous SUV prototype in front of your house when there are no cars parked in front of his. The moron at the crowded pizza counter who shouts over everyone to his or her boss that your credit card was declined and they don't know what to do about it. These are the pupa versions of those assholes! They're baby assholes.

We are cutting down trees for these people's houses. They thank society by throwing fast food wrappers out their car windows. Hell, they eat fast food in the first place. Each car on the road spews forth at least one ton of pollution into the atmosphere every year. Each of these people has one of those cars, and probably a loud one at that, which they drive past your house in the middle of a weeknight, not caring whose precious few hours of sleep they disrupt. They breed relentlessly and their offspring will require housing, and loud cars, and fast food to eat.

Isn't there some way we could just put them to work? Manual labor. Barracks and shared cars. Birth control. Every year they can have a chance to repent and try college, but if they mess it up they're back to work until next year's annual review.

I know it sounds horrible, but I have seen them. I have seen the future. And it terrifies me. It would terrify you, too. The good ones can be saved. The genuinely disabled don't have to be penalized. It's just the idiots I'm talking about. The asshole larvae. Think about it.

Fifth Grade-- Why Was I Worried?

Well, I know I was worried because fifth graders are one year away from being dreaded middle schoolers, but I had a really good day today with those cheerful little "tweens".

I was running late because I stayed up too late at a friend's house playing with her adorable newborn baby girl and talking, and then it took me a while to wind back down to go to sleep. Anyway, so I rushed into the classroom during morning announcements. I hope they don't put me on some list for horrible subs who are never to be used again.

Anyway, I think I've mentioned before how kids just openly talk about you like they think you can't hear them, which is always funny. As though their voices register in the same spot on the sonic spectrum as cetacean echolocation pings or dog whistles.

But where was I? Oh right. I was so excited because they're doing a whole unit on buffalos (spell checker is wrong, both "buffalos" and "buffaloes" are correct according to the dictionary) and American Indian culture, WHICH I LOVE! In fact when I was looking for an AmeriCorps program I almost worked at a school on a reservation somewhere near Redlands, California, but decided on the San Francisco area instead. Luckily, while I lived in the SF Bay Area I met some really cool people who were of... a tribe whose name escapes me, but one of whom was a spiritual leader and let me participate in a ceremony. And around the same time (but separately) I discovered the annual Stanford Powwow in Palo Alto and loved it. Mmmmm, fry bread. And I still wear my moccasins to this day! It's held on sacred land which is fenced off in the middle of this park, and it's got such great vibes I used to go there alone on warm afternoons and sit at the base of an adjacent tree and marinate in them.

Anyhoo. Unfortunately, today I had to teach two hour-long sections of math, helping the kids prep for one of those ridiculous state-wide standardized tests. Gag me. It turned out to be fun, though, because I had long since forgotten how to do a number of the problems, so I let different kids come up to the front of the room and teach the class (and me) how to do it. At long last, I can identify a rhombus. I also got two new buddies out of it, each a talkative boy who kept disrupting the review. They got to bring their chairs and work up and sit right next to me. They both turned out to be lots of fun though, and kept making me laugh which was nice.

During silent reading time I read one of the books in the classroom, Buffalo Woman by Paul Goble. I hoped it would be about White Buffalo Calf Woman, but it wasn't. It turned out to be such a beautiful story anyway, with gorgeous artwork, that I think I might buy it for myself some day. Certainly if I ever have kids of my own. I looked at all the other buffalo-based books in the class and none of them talked about White Buffalo Calf Woman, much to my surprise. Maybe she is too much of a spiritual figure to be brought into public schools. Bit of a crying shame, isn't it?

Anyway, the day finished up with a science assembly where two girls did visually interesting sceience experiments for the kids. It was cool, they made polyurethane foam right there in front of us, out of two liquids in a small beaker. They also popped balloons filled with different gases that made loud noises which was also fun. But the best part was when they lit different chemicals on fire and they burned beautiful colors. I was fairly undignified next to the other teachers, ooh-ing, ah-ing, and that-was-awesome-ing along with the kids.

All in all, it was a good day.

Update

So high school redeemed itself ever so slightly. A small group of friendly 10th graders said that I looked like a singer or actress, and two boys tried to exchange phone numbers with me (unsuccessfully, of course). One young man asked me if I go to the local community college. Sweet, sweet sunscreen, how could I ever have doubted you? Flattery will get you not nearly as far as bribery will, but it was still a nice ego boost.

It's weird being so close in age to high school kids, at least as far as appearances go. If I didn't have a substitute pass when I walked around the building I have a feeling most of the teachers wouldn't be able to tell me apart from the riling throng of heaving hormones in the halls during class change. Plus they put out this very closed-off vibe that I need to learn to overcome and just be the same outgoing nice teacher I am with the lower grades. But it's a lot easier with kids than with almost-adults. For me, anyway.

However... Today I had a good day in elementary school so I'll share that in a separate post.

I Will Never Be A Teacher

Three days in a row at a middle school will do that to you.

