The Left Side of the Moon

Bitter

Long, long ago I had a high school teacher whose memory I can never seem to escape. This teacher, one loved by many students, is a person I still harbor feeling of anger and resentment towards decades later. The ramifications of the four months I spent in this woman's classroom followed me for years and I am still, to this day, bitter.

It was tenth grade Honors English, a subject I loved and excelled at, at least I excelled until this point in my academic career. We had two classes of Honors English at our school, since we had so many intelligent, driven students in our class. They decided, for whatever reason, to have us switch teachers after two quarters, so luckily, I only had to endure the first semester with this teacher. But one semester, one paper really, was all the time she needed to do irrevocable damage to my permanent record.

I fervently wish that I still had a copy of the paper she failed me on. I am sure that I would never be able to read it objectively. I am equally sure it was far from my best work. But one thing I have no doubt over - she absolutely had no right to fail me. To this day, it is the only writing assignment or project I have ever failed, and it is the only D I've ever had go on my academic record. And it wasn't in Biology, Physics, Calculus, Chemistry, French or any of the other subjects I've struggled through in my life. It was in my best and favorite subject. The one I would later major in in college and graduate Magna Cum Laude. The subject I would spend several years teaching myself.

We were assigned to write our first five paragraph essay. We had to choose a topic to argue about, research it, take a position, write a thesis and defend it. It was an assignment we worked on throughout the semester. No matter what I did, she didn't like it and was no help to me in explaining how I could deliver something she did like. I changed topics mid-way through, thinking that maybe a fresh start would help. I turned in my fact cards, thesis statement and paragraph drafts when they were due. I went to her for extra help because I knew that my progress on this paper was not meeting her approval, but I had no idea of how to do anything any differently. And while she was perfectly happy to criticize my work, she offered no constructive ideas, suggestions or anything concrete for me to do any differently.

This one paper was 75% of our grade for the quarter. We did not receive any grades on our progress on the paper, and did not receive our grades on the final paper until after we received our report cards. Going into this paper, I had a solid A average. All the tests on short stories, literary terminology, vocabulary and grammar, I aced. And, as I mentioned, I wrote the paper, met the deadlines, struggled to achieve a final product. I was shocked when I received my report card, to see I'd gotten a D in English. I knew the paper was going to bring my average down, but a D! How was that even possible? I argued with her about the grade. I asked her to let me do a re-write. I told her and had my parents tell her, that this simply was not in any way fair and her grade was not an appropriate reflection of the quality of my work that quarter. It didn't matter and she didn't care. The D went on my record.

It was the end of the semester and we were switching teachers, so I was already done with her and no longer had to sit in her presence seething every day. I handed in my first writing assignment to my new English teacher. It was an amazing weight off my shoulders not to have to be writing for her, to know that she would not be belittling and grading my papers. My new teacher was a bit perplexed by the situation. Here's a student coming in with a D average. I mean, what would you expect from a D student? Here's a girl who must be out of her league. Either she's not smart enough to keep up in the honors track through high school or she's too otherwise occupied to hand in her work. So, what would you think when the student actually turns out to be neither of those things? In fact, turns in A work, aces the tests, and participates in discussions. I don't know exactly what he thought or how much he knew about how depressed and miserable I was coming into his class. I do know he spoke to me after class when he passed back our initial writing assignments. I had earned an A. He told me I was the best writer in the class. Now mind you, this is still the exact same group of kids I just spent the previous semester with. The class of kids, out of whom, I had the lowest average. In the space of weeks, I had gone from the worst to best writer in the class. He didn't ask me about the previous semester, but I imagine he must have realized there was no way I'd earned that D.

I have had several other teachers that I have felt dealt with me less than fairly for one reason or another. I imagine we all have had at least one in our lives. But no one else still stirs in me the anger that this one woman does. I honestly feel she had it in for me for some reason I was not clued in on. I'm sure my writing for her was not stellar. I was just in the learning stages back then, and writing for her became so unpleasant, made me so miserable, that I froze every time I put the pen to paper. I have only had one other teacher, a professor, that made writing that difficult for me. But even then I managed a B-.

The D kept me out of A.P. English my senior year. It also helped keep me just outside the top ten percent of my graduating class. I do not doubt that in some ways this experience spurred me to teach English myself. What better vindication than to become master of that which you were failed at? While I did not enjoy teaching and am not sorry I left the field, I have no doubt I was twice the teacher she ever was.

The Last Straw

There are many reasons I quit teaching, and I've addressed quite a few of them already. And while all of the experiences and stress that I went through during the two years I spent teaching English led to my decision to quit, there was that culminating moment when I knew I was done and I wasn't coming back for another year. Now, I wasn't all that thrilled about coming back for the second year. And everyone knew it. I discussed it with Blackstone, I discussed it with my mentor and close friend who taught in the room next door, I even discussed it with my department head, also a good friend. And I decided to give it another year, even though I wasn't happy about it and knew going in that it had a good chance of being my last.

I stayed because Blackstone was still in school full time working on his Master's degree and I was supporting us. Now I wasn't making much more than I could have waitressing but I didn't want to waitress again and I needed the health insurance. My department head took my ambivalence seriously, she knew I wasn't happy but she also believed I was a great teacher. She wanted me to stay and give it another year, not only to give it another chance for myself, but also because she was going through her second bout with breast cancer and would be undergoing a mastectomy and chemo and would be out the first semester of the following year. Having me stay on for another year meant one last worry for her during her health problems, knowing she had a competent teacher with at least some experience in the classroom would be a little peace of mind. Now, I'm not saying this was an altruistic decision on my part. I didn't just do it for her, but all signs seemed to be pointing to me doing at least one more year. It would also give me time to figure out what my next step was going to be.

