BLOG: January 2005

Is this all there is?

Today after work I did the following things:

Fed my pets
Ate some food
Watched TV
Surfed the Internet
Postponed Work

That's my life. I wish I were the kind of person that sat cross-legged next to birch trees and hummed Negro spirituals under my breath, but I'm not.

Here's the thing- I hate working.

Every weekday morning I drive to work just like almost every other American. I find myself looking forward to retirement, and I'm in my mid 20's. What's that?

There has to be more.

If I had any kind of initiative, I'd make a website where people could give me a dollar in the hopes that one day I wouldn't have to work. I only say this because if I knew of such a website, I would gladly fork over a dollar or two to help the cause. It would give me no small comfort to know that I helped a fellow worker quit and live happy as I scraped ice off my windshield.

We shouldn't have to live this way.

I say we all pool our resources and live on a patch of land in the Pacific Northwest. We can live in tents and eat berries.

Who's with me?

I'm gonna be a big star...

I just signed up for Google's AdSense Program. We'll see if I'm approved soon, I suppose. Of course, if 1 out of every 100 teachers viewed it, I could probably retire in two years.

In short, I don't care if I sell my soul, as long as I get the Benz.

I wrote a Dickinsonian poem today:

I knew a man who made a tree
Of iron leaves and bolted trunk-
He also made a phony wine
That left me ill but never drunk-

Shakespeare should be so lucky...

Day 75:"You try me and I gonna jub ya'" my student said angrily as he charged another classmate.

Momentarily baffled into inaction, I reply, "Jub? What's that?"

He stopped his charge, turned and replied (to the best of my recollection):"Uuhhhahhhgonewidhetryuhhhaahhg urgleslurpnuh". He then smiled with his large and unkept teeth.

I instantly began for sharp objects to aid me in my neverending quest of leaving this earth prematurely. No luck.

Today the lesson was to build a paper polyhedron. I personally think they're pretty neat. I also thought it would be good because it's tactile and kinesthetic.

http://hverrill.net/pages~helena/origami/sonobe/instructions/

I was wrong.

In order to build the model, thirty identical pieces of paper must be folded. My students have such bad short-term memory that they would forget how to make the second piece after they've finished the first. Then they forget how to make the eighth after making the seventh. What's that? How can one learn something if they can't retain it?

I'm also going to start making my classes watch McGyver. They don't know how to see things in a different way. Example: One of my classes actually created a polyhedron and wanted to hang it from the ceiling. We found some string, but we needed a short pencil or paper clip to place inside the structure after tying it to the string. We didn't have a paper clip, and all of the pencils were too long. They were stuck. I grabbed a pencil and broke it in half. You should have seen 'em- they stared at me like I was Moses striking the rock. Their lives are so concrete and linear that I pity them- but I'm also strangely envious.

75 Days to Sweet Blessed Freedom

Day 76:Since the assignment had to do with crayons today, my students did okay. "Okay" in my parlance, means that there were only three or four confrontations that almost ended in fights.Why so many fights?

Everyone in my class sits and watches like hawks for the chance that somebody will "disrespect" them. They've been programmed to lash out anytime anyone- myself included- tries to correct their behavior or offer criticism. To not strike back immediately- either verbally or physically- emasculates them in front of the crowd. All my male students have in this world is their supposed manhood, and they would probably kill to protect it.

Psychologists tell us that all anger is born of fear, and I believe it. The world my students have grown up in is full of fears, so it is no surprise how often they turn to anger and violence... in short, they are seemingly unable to form meaningful human relationships- with anybody. So instead they appease their psyche with psuedo-relationships based on gang affiliation and an uneasy tension that is usally easily broken the next time one of them is "disrespected".

One of them ate clay today.

The FBI owes me big time.

Update:I think I've found a way for the FBI to differentiate between normal people and psychos.You send everyone into a room with a stack of white paper, crayons, and a stapler.You instruct them to draw a picture and staple it to the board.I like to think that a normal person would put a staple in all four corners. My students, however, believe no such thing.Some of them put one staple in the top middle, so their drawing flops around in the draft from the air conditioning. Others go for the caddy-corner approach, so their picture waves at you from the other two corners. Lastly, one student decided to staple three of the four corners. What the hell is that?

76 Days to Sweet Blessed Freedom

Day 77: Today during first period one of my students made a fake knife out of paper. He entertained himself by pretending to get up for a real purpose and then "stabbing" the knife in their sides, as if they were in prison and he was taking them out. He found the whole thing hilarious. Perfect.One of them, in a rare display of civility, asked me how my evening went the night before. I told them that I has researched some law schools, and one of them (the knife-maker) pipes up:"You ain't goin' to law school, Mr. So-and-so, you stayin' here with US!"At this point three thoughts cross my mind:

1) This student is a professional stalker and should be watched at all times from this moment forward.

2) I have never quite heard the sound before that emanated from his mouth when he said the word "us". It was so haunting and chilling, so deep in its intensity that one could use it to send forth the troops into battle. To top it off, he held the note because either his brain didn't tell him to stop or he just really liked the sound. Shudder.

