Guess who's coming to class?
So it's about 20 minutes into my 2nd period class, that moment when I'm trying to get everyone started on their computer projects, answer questions, and magically re-teach an entire lesson in mere minutes to all the students who stayed home the day before because they were "sick."The door opens and in walks one of the counselors with a big smile and a tall rather striking girl at her side, dressed in dark blue pants with a white polo shirt - tucked in! Very unusual.
"This is New Student X," says the counselor. "She's from Sierra Leone and just arrived in the United States. She's a CELDT Level 1 (meaning she speaks little or no English). Everything here is very new to her. She's never used a computer before. Have a good day!"
Now I swear, this is the not the script of a satire on the ridiculousness of the public school system. This is real life - my job - unfolding before me with absolutely no preparation.
On the bright side, this is my smallest class - only 27 other students besides New Student X. Of course, at least a third of them are at that very moment demanding my attention - the three who had been absent, the three who didn't listen when I gave directions and the three who are always ready to take advantage of those moments when I'm distracted by little things....like the arrival of a student who only speaks Gola. (Look it up: it's one of 24 languages spoken in Sierra Leone.)
The class is two days into a biography project using an application called ComicLife. New Student X has no clue that moving the small mound of plastic (aka: the mouse) makes things happen on the TV (aka: computer screen). She is completely unfamiliar with a keyboard, as well as the letters printed on the keys. And since she speaks very little English, I can't exactly explain these things to her.
Needless to say, it was an interesting morning. And I have no doubt that the rest of the year will continue to present plenty of challenges for both me and New Student X.
But we both have something to look forward to. In May she will get to spend two weeks doing the standardized tests for California (CSTs). They will all be in English. And they will assume a high level of prior knowledge about things that a girl only a few weeks out of Africa will have no clue about. Fabulous.
Hey, let's "unschool"!
Oh, now I get it! All these parents who I thought were uninvolved (perhaps even incompetent) are actually just toying around with the "unschooling" concept! They don't make their kids come to school when they don't want to, don't make them do their homework, don't care if their class work is missing, and set no limits, expectations or consequences at home. It's all perfectly clear to me now.
Please welcome....
One of our counselors sent out an email today to let us know that a new student will be starting with us tomorrow. She is transferring over from another middle school that is nearby but not in our district. She said, "I think it is important that you are aware of her behavior issues" and then went on to give a partial list from the girl's discipline record at the other school.chewing gum/eating candy; not following directions
excessive talking
repeated disruptions in class (OFTEN) resulting in repeated suspensions
suspended for cursing (OFTEN)
skipping detention
arguing/yelling at teachers and admin.
spitting
threw a textbook across the room
refusing to sit in assigned seat
off task; giggling
threatened to slash teacher's tires
chasing student with a ruler
dress code violations (wearing hood when not supposed to)
PE non-suits
hit another student in the back
refused to change seats
called teacher a bitch
texting with cell phone in class; caught emailing in class
destruction of school property (wrote on classroom door)
gave teacher the finger
stole a stack of "front of the line" passes
kicked boy in private area *he had to be wheelchaired to nurse's office)
chased and pushed boy to the ground
punched girl in the back when girl said, "You lost.." (the tetherball)
stole student's wallet and money
stole student's lunch
I bet you the staff members at her old school are doing the happy dance and popping open a few bottles of champagne.
Stripper pole in her bedroom?
Why . . . why in heaven's name does a 13 year-old need to have fingernails like this? Do her parents have her in some early-admission stripper training program? (And yes, these nails do offer a marvelous accent to her typical wardrobe.)And more importantly, how the hell am I supposed to teach her keyboarding? You should have seen her today trying to type with these ghastly things!
Test tube babies, Pt. 1
I've said for a long time that this job would be much easier without the parents. Like if all our students just sprung from test tubes . . . what a relief! How that would simplify things!In my years of teaching, there have been many parents I liked very much. They were supportive, approachable, reasonable people who wanted the best for their children and were willing to do the hard work required to make that happen. There have been other parents whom I tolerated. Mildly annoying, they most often said all the right things but rarely "walked the walk." And then there are the parents who make my blood pressure skyrocket.
