I find it hard to read stuff after a day at school. My mind whirs, filled with thoughts of all the mistakes I made, what I can do differently tomorrow, what that student said to me, to her, to him, to the locker before he lightly punched it in a petty show of an anger so faux and showy that at times I can't help but grin, hiding my face from her or him so as to keep my facade of authority.
I can't write as openly as I'd like to, not out of fear of being reprimanded by administration but from the unlikely event that a student stumbles upon this blog. So keep that in mind as you go.
I sometimes feel as Sisyphus must. I should stress the word sometimes, as at other, rarer times I revel in small victories that, because of their scarcity, allow glimpses of the top of the mountain.
For example, a student walked into my room just after school ended, a welcome but rare occurrence at this stage, and handed me a folded sheet of paper. I unfolded it and found, under the heading "Power Paragraphs," two meticulously constructed paragraphs that exactly follow the template of this very standardized, very boring style of writing that I unfortunately taught my students, and that this student decided to, of her own accord, practice and later gift to me. I felt moved beyond words–or at least I'm not a good enough writer to put the feeling into words. I wanted to hug this student, tell her I love her, tell her to never stop writing. Tell her that it's the most sublime experience imaginable–to reveal your inner thoughts through words painstakingly chosen on the basis of a lifetime of consuming the words of others more skilled, all with the dream of one day returning the favor to future generations.
Instead I told her I was thinking about starting a little after-school blogging thingy and asked if she wanted to join. She said yes, then left. Small victories are improperly named.
However, the defeats are more common. There were times last week where I felt like a speck of dirt, helpless and uninspiring to the minds of impulsive, reactionary little individuals that cannot yet see past the week, let alone the year. There were many times I got angry. I think I did a good job of calmly suppressing the anger, though, judging by one student's evaluation. You shouldn't be a teacher. You should be a yoga instructor because all you want is peace and quiet. A beautiful compliment that I thanked her profusely for before asking her to silently raise her hand the next time she wanted to say something.
Speaking of which, I think I said silently more times this week than in the previous 22.9 years of my life. It got to the point that I started stuttering over the word from overuse, especially in one particular class–my lowest of the lows for the week. It was Thursday. In a previous class I had successfully gotten control by lining the students along the perimeter of the room and having them practice returning to their seats silently and gently pulling out their chairs. The positive effect of this lasted an entire period, so I tried it with another, more difficult class teeming with strong-headed individuals. It did not work. It failed so miserably that one-third of the class ended up mutinying, returning to their seats without my permission and raucously celebrating their victory over me as the rest of the class continued standing, looking confused and perhaps scared. I gave the dissenters a week's worth of lunch detention, which they started serving on Friday.
The next day they were much improved. One of the dissenters even came up to me and apologized for what she did, saying she felt really bad about it. It was genuine and I appreciated it, but at the same time, a part of me now loves the divergent little crapshoots that had the gall to pull the stunt off. They are everything that my suppressed impulses want for me, but they're also unfortunately at risk of becoming failing nonconformist kids. (Really swell article there.)
To top off this up-and-mostly-down week, it's starting to cool off over here with fall looming. My Schwinn's days as a reasonable mode of transportation are numbered. To date, I'm thinking about buying an Audi. If you know anybody selling one, let me know why they're selling it–because who in their right mind would get rid of an Audi? They're sexy.
I can't write as openly as I'd like to, not out of fear of being reprimanded by administration but from the unlikely event that a student stumbles upon this blog. So keep that in mind as you go.
I sometimes feel as Sisyphus must. I should stress the word sometimes, as at other, rarer times I revel in small victories that, because of their scarcity, allow glimpses of the top of the mountain.
For example, a student walked into my room just after school ended, a welcome but rare occurrence at this stage, and handed me a folded sheet of paper. I unfolded it and found, under the heading "Power Paragraphs," two meticulously constructed paragraphs that exactly follow the template of this very standardized, very boring style of writing that I unfortunately taught my students, and that this student decided to, of her own accord, practice and later gift to me. I felt moved beyond words–or at least I'm not a good enough writer to put the feeling into words. I wanted to hug this student, tell her I love her, tell her to never stop writing. Tell her that it's the most sublime experience imaginable–to reveal your inner thoughts through words painstakingly chosen on the basis of a lifetime of consuming the words of others more skilled, all with the dream of one day returning the favor to future generations.
Instead I told her I was thinking about starting a little after-school blogging thingy and asked if she wanted to join. She said yes, then left. Small victories are improperly named.
However, the defeats are more common. There were times last week where I felt like a speck of dirt, helpless and uninspiring to the minds of impulsive, reactionary little individuals that cannot yet see past the week, let alone the year. There were many times I got angry. I think I did a good job of calmly suppressing the anger, though, judging by one student's evaluation. You shouldn't be a teacher. You should be a yoga instructor because all you want is peace and quiet. A beautiful compliment that I thanked her profusely for before asking her to silently raise her hand the next time she wanted to say something.
Speaking of which, I think I said silently more times this week than in the previous 22.9 years of my life. It got to the point that I started stuttering over the word from overuse, especially in one particular class–my lowest of the lows for the week. It was Thursday. In a previous class I had successfully gotten control by lining the students along the perimeter of the room and having them practice returning to their seats silently and gently pulling out their chairs. The positive effect of this lasted an entire period, so I tried it with another, more difficult class teeming with strong-headed individuals. It did not work. It failed so miserably that one-third of the class ended up mutinying, returning to their seats without my permission and raucously celebrating their victory over me as the rest of the class continued standing, looking confused and perhaps scared. I gave the dissenters a week's worth of lunch detention, which they started serving on Friday.
The next day they were much improved. One of the dissenters even came up to me and apologized for what she did, saying she felt really bad about it. It was genuine and I appreciated it, but at the same time, a part of me now loves the divergent little crapshoots that had the gall to pull the stunt off. They are everything that my suppressed impulses want for me, but they're also unfortunately at risk of becoming failing nonconformist kids. (Really swell article there.)
To top off this up-and-mostly-down week, it's starting to cool off over here with fall looming. My Schwinn's days as a reasonable mode of transportation are numbered. To date, I'm thinking about buying an Audi. If you know anybody selling one, let me know why they're selling it–because who in their right mind would get rid of an Audi? They're sexy.