Support

I love my job! It makes sense. It's safe. It fulfills me. It pays the bills.

If we run out of chalk - I know to go to the supply guy. If there is a medical emergency - I call the nurse. There is security, tech people, my department, the entire staff supposedly working for the same goal, administration making sure that we are indeed pushing for the same goal, janitors, social workers, coordinators, payroll people, HR. I even have a mentor. When there is a big issue - I have my union. It's clear. There are rules and procedures. They make sense. They should.

I feel like I'm much better at figuring out the supports I have available at work than outside of it.
It's almost Monday.

Keyed

Someone keyed my car today. I'm not sure if it happened at school or somewhere else, but the nasty long scratch on the driver's side of our aging sporty car is out there now, shamelessly making its Blue Book value even more modest than it already is. I want to believe that it was just a random jerk with nothing better to do, but something inside of me sadly knows that it was one of my students.

Pushing

What sort of love would it be if it came easy and gave immediate fruits and gratitude in return?

Facing another week of struggles with my kids. And no, I don't envision myself as a Mother Teresa type. I'm a wannabe teacher, figuring it all out on the go. The "all" part including whether I want or should be a teacher at all. Yet I persevere.

Putting my foot down

I hate it when I know that the reason I eat chocolate is not because I just want to have some chocolate. So often it's something else: stressed over work, I want to finally accomplish the things I set my mind to, I worry about - ironically- my weight, I just want to feel good. And it's a quick fix.

As I was shopping at Wal-Mart today, I recognized a few boys from my school. One of them brought such an unpleasant feeling, I walked faster so they don't have time to notice me. During my prep period, when "real" teachers get to work on their lessons or just relax, I had to go and sub in another class. Freshman Math.

At the end of the class I had a boy extending his arms, asking for a hug. Normally I would not find it appropriate...at all. I'm a young teacher in high school, you are a maturing freshman, I'm not your buddy or a mom or a girl to play around with. No touching, please. It helps to be from another culture, so people attribute unusual traits to your background rather than your personality. For some reason I let it slide this time.

It all happened so fast. Instead of my hands slightly touching his shoulders, I felt his arms suddenly grip my back, shifting my entire body weight onto his, and throwing my legs in the air somewhere at the level of the desks. For a second it all froze and I wanted to pretend it was not happening. Here he was, a skinny little freshman who dared to do this to me in front of the whole class. Define embarrassment.

When I'm at school, 'embarrassed', 'scared', 'disappointed', 'threatened', all translates into plain "mad"... I was still too ashamed to report the incident to the discipline.

Zombies

What amazes me in teaching is the amount of influence one is entrusted to have on their students. Teachers and administration have so much power while a child is at school. Certainly, there are school boards with their standards and evaluations, working on getting all the educators on one page, and if someone did something plain obnoxious it definitely would be known rather soon...but still. People are not robots and every teacher is a little bit biased. What if it's not a little in some cases?

I've had several job assignments when I spent as long as three weeks with the same students, being responsible for all the lesson plans. Not even a single person asked what we were up to in class.

Today I was working with a teacher who asked all the students who got the right answer to clap their hands above their heads, snapping their fingers in between the claps. Someone had the balls to ask why she makes them do that...besides some of the serious pedagogical reasons...because she can. How egoboosting is that.

I was a witness to a disciplinary meeting in our Middle School's gym the other week. All 7-graders were seated on the bleachers. To get the students on track our principal played a little game. He would ask the crowd to clap once when he crossed his hands and tap their foot whenever he did a vertical motion with his hand that in my head really asked for a high-pitched "chu-chu" accompaniment. There were about 350 kids in the gym with 5-6 adults standing directly in front of them all in a row. The doors were closed. We stood still, making sure everyone complied with what they were told. 1-2-1-2. Just like a small army, the kids clapped and tapped their feet amazingly in synk. If they wanted to, they could start a coup right there and run over all five of us before someone even got a chance to get out a walkie talkie. Instead they obediently moved their bodies. 1-2-1-2.

How can you not teach them?

