I always feel the loss.

A student I adore sent me this email today:

Hi Ms. Teachin' -

I'm going to be leaving the school to live with my dad. I know it would be better if I just waited to the end of the school year but that probably wont happen. I just wanted to thank you for all of the support you gave me, it means a lot to me. Hopefully I'll be able to see you again but if I don't, Bye.

Apparently she ditched one day last week, and her mom decided she was done; washed her hands of her daughter. Her beautiful, intelligent, hard-working, sweet, amazing daughter, who sometimes makes mistakes since she's, you know, a KID.

Sigh.

Although I think living with her dad will be better for her (she's a lot happier when she interacts with her dad and much more nervous around her mom), I'm so sad that it's happening so close to the end of her last year in the school. It's just one more month - I'm really hoping she'll be able to find transportation back (that's the issue apparently) for such a short time frame.

I emailed her back right away to say how much I'd miss her and how much I hope it works out....she's a fabulous, fabulous, fabulous kid who really will change the world.

This is what's hardest for me about my school, bar none - the mobility. It comes with the poverty, I get that, but it's so heartbreaking to watch kids I love leave....and it happens all the time. The Charmer. DC. BB Bob. The Eyeliner Queen. The Natural Athlete. Slick. The Goofball. Kids I adore, kids I worked so hard to reach, kids who learned and grew and changed and were the better for having been in my class (at least mostly)....and they're all gone. And I'll probably never see most of them again.

I have to believe that at least some of the changes are for the best, and that they'll be okay no matter what (and they will, they will, I know that), and that they did learn something in my class, and that they end up okay. But it's hard to watch them leave and know it might be the last time.

They're good kids. They deserve the best. They deserve to be in good situations and I hope they are, I hope they're in better situations than before, I hope they find some stability and happiness.

But I miss them.

I hope she keeps in touch.

(Image credit to Eisenheim.)

Karma matters.

The incident with two students repeatedly punching a third left me crushed. That it could happen in my classroom, whether or not I was there, that a third of the class saw it happen and said nothing, that the student being hit felt too afraid to say anything until under duress…that broke my heart. No one should be unsafe at school. I know that plenty of kids feel unsafe every day at school, but they shouldn’t. Plus I believe in karma – what goes around comes around. I want my kids to have good things coming around for them. I couldn’t just let it go.

So despite the pressures of the pacing chart before our state tests, I decided to take a day to address it with the class. I wanted to use some sort of video or text that they would relate to, rather than me just sitting down and lecturing them about it. What to use? My favorite, of course – The Freedom Writers Diary. I went through the book, searching for excerpts that would address the biggest issues: that kids don’t want to rat each other out, that they’re afraid of consequences for doing so, and that in the end, violence doesn’t solve anything.

Two of the stories were perfect for what I wanted. The first I chose was by a student who was being bullied by three boys, and he lashed out and almost killed one of the bullies in his rage. He ended up in juvenile hall for several days and had to do community service and pay a large fine. He deeply regretted and was ashamed of what he had done.

The second was about two boys from the Freedom Writers’ school who had gone to Las Vegas; while there, one of the boys murdered a little girl while his friend watched him kidnap her and then walked away without doing anything to prevent the crime. I had admin approve the selections and the lesson. Then I told Mr. Sincerity what I was going to do and gave him the choice to be there or to go to the library for the conversation; he chose to leave.

Here’s how it went. I started by talking to the kids about what had happened, that two of their classmates had repeatedly hit a third and that no one had reported the situation. I said that regardless of why it happened (because I knew that the kids probably believed that Mr. Sincerity deserved it – he’s not very popular while the Goofball and the Fidgeter are), it wasn’t okay with me. So I asked for thoughts as to why no one would say anything in a situation like this (that way it was sort of hypothetical as opposed to a direct attack on their personal choices).

The answers included: they thought the boys were just messing around; they didn’t want their friends to get in trouble; they didn’t want to get beat up themselves; they didn’t think it mattered; they didn’t want to get involved; and, of course, the ever-popular they didn’t want to be rats.

I hate the whole don’t-be-a-rat thing. It infuriates me to no end that society tells us that you shouldn’t be a snitch about anything, when really, it just means that thugs and criminals get away with dangerous behavior more easily. And with the gang activity at my school and in the neighborhood, the gang members push that concept HARD.

We read the first essay and talked about what would have happened had anyone told the bullies to stop bullying, or had anyone reported the situation to the school or the police; the kids pointed out that the writer would never have ended up in juvie and that the bully wouldn’t have been almost killed. They decided that because no one got involved, the situation got a lot worse when it didn’t need to.

Second essay. This one ends with a line about how David, the friend who walked away, had a chance to save two lives that day. We talked about that line a lot. The kids realized that it meant that both Jeremy and the little girl would have been saved if David had only spoken up.

I asked them if they thought it would be hard to tell your friend to not do something that you know is wrong. Almost all said yes, it would be really hard. I agreed with them. But are hard things important to do sometimes? Yeah, probably. We talked about how this probably wasn’t the first time that Jeremy had done something wrong, but that it doesn’t start big – with friends, it starts small.

