I Like Making Kids Cry

Today is Friday. I was extremely tired this week and just down from fatigue, so I was partially glad and pissed off when I had a parent conference at the last minute today... on a Friday!

But this was good: I called up a parent to give her an update about her son's progress in class--which was not very good anyway. We talked and when I told her that her son is still getting an F, she freaked out and said, "You said he was getting a C-, and that he's doing well in class."

"Um... no, I don't remember saying that. Shorty* was absent yesterday and he hasn't brought his book to class, so he's not even paying attention."

"But in your note, you wrote, 'doing good' and that he's getting a C-. Your signature's on this note."

"Is that an old note? He's not getting a C."

"But he gave me this note today."

"I haven't signed any paperwork for Shorty for a long time."

"Are you still there... at school?"

"Yes..." I replied, not liking the sound of that question.

"Can I come over? I'll be there in, like, three minutes."

"Sure," I replied unenthusiastically.

Lo and behold, she got there in three minutes with her son. After a short introduction, the first thing I asked for was the note. There it was: this awful lie in the comments section of a weekly progress report staring at me in the face: "Doing good. C-" My last name was written next to it.

"That's not my signature," I instantly replied. "You never gave me this paper during class."

The student started lying, "Yes, I did. You signed it."

I invited his mother to my classroom and showed her her son's current grade that was posted in class for the last week and a half. The date was written on it. I proceeded to tell his mother what Shorty does in class, his behavior, his progress, his habits, as well as the assignments and homework that were due. His grade could not have jumped from an F to a C- in less than two weeks--not with his poor habits. After studying the fake progress report, his mother noticed that three other comments from three other teachers looked suspicious because all the handwriting was the same. When his mother demanded to know who signed the fake progress report, Shorty started swearing up and down to God that he gave me the report and that I signed it during class. But I refuted that by giving his mother a sample of my signature. As soon as she saw it, she recognized it from previous reports that I officially signed in the past. She started shouting at her son, and at this point, Shorty started crying.

I gave his mother the homework that Shorty should be working on, and he seemed to be weakening knowing that his mother now controlled his upcoming weekend.

It's great to have a parent on my side. It was great to see her get mad at her son and yell at him--because I can't do that. But I am pissed off that he tried to forge--or got a friend to forge-- my signature. Even though it didn't look anything like my signature, I felt violated that some student tried to take a part of me. Strange as it may sound, that's what it felt like. Then he swore to God that I signed it. When he said I did, and I insisted that I didn't, it sounded like a childish "Nuh-uh. Uh-huh. Nuh-uh" argument. That was infuriating!

But I got to see him cry. That felt kind of good.

Mental Wellness Day

I'm at that point in the school year where I am reaching a burnout. My fire is dying and I'm always tired. Geek Colleague convinced me that I should take a "mental wellness" day and not go to work. He had to persuade and convince me that I should take a personal day to just de-stress myself. I'm a perfectionist and a control freak when it comes to teaching, so it's hard to let things go and just blow off one day.

But GC was right: a refreshed teacher is more effective and productive than a burnt out teacher who will be moody and snappy at students. So I will enjoy my unofficial three-day weekend.

God, I'm going to hate Monday.

Death Comes in Three

In 1997, I can recall three famous people who died during summer:

Princess Diana
Versace
Mother Teresa

Now in 2005, three famous and controversial people died during Easter season:

Terri Shiavo
Pope John Paul II
Prince Ranier

In both these sets, there is a religious person, a royal person, and lay person.

Everything I Know, I Learned from Horses

There are two quotes that come to mind when people ask me what teaching is like. These are also the same quotes I say to myself to make myself feel better when I feel like I'm a lousy teacher.

The first quote: "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink." No matter how well I try to teach and teach to the best of my capabilities, I still can't make a student want to learn. I can teach them to read, but that doesn't mean they'll understand. I can teach them to write, but that doesn't mean they'll think and have ideas on their own. I can teach them compassion, but that doesn't mean they'll practice it.

The second quote: "... like beating a dead horse." I can pound these lessons over and over and over again... and I'll still get nowhere.

It's depresssing, but at times it can be uplifting. I know it's not my fault if these kids fail. I know that I've done every little thing I possibly can. I've reached my limits. The kids still need to reach theirs.

Go Home!

I had tutorial after school today from 3-4pm. At 4pm, it was actually nice and quiet and peaceful. I locked my door and got down to work. I was working as a busy bee when at 5:15pm, Needy comes knocking on my door. Luckily, it was locked and I was working at my desk where I can't be seen from the windows. A few moments later, he went away.

Only nerds stay at school past 5pm, and Needy is not one of those kids. Oh, he irks me!

Highs and Lows: Two Boys

No, this is not one of those pedophile stories.

