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Breaking The News

dadler85 — Wed, 19 Jun 2013 04:56:31 +0100

Day 177: Today, I finally told my kids I was leaving. To prepare, I did two things. First, I made brownies. I figured if my kids were going to take it poorly, at least they’d have brownies. Second, I made a slide explaining the new city I would be teaching in – Lawrence, Massachusetts – and specifically explaining that it was a city and a school that could use a real teacher-leader. First and second period, the reaction was pretty much the same. A smattering of “What?!?” with one, maybe two “The teachers always leave this place.” Students by and large listened to me respectfully. I got some hugs and requests for my gmail address as they left. Fourth period, my homeroom had a pretty muted reaction. A couple of students, as is the norm, drifted into class in the middle and immediately began talking. My usual requests for eyes and no speaking limited the gravitas. Oh well. I’ve got those folks for another three days. They’re not done with me yet. More importantly, we nailed the catapult lesson. I will remember that during their last science class, we stayed on task and focused, despite flying marshmallows. I’ll also remember that for the first time since October, AM gave me props. I found her after class and told her how proud I was of her growth as a respectful leader, and made her promise to keep doing her best next year. It was eighth period that really killed me. I gave out the brownies, told the students my age – something I’d promised all year. The atmosphere was pretty joyous. And then I dropped my bomb. Immediately, GC shouts, “All of the teachers leave.” Someone else: “Are you going to a better school?” I use that as the segue into explaining that it’s not a better school, but a school that might need more help, and teachers who are willing to step up. When it comes time to read the Big Goal for the last time, I offer that everyone can say it. SE and a couple of other girls ask me to instead. I finish, and ask what it means to “put your money where your mouth is.” A student answers: “You have to back up what you say is important.” I explain that if I’m going to talk about leadership all day, I’d better be prepared to be a leader myself and take on a new challenge, somewhere I’m really needed. I tell this class that I’ve loved teaching them, and I’ve loved their enthusiasm, and I’ve loved seeing their hard work. I dismiss them, and I think I’m in the clear, when I see SBA is crying. And not the loud, look-at-me crying sixth grade girls can do sometimes. This is silent crying – legit crying. I find myself repeating to her, “I’m sorry … I’m sorry …” before I finally hug her and say, “I am so proud of your hard work this year, and I’m so excited to see what you do next year. Please remember that.” She nods and walks out, leaving my heart broken. An hour later, I find JV crying in the stairwell. I gave JV a consequence nearly every day this year. We’re not exactly besties. I ask what’s wrong, and HG, walking by, says, “She’s sad because you’re leaving.” I say I think that’s not true. JV says, “I’m sad because you’re leaving.” Well … damn. I’d talked myself into believing students wouldn’t care much, that they were leaving the campus, that they wouldn’t see me anyway. Turns out they did care. For some, it’s for the negative reasons; they’re used to seeing teachers leave, and this validates their perceptions. For others, though, it seems like they were really and truly sad to see me leave their lives. Maybe they’d been planning to come back and visit next year. Maybe they just wanted to have the chance, and now they couldn’t, even if they wanted to. Either way, my worst fears came to fruition – that I was disappointing my kids by leaving their lives and their community too soon. A few months ago, I ultimately decided the personal and professional reasons for leaving outweighed that risk. Now, I can only hope I’ll really stay in touch, remind myself that I’ll still be doing good work with students next year, and prepare for a heavy-hearted final three days.