It starts with your friend cheating on a test, and you don’t tell because they’re your friend and you don’t want them to be mad at you and it’s not that bad. And then they start pushing a kid around in the hallway and you don’t tell because they’re your friend and you don’t want them to be mad at you and it’s not that bad. And then they start shoplifting clothes and you don’t tell because they’re your friend and you don’t want them to be mad at you and it’s not that bad. And where does it stop?

Yes, it would be hard. And yes, it might end the friendship. But at the end of the day, you have to be able to live with yourself. We talked about the word karma then.

Did they all get it? No. Did they all agree? Certainly not. But it went well enough that I decided to do it with all my other classes the next day, and that was the day that my student Sparkles made a tough choice.

When the Goofball and the Fidgeter got back from being suspended, I did the same thing with both of them. I acknowledged that I didn’t believe they were the only ones at fault, but that they still made dangerous choices. With them, I talked about how if they’d gone to the sub to say that Mr. Sincerity was making racial slurs, they’d have been able to avoid the rage that led to the violence, and that they then would not have gotten suspended. Report it, I said. When someone’s messing with you, make sure that you’re protected so the consequences go to them, not you.

Will they always do that in the future? Probably not. But maybe they’ll do it once and avoid one future suspension. And that’d be a good thing, right?

(Photo credit to consumerfriendly)

Why I Don't Have Subs Supervise Group Work (Or, Bleaaaaaaaaaaaaah)

I was talking today to a sub I met; she’s recently started working in my district so I got her information. We were discussing what teachers want out of subs. I said I’m looking for two things at a minimum, ideally three. The two minimum are to follow the plans I leave and let me know what happens over the day, including specific names. The extra-credit third is to keep some sort of control over the classroom.

With most of my classes this year, all three were doable (or should have been – one sub decided not to tell me that a kid had told another student to fuck off, because he felt he’d dealt with it at the time. The kid involved was ED and had another student not reported it to me, who knows what would have happened long term – not your call to make, Mr. Substitute, and that’s why you were not invited back to my classroom). But one of my classes was a challenge. Eighth period.

Now, I adored my eighth hour. It was full of funny, smart kids and we all got along really well. However, of the 29 kids in that class, ten were…challenging. Of the fifteen most challenging kids on our core this year (based on referrals and the numbers of times we discussed them at core meetings [ad nauseum, by the way]), ten were in my eighth hour.

I got along well with all of them (including my pals the Slacker and the Goofball), and when I was there, we were good. Got our work done, had a good time doing it, didn’t make really stupid choices….it was just what class should be. But when I was gone…oh, when I was gone. They fell apart.

Every damn time, they fell apart.

I tried everything I could think of – bribery (free time when I get back! Candy!), threats (detentions, referrals, personal meetings with admin), parental conferences in advance (kids called home and told parents they would have a sub and needed to be good), extra supervision (pop in visits from the teacher next door, admin, and our student achievement coach), safe places (I gave the subs lists of kids who could take breaks if they needed to so they didn’t fly off the handle)…nothing worked. At least not for everyone. We finally got to a point where most of them could handle their shit relatively well, and I had to be relatively content with that, because I couldn’t come up with any other solutions.

The second-to-last time I had a sub this year was in…late February, maybe? I had a training for something and so I needed coverage. Normally I try to leave a sub relatively easy work – individual work, some sort of review, student-directed, nothing assessment related – but this day I HAD to have them working in groups so that I could get to where I needed to be by spring break. With great trepidation, I gave them an uplifting speech on behaving well and how I knew they could do it and I was so looking forward to that good report…you know, lying through my teeth.

When I came back, I grabbed the sub report and started reading before I even took my coat off. Every class had a good report (period six had been a little shaky at first, apparently, but had gotten it back together), and some had great reports (period two was called “delightful”….except period eight. The sub wrote that too many kids had been a problem to name names, that they’d been off task, that they hadn’t gotten their work done, that they’d argued and screwed around and basically sucked hard. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

So at lunch, I hauled the whole class into my room, after having checked with a few trustworthy kiddos to ensure that the sub report was accurate (they verified the behavior problems). I read them the sub report, including the praise for the other classes, and then, with a steely glare, I read them their section.

After I finished, I did the whole I’m-so-disappointed-I-thought-we-were-past-this-you-guys-are-so-great-for-me-I-can’t-understand-why-you-don’t-want-other-people-to-see-how-rockstar-you-can-be spiel. Then I asked anyone who felt they’d made bad decisions yesterday to come to the front of the room. About eight of my charmers shuffled forward. I then had the kids who were still seated to show me their work from the day before. About half had finished it; they went back to lunch. Most of the rest were almost done; they finished and left.

Anyone who was nowhere near done joined the front of the room bunch. That group got another lecture on making good choices and how they owed their classmates an apology for having wasted so much time the day before that they’d then lost part of lunch. They shuffled back to their seats and got to work. I stood at the front and gave ninja death stares to any kid who seemed unfocused. Finally one kid, Mr. Sincerity, came over to me. “Can I talk to you in the hall?” he asked. We went outside. “I don’t think it’s fair that I’m here when I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I couldn’t get my work done because of the Goofball and the Fidgeter. They kept punching me.”

