Thursday, September 30, 2004
homecoming
This week is Homecoming at my high school. On Tuesday, everything went to hell. It happened quickly, and without warning.
In my first period class, a student was present after a two week suspension (unrelated to anything that happened in my class). This student is very disruptive when he is present, and I usually have to end up isolating him in a desk apart from other students. I called home on the second week of school but got absolutely no help or support from his parent. So, on Tuesday, I warned him a few times to quit disrupting class and do some work, and then I asked him to move to the desk in front of me. He said he hated sitting in the front all the time. Okay, I said. He could sit in the back - but he had to move three rows down. No, he said. No. It was a free country. He payed taxes. He was not moving.
I told him that he could move for me, or I would have Coach (aka "Cornbread") come and ask him to move. In the past, he has always moved as soon as Coach showed up at the door. I've been able to teach class without taking any further disciplinary action.
Not Tuesday.
The kid talked back to Coach. A bad move. A very bad move. Coach is a former professional football player. You don't talk back to coach. At this point, I realized that the situation was no longer in my control. The student had moved beyond my jurisdiction, and was now being held accountable for being defiant to administrators. Coach called in a second monitor (also, a large adult male). The kid refused them both. The principal came on the walkie-talkie and spoke to the student directly, asking him to come to her office. He refused. They called in the police officers. Two uniformed, armed police officers entered my classroom. The kid decided to put up a fight.
I don't know what happened next. The police had us clear the room. They shut the door. Eventually, they lead this kid out in handcuffs. When we came back in the class his desk was turned over.
I was shaken and upset. I would have never imagined that this student (or any student) would start a scene over something as small as switching desks. My class was upset. A group of boys that were friends with the kid that had gotten in trouble were angry. They began yelling at me. They called me a racist. They were hateful. They said it was all my fault. They were mad that I called in Coach.
I told them that I called in Coach because I wanted to keep the kid out of trouble. I wanted to give him a chance to stop being defiant. Always before, the presence of Coach had been enough to encourage compliance and he had not gotten in serious trouble.
My kids were not listening. They were upset, and they made me out to be the enemy. An administrator came by to check on the class, and saw the students ganging up against me. He pulled out the six ringleaders. My team teachers and the principal rallied behind me. My team teachers brought all of our students together and talked to them. They defended my actions, and they defended me as an individual. Still, my kids had turned against me and I was upset. After they left, I found the student's book bag still in my class. I cried for this kid. His is one of two names that I gave out to people who tell me they are praying for my kids. I wanted him to be okay. It hurt to know that he was arrested in my classroom. It hurt to have kids accuse me of having it in for this student. I've called his mom. I pray for him. I have been trying to help him. The truth is, I care about this kid. I've cared about him ever since I read his diagnostic essay the first week of class.
Later that day, I got a subpoena to appear in court to testify in the case of the kid that brought a weapon to school two weeks ago. I went home upset. I cried while I smoked on the porch.
I told my husband I did not know what I was thinking when I took this job. It was too much. I wanted to teach. I did not want to deal with all this crap. I want to be a real teacher. I want to spend my time teaching. I wanted to quit. This inner-city teaching was too much for me. Sorry, I just wasn't big enough. I was sad. I asked for more prayer.
The next day, I went back to school. I thought of my friends that were praying for me. I forced myself to smile at students in the hallway. Although I did not have them in class (my kids have Monday/Wednesday or Tuesday/Thursday schedules), I made a point to stand outside my room and greet the students that had accused me the day before. I was getting observed by my supervising administrator that morning. Other teachers told me I should cancel the observation. It was Homecoming week. The kids were crazy. Plus, I had had the ordeal the day before. But I decided to go ahead and be observed. Still, I was nervous.
What if?
What if my kids turned against me?
My class was incredible. They were perfect; they showed off everything they knew. Afterwards, as part of homecoming week. I handed out awards to students. In addition to the top student awards, I gave awards for the most improved, and most effort. The two students who got these awards glued them to construction paper and taped them to the front of their shirts. They made my day.
Today, I had the class that had challenged me. It was dress-up day for faculty. We were supposed to wear a costume and bring treats. Only a handful of teachers actually do the homecoming activities, and this morning - I did not feel like playing along. Not for this class.
But, I did. I dressed up as Athena and brought treats. I forced myself to forgive them, to accept them.
I have had two good days at school. I know this is due, in no small part, to the prayers that have been offered on behalf of my students and myself. I know all my days won't be good. Still, I am thankful for this week's Grace.
Tonight, when I sat down to try to write this out, it occurred to me that I am actually teaching.
