Those Kids...

In class today, the students and I were discussing one of Shakespeare's sonnets, "Sonnet 144," about a love triangle. The couplet at the end of this sonnet is as follows:

Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

Vacation is Nigh!

I'm so ready for summer school to be over.

It's depressing being an English teacher sometimes. English teachers--the core of any school-- get blamed if a student can't read, if a student can't speak English properly, if a student can't understand, if a student can't properly analyze, if a student can't write, if a student can't spell... All these little things are the heart of literacy, of functioning independently, of problem-solving, of thinking. If a student can't do these things, he or she ends up failing in all the other subjects.

It hurts to teach English. It depresses me when I listen to a student read aloud and he can't even pronounce he word "tonight" correctly. It frustrates me that students think that answers are explicitly written and given, and they want me to tell them the answers if they can't find them in the book. It almost angers me when students just sit in class and say, "I don't understand" or "I don't know," but in reality, they are not even trying, nor do they want to because they are too lazy to do difficult tasks that require extra effort. They don't realize that they're in a never-ending cycle: they hate reading, so their reading skills will never improve. They can't spell, they use all kinds of words incorrectly, like using nouns and adjectives as verbs; they don't care about the comments I leave on their work because I'll always find the same errors on the rest of their schoolwork... all these problems can be fixed if they just expose themselves to reading more often.

Trying to teach the youth of today is like trying to drive a nail through steel. It all seems futile, and I'm getting frustrated.

Finally!

I kicked out Hormonal Loser from class today. He just wasn't doing anything and hanging around for the last week is not going to do any good for him. After I kicked him out, he comes back--nearly two hours later-- to try and beg to get into class again. He caught me just as I was leaving and we discussed his behavior in front of the principal and the secretary--who both already know about his stunning record. They agreed with me: Hormonal Loser is out.

My last week of summer school should be heaven now.

A Reason to Live

As a friend aptly described his four-day vacation just to attend the San Diego Comic Convention as his Ramadan, I must agree with him that a geek fest of gargantuan proportions is a well-worthy reason to endure  a typical San Diego heatwave.  Crowds get bigger and bigger every year. Geekiness is a popular trend now. I remember a time when all the stuff I used to like was obscure, and it made me (and the rare people who also knew) feel that we were some part of elite club with secret eyes that knew what to look out for. Nowadays, everything is trendy, everything is popular, everything is accessible to the point where hardcore fans, like myself, are just disappointed by the quality of mass merchandising.

I've been attending the Comic-Con for ten years now. Sometimes I still can't believe that I faithfully attend this event every year. I thought I would have outgrown it by now. I'm not into anime as much as I used to be, I'm not reading several comics at one time like I used to, and I'm not an avid collector of junk.  Why do I still go? Why do I endure the B.O. of fanboys who neglect their hygiene? Why do I torture my eyes by looking upon scantily-clad fat girls who think they have a size-three-action-figure body? Why are there so many people dressed as Klingons and Storm Troopers? Why are there so many boys with a samurai fantasy? And why do some girls think that being a fag-hag is cool?

Imagination has no limits, but for some, there is that sad state of not knowing where the boundaries of reality are. Every time I go to the Con, I have to prepare myself for the sheer horror of being around people who embrace the freakdom they feel is their "true identity."  They're fuckin' funny to watch.

Pet Peeves

1. Life as a teacher would be so easy if I could just fail all the students who don't do shit in my class.
2. I hate kids who think they're gangsters and try to be "black." What a bunch of wannabes.
3. Sometimes I don't like the kids who think that just because I'm a teacher, they think I'm supposed to be smart and infallible.
4. I hate the kids who think I'm their friend and that I'll give them hook-ups or special attention.
5. I hate lazy kids. My job is to teach. Their job is to learn. I'm not supposed to do every damn little thing for them.
6. Smart-alecky kids need to learn restraint and respect.
7. Hip-huggers need to get out of style soon.

Working Seven Days A Week

I wish I was at that point in my career where I don't have to spend my weekends doing lesson plans. The only thing I want to do on a weekend is enter grades, which should only take an hour of my time.
 
Thinking too much can be physically draining.

Right after typing my previous entry, I read this: Medicare Scraps Old Policy on Obesity.
 

Medicare is discarding its policy that obesity is not a disease, potentially throwing open the door for millions of overweight Americans to make medical claims for treatments such as stomach surgery and diet programs.