Here is a recent example from an email I received:
Hi Ms. Teacher,
Hello, my name is Mr. Presumptuous and I am The Golden Boy's uncle. Today, him and I were discussing his grades in the class, and I noticed an assignment I had qualms about. The "Rules Quiz" given on 2/11, TGB received a grade of "D" and I was about to chastise him, but I thought about the merits of a "Rules Quiz," and his mother and I both agree we do not know if we agree with giving an assessment on the rules. Grading should be about academic work and effort, and although rules are important, I do not feel it should be in a place where it should be assessed. I hold TGB to a high standard when it comes to academics, and even the "B" in his class is not acceptable to me, he knows he needs to get an "A"/ try his hardest. Would it be possible for TGB to complete another assignment instead of this "Rules Quiz" or strike it from it grades all together? His mother and I continuously push him to succeed in school, so if you would like to speak to me personally feel free to give me a call anytime with questions, comments, or just checking in on TGB's performance.
My first thought was, are you freaking kidding me? What one earth makes you think you have the right to tell me what I can or can't teach, can or can't assess? When you have a degree in education, a credential, a masters and 18 years experience in the classroom, THEN we'll sit down and do some lesson planning together!
For the record, we had spent the first day of the new semester - all new students - going over classroom procedures and rules. The students took notes while I modeled on the overhead (note-taking skills, anyone?). They were told there would be a test on the information so they should study their notes. My purpose in giving a test was partly to make sure they knew the rules (I get so tired of the "But I didn't know!" excuse) and to give them yet another opportunity to improve their studying and test-taking skills. There were 15 true/false and multiple choice questions - many of which had silly, ridiculous answer choices, to bring some levity to the event. And there was a bonus question: What is the name of Ms. Teacher's guinea pig?
After taking several hours to cool off, here is what I wrote back to Mr. Presumptuous:
Dear Mr. Presumptuous,
Thank you for contacting me with your concern. While I have not met you before, I have met TGB's mom when he was in my class last year, and I know that she definitely "runs a tight ship" and keeps high standards for TGB. I really appreciate that involvement, and it clearly shows in
TGB's work and behavior.
As I'm sure you are aware, classroom management has to be in place before learning can even begin. We spent the first day of class going over rules and procedures. The students took notes while I modeled on the overhead. I subsequently gave the quiz that you wrote to me about. I believe that it is important for students to be aware of rules and procedures in order for my classes to run as smoothly as possible. In addition, I try to incorporate basic academic skills into my classes whenever possible. Note-taking, studying and test-taking are just some of those skills. I am sorry if you and his mother disagree, but ultimately it is up to me to design the course of instruction in my classes. (No, I didn't put the bold in my actual email.)
There will be three more grades added before I submit report card grades next week - an Excel project, an Excel skills assessment and a typing progress grade. If you would like something he can work on at home, and you have a computer with Internet connection, TGB can work on his
typing lessons. The program we use is web-based so anything he does at home will show up here at school. The website address is www.stopurwhining.com.
Sincerely,
Ms. Teacher
I hate having to swallow my indignation and make nice. I know it's not politically correct to even think this; schools are supposed to welcome parents with open arms and make them feel that they are a valued part of the team. And lord knows I do my best. The problem is when they are not a part of the team, but rather acting as the birth-appointed attorneys for their offspring, doing everything in their power to work against the school. (See "Seriously?")
It makes me want to "go Judge Judy on them." (A teacher friend and I came up with this phrase while watching an episode one evening. We loved how she called people on their s--t and didn't even bother to try to sound nice while doing it.) I swear that holding this inside is taking years off my life.