I had a dream today, standing in front of my students and screaming at the top of my lungs, "You know what? FUCK THAT!"
I thought about it again when I was actually in my classroom with kids talking and half of them not even having something to write with. The dream seemed very surreal, but not too hard to see where it came from.

Their previous teacher quit. My first day with these students was accompanied by various staff members dropping by and curiously looking at how we're doing. "His classes are pure hell", quietly said the school's secretary in the morning. The principal came in and empathetically inquired if the teacher left any plans. No.

I felt bad. The kids went through several subs this semester. They weren't learning. It's been four days with each day having at least one moment when I felt like breaking down in tears. 7 periods a day. I was trying SO hard yet I felt like I was still failing, they were still failing. I would spend a few minutes just sitting and spacing out when the day was over.

I found all sorts of different props left by the former teacher while looking for passes. It was his first job. He probably felt very passionate about what he was doing. He probably felt very disappointed and disillusioned. I was upset this happened. Upset that he gave up so soon, that there wasn't someone who held his hand and said, it's ok, just keep pushing through, here's what you can do. Somehow not upset at the kids.

My husband and I went to a convocation tonight with a speaker from University of Illinois talking about all the numerous problems that African-American boys in urban communities face. "Teachers ask me, how can I teach them? And I answer, how can you not?" He spent the entire speech describing what's going on, but I didn't hear a single practical solution to those issues.

I can tell you how I can not. I could write a separate blog about my challenges at school. Whether it's a person of color or not, some students just don't care. They simply don't see any value this education.

"I do not care what sort of reputation this class has with other teachers. I am NOT going to take this sort of treatment! Things. Are. Going. To change!"
This chaotic and seemingly uncontrollable class suddenly got quiet. I was holding a pause while shifting my look from one student to another. I looked but I didn't really see them. All I could think about was that disheartening question...What the hell am I gonna do?
I have no plan whatsoever.

Day 2 out of ? tomorrow.

Why are you picking on me?

I'm making an example of you, to send a message out to people everywhere: that if you want to hurt another human being, you'd better make damn sure they're the same color as you.

Judge from South Park

Funny...not.

I had a student calling me racist and threatening to get me fired. That was the first time someone ever played the race card on me. I felt like chuckling in disbelief, the accusations were so unjustified. In high school such things are considered a joke, almost a part of the local folklore, they come up so often. But this was middle school and the girl was dead serious. Two other students from the group of troublemakers joined her in this "riot" and stormed out of the classroom.

I wasn't afraid. I felt sad that this situation was happening. Students who were the only ones continually disrupting the class, had all the courage to blame it on the issue of race, failing to adhere to reason and my explanations. The girls were not using race just as an excuse, at least not obviously so. I still think that at least one of them sincerely believed she was being mistreated because of the color of her skin. The matter ended with all the girls apologizing to me..of course not without a slight nudge from the discipline office.

Nevertheless, there are so many other students out there perceiving teachers as enemies, whose every second is occupied thinking up of some evil ploy to mistreat them. No, in their eyes teachers are not reprimanding kids for behavior issues or performance in school. It's either ethnicity, socioeconomic status, or anything else that doesn't have to do with something in students' hands to change. It's always unfair.

Schools without strong connection between educators and administration could be creating a serious problem reinforcing such mentality of irresponsibility, punishing teachers for students' misunderstanding -- or sometimes even -- straight-up lying. Children learn that this is not their fault, it's not up to them to change anything. A lot of the times in these situations I wonder what parents' views are on their child's education.

Checks and balances are great. That's what keeps this country from falling into a swamp of sweeping corruption. In this situation though teachers, parents, and students can not afford to point fingers and fight. We're all in the same boat here...we should be...we aren't. As one of my students once told me, "I'm going to write a referral on YOU!"

What's your race?

You know how they have these forms for employment where you can complete a short survey with a question about your race? I can't count how many times I've filled out those forms, and I always indicated I was white. Never even gave it a second thought. No doubt whatsoever.

Then one lovely morning, as I was subbing for a 7th-grade teacher in middle school, one of the African American girls raised her hand and innocently asked "What's your race?" The question caught me off guard. "What?" Before then in almost 22 years of my life not a single person has ever asked me that question to my face. I didn't even know what to make of it. First thing I did when I came home though - looked in the mirror.