Meh, They're Kids

dadler85 — Tue, 18 Jun 2013 03:35:03 +0100

Day 176: My last Monday at my school is over. It felt, unsurprisingly, like pretty much any other Monday. Kids riled up in the morning, having completely forgotten how to be focused during Morning Meeting. The joys of recess and lunch duty. The inability of my homeroom to get into class in an orderly fashion, followed by us eventually pulling it together and getting some work done. About six minutes into sixth period, I heard a student quickly shout, “Ow!” and grab his cheek. The girl behind him, the infamous AM, was giggling. I waited for the next possible break to investigate, and discovered that AM had in fact shot AB in the face with a rubber band. She hadn’t meant to shoot him in the face, per se, but she’d absolutely meant to shoot him. I took a step forward and nearly opened my mouth to send her out, ream her out … something. And then, I didn’t. In that moment, I decided that nothing I did would be at all productive. They were both fooling around, so it’s not like AB would feel slighted if I didn’t come to his rescue. And given that AM was already apologizing, I was fairly confident me getting high and mighty wouldn’t make her any more contrite than she already was. Rationalizing inaction? You betcha. Letting something slide with five days left to go that I wouldn’t have tolerated a month ago? Absolutely. Sitting here kicking myself for letting a student get hit in the face with a rubber band? No chance. These are kids, folks. They’ll be fine.

One Last Shout-Fest

dadler85 — Sun, 16 Jun 2013 20:04:39 +0100

Day 175: As I’ve explained before, I have my students do a call and response chant before every quiz and test. I yell “work hard” and they respond “get smart.” I wonder if they actually remember this is supposed to remind them about the value of persistence and growth mindset, or if they just like yelling really loudly. In the event that it was more about yelling loudly, I decided to make our last time a bit more special. Before we started the final, I told each class something unique about them – something that I was proud of them for. I told 6A I appreciated how on task they had stayed all year, and how impressed I was with how much work we’d completed as a result. I told 6B I appreciated how much energy, enthusiasm and positivity they had brought to class this year. I told 6D I appreciated how hard we’d worked to stay focused, even when things threatened to slip toward the end. And I told 6C – my darling homeroom – that I was proud of them for all of their hard work, and how much we’d persisted through struggles together. And then I opened my door. I told my kids I didn’t know when the next time was that they’d be able to scream out loud in school, so we had better make the last one count. I stretched in over-the-top fashion, preparing my vocal cords, and said, loudly: “Work Hard.” Students responded, loudly: “Get Smart!” I shouted: “Work Hard!” Students shout: “Get Smart!” I screamed, with a pause between each word: “WORK. HARD!” Students scream back: “GET. SMART!” As expected pretty much no class brought it back super fast from that last one. MB, the king of the loud shout, went on for a good five seconds. I couldn’t care less. I called the office, made sure the receptionist heard us – she did, every time – gave my kids the OK sign, and told them to nail the final. Which, by and large, they did. I’ll miss these guys. One week to go …

One Last Marathon Thursday

dadler85 — Sat, 15 Jun 2013 19:21:47 +0100

Day 174: When we last left our brave hero, he was up too late on Wednesday writing a Science final. We find him now, Thursday morning, desperately trying to finish said final, and then print it before first period. Never a dull moment. As usual, Thursday was a long day. Given the last-minute nature of the final-writing experience, I found about 10 typos, which I had to then fix while the first classes took the test. Third period, I reduced AC to tears because – gasp – I actually called her out on her empowered, but-I-need-it-now-ness. She tried to leave to go to the bathroom without permission, and when I told her to wait until after the directions, called out at me in the middle of said directions, “Can I go now?” I’d said no interrupting nor speaking once finals were on desks, so I had her stand in the hall for a conversation. She refused to admit she should have waited and raised her hand, with lots of sniffles and crossed arms, so the conversation lasted well into recess. On the plus side, I’ve discovered yet again I’m OK being the bad guy. Sixth and seventh periods were about surviving two final games of Trashketball, which I’m about 80 percent sure I never want to deal with again. And eighth period was the unfettered joy of managing students watching the school play. When I told JP he could sit with his friends if he committed to not talking, he responded, “We’re going to have fun.” Five seconds later, he was sitting alone, behind me. Again, OK being the bad guy. My day ends around 10 pm, perched over a laptop, eyes clearly not up to the task of staying awake. For once, I call it a night early. Only a day later do I realize that will be my last-ever Thursday marathon. I won’t miss them.