3) I need to learn karate... just in case.

By the way, none of my students believe I've never smoked weed. They can't comprehend somebody being over the age of 18 and never having tried marijuana before.

I think they think I'm an alien.

The Infamous Projectile Rule

Today I will discuss the projectile rule as it applies to high school students.The motivation of a student to learn is inversely related to his willingness to pick things up and throw them. For a creative yet lazy student, there is no shortage of things to throw- paper balls, pieces of chalk, staples, his shoes, etc.Two things occur whenever a student throws something:

1. Their eyes light up with such childlike delight that you feel immense pity looking at their faces and knowing, quite possibly, that this could be the greatest moment of their life.(When this exact same moment reoccurs five minutes later, with the same look of wonder, you really start to worry.)

2. The launching of their chosen projectile always has a malevolent bent- unless they are trying to hit the garbage can, which only serves to feed their huge self-important ego. I would die happy if, just once, one of my students threw a piece of paper toward nothing in particular and said, "I just wanted to see it fly through the air."

Sigh.

Defense of the Blog

I hold education close to my heart too- I didn't teach three years in public school for the money, my friend. But education is literally a "meeting of the minds", so to speak. I can only extend the discussion halfway. At some point they have to make the decision that they want to learn. If you can find a way to motivate everyone, then I submit that public education as we know it would be unnecessary. Everyone would learn either online or in the library.Example: There are several books on Dickinson in our school library. Does anyone check them out? No. What do they do instead? Go home, do drugs, listen to music, and watch sports and reality shows on TV.Psychologically the students in my first period class are beyond hope, notwithstanding intensive therapy. They simply have no internal motivation. None at all. I can make them read if I give them candy, but what happens when the candy goes away? More music and drugs. Fun stuff, really.Here's the depressing part- their parents did not do their job. I'm dealing with their mess. I can't clean it up- it's far too late for that.As I've said before, my other classes are completely different. For the most part they actually want to learn, which makes my task much more pleasant and enjoyable.

Hell on Earth

Update: Attended a teacher's meeting during my planning period. I walk in and hear cheesy 70's music wafting through the room. A lady is passing out Dum-dums from a wicker basket.
This must be what hell is like, I think.
The point of the meeting was to teach teachers how to teach students to write a five-paragraph essay for the new SAT. That's great- I'm all for it. What I have a problem with is that I'm learning what a thesis statement is from someone who doesn't teach English. I'm an English teacher. In essence, I've just spent the last forty-five minutes of my life learning how to write a thesis statement. I'm an semi-accomplished writer with a degree in English. This is ridiculous.
Those same damn plate glass windows mock me across the table. At one point I seriously consider launching myself through them. Then I could stand, and with the mortal wound bleeding out, watch their astonished faces. It would be worth it.

77 Days to Sweet Blessed Freedom

Day 78: I walk into class and find that someone has spilt orange soda on the carpet. This is ten minutes before class actually starts, by the way. I'm thinking of hiding out in the teacher's lounge until the last possible moment from now on but I'm afraid they rip the paint from the walls and eat it. Also, the teacher's lounge at my school is full of plate-glass windows that look out into the hall, so you have to keep your head down unless you want to lock eyes with students and get the eerie sensation that you're an animal in a zoo. What happened to the old teacher's lounges, the ones that smelled of cigarette smoke and old couches- and students never DARED enter? Sigh. To keep my sanity, I went to the craft store last night and bought Modeling Clay for 1.00 a pack to keep them occupied. Unless you give them an activity that is tactile and kinesthetic, you might as well call the day a failure. To tie it to English, I had them give their sculpture as a gift and write a letter to accompany it. Sounds like a good idea, right? Wrong. One of them made a bong. He claims it's an "incense holder", but I know better. Once he knew I was on to him he said it was a tree. Whatever. Will write more later. Students are returning from lunch.

78 days to sweet blessed freedom....

I'm a teacher- wait, let me rephrase that. I'm a teacher five out of six periods. For one of the periods, I sit in the classroom trying to keep from breaking down because of my students. They are so far below the level of civility and decency that I'm accustomed to that I'm simply amazed each and every day.

Note: I do not have behavior problems in the rest of my classes- just this one. I don't know why this class is an anomaly, but it is.So, for the next 78 days I'm going to post on the day's events here in an effort to keep my sanity. We'll see how that works out, won't we? Feel free to comment or just read on a daily basis.

Day 79:One of the students stole my lunch. I tried to argue morality with a remedial student and failed miserably. Three of them were clearly high based on abnormal pupil dilation and exceedingly calm behavior. (They also laughed at everything I said, like "Hey".)

Half the class did their work- work that could have been accomplished by a bright 5 year-old. (This is high school, BTW.) Two of them failed all of their classes last semester, including PE.To top it all off, I've received two new students in the last five days!The ones that aren't bad are just plain lazy.(I think Yeats said something like that, but I'm too tired to look it up.) In 78 days I quit.

Counting the days...