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.