Another one bites the dust
Well, two actually. Lost two students this week. One for possession of weed and paraphernalia. A seventh grade girl, kind of stayed below the radar. Not what I would have expected. She had a B+ in my class. She was suspended; not sure if she was taken into custody. (Sometimes I don't want to know the details.) She was also put on the ARP list. ARP stands for Administrative Review Panel. This is a group of district big-wigs (superintendent, assistant superintendent, and assorted other not-too-pleased-to-be-there administrators). We call this "being ARPed." I love how we take a phrase, reduce it to an acronym and then make it into a verb.There is a long waiting list to be ARPed. Lots of kids in big trouble. While they await their turn, they sit in the front office of their school site and don't do the work that we teachers are required to provide to them. I mean really, can you blame them? Why even bother at this point?
This can go on for weeks. The results of the ARP are most often mandatory transfer to another middle school in the district. I used to use the phrase "dance of the lemons" to refer to the policy of transferring awful principals rather than firing them. But I guess it applies in this situation too. So these troubled kids pack up their myriad of issues in their Jansport backpacks and cart them off to another campus, which is grudgingly awaiting their arrival. We are always informed if the new student in our class was ARPed, and what their "crime" was. And so we watch - a bit more diligently than usual - and wait. How long until their true colors surface? Ocassionally, the change of venue really does do them some good, and they take a turn for the better. But with most it is only a matter of time - perhaps just a day or two - before they are back to doing the same sorts of things that got them ARPed in the first place.
The other student got into an argument with her mom and ended up hitting her. Mom hit her back, then the girl pulled out a BIG chunk of the mom's braids. She's in juvie now. (Since it happened at home, this is a court issue, not an ARP one.) This girl had some on-the-edge moments, and didn't always hang with the best group of friends. But she was well-behaved in my class and had an A. I've met her mom and from what I could tell she wasn't the type that deserved to be beat up on. (Some of them, I'd be willing to hold their arms behind their back while their kids wailed on them.) She had just taken in her sister's 13 year-old son, who is seriously developmentally delayed due to FAS (fetal alcohol syndrome). This on top of caring for her own three children.
Who knows what snapped that particular morning? Truth be told, I've had fantasies of smacking some of these smart-mouthed little brats. And lord knows there were many times I really wanted to hit my own mother (she would have deserved it). So I don't know where I would place the blame. But clearly this is a family that is going to need some help to get it back together again. No worries - I'm sure our over-worked, under-funded County Social Services department will be up to the task.
Sign of the times
Just thought I'd mention that when I went out to school on this beautiful Sunday to get ready for my sub, one of our local graffiti artists had been hard at work contributing to our school atmosphere.There is a large - and rather ugly - beige concrete sign at the front of campus that has our school name on it. For anonymity's sake, let's call us "WTF Middle School." (I really wanted to take a photo, but that would have blown the whole anonymity thing.)
So there's the sign - "WTF Middle School" and the aspiring artist had added "sucks" in a very pleasing shade of baby blue spray paint. The fact that I was there on a sunny Sunday afternoon kind of had me agreeing.
Is it wrong that I felt somewhat victorious simply because they hadn't spelled it "sux"?
Day off
I need a day off. I know that it's Sunday night and I've just had two days off, but sometimes that's just not enough. Besides, I have so much school work to do that it fills one whole day itself. (Have I mentioned how much I hate yearbook deadlines? They're right up the with "report card weekend." Which is next weekend, unfortunately.)Teachers don't get to just stay home. Whether it's for a mental-health day or a real illness, it's just not that easy. I spent about three hours in my classroom this afternoon getting sub plans ready. That's right - in order to miss five hours of instruction, it took three hours of my Sunday afternoon. My favorite sub wasn't available, so I felt the need to be extra thorough in my preparations.
Now I subbed for a year when I first got my credential (the last time pink slips were being handed out left and right). It was damn hard work. Walking into a class where you don't know the kids, the rules or the routines made me very stressed. And it didn't help that a large percentage of the teachers left plans that were very hard to follow. (Some didn't leave plans at all, but there's a special place in hell waiting for them.) It's difficult to write out directions without omitting some small but vital details that have become so old-hat to you that you completely forget to mention them. So I go out of my way to make sure my plans are as clear as possible and that everything the sub might need is laid out nice and neat where it cannot possibly be missed.