Limping, But Still Standing

dadler85 — Sat, 15 Jun 2013 17:53:32 +0100

Day 173: So, as it turns out, students near the end of the year struggle to handle Trashketball. I suppose I should’ve guessed that one. My homeroom got through a whopping six rounds; 10-12 is typical. Oops. I have a very bad TFA admission to make. Wednesday night, once I was finally done with grad school, I was up late writing my final. Yes, that’s right, I did not backwards plan from a final exam this year. In my defense, I did use a large chunk of last year’s final. And what I did change, I generally made harder. Muah ha ha. The common theme here is that it’s the home stretch. I’m not phoning it in. I could have just used last year’s final. But what’s going on doesn’t exactly feel like a well-oiled machine. T-minus 7 days …

Might Be Going Senile

dadler85 — Thu, 13 Jun 2013 20:57:27 +0100

Day 172: This is the first time I’m two days late to write about Tuesday. My brain is oatmeal. If I were a runner, this would be the point where you’re nearly at the end of a marathon, muscles desperately craving oxygen. I do remember one happy moment. NM was in my room for lunch, as usual, and telling me how her class was a hot mess all day. Then they showed up for 8^th period … And they were completely fine. Granted, it took an initial blitz of sub-par citizenship grades and hard-line warnings to set the tone, but hey, the ends justify the means. With a few minutes left of class, I sidled over to NM and said, “So, I thought you said your class was having a bad day?” NM: “Well … we were.” Me, smiling: “Not anymore.” Again, brain = oatmeal. So I’ll take it as a very good sign that the only thing I can remember is positive.

In Which a Slip-Up is Forgiven

dadler85 — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 14:32:48 +0100

Day 171: Finals review packets aren’t thrilling, but they’re effective. Three classes walked in and, for the most part, efficiently made their way through nine months of science. Three days until the final, and we’ve got plenty of work to do. I told a student to shut up today. It was the end of fourth period with my oft-scattered homeroom, and I was just trying to explain the homework, but MJ – whom I had asked to work in a fourth grade room because he’d been off-task – was half-in, half-out of the room, talking loudly to someone in the hallway. As soon as I’d said it, I knew I shouldn’t have. I am responsible for the positive and respectful environment in my classroom. However, in full disclosure, I didn’t feel immensely guilty, either. I love that. It means that while I recognize the lapse, I’m also recognizing it’s high time I forgave myself for the quite reasonable exhaustion I feel at this point in the year. Moreover, I had plenty of chances to realize I love my kids, and that that – not losing patience – is my norm. After school, subbing for our receptionist at the front desk, I had CJ join me so she could get her Spanish homework done in a quiet place. Whenever a parent came and his or her child needed to be paged to the office, I offered the job to CJ first … although she wussed out of most names, saying they were too tricky to pronounce. While she should have been doing her Spanish, and I should have been doing my grad school reading, there was a fair amount of her offering me Doritos and me asking her about summer plans. There are 10 days left, I’m tired, and I’ll have my slip-ups. But I’m also going to have fun with my kids, and manage to goad 10 students into making flash cards in after school homework lab. Overall, I think I’m doing just fine.