My first two days were as a teacher assistant in a special education class. I am officially taking my hat off and curtsying to every human being who takes on this job as their calling. Wow. The amount of pure energy that kind of work requires is nothing short of superhuman. I do not doubt that the satisfaction of helping these amazing children learn and knowing that you are a part of the progress that is changing their lives must far outweigh the stress and exhaustion, but still... I am in awe of special education teachers. Utterly and completely.

Today was spent as a seventh grade language arts teacher. The first two classes were a little rowdy but ultimately fun. We did some yoga at the end of class, they thought I was cool and funny for the most part, and I liked them too. My last class was too talkative. There were a few who were o.k. I suppose, but as a whole they were rude and disruptive and completely dismissive of the person at the front of the room trying to run the class. Ugh. Disgusting.

So my hat also goes off to the teachers of teenagers. Adolescence is certainly a necessary part of physical and personal growth... but do we as a species have to be so damned OBNOXIOUS during this time? It's the worst possible combination of childishness and adulthood. All of the lowest, most base characteristics of each life phase combined into one. Add hormones and it's a veritable nuclear waste dump of humanity. Of course there are some kids who stay nice and sweet the whole way through, but certainly not enough of them for this substitute to go pro.

I was thinking about it the other day when I subbed at my old high school. I thought to myself, "These poor kids, they're so trapped by their own insecurities. How can I reach them?" And the answer was, I really can't. The teen years, however spent, all have one thing in common: self-absorption. They only way to really reach them is to somehow use their egomania to catch their interest, and then sneakily relate it to the material. Otherwise you're lost. Of course there are some teachers who inspire respect in teenagers. I've known them. I still can't quite figure out how they do it. I think it's a certain pheromone they must possess. Either way, I don't have it, not really. I can work with them if they're willing to be worked with. If they're in the least open-hearted or curious about the world around them, and the people in it, I think I can reach them. But let's face it. Many of them are not. Some never will be. And some won't be until college, and then the college professors get to have all the fun, with students who are actually interested in the subject matter, lucky bastards.

Until then... I'm glad to be a permanent sub. Not permanent in one classroom, but forever traversing the educational realms, gleaning what small iotas of significance I can from one experience to the next.

But I will never... I mean NEVER... EVER... be a full-time teacher. Mark my words....

Subbing At My Old High School

Last week I substituted at my old high school as an English teacher, which was my favorite subject when I went there. I took Honors and Advanced Placement English all four years, and had an absolute blast discussing and writing about literature. I eventually majored in English in college as well.

I did not have honors students on my day as a sub. I had students who hated reading aloud, out of whom answers had to be dragged, and who made my day essentially miserable.

But not entirely miserable, I should say. The fun, albeit bizarre, part was being back in my old high school as a working adult, in the teaching role, no less. Very strange.

For one thing most of my old teachers were gone. But one teacher is the mother of one of my high school friends, and was very friendly and showed me where the official "teacher" bathrooms were. Another was a teacher I never had when I was a student but always wished I had. He was so friendly and talking to him as a peer was very cool, and also very time-warpy and weird. Then there was one teacher who started out as a permanent sub while I was a student and was the absolute BANE of my existence my senior year of high school. My beloved AP English teacher left for an extended period of time because of an illness and surgery that required a lengthy recovery. So this...woman... came in and took over the class. She was the antithesis of everything that literature stood for in my life. She sucked all of the life and creativity out of our class, and all of the fun as well. Our original teacher was something of a pragmatic romantic, and was a great teacher for me because she was willing to go with me on all of my random trains of thought and help me develop my perspective as a reader and a writer. The substitute, however, was just one of those nightmares who is the type that goes by every syllable the dreaded Board of Ed. would utter, and leaves the souls of numerous potential literature-loving students in her wake. I hated her then, and when I saw her the other day she didn't recognize me, but I remembered her and couldn't help but give her a bit of the stink eye.

But I digress.

The most striking thing I noticed was what a closed and paralyzingly cliquey high school I come from. Mean girls are everywhere, they all look and dress the same, except for those few brave souls who dye their hair beautiful rainbow colors and such. But I remember one moment when I was asking for a volunteer from the class to read, and everyone froze, terrified. It was as if I had pushed a button and suddenly steel walls dropped out of the ceiling and slammed down around each and every desk, blocking them from each other and from me. No eye contact was made, no words spoken, no muscles moved. I think they even stopped breathing. It was then that I remembered that in my high school, you never, and I mean never, put yourself out there. I flashed back to when I had a sub who asked a student to read aloud, and we all sat there, and I remember feeling a tad sorry for the sub but being unwilling to explain that we just don't do that here. The social groups were too stratified, and you never wanted to risk being a target of ... whatever it was that we feared so much.

I thanked my lucky stars, God, the Goddess, and most of all MYSELF for no longer being a teenager in high school, and for having gotten over at least most of the damage that such an environment wreaks upon a sensitive, tremulous, slowly flowering self-image.

When the bell rang I couldn't leave fast enough. I had thought that the echoes of long-lost crushes, friends, music, daydreams, and memories would have danced through the halls and tickled my memory with happy recollections, but that wasn't what happened. But I suppose that what did happen was better in the long run: I got over missing high school. Even the good parts should just stay good, misty little memories. That part of life is over now. This is the part where I create what is mine.