DEADlines

At the beginning of the year, I gave my yearbook staff a very simple syllabus.  It said something along the lines of:

50 points will be deducted from any any pages turned in late.

It’s quite a threat, and it worked…for a while.  If I ever had any intentions of enforcing it, though, they’ve evaporated now that reality has presented itself.  My kids are dropping the ball.  They deserve those 50s, but I just can’t bring myself to give them out.  Here’s why:

1. Retention

I need these kids next year.  Yearbook’s an elective, and electives are supposed to be GPA-padding easy A’s.  Shelling out even one 50 for an assignment doesn’t guarantee failure, but it does make getting an A impossible and the chances of me getting them back next year slim.

2. Morale

 Yearbook only has 14  students.  And four of them deserve that 50.  When almost 30% of staff is hit with a failing grade, I can only see mutiny on the horizon.  When we made our first deadline, I bought the gang some candy and sodas; we took a day to celebrate.  When we missed our second by a few days, there was no celebration.  Lesson learned, I thought.  Our third deadline showed up two weeks ago, and I’m still short 8 pages.  I feel like someone owes me candy (and 8 pages).

3. It’s Gotta Be My Fault

I’m not a long-term thinker.  I can’t plan months in advance.  I’ve gotta take some of the blame for these kids dropping the ball.  They had no daily accountability.  I saw them just sitting there a few times and said nothing.  One kid simply didn’t know she was assigned to one spread.  I could have easily solved that with a What Pages Are You Responsible For Quiz two months ago.

So I’m not sure what to do.  I can dole out those 50’s–be the bad guy and suffer the consequences.  I can play the sucker and keep letting dire mistakes slip by unpunished until the consequences become financial.  Or I can search out a more reasonable middle ground.  Any ideas?

The Stages of Customer Service Development

Weeks ago, I patiently stood in front of a Zaxby’s counter, while a manager walked a very new, very timid employee through her first transaction.  I started thinking about my first customer service job and how the progress one makes in these jobs isn’t too different from teaching.  There are just a few steps:

1. “Sorry, I’m New”

I’m useless.  I can’t work a register.  The simplest questions baffle me.  I’m essentially a burden on both the customers and your employer.  My first day at Blockbuster Video, I could only stock the shelves with movies, and even that took me too long.

2. Rising Confidence

So long as nothing weird comes up, I’m good.  I can remember renting movies to customers.  As long as they had their cards, had no dispute with their late fees, and didn’t have a coupon, we were in business.

3. Everybody’s Stupid but Me

This is where things get hairy.  I learned to deal with any situation but not without some sort of attitude.  Seasoned customer service people know their business, but it makes them cocky and annoying.  In the feudal kingdom of Blockbuster Video, they are lords, and customers are the dirty, ungrateful serfs.

Unforunately, this is where a lot of customer service dudes stay.  They get overly stressed and narcissistic about their menial job.  I don’t think it’s an intentional superiority complex–just an inability to get all Atticus Finch-y and see the other side of the equation.

4. Peace/Acceptance

I’d like to think, by the end of my days in customer service, I matured to higher understanding of my role.  I could work swiftly without getting mad at an unprepared customer.  I could take a breath when someone protested a late fee.  In short, I could do my job well.

I’m making similar progress as a teacher.  Two years ago, I was back at step one: an idiot without a clue, a burden to my students and administrators.  As I grow and find my way, I’m starting to see the process, handling more and more difficult taks without needing help.

The tricky area, of course, is that third step.  Gaining confidence also means recognizing the multiple ways that others (coworkers and students) are holding you back.  It leads to resentment, and I think it’s where a lot of teachers quit on us.  I’m certainly starting to feel the frustrations caused by:

    -teaching students way behind grade level

    -an often infuriating beauracracy

    -infectious complaining of fellow teachers

The trick might be to take a deep breath and focus on  that next step of peace and acceptance.  I can keep working hard to improve the things I can and make peace with the things that aren’t going away.  Acting like a snarky video store nerd isn’t going to solve anything.  It never did.

Talk to the Kids

EXHIBIT A

Student: I have triple-checked the senior section.  Do you want me to submit them?

Me: We’ll have someone check them over tomorrow.  A fresh set of eyeballs can’t hurt.

EXHIBIT B

Student: No one changed the Beta Club deadline.

Me: I’m on it.  Thanks.

EXHIBIT C

Student: Hey, Mr. Harding.  I was wondering if you could be a reference for me.  I’m trying to get a job at Dunkin Donuts.

Me: Put me down.

A handful of recent events have had  me considering the relationship I have with my students and, more specifically, the means in which I interact with them.  The above evidence is harmless.  The first two are clearly instances of yearbook business getting handled.  The third is a former student coming to me for professional help, which I’m happy to provide.

However…

Exhibit A is a series of text messages.

Exhibit B is from my personal email account.

Exhibit C is from  Facebook.

I’ve been advised, from various sources, against all three of these means of communication with students, but I just don’t see the big deal.