This story is about the highs and lows of teaching.

I have two boys in two different classes. One has been with me since the school year started, and the other just transferred in at the beginning of the second semester. The first boy shall be called Needy and the other one shall be called Indie (for Independent).

Needy was generally a good kid until his grades started slipping. Since that time, he didn't feel the need to try anymore. But at the last part of the first semester, he wanted to work again--much to my joy and dismay because that meant more work for me (grading all that late work?). It's now halfway through the second semester, and he's slipping again. I've seriously tried to help in the past, but I'm at the point where my own patience is wearing thin with him, and it's not even for academic reasons. I'm beginning to see that he's so needy. He hangs around my classroom when the school is almost empty, save for administrators, custodial staff, and other students participating in school events past 6pm. The thing that irks me most: he comes into my classroom just when I need to be alone for myself. I hold tutorial sessions after school for one hour, and he never shows up for those. But when I'm ready to lock the door and work to catch up for my organizational sanity, he comes in and just... lingers there. Unfortunately, he doesn't understand the concept of a locked door either. He kept knocking on the door and the windows until I relented.

That's when I noticed that he just wants attention. When I give him attention, he stays longer. When I give him attention, he'll sometimes open up to me and sometimes he won't, but I think he just likes the fact that I ask; like one of those, "No, I can't talk about it... Okay, I will--No, I'm not ready to talk about it just yet... well, maybe I am..." That's what my conversations feel like when I'm with him.

I hate to say it, but I'm almost sick of him. I'm not his mother. I'm not going to give him whatever he wants (he keeps asking me to change his grade), I'm not going to give him any more attention, I've stopped being sympathetic, I've stopped giving him advice because he doesn't listen anyway. Bottom line: I'm done being nice with him. I've come to the point that whenever he'll ask me a question, I'll only help him as far as his question takes me. If he jokes around with me, I don't laugh. The only thing that matters to me now is his grade, which only means I'm getting tougher with him. It's a tough love--not that I love him because he drives me crazy. But I stopped caring about his personal problems because I know he just uses that to get attention from me. And it's not just me, two other teachers noticed how needy he is with them also. We're all sick of it.

The low part of this job is is that even kids can drain the energy and life out of you. Not to sound callous, but even I need my solitude after school just so I can recuperate. Five and half hours straight of instruction and being a disciplinarian, and 165 students later-- I am fucking tired, mentally drained, and I just want to be alone and enjoy the silence of an empty classroom. I know that my job means being involved with kids, but you know what else? I'm not their parents. AndI may sound unapologetic, but you cannot pay me enough money just to be a surrogate parent for someone else's messed up child. At 6:30pm, Needy should be at home with his parents, not hanging out in my classroom because he wants attention.

I noticed that when I don't talk to him or give him attention, he will go away. Sometimes I feel like a bad person for doing that, but I am seriously tired of spoiling him with attention. I am done.

On a good note, there's Indie. Indie's been with me only for two months, but he's such a great student. He does all his work, he participates in class, he gets along with everyone... I could go on about him. He transferred in from another school and he adapted so quickly to this school. He's humorous at the right moments-- appropriate humor for the classroom while I'm teaching and just funny with friends and peers.

When Indie heard about the special junior college program that our high school offered with the local community college, he asked so many questions to the counselor, and he was the first one to give me a rough draft of the college entrance essay because he wanted me to check it. I made him rewrite it three times. Most students would have given up if I told them to just do it again after I made corrections on their first draft. Not Indie. He would give me the next draft the very next day. We kept working on it until the deadline. After the deadline, he kept nagging me, asking me if I had heard anything about acceptance letters. He got upset when he still hadn't heard anything after a month.

Finally, the acceptance letters were being handed out this week. He kept nagging me again. I kept telling him that I never got anything. He was in suspense this whole time. Today, after school, he came into my class and gave me a hug.

"What's up?" I asked him.

He showed me his acceptance letter. "I just wanted to thank you for helping me with my essay. I'm in the college program."

I smiled and gave him my congratulations. That's the high part of my job.

Most people think that it must feel great to be a teacher because--and I quote the most common thing people say to me--"you're always helping people; you know you did something good at the end of the day;" like I'm doing it because I like feeling good and proud about myself. That never really crosses my mind. Yes, I feel great, but only because the student wanted to share his happiness with me. It's like when someone you care about wants to share personal things with you because he/she wants you to be part of their life. That's the feeling I get. It's only when a student says "thank you" does it hit me: "Oh, yeah, I helped you with that." That's when my pride overfloweth.

In this job, there are more lows than there are highs. Every little high is priceless.

I'm Not That Young

Many people like it when others assume that they are younger than they really look. I used to like it, too, until now--especially when I work in a high school.