 
Our taxes paying for fat people's poor decisions. Lay off the food so Americans won't have to spend millions of dollars on liposuction surgeries. Damn you...
 

I'm a Bitchin' Teacher

What is it with people today who think that kids, especially teens, need to be sheltered from the real world? There are times when I think I can lose my job because I’m blunt with the truth and cold-hearted and uncompromising when it comes to education.
 
I had a conference with three students today. I know I sounded like a bitch. Conferencing with students or even parents is still a tricky thing with me. Part of me sounds like a complaining nag, and the other part me of is a concerned teacher at her wits’ end trying to get through to a student’s head about the poor decisions he/she is making.
 
I have two problem-students in my class this second term of summer school. The first student was in my class for the first term and he failed it because he wasn’t doing the homework and he was doing poorly on all the tests and quizzes. I call him Hormonal Loser. All he cares about is sex, girls, his car, and money (not that he’s rich). His vocabulary is limited to the two main cuss words (fuck and shit) and their variations. He never disrespects me, and so I give him credit for that. He uses the swear words as the universal words to everything he says in a sentence. Example: That was fuckin’ cool. He’s shittin’ me. Hell no, mothafuckah.
 
After hearing his expansive vocabulary for the past four weeks, his shit got old real quick.
 
My second problem-student, I call him Fuckin’ Leech of Society. He was in my class the first term, but he gave up and dropped. He did absolutely nothing then, and he’s doing absolutely nothing now. He has a poor attitude in class, he’s lazy, completely self-involved, and not one iota in his brain about accountability or responsibility.
 
Of these two problem students, I hate the Leech the most. He still hasn’t gotten any of the required books for the class and it’s been four days already with homework assignments—none of which he turned in because he doesn’t have his books. It’s a catch-22. Today, he starts complaining to me:
 
“I don’t have any of my books,” he says. 
“Then go get them,” I reply. 
“But the librarian won’t check them out to me because I have to pay a fine.” 
“Then pay the fine.” 
“I don’t wanna pay—“ 
“Then find your books, so you don’t have to pay.” 
“I lost my books.”
“That was your responsibility.” 
“She’s not going to check them out because I lost them.” 
“That was your responsibility.” 
“I don’t wanna pay.” 
“That is your responsibility. Why are you even complaining to me? I can’t help you. Those books were your responsibility—not mine. Fix your own problem.”
 
What part of the equation does he not understand?
 
Sometimes I blame the parents. I hate the parents who think that I should shelter their child by not telling them the truth about the real world and their child’s responsibilities as a growing adult. I hate the parents who shirked off their own responsibilities and thought that the schools would teach their child everything from morals, values, and manners, and maturity. I hate the parent advocates of education who think that a teacher’s responsibility, first and foremost, is to be nice to their child. I hate those parents who educate their kids and misinform them about their rights, telling them that teachers shouldn’t be demeaning.
 
My realism and cynicism can be misconstrued as demeaning to some students because they don’t get it. Thank goodness there are a lot more students who do get it. They smile and snicker when I tell the truth, especially to Loser and Leech. Those other students see that I don’t “baby” or shelter anyone in the class. I don’t give out A’s; they better work for it. I don’t give out answers; they better find it themselves. I don’t tell them how to think; they should think for themselves. I’m a teacher—not a surrogate  mother or a maid. I’m not going to hold anyone’s hand and lie that everything will be okay because it’s not. If they don’t do their homework, it’s a zero—simple as that; none of that “It’s-okay-by-me.-I-still-care-about-you” nonsense.
 
Hormonal Loser, some time during class, asked me, ”Why you bein’ so mean?”
 
“I’m not being mean. I’m being realistic.”
 
Welcome to the world I live in, losers.

I Want to Give Up Already

First semester is now over, and the second semester will start tomorrow. I get a whole new bunch of kids, too. Right now, I'm sick and I'm trying to lesson plan. Having to think and teach while I'm sick is the pits. I predict tomorrow will be a lousy day.

Lifeforce

What is it about working with kids that they just drain the energy out of me? Why am I so tired by midday?

Thank goodness we have the final tomorrow. No more major lesson plans. And after this, I get a new class as other students come and go.

Three more weeks... three more weeks. Another bout with Knowles, Shakespeare, and Sophocles, and lazy kids. I am so tired of thinking.