This kid is known for lying like a politician angling for votes, and he sells it every time, so I didn’t believe him for a second. Clearly he just wanted to get out of the consequences. “Then why haven’t I heard about this before?”

“Because I was afraid they’d hurt me more if I told.”

I told him I didn’t believe him and sent him back in to the room. Then I grabbed Ms. Reading and went to the cafeteria to find out if his story was true. I asked my most trust-worthy group of kids if anything had happened in class that I didn’t know about. They shook their heads. I pressed the issue – anything with those three boys? Nope, nothing. About to walk away, I decided to ask one more time. Anything involving punching? Ohhhhhhh, yeah! The Goofball and the Fidgeter kept hitting Mr. Sincerity! Aghast, I asked why they hadn’t mentioned that before. The girls shrugged – they hadn’t thought about it? And it seemed like they were just messing around?

When I got back to my room, I called the office and said I needed an administrator ASAP because frankly, I had no idea what else to do. My favorite AP (I mean this. She is awesome and I love working with her) came down to deal with it. After I filled her in, she sent Mr. Sincerity to the office to make a statement and we sat down to chat with the other two.

Now, I adore these boys. They are troublemakers, absolutely, but they work their butts off for me and they make me laugh, and by the end of the day, I can usually use a laugh. So I was heartbroken that they would do this. When Ms. Rockstar AP asked them what happened, neither said anything at first. So I pressed them on it, at which point the Fidgeter started to cry as he told us what had happened.

He said that Mr. Sincerity had been calling them fags and making racial slurs [both punchers are Latino and Mr. Sincerity is White] and comments about their mothers. So they got tired of it, and they started hitting him. They were careful to do it only when the teacher wasn’t looking, but that was why.

Now, maybe I’m naïve (probably I am, honestly) but I believed him. The tears…this kid might lie, but he wouldn’t cry about it. This was something that was hurting him immensely. And I told Ms. Rockstar AP as much when she came back to me after she’d concluded the investigation, found no evidence to fault Mr. Sincerity, and suspended the Fidgeter and the Goofball. She didn’t disagree, but, as she put it, no one had heard Mr. Sincerity say anything, but seven or eight kids had witnessed the physical violence. She had no grounds on which to take any other action.

I’ll never leave group work again for a sub. And I’ll never forget the Fidgeter’s face as he broke down in tears, so crushed by the words that had been hissed at him in class.

(I wish this situation had had any humor in it. At least the photo does: by aaardvaark)

Why Adverbs Matter: A Cautionary Tale

The following exchange took place in my classroom the other day after the daily announcements, one of which had been for eighth graders interested in playing football next year for the high school. A student whom we’ll call the Goofball sits at the front of the room and I was standing near him.

The Goofball: Man, I wish I could play football – I’d get laid.

Me: (He cannot possibly have just said that he’d get laid. Maybe he said late? That doesn’t make any sense, but you never know.) What did you say?

The Goofball: If I could play football, I’d get laid, because ---

Me: (In the middle of class? Seriously? This is what you say?) Okay, stop. Let’s talk after class.

The Goofball: But I was just saying ---

Me: After class!

After class, I pulled him out in the hall. It was the end of the day and I had a few kids staying after to catch up on some work, so I didn’t want to have this conversation in my room.

Me: Okay, Goofball, tell me again what you were saying.

The Goofball: Okay, see, there was this announcement about playing football next year….

Me: Right…

The Goofball: And I was just saying that I wished I could play, because I can’t, because I won’t be in high school.

Me: Right, but that’s not all you said.

The Goofball: Yeah, I was saying I’d get laid out.

Me: Laid out.

The Goofball: Yeah.

Me: But that’s not what you said.

The Goofball: No, I said get laid, but that’s what it means.

Me: Get laid means get laid out.

The Goofball: Yeah.

Me: Like get knocked down, laid out on the ground.

The Goofball: Yeah.

Me: You know what else it means, right?

The Goofball: …No.

Me: You seriously don’t know what it means?

The Goofball: No.

Me: (Is he scamming me? I kind of don't think so.) Um...it means have sex.

The Goofball: It does?

Me: Yeah.

The Goofball: Oh. Ohhhhhh.

Me: You really didn’t know that?

The Goofball: Nooooooooo.

Me: Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to go next door and call your mom, and see if SHE knows what get laid means.

A minute later, he came back into my room, wide-eyed.

The Goofball: Well. My MOM sure knew what it meant.

Me, starting to snicker: And now you get why it was wildly inappropriate to say in class.

The Goofball: Yeah. Oh yeah.

Me, laughing hysterically at this point: And why you can never, ever, ever, ever say that again in my classroom.

The Goofball, nodding the whole time I’m talking: Oh yeah. Mmhmmm. Never, ever, ever, ever, EVER again.

How could I NOT love my job?