On the other end of this partnership are the subs themselves. Most do a decent to good job at this difficult task. And the fact that they're willing to sub at a middle school (I refused to go above 3rd grade when I was subbing) earns them bonus points before they've even crossed the starting line. But you just never know who is going to end up spending the day with your kids.
Last week I happened to be up in the office during my prep period and couldn't help but notice a flurry of activity - even more than the usual. Turns out there was a fire in one of the classrooms. With a sub. The regular teacher had a floor lamp in her room (which you may recall was one of the clever ideas tossed about in a previous round of "how to make your students achieve" - make your classroom homey and comfortable by brining in lamps, hanging up curtains, etc.) This particular lamp was the kind with the bowl-shaped lighting fixture at the top of the pole. Apparently a student threw in a crumpled-up paper wad that proceeded to catch on fire.
The sub immediately called the front office (good!), and the custodian and principal set off running toward the classroom. The custodian arrived first and was surprised (shocked?) to find that the students were all still in the classroom (bad!). He proceeded to evacuate the students from the room, something the sub had failed to realize was an important thing to do.
This is why I am never truly at ease when there's a sub in my room. What if my kids burn up in a fire because the sub was too clueless to get them out? How could I ever live with the guilt? (Please note the sarcasm here. Well, at least a little sarcasm.)
Last year I went out to get the morning paper and fell off my porch. (This lack of coordination probably explains why I'm not a PE coach.) I was flat out on the ground for about 20 minutes before I could grit my teeth, sit up and scoot myself backwards on my butt into my house. (In case you're wondering, I had broken my left foot, severely sprained my left ankle and dislocated my right knee.) After dragging myself across the livingroom and diningroom floor - for once glad that I had such a small house - I managed to pull myself up onto a chair and reach the phone. And my first call? The sub desk, of course! It was already 6:30 AM - very late to be trying to get a sub for the day. No time to waste!
Luckily my laptop was still out and on the diningroom table. I propped my foot up on another chair and immediately started working on sub plans. After a little while I called a friend at her work to see if she would be able to take me to the emergency room. She said she would rush right over, but I told her not to hurry - it was going to take me at least another hour to get my plans done. And so I sat there, writing out my carefully detailed plans, as my lower limbs turned ugly shades of purple and swelled up to an alarming size.
Fortunately this happened on a Thursday. I stayed home Friday as well and was further blessed with a well-timed three-day weekend. (Hooray for Presidents' Day!) But come Tuesday, despite doctor's orders to stay off my feet, I was back at work with a knee brace and one of those boot-cast thingies - and a walker, since I couldn't really put weight on either leg.
It was easier than doing sub plans.
FNS
Yesterday was my first time supervising Friday Night School. (Also known as "FNS" - because you know how the education system loves its initials and acronyms.) FNS is a three hour detention held on - you guessed it - Fridays after school, from 3:30 - 6:30.In the past, when emails were sent out asking who wanted to supervise FNS, I couldn't delete them fast enough. What sort of hell on earth would it be to spend three hours at the end of a long week with a bunch of troublemakers locked in the school library? Then came an ugly divorce that wreaked havoc on my finances, and suddenly FNS looked much more appealing. Payment for working FNS is based on your annual salary level, and with 18 years of credit and a Masters, that works out to about $50 an hour for me. Sign me up!
Students are assigned to FNS for a variety of offenses: tardies, truancies, multiple dress code violations, failing to show up for teacher detentions and just generally being a royal pain in the ass. The vast majority of students make it through all of their middle school years without ever experiencing FNS. Others end up there one or two times and pretty quickly realize there are other places they'd rather be. And then there are the "Frequent Flyers." There are certain students whose names appear regularly on the weekly FNS roster. In fact, I think that when (if) they promote at the end of 8th grade, we should consider placing small brass name plates on their favorite FNS chairs. One week we had so many of the Frequent Flyers suspended (mostly for fighting and drug possession) that we got to cancel FNS - there weren't enough students signed up to make it worthwhile.