Two days ago, the cafeteria women thought I was a student. While most people would find that flattering, I found it really upsetting. Why? Because they scolded me like I was a student. One woman kept telling me to slide my lunch chard through the scanner when I gave her a five-dollar bill. Another woman angrily told me to get back in the original line where I came from.

I hate being treated like a child, and I especially don't like being mistaken for a teenager. It really sucks.

Driving Hellhole

Potholes are bad, drivers are bad, too much construction on the roads, roads are too narrow from all the construction, too many dead dogs, traffic sucks... and the thing that irks me most: expired registration tags. I see at least one car a day with tags from 2004. And there aren't enough cops to monitor the roads.

When friends warned me saying that Riverside has the worst of driving, including the smog and accidents, I'd say it's pretty accurate.

She's Coming to California!!!

Anne's moving here!

White America

Last week, my students and I were reading a story by Alice Walker. In order to reflect on the story's message, I asked my students to think about their culture and heritage. Many of them have difficulty thinking about that--where they come from, their cultural identity, and their family traditions. They think that culture is limited to the ethnic foods that one eats.

It's even more difficult for students who are of European descent. As one of my students said to me, "This is an unfair question. I'm white; I have no culture."

I have no culture. Those are the most disappointing words one can ever say. When I hear students--especially white students--say this, I think to myself that multicultural America has done this. I believe in diversity, but not to the point where one culture, that of European descent, has been forgotten. Unfortunately, that's where we are today. Multicultural America, multicultural education, multicultural literature, and multicultural history has been the craze in the past decade in order to give equal time in the books to historically oppressed cultures. In implied ways, educators and even the common laymen have pointed the fingers that the whites are to blame for slavery, for oppression, for Hitler, and for being too dominant.

When talking about culture in the classroom, my white kids feel left out. They think being white means having no valid cultural experience. They sit with idle thumbs while they listen to Asian, Mexican, and black kids talk about how they spend Christmas, the foods they eat during holidays, and the superstitions that their mothers pass down. They think that being white is something to feel guilty over because their ancestors have historically oppressed other people. If America is supposed to be about pride in one's identity, my white kids don't have much to be proud of. They've been taught to oppress themselves while multicultural students have their moment in the "multicultural spotlight."

Pain

I've said it once, and I'll say it again: being a teacher, one is constantly surrounded by the boundless domain (oxymoron, people!) of stupidity.

It is painful to be around it... and it's only February.

A Different Breed

A teacher from San Diego who is also teaching at the same school where I work warned me that "the kids up here are a different breed." I thought that there couldn't be that much difference: kids are kids. They all hate homework ,and they all think school is just a six-hour social gathering.

Now that I'm into the second semester, I do agree with the above statement: the kids up here in Riverside are a different breed. They are lazier than the students I taught in San Diego. (Actually, there was this lower than low moment of stupidity in San Diego...)

Just a few days ago, I was in the computer lab with my class teaching them on how to format their essays using the MLA style. I gave out the handout with instructions. I even went the extra step and cut and paste pictures on the insructions so that kids had a visual when they looked at MS Word. We went over the directions before they started. Then I asked, "Does everybody understand what to do?" I got a resounding "YES" as a reply.

As soon as they logged onto the computers and opened up MS Word, I got a dozen hands up in the air and a bunch of whiny complaints of "What are we supposed to do?" or "I don't know how to do this." The handout of instructions was tucked under their keyboard or thrown on the floor. Some students stashed into their books and back pack thinking it was homework.

"Did you read the directions?" I asked.

"No. Where are the directions?"

I pull out the handout from under the keyboard. "Were you listening as we went over the handout?"

"Yes."

"Then follow the directions here." I turn to the side where there are instructions.

The student still stared at the blank screen of MS Word with a blinking cursor. "But I don't know how to make the heading."

"Read the instructions. They're there." I point to the pictures and the words--God forbid-- the words!

"I don't read. Nobody reads. You expect us to read?" the student whined. "Can't you just show it to me?" [In other words, "Can't you just show it to me by doing it for me?"]

"No," I disgustedly replied. You fucked up little snot, I thought to myself.

They are that fucking lazy to read up here. Reading a paragraph is too much for them. They sleep during a four-page short story. No one reads the daily agenda that I write every day. Every time they walk into class, they still ask me, "What are we doing today?" and when I point to the board to show them the daily agenda, they don't even bother to read it. They bring their books but they stare at the walls. They complain about the homework, which they never do. They turn in low quality work because no one believes in typing or neatness or careful work.

And they bitch about why they got an F.

I'd like to say, "You got an F because you're stupid." Let me define my meaning of stupidity. Stupidity to me, is not the incapability to learn, because all kids can learn, stupidity is when one fails to use common sense. Stupidity is the incapability to see how one's actions and the consequences of those actions are directly related. Stupidity is when one doesn't even use simple reasoning and logic to figure out their own mistakes and to see how everything is connected. Two plus two is four; no homework plus sleeping in class is an F.

