Mind in a matchbox.
It's possible that not all of my students are bound for the time-clock-punching lumpenproletariat. In fact, I have one whole class that I adore. (Granted, they still spell "supposed" p-o-s-t, but let's not quibble over details.) They at least show some signs of integrity and interest. (Aside: None of my students knew what "integrity" means. That might be a good place to start - in kindergarten.) They participate in class discussions. I don't have to struggle to get them to work or to think. I can just ask nicely, and they come along with me smiling.
I have two classes of World Lit, and both are academic - meaning, as I think I mentioned earlier, slower-track. Essentially, they have the same sorts of test scores, grades, etc. Same class - sophomores. Generally, the same age group. In the first class, we answer questions as a class, out loud, no writing necessary. We think aloud. We read together. I compliment their genius. They beam and shuffle their feet, having never been so coddled and congratulated by a teacher. We write poetry. We laugh and smile. In the very next damn class, I have to yell and force them to write long answers to dull questions. I try not to cry. They scowl and boo and hiss. Nothing works. They just hate me. And, honestly, I care for them less and less with each passing day. I've tried to do the fun, interesting, post-modern, evocative, exotic, stimulating activities with them. They complain. They feign ignorance to stall for time. (You may think that I'm exaggerating, but I explained "brainstorming" at least ten times on day last week. Nobody's that thick. They have realized that I will teach until I pass out if even one person pretends to be confused, and they use that against me - the little bastards.)
Some days I leave thinking that I won't go back the next day, but I have gone back every day with new resolve. Usually that resolve has faded into a battered pile of spent tissues by the end of the day, and then the whole cycle begins again.
I discussed the masses issue with two other teachers on Friday. One teacher shook his head solemnly over the idea of America's dark future in the hands of these knuckle-dragging moaners. But I don't worry too much. We were in AP or Honors or College-Prep courses in high school. We went through life neurotically unaware of the kids who didn't do homework, who cursed out teachers, who got pregnant at 15. We lived in a little bubble of nearly-adequate public school education amongst our somewhat-promising compeers, led by teachers protected from burn out by the promise of yet another mild-mannered advanced class, cushioned by the soft students whose parents cared enough to keep their weight pressed down on them to do homework and stay out of detention. And those kids still exist today, as do those parents and those teachers. Maybe some kids will drag themselves up from academic. Maybe I could affect a radical change in my students' thinking. I doubt it, but I'm not doing anything else between 8 and 3 o'clock so I may as well try. We'll see what happens.
I have two classes of World Lit, and both are academic - meaning, as I think I mentioned earlier, slower-track. Essentially, they have the same sorts of test scores, grades, etc. Same class - sophomores. Generally, the same age group. In the first class, we answer questions as a class, out loud, no writing necessary. We think aloud. We read together. I compliment their genius. They beam and shuffle their feet, having never been so coddled and congratulated by a teacher. We write poetry. We laugh and smile. In the very next damn class, I have to yell and force them to write long answers to dull questions. I try not to cry. They scowl and boo and hiss. Nothing works. They just hate me. And, honestly, I care for them less and less with each passing day. I've tried to do the fun, interesting, post-modern, evocative, exotic, stimulating activities with them. They complain. They feign ignorance to stall for time. (You may think that I'm exaggerating, but I explained "brainstorming" at least ten times on day last week. Nobody's that thick. They have realized that I will teach until I pass out if even one person pretends to be confused, and they use that against me - the little bastards.)
Some days I leave thinking that I won't go back the next day, but I have gone back every day with new resolve. Usually that resolve has faded into a battered pile of spent tissues by the end of the day, and then the whole cycle begins again.
I discussed the masses issue with two other teachers on Friday. One teacher shook his head solemnly over the idea of America's dark future in the hands of these knuckle-dragging moaners. But I don't worry too much. We were in AP or Honors or College-Prep courses in high school. We went through life neurotically unaware of the kids who didn't do homework, who cursed out teachers, who got pregnant at 15. We lived in a little bubble of nearly-adequate public school education amongst our somewhat-promising compeers, led by teachers protected from burn out by the promise of yet another mild-mannered advanced class, cushioned by the soft students whose parents cared enough to keep their weight pressed down on them to do homework and stay out of detention. And those kids still exist today, as do those parents and those teachers. Maybe some kids will drag themselves up from academic. Maybe I could affect a radical change in my students' thinking. I doubt it, but I'm not doing anything else between 8 and 3 o'clock so I may as well try. We'll see what happens.
posted by Autumn at 5:59 PM
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