Of course, the fact that Frequent Flyers come back again and again does make one question whether FNS is an effective consequence for them. My guess is that no, it is not. But unfortunately we are not allowed to save ourselves and society a lot of time, trouble and money, give them advanced credit for incarceration training and move them straight into the prison system.
Some kids are just like that. Here's a great example. I have a strict NO GUM rule in my classroom. We got new carpet two years ago and I know that won't happen again for another 20 years, so I do my best to keep it looking good. Since students seem physically incapable of keeping gum in their mouths and/or locating a trash receptacle, it is not allowed in my class. Actually, it's not allowed at school period, but not all of the teachers enforce this rule. I understand why - we all have to choose our particular battles. And besides, some of those other teachers still have the ugly old carpet.
Anyway, I had just popped a student for chewing gum in class for the umpteenth time. The student sitting next to him - who, ironically, has an IEP for ADHD and numerous issues with "impulse control" - commented, "Man, why do you keep chewing gum? You know she always catches you! I got caught once and that was it. I quit chewing gum here." I took the opportunity to explain that there are three types of people in the world:
Type 1: You tell them the stove is hot and they will get a painful burn if they touch it. This type of person thinks to himself, "I don't want to be in pain. I'm not ever going to touch the stove." End of story.
Type 2: You tell them the stove is hot and they will get a painful burn if they touch it. This type of person thinks to himself, "I'm not sure I believe what I've just been told" or "I bet I won't get burned." He touches the stove, gets burned, and then decides not to touch the stove again in the future.
Type 3: You tell them the stove is hot and they will get a painful burn if they touch it. This type of person thinks to himself, "I'm not sure I believe what I've just been told" or "I bet I won't get burned." He touches the stove and, sure enough, gets burned. Ouch! But then something odd happens. Maybe he thinks it was just a fluke, and he probably won't get burned the next time. So he reaches out again and . . . Ouch! Well, obviously he can't be this unlucky every time, right? Surely if he touches the stove again . . . Ouch! This must be a trick. There must be a way to touch the stove without . . . Ouch! That damn stove! How dare it keep hurting him like this! He'll show this stove who's boss . . . Ouch! And so on and so on.
FNS is made up of lots of Type 3s. So is prison.
Type 3s don't fit well into society. They definitely don't fit well into the school environment. The school staff spends an inordinate amount of time and energy dealing with the Type 3s. These kids suck the life out of you. Most often their parents are just as challenging. (There must be a genetic component.) We try the "good cop" routine: cajoling, rewarding, modifying, tutoring, counseling, trying to find some way to make a connection. We try the "bad cop" routine: "time-outs," detentions (before school, after school, during lunch and for three fun-filled hours on a Friday afternoon) at-school suspensions, at-home suspensions, even mandatory transfers to another school in the district. In the end, we are exhausted, frustrated, burned out.
And the Type 3s? They're off looking for another stove to touch.
Seriously?
In the last few months, we have had numerous students caught on campus with marijuana (henceforth referred to as "weed," so I can sound as cool as my students). While this has happened occasionally in the past, its frequency of late is a bit alarming.But that's just the background; here's the story. A girl was caught on campus smoking weed from an "apple bong". The girl was brought into the office, the police were contacted and her mother was called.
When the mother arrived at school, she had two main things to say. First of all, just because her daughter was caught with her mouth on the apple bong, that did not prove she had actually inhaled. (I suppose you can't really blame her for this first statement. I mean, we elected a president who made such a claim.)
Second, the school really should recognize that ultimately this whole event was our fault. After all, weren't we the ones who provided the apple in the school cafeteria?
Seriously.