"But I come to class everyday" does not mean credit. The kids up here are stupid. They think merely existing or taking up a seat in a classroom means they're passing. Where's the logic in that reasoning?

FAQs at the Semester

As the semester draws to a close, the two most commonly asked questions that I get asked are:

"What can I do to pass the class?"

My usual response: "Let's see what you could have done to pass my class..."

"Is there any extra credit I can do?"

My response: "I don't do extra credit."


And today's kicker question came from a Filipino student, who, after having explained to her that late work will result with a late penalty of ten points, asked me: "How about five points? Come on... It's about the Pinay hook-up..."

I uttered back: "I don't do racial hook-ups."

Causing Raucous

I participated in my first staff meeting. Participated meaning that I spoke out for the first time. I'm usually a passive person when it comes to faculty meetings, but I became frustrated when other teachers began bashing the English Department. You don't want to go there...

I tried to be objective, but the tone of my voice may have been misconstrued as "venting anger." First of all, the meeting was held in a large resonant room, but for the life of me, I still couldn't hear half of the people on the other side whenever they spoke. When I decided to speak out, I had to use my "teacher voice" in order to be heard. My loud voice must have been misinterpretted as the "angry teacher standing up for the department" as showed by some very strange emails circulating around the English Department praising me and an apology from the teacher who started up the issue that got me fired up in the first place.

I didn't mean to sound like a bitch, but in the end, somehow I always do. I hope that I'm not remembered as the bitch English teacher of the department--or even worse--of the entire faculty. And I hope this doesn't count against me during my probationary period.

2005

I'd like to say that the old drama from 2004 didn't follow me into the new year, but it has. The shit hit the fan and it's already looking pretty grim.

2004

It's the last day of 2004. I didn't do any work that I brought from school. School will resume in three days. I'm totally screwed.

And the only definite plan is that I'm partying tonight.

Loss

"We Might As Well Be Strangers"

I don't know your thoughts these days
We're strangers in an empty space
I don't understand your heart
It's easier to be apart

We might as well be strangers in another town
We might as well be living in another town

We might as well...
We might as well be strangers

--Keane

Holidays

The only thing I like about the holidays is that it's a vacation away from work, even though I brought work home with me. It's just the fact that I'm not at the school which makes it very relaxing.

Other than that, I really don't like the holidays.

Forms of Compliments

I got some strange compliments this week. And to feed my narcissism, I want to share.

#1: A history teacher caught up with me in the hall and told me that he's been hearing great things about me. "From whom?" I asked. He replied: "Well, my students have been complaining that this [his history class] is their hardest class. I told them, 'Aww, come on. This can't be your hardest class'. As they thought about it, they changed their answer from his class to my English class. 'Yeah,' they agreed, "her class is the hardest!' So, you're doing a good job."

#2: I wore one outfit that most of the English teachers said was, like, the "official" English teacher look. What was I wearing? A gray knee length skirt, a black turtleneck, and long boots. I call it my S&M-sexy librarian look. But the other teachers thought I looked like a very sophisticated English teacher.

#3: My students from my sixth period showed me some love today. Since I trust them, I left my classroom for just a wee-bit (technically, students are not allowed to be left in the classroom without adult supervision--even for a minute). When I returned, they were still doing their work. After school, one of the students told me what really happened. "StudentA went to your computer wanting to see his grade and thought he could change it. But StudentB said, 'No... Come on... It's Ms. G.' StudentB says, 'Yeah... okay,' and returns to his seat." How is that a compliment? They're just good like that. And of course, some good discipline on my part. I must be doing something right.

It was a good week. Next week will be even better.

Sub Day

I took a "day off." Actually, I attended a conference at CSU San Bernardino about the ACT test. Because it was a work day, I had to call for a substitute. My evil twin, who was already stressed out and did not think he could make it till Christmas break, decided to call in sick.

Leaving kids with a sub is not always the greatest thing for some teachers. I felt like a parent leaving their toddler with a babysitter for the first time. I laid out explicit instructions for the day's lesson plan, I even thought about leaving my cell phone number just in case of emergency. I told my kids to be good and all that jazz. My goodness... I am a parent.

After that conference, I called up the twin and asked him if he wanted to go to UC Riverside and hang out at the library and grade work. I noticed something different about him that I'm sure his kids will point out tomorrow:

"You shouldn't have gotten a haircut," I said.

"Why not? I needed it, and today was the perfect day to get my errands done."

"I mean, you went out and got a haircut. You must have been really sick today."

Realization hit. "Damn it! I didn't even think of that! Argh!"

New teachers. So much to learn...