I cried when I realized this.
Not because I was sad. Because I was thankful.
In my first period class, a student was present after a two week suspension (unrelated to anything that happened in my class). This student is very disruptive when he is present, and I usually have to end up isolating him in a desk apart from other students. I called home on the second week of school but got absolutely no help or support from his parent. So, on Tuesday, I warned him a few times to quit disrupting class and do some work, and then I asked him to move to the desk in front of me. He said he hated sitting in the front all the time. Okay, I said. He could sit in the back - but he had to move three rows down. No, he said. No. It was a free country. He payed taxes. He was not moving.
I told him that he could move for me, or I would have Coach (aka "Cornbread") come and ask him to move. In the past, he has always moved as soon as Coach showed up at the door. I've been able to teach class without taking any further disciplinary action.
Not Tuesday.
The kid talked back to Coach. A bad move. A very bad move. Coach is a former professional football player. You don't talk back to coach. At this point, I realized that the situation was no longer in my control. The student had moved beyond my jurisdiction, and was now being held accountable for being defiant to administrators. Coach called in a second monitor (also, a large adult male). The kid refused them both. The principal came on the walkie-talkie and spoke to the student directly, asking him to come to her office. He refused. They called in the police officers. Two uniformed, armed police officers entered my classroom. The kid decided to put up a fight.
I don't know what happened next. The police had us clear the room. They shut the door. Eventually, they lead this kid out in handcuffs. When we came back in the class his desk was turned over.
I was shaken and upset. I would have never imagined that this student (or any student) would start a scene over something as small as switching desks. My class was upset. A group of boys that were friends with the kid that had gotten in trouble were angry. They began yelling at me. They called me a racist. They were hateful. They said it was all my fault. They were mad that I called in Coach.
I told them that I called in Coach because I wanted to keep the kid out of trouble. I wanted to give him a chance to stop being defiant. Always before, the presence of Coach had been enough to encourage compliance and he had not gotten in serious trouble.
My kids were not listening. They were upset, and they made me out to be the enemy. An administrator came by to check on the class, and saw the students ganging up against me. He pulled out the six ringleaders. My team teachers and the principal rallied behind me. My team teachers brought all of our students together and talked to them. They defended my actions, and they defended me as an individual. Still, my kids had turned against me and I was upset. After they left, I found the student's book bag still in my class. I cried for this kid. His is one of two names that I gave out to people who tell me they are praying for my kids. I wanted him to be okay. It hurt to know that he was arrested in my classroom. It hurt to have kids accuse me of having it in for this student. I've called his mom. I pray for him. I have been trying to help him. The truth is, I care about this kid. I've cared about him ever since I read his diagnostic essay the first week of class.
Later that day, I got a subpoena to appear in court to testify in the case of the kid that brought a weapon to school two weeks ago. I went home upset. I cried while I smoked on the porch.
I told my husband I did not know what I was thinking when I took this job. It was too much. I wanted to teach. I did not want to deal with all this crap. I want to be a real teacher. I want to spend my time teaching. I wanted to quit. This inner-city teaching was too much for me. Sorry, I just wasn't big enough. I was sad. I asked for more prayer.
The next day, I went back to school. I thought of my friends that were praying for me. I forced myself to smile at students in the hallway. Although I did not have them in class (my kids have Monday/Wednesday or Tuesday/Thursday schedules), I made a point to stand outside my room and greet the students that had accused me the day before. I was getting observed by my supervising administrator that morning. Other teachers told me I should cancel the observation. It was Homecoming week. The kids were crazy. Plus, I had had the ordeal the day before. But I decided to go ahead and be observed. Still, I was nervous.
What if?
What if my kids turned against me?
My class was incredible. They were perfect; they showed off everything they knew. Afterwards, as part of homecoming week. I handed out awards to students. In addition to the top student awards, I gave awards for the most improved, and most effort. The two students who got these awards glued them to construction paper and taped them to the front of their shirts. They made my day.
Today, I had the class that had challenged me. It was dress-up day for faculty. We were supposed to wear a costume and bring treats. Only a handful of teachers actually do the homecoming activities, and this morning - I did not feel like playing along. Not for this class.
But, I did. I dressed up as Athena and brought treats. I forced myself to forgive them, to accept them.
I have had two good days at school. I know this is due, in no small part, to the prayers that have been offered on behalf of my students and myself. I know all my days won't be good. Still, I am thankful for this week's Grace.
Tonight, when I sat down to try to write this out, it occurred to me that I am actually teaching.
I cried when I realized this.
Not because I was sad. Because I was thankful.