Letter to the Editor (Union Tribune)
The article on low-performing schools (“5 county schools are low-performers,” March 9) contained an intriguing observation by Jeannie Steeg, executive director of the San Diego Administrators Association.Steeg pointed out that principals should not be held accountable for the performance of their teachers, since they are not allowed to choose their faculty members.
After all, who knows what sort of teachers might show up on the principals’ doorstep? They could lack even the most basic skills to be successful. Perhaps they have no motivation. They might be distracted by stressful events in their lives. Chronic health problems could mean spotty attendance. If English is their second language, communication problems would impede the teaching/learning process.
As a teacher, I find it interesting that this lack of control means it is unfair for principals to be held accountable for poor performance by staff members. I, on the other hand, must graciously accept all the children who come through my door, regardless of any deficits or challenges they bring with them. Moreover, if Obama’s Race to the Top initiative is any indication, there is no limit to my accountability. My students’ standardized test scores will be a major component of my evaluations, and those evaluations will determine salary, tenure and promotions.
Perhaps it is time for me to stop teaching at the ethnically diverse, low socio-economic school I love, and go someplace where my success is more assured (ie: a school with white, wealthy English-speaking children). Or then again, maybe I’ll just become a principal.
Duty
Once a week each of the teachers has "duty" (or, as the little kids used to spell it when I taught elementary school, "doody"). We report to our designated locations on campus and spend 20-25 minutes supervising the students at the beginning and end of each school day.One of our tasks at the beginning of the day is to watch for uniform violations. My school has what I refer to as a "loose" uniform policy. It was instituted a few years before I began working there, in an attempt to minimize the growing problem of gang violence. Students are to wear blue or black pants (including jeans), shorts or skirts and dark blue or white tops. Other items, such as shoes, belts, jewelry and other accoutrements, have a more fluid policy. Our rules for them are continually being refined, since the students seem to have no greater aspiration in life than to find ways to push the boundaries of our uniform policy.
For example, we have had quite a problem with marijuana use by many of our students this year. Using the innate cleverness that is so abundant in 12 year-olds, students began to display their affinity for the evil weed by wearing items that were green, red, black and yellow - so-called "rasta colors." Clearly the grown-ups on campus would have no idea what that stood for, right? We're all far too old and stodgy to know anything about the connection between rasta, reggae and marijuana. Well, much to their surprise, we did make that connection (in fact, we began referring to rasta-wearing students as being members of the "Bob Marley Club"). Consequently "rasta items" were added to the list of things that couldn't be worn at school. Oh, the ensuing furor was not to be believed! They just liked reggae, that's all! The wearing of those colors didn't mean anything! And their cleverness reached new heights as they explored creative ways of skirting the ban, such as donning a red belt, a black and green bracelet and a yellow hair tie. If only they put this much thought and effort into their school work.
The best part, however, was how many parents defended the right of their children to wear these items. Like their children, they too would state that their children just liked the music or liked those colors and that it had nothing to do with marijuana use. Even when we were able to rattle off 58 other reasons why we were concerned that their particular child might be smoking weed, the parents continued to profess their children's innocence. My favorite line came from a parent who said that her child wore rasta stuff because she got it from her older brother. I can state pretty confidently that fashion accessories were not the only thing being shared by the older brother.