Alright, I wasn't clueless. I almost never need to worry about sunburn. Pretty much the only time I got to see women looking like me, was during annual celebrations of Ramadan next to the only mosque in my home town. But somehow I never thought of myself as being any different from the people around me. The whole notion of race was largely ignored as I was growing up in Eastern Europe.

Going back to our day with 7th-graders, little did I know that it was only the beginning of a very popular set of questions I get asked almost every day now (when not subbing in high school). "Are you Asian?" "Is your husband black?" Then probably the most popular one: "What are you mixed with?" "I like the color of your skin...What's your race?"

I smile and say "human".

Do you want to be a teacher?

"I quit. I don't see why I should take any more of this humiliation. Just fuck it all. I quit."
That's how I felt right after my 6th period with the 8th-graders. Why can't I just lock the room and cry my heart out? But the school day wasn't over and I was yet to face another handful.

REWIND TO A FEW MINUTES EARLIER:

"Now you can clearly see that three is the median in this case." Someone in the back says "three" with the "th" part pronounced closer to [t]. I hear some soft laughing. Why on earth would someone be talking about a tree now, I think to myself at first. Moving on. "Let's consider the following data set: one, one, three, f.." "THREE". This time I'm interrupted even before I get to finish the word. "Three. Three" The boy keeps repeating the word with that same strange pronounciation definitely enjoying all the attention he's getting from his classmates.
Ahh..now I get it. This realization painfully pierces something inside and it gets way harder to talk. I stand quietly, waiting for the class to calm down, but really I just take time to gather myself up and hide any traces of what's inside. "CLASS!" It takes them a minute to get quiet again. I go on, this time paying more attention to what I'm saying. "To find the median we need to take the average of 22 and 24, which is twenty ... (what a magnificent FML moment)...THREE. I don't just hear chuckling. The kids are having the time of their lives with only a few of them not joining into the fun. The girl upfront tries to sympathies: "Aww, this is so mean." For whatever reason it only makes me angrier inside. I'm not a f-ing kitten. Don't "aww" at me.

"I'm done!" They all suddenly shut up and look with caution. "I walk towards my table to stay there till the end of the period. "There will be no more explanation! If you have no respect, you'll be treated the same way. I expect to have all your classwork AND homework for tomorrow on my desk by the end of this period."
It gets quiet for a minute or so and then the blaming game begins. "I didn't do anything and now I have to suffer." "It was all his fault!" "It's not fair!". I let them figure out their issues on their own, but that's not what the kids want. "My mama won't be too happy when I tell her my teacher didn't explain nothin'" - I'm a little surprised by the boldness of this statement, but I make sure to express my sheer excitement about talking to the girl's parents. She gets the point and turns away.

It sucks. I don't think anyone there realized they got it, they found my Achilles' heel. I'm cool with people correcting me. I honestly find it funny when a native speaker copies the way I say certain things, but not when it's done like this. Really? I was put down by a bunch of 14-year-old's?

NEXT DAY AFTER THE CLASSES ARE OVER:

"What's up"
"Well, hello. Why are you here so late?"
"Detention"
"I thought you were a good kid"
"Grades. I never do my Spanish homework. It's too hard."
He sits down at the nearest desk to me, clearly in the mood to talk.
"So, why were you guys laughing so much yesterday?"
He looks away and acts distracted all of a sudden.
"Zack. What was it about?" - even though I know darn well what that was about, I want to hear his side of this.
"Your accent."
"Was it about my "three" in particular or something else?
He's being evasive again.
"How you say "teach"
Teach? How do you say it again?
Zack appears to be kind of surprised by my question. But he repeats and I repeat after him. It's dificult. We do it again. There is something strange and intimate in this moment. Now I'm learning. I'm always learning with them.

"You could be a good regular teacher. Do you want to teach? You'd get more respect then."
"I can't. I don't have a licence"
We stay quiet for a while and I try getting back to my report.
"You know, It's nothing personal. They treat all the subs like this."
"Is there a single sub that just comes and has your class quiet and disciplined?"
"No"
I smile. Perhaps, I'm too idealistic at times.