On Broken Copiers and Dead Turtles

dadler85 — Sun, 09 Jun 2013 15:09:07 +0100

Day 170: So, sometimes, your normal day runs into an obstacle or two. Friday was one of those days. We have three printers at school. Sometimes, one breaks. Friday, all three broke. This left me without a printer on a day when all of my classes depended on my ability to print quizzes and final exam review packets. I spent most of my prep period fiddling around with printers, shaking toner cartridges, and resisting the urge to curse loudly. With 10 minutes before class, it became apparent this was not a battle I was going to win. Time to, as I tell my children, call an audible. I borrowed some lined paper and blank paper and walked to class. When second period showed up, I calmly told them we were facing some minor technical difficulties today, and had to change the plan. I typed up the 37 vocabulary words they needed to know for the final, and gave them some options – make some flash cards, write out sentences, write a story, or make a mind-map. Annnnd … Go! Two of my classes were 100 minutes long, and as you can probably guess, a few students managed to get off task with that much time to make flash cards. But by and large, kids were on their game. Flash cards were created and cut, sentences were written, and one quartet even wrote a story about Shanaynay and her magical photosynthesis. Just when it seemed the day was finally over, one more obstacle. I have two class turtles. Well, had. In the middle of eighth period, when I was in the office, two of my kids ran in and dragged me back to my classroom, screaming about a dead turtle. Kids had been cleaning the tank, and so the turtles were in a bucket in the back of the room. Sure enough, there was Sammy, listlessly bobbing in the water. Within moments, I had 20 students crowded around me. I got the turtles out of the room into the hallway, where more gathered, and all attempts to disperse the crowd failed. I sent JP to find the janitor, so we could bury the turtle, but the principal brought him back, letting me know it was causing a bit of a ruckus to wander around the school with a dead turtle. So, despite lack of shovel, I and about 20 children went outside in the rain to bury Sammy. As JP filled in a muddy hole, several students spontaneously broke into “Amazing Grace.” Students kept running up to me to either let me know who they thought had killed the turtle (I suspect me, given how long I’d waited to clean the tank) or ask me if I was sad. The whole thing was so damn cute, it took all of my effort not to laugh and keep looking appropriately somber. I’m not sure there’s a consistent take-away from both the copier mishap and the loss of my turtle, so I’ll tackle them separately. The copier fiasco reminds me just how much teaching has taught me to stay calm and be flexible, and I’m very glad I’ve gained that skill. I can only imagine how well it will serve me over time. And the turtle adventure reminds me just how great and caring my kids are, even when they disrespect me, or reveal the depths of their pre-teen angst and hormones. I will really miss them next year.

Still Winning

dadler85 — Sun, 09 Jun 2013 13:57:30 +0100

Day 169: The long, tiring days typically are not “wins.” And yet, today, 12 days from the finish line, the wins kept coming. First and second period’s double block was listless to say the least, as is typical for that class. However, a late bit of pumping the kids up about how fast we’d been able to move, and how quickly we’d caught the other classes despite fewer periods to cover the material, and they were clearly pleased with themselves. After weeks of half-hearted “Work Hard, Get Smart” chants, they finally rocked out. Third and fourth period found my homeroom getting into the global warming lesson. Folks shared interesting connections, and (generally) worked efficiently doing research on the computers. As has been the case lately … or more than lately … the transitions and fourth period in general saw some lapses in efficiency. However, we made our way through the lesson just fine, and the quiz came off without a hitch. Sixth and seventh period’s online research went well, and both classes were really into global warming. And finally, despite some wringing of hands and too many last-minute touch-ups, our grade-wide Gateway Presentation went well in the evening. Students presented their portfolios and explained their successes over the course of the year, and visitors – and us teachers – were generally pleased and impressed. Apparently, if I keep telling myself we can finish with our best, we will actually finish with our best.

You Gotta Fight

dadler85 — Fri, 07 Jun 2013 01:07:34 +0100

Day 168: I know it’s nearly all over when, one day later, I can honestly remember NOTHING that happened in class yesterday. I can only assume that means neither anything bad nor anything particularly wonderful happened. Class itself was pretty average. I gritted my way through a pair of teacher-directed lessons, getting by on management more than engagement. It’s a shame, because the topic – symbiosis – is pretty darn cool, but on the other hand, based on the exit tickets, at least kids learned something. I am proud to say I fought for my content. At the last minute, due to an imminent school-wide event, I almost lost second period. Had that happened, my kids wouldn’t have been exposed to global warming at all. While I likely lost points with my principal ... you know, in the throes of an argument in the stairwell. But I was able to proudly tell my kids I wanted to teach them, because what we were learning was important and exciting, and they deserved it. I’ve said it lots in these posts lately, but I’ll say it again. I will finish with my best.