So I suppose that I should not have been surprised at what happened when I was on duty one morning last week. My duty station is at the front of the school by the parking lot. On this particular morning, a mother pulled up and dropped off her daughter. As the girl walked toward me, I saw that she had a black shirt on under her white shirt. (Although it's been explained to them a million times, students continue to profess that they didn't know it was wrong to wear a non-uniform shirt under a uniform shirt.) I stopped the girl and pointed out that the black shirt was not uniform, and directed her to the dreaded "Room 400" where students have to remove the offending item and/or don a "loaner" uniform shirt. The girl walked off with nary a whine, but the mother promptly turned off her car, got out and walked toward me. "What were you talking to my daughter about?" she demanded. I explained that her daughter was wearing a black shirt, which was not a uniform color, and that I had sent her to room 400 to remove it. Boy, did that ever set her off! She proceeded to tell me that we always "picked on" her daughter, while "everyone else" got to wear "whatever they want" and no one ever said a thing to them. I stood there trying to keep my jaw from dropping. She was saying exactly what the 12 year-olds say! Luckily, I had recovered by the time she stopped spewing. I explained that with 850 students on campus, there were certainly times that some of them might escape our attention. After all, they frequently went to great lengths to try to hide their uniform violations, only exposing them when adults weren't looking, much to the delight of their peers. But she continued to accuse us of showing favoritism to others while picking on her daughter. Finally, I asked her if she knew what the school dress code was. "Yes!" she replied indignantly. "Well then," I responded, "if you know the dress code, and you want us to quit picking on her, all you have to do is check what she's wearing before you drive her to school each morning. Problem solved." And with that, she turned and stomped away, muttering under her breath.
What hope do we have with the children, when the parents are like this?
Waiting to see
The first year I was at my current school, I had a student who had witnessed her parents' murders. She and one of her sisters hid under a bed, peeking out as her mother, father and another sister were shot to death. This happened in Mexico and I never quite got all the details; perhaps drugs were involved, but I guess that really doesn't matter to a 10 year-old hiding under a bed. She and her sister ended up here in California, living with a family member who was already struggling to support her own children.My second year, a 6th grader ended up in my class after her mother was killed in front of her. She stood just feet away, on a cell phone calling 911, while her mother was stabbed more than 30 times by a jealous ex-boyfriend. I've been fortunate enough to have never experienced something like that. But I think of similar scenes played out on TV police dramas, and how much blood there is everywhere. Unimaginable.
Third year, third death. Just a few weeks before the end of school, and a couple of days before his 14th birthday, an 8th grade student of mine held his dying father in his arms after someone drove by the front of their house and shot him. Sounds gang-related to me, but again, that matters very little to the now fatherless boy.
Now here we are, eight months into another school year. And I am waiting. Waiting to see if another one of my students will watch a parent die a violent death. I'm hoping the chain gets broken this year.
Welcome to my class
With the start of the new semester in January, I became responsible for about 150 new students. (That's in addition to the nearly 50 others who are with me for the entire year.) Each of these students has a story, and as the semester progresses I begin to learn some of them.An 8th grade boy in my class is a Spanish speaker. That's not surprising - 62% of the students at my school are Hispanic/Latino, and 40% are English Learners. I made the assumption that like most of the others he was from Mexico. Then I heard his story.
This boy is from El Salvador. He left - somehow - in order to escape the Mara Salvatrucha - or as they are more commonly know, the MS-13 gang. MS-13 was started in El Salvador by guerillas who fought in the civil war there. Later it spread thoughout Central America and then to the US as people began to escape the ongoing Central American conflicts in the 1980's. They are an especially violent and ruthless gang. In addition to the basic vicious tendencies shared by all gangs, their exposure to generations of violent political conflict in their home countries have hardened them even more.
Once you become a member of MS-13, the only way out is through death. If you try to leave, you will be killed. One example of this is the case of Edward Guzman:
"Many media groups have reported the case of Edward Guzman, an MS-13 member who left Guatemala to escape the gang lifestyle. Though only 14-years-old at the time, he was threatened with death by his fellow gang members if he attempted to quit the gang. He fled to the United States to escape the gang lifestyle. At the age of 16, on March 10, 2004, he was deported back to his home. He hid in his home for several days. His first day to venture out was March 20, 2004. He made it only 5 blocks where he was shot multiple times. It was believed he was killed as punishment for deserting the gang." (http://www.knowgangs.com/gang_resources/profiles/ms13)
So here sits this boy in my classroom. I have a list of things I am supposed to teach him. I understand this, and keep my expectations high for him, as I do for all my students. But I have to wonder . . . given his story, how important can my list really be to him?