The yearbook business simply has to get done, and there have been dozens of instances where my students and I needed to communicate instantly outside of school.  Texting makes this happen.  Last year’s adviser had every kid’s cell phone number, so I did the same.  It’s been helpful.

Facebook’s different for a lot of reasons, and I’ve been slow and reluctant to add any students still enrolled in my school.  But it’s ignorant to deny the benefits of social networking with students.  I’m happy to provide a reference for a decent kid, and sharing that through Facebook probably got his job application turned in that much more quickly.  On the other hand, I don’t want access to whatever he does on spring break, you know?

So where’s the line between using technology to communicate professionally with students and being a pervy creep?  How thick of a line are we talking about here?

On the Subject I Like Most

My first year, I had my students do a good bit of personal writing.  Throught that, I got to know them pretty well: their troubled home lives, the sound of their voices, their hopes for the future.  By the end of the year, I could look at every kid and be confident that I knew him.

It takes a lot of energy to respond to writing like that, and it’s hard to work into the rigid 9th grade curriculum.  I haven’t done personal writing at all this semester, and I’m looking around my room with only vague ideas of each kid’s personality and dreams.  Sure, I know everyone’s first and last names (can even spell the tricky ones), and I’ve had the occasional eye-opening conversation, but I can’t say I know my kids the same way I did two years ago.

 

So maybe I’ll start.  A new semester starts next Wednesday, an opportunity to dig into fresh ground.  We’ve got to handle poetry, and I’m thinking of trying something like McSweeny’s Essays on Favorite Songs to get them struggling with the way a song can impact their lives.  It’s better than a find-the-personification worksheet, I think.  I also just might learn a few things about these kids with whom I spend every day.

 

Yet

I’m not a very good teacher yet.

 

For the past two years now, I’ve been emphasizing that “yet.”  It implies that I’ll be good some day–even soon, maybe.  I’ll wake up and have it all figured out.  My students will behave.  They’ll be excited to learn.  I’ll be a well-oiled teaching machine.

 

This is crazy talk.

 

A more realistic perspective is that my teaching will only improve through a determined effort in a few key areas–things I haven’t been doing yet:

 

1. Reflection

Good teachers reflect.  I learned this in grad school but never really applied it.  The best teachers spend time assessing their own performance on each lesson, week, unit, etc.  It’s the whole doomed-to-repeat-history idea.  My sucky lessons will stay sucky if I don’t set aside time to reflect (in writing) what exactly went wrong and how I could fix it.

 

2. Planning

Most of my planning predicaments come from simple laziness.  Teaching’s exhausting enough with classes, meetings, grading, etc.  I honestly haven’t spent much time at all planning my lessons, especially long term.  I tend to start units without knowing exactly where I’m leading my students–without knowing what I want them to remember forever when we’re done.  I’ve realized that better teachers get by like this, but I really don’t want to end up that way.

 

3. Inspiration

Teaching really does excite me.  I want my kids to grow up decent and wise, and I’d like to think my excitement shows.  I very much would like to be good at my profession.  Lately, though, my passion has dwindled, if only slightly.  No longer do I stay up late every night creating lessons and games for my kids.  I’ve stopped writing long personalized messages on every piece of student work, spending more time grading it than they did writing it.  I haven’t yet found out a reasonable balance between the two.

 

I’ve read that part of the teacher retention problem comes from burnout.  Teachers come in fired up to save the world.  They teach their guts out and quit.  It’s important to pace yourself in this profession (I can’t fix everything in a year).  I just want to stay focused and do as much as possible without flipping out.

 

Professional Development

I hate these words nowadays because the meetings at my school seem so pointless.  What should be an engaging seminar on diversity ends up being a sloppy Powerpoint with no advice or practical applications.  Even department meetings seem unfocused with few people ever bringing in new ideas to share.  I can’t think of the last time a fellow teacher mentioned a teaching-related book he was reading.

 

What I should be doing is developing myself.  I should get myself to a conference once a year.  I should be reading my profession’s journals.  I should be writing for those journals, darn it.

 

Teaching requires constantly evaluating your own ideas, and that’s impossible without finding out about some new ones from somewhere.  I’m not a good teacher yet, but, hopefully, I’ll learn a few things about what I could be doing better.

 

 

My Favorite Class

I haven’t been here in a while.  Sorry, nobody.

 

Hey, it’s a new year!  I’m making a yearbook.  My co-teacher and I finally got a schedule where we can function smoothly.  One of my darling freshmen misspelled the word “I” in his first essay.

 

But what I wanted to bring up today is my planning period.  The past two years, my planning period was a brief respite from the kids.  For fifty minutes, I didn’t have to be “on.”  I could take a breath and plan my next lesson.

 

This year, I’ve got planning during 1st period.  It’s got its ups and downs:

 

Ups!

No administrative duties.  A lot of administrative drudgery has to get done during 1st period.  Other teachers are handing out computer login passwords, cross-referencing their list with the kids who don’t have permission forms.  I’m peacefully listening to Man…or Astroman? alone in my room.

 

I can hear the announcements.  I’ve got yearbook responsibilities this year, so just about everything said in the morning applies to me in some way: club meetings, sports games, etc.  It’s nice to just back and follow along on my calendar.

 

Downs!

Prime learnin’ time lost.  Kids are sleepy in the morning.  1st period is generally 10-20% calmer than other classes.  The sugar from the Pop-Tarts hasn’t kicked in (this is why I envy those with planning at the end of the day.  As a rule, it’s the worst class.  To not have one at all would be divine).

 

No break in the day.  Planning, even one during 2nd period like I had last year, is a checkpoint in the day.  While my time with the kids starts later now, it’s a marathon dash until 3:25.

 

When my schedule was created last year, the idea was that 1st period planning would offer me some time to handle yearbook duties immediately before the Yearbook class 2nd and 3rd periods (we’re on a wacky new schedule where some classes last 2 periods, while others only last one).  This is certainly true (you wouldn’t believe how many seniors’ parents leave me messages throughout the day), and I’m grateful it got set up this way.  However, I’m missing the days I had some time between classes to breathe and reassess my course of action.

Film Club 09

Last year, I proposed a Film Appreciation Club to my principal.  Between a regime change and an adjustment to our school schedule, I didn’t get it rolling until October as an Friday-after-school activity.

 

The vibe was extremely casual.  Attendance ranged everywhere from 4 to 20 students.  We typically watched half a movie one week and finished it the next. I didn’t have much of goal outside of showing interesting movies to kids and trying to point out just why they’re interesting.

 

We had our last meeting today.  With my doing yearbook next year, I’m not sure I’ll be able to make the committment to the club next year, but I’ve sure had a good time so far.  Here’s a list of the movies (that I can remember, at least) we’ve watched together:

 

• The Thing (1982)
• Barton Fink
• The Set-Up
• Project Grizzly
• Sullivan’s Travels
• Do the Right Thing
• Dr. Strangelove
• Bottle Rocket
• Sweet and Lowdown
• The Apartment
• La Strada
• The Hudsucker Proxy
• A Fish Called Wanda

A Letter to My Students

Dear [failing student],

 

I like you.  From the bottom of my heart, with all the sincerity I can muster, I like you.  Being around you is mentally stimulating, and I’d like to think you too are enjoying your time here.  You make me laugh and see the world from a new perspective; I’m attempting to do the same for you.  I really do treasure our time together.

 

But I will fail you.  I will fail you so hard.

 

I won’t be happy about it.  My boss won’t like it much, either (passing students=good teacher).  Your parents certainly won’t be happy about it.  But when the year ends in three weeks, and your grade’s still south of a 70, I will keep it there.

 

You see, while we were joking around and having a good time, I was doing a little thing called “teaching.”  You might not have noticed.  I believe you were busy [on your cell phone / fixing your makeup / sleeping / chatting with friends (who are also failing) / playing sudoku / doing math homework / staring at the wall].

 

Regardless, I assigned work.  I know schoolwork usually sucks, and you’re super busy with [sports, band, ROTC, family, court dates, uploading sexy photos of yourself to MySpace], so I tried to make it as painless as possible.  I allowed you to read a book of your own choice (freedom!).  I asked you to research information about the jobs you’d like to have in the future (relevance!).  I urged you to write about your own life (the world revolves around you!).

 

When the due dates for all of these assignments came up, I was disappointed to see you hadn’t done them.  I empathized with your valid excuses, but your zeroes will remain until you turn something in.

 

Was I too nice?  Did you enjoy class so much that you forgot we had some work to do?Did my laid back persona have you assume you could pass my class with no effort?  I can recommend a good hard-ass of a teacher if my methods confuse you.  Otherwise, I’ll see you in a few years when you have to retake my class

 

Your friend teacher,

Sonny Harding

Such a Gay Post

Is this a growing concern for anybody else?

Stupid Stupid Laptops

I’m technologically adept–mostly.  For the past few days, however, my PC patience has been tried.

 

My school has a few “mobile computer labs”: wheeled carts filled with laptops.  They’re supposed to be an easy way to get computers in the hands of our students, and they do a great job of that.  What the students are able to actually do with them, however, is another case, making for a pretty stressful day.

 

Each class has the same problems in the same order:

1.) Some kids don’t know their passwords, requiring a trip to the IT guy, who’s always hard to track down

2.) Half of the laptops can’t get on the server.  Students flip out.

3.) Student flash drives met with hardware installation prompts that never seem to go away.  Can’t save work and take it home.

4.) Every popular email site is blocked by the county.

5.) Handful of computers freeze up when trying to save work.

 

Look, I know my school is extremely lucky to even have computers.  I know teachers whose technology consists of an overhead projector that’s shared among the entire department.  I feel bad whining about it, but it’s just such a frustrating ordeal, more trouble than it’s worth.  90% of my time is spent fiddling with ethernet cables, switching out computers, and assuring students that patience is a virtue best shared with a Windows machine.  I don’t have a lot of time to , you know, teach.