Honestly, my heart was already gone from the job. I did my best to throw myself into the work and keep my spirits up knowing that I was not going to do this forever. But I became more enraged and depressed as the year went on. I was broke, it felt like I was going to toss my college education out the window and I had no idea what I was going to do with myself. I toyed with the idea of getting my Master's in English and becoming a college professor, but that didn't really appeal. I considered getting my Master's in Library Science and becoming a librarian, but at that point it didn't seem far enough away from the classroom. And so I figured I'd teach until I figured it out. That maybe I could find it in myself to do another year if need be. Until one fateful day, when I just knew I was done. If it had been another type of job, I would've handed in my resignation that day. But when you're a teacher, giving two weeks notice is not the same thing as it is in another profession. You're expected to wait until the end of school year. And like I said, then what? Waitress? Sub?

Jake, was one of my honors students. I'm not really sure why. He lacked motivation, was not exceptionally bright and did not have any friends in the class. He wasn't so bad off that I dropped him immediately, but my recommendation for next year would not be to continue in the honors track. He'd probably pass, but barely. The bell had just rung and I was putting the list of absentees in the slot by the door when he came in. I asked him if he had a pass and he didn't. Now this was his first offense late to class with no pass, which meant absolutely nothing. They can be late three times a quarter before they get detention and he knew this. I'm still standing in the doorway now crossing his name off the list when I hear this enormous crash. Jake had walked into the classroom, picked up his desk (the kind with the chair attached) and thrown it at the wall, smashing it. I was speechless, completely shocked and rather scared, as was every other student in the class. He turned before anyone could say anything and left the room. I called the office and reported the incident and then had to try to calm myself and the other kids and get down to business. Luckily, no one had been hurt.

Now, I know something other than me or being late had Jake all riled up. But there's no excuse for his behavior. Jake was suspended from school for one day. I spoke to his mother on the phone and she had the gall to tell me complacently, "Well, he does things like that sometimes." Are you kidding me??!!! It is not normal or okay for a kid to throw a desk at the wall! I knew after that day I was done. This job was just not worth this kind of stress. Jake returned to my class and I never had any further problems with him. I never stopped being afraid of him either.

Bleeding Heart

I am not the most emotional person. You can attribute it to my being an INTJ, my stoic Swedish genes, the wall I built around myself through childhood and adolescence - whatever it is, it takes a lot to get me worked up. But once I reach that breaking point where I can't ignore the emotions bottling up inside, watch out cause it's going to get messy. I don't deal with my emotions well and I try to remove myself from volatile situations I can't handle. This is one of the many reasons I quit teaching. There were way to many emotions flying around. It was like static electricity and was constantly getting zapped.

One of the sophomore girls was transfered into one of my classes, she was being dropped a level because everyone, her parents, teachers, guidance counselor, thought it was a good idea for her to take a bit of a breather from her honors classes. She needed a break from her academic work load because she had been raped - by her boyfriend, in her own bed - when her parents were away. At least that's the version I heard third or fourth hand, and I wasn't going to ask her about the particulars. My heart went out to this poor girl. She was only fifteen years-old, a smart girl, great student, cheerleader, but understandably depressed. She was able to coast effortlessly through my class, she did the work, answered the questions; but the light had gone out of her eyes. You could see she was inherently sad and carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, but trying not to show it. I was not legitimately supposed to know about her circumstances, so there wasn't much for me to do. It made me want to cry every time I looked at her to feel so helpless and angry.

I took the responsibility of convincing one of the ninth graders in my lower-level class to move up a level. He was a decent student, worked hard. It just took him a little longer than some of the more average-level kids. Though often the work he turned in was better, since he actually took the time to think about the assignment and do it correctly. Once he moved up a level, still in one of my classes, he had a difficult time adjusting. Not to the class work, to the other kids, some who saw him as the perfect target for their taunting and jokes. This kid, I'll call him Alex, was so sweet, and he took their jokes to heart. It tore me up because I felt responsible for convincing him to change classes. It may have been the right thing for him to do academically, but socially, it was torture. I think one of the reasons he'd been in the level he was, was to remove himself from these kids. He was hiding out. I suppose it could be that I did the right thing in pushing him into the correct level, making him face his demons. But it felt like I'd taken a kid who was terrified of the water and shoved him into a pool, and was just standing there, watching him fight to keep his head above water.

Alex was talking with me one day after class, it was right before mid-terms and the kid was down in the dumps. The bell had rung and he just continued sitting at his desk after all the other kids had left. I asked him how he was doing and he just shook his head.

"I'm just really sick of it," he told me.

My third sense was tingling.

"Are you stressed about your mid-term? I'm sure you'll do fine," I told him, which was the truth.

"No, it's not really that," he said. "Some days I just feel like . . . " and he put his hand to his head as if it were a gun and he was pulling the trigger, and made an exploding noise.

"Alex, it's pretty serious if you're talking about suicide. Are you sure you're okay? I can write you a pass to the guidance counselor," I offered.

"No, that's okay. I'll be alright," he sighs.

"Well, I'm going to mention this to your guidance counselor anyway. Is there anything I can help with? Let me write you a pass to your next class," I say. "You're going to be late."

He takes the pass and heads to his next class. I already have a room full of new students laughing and talking in front of me and don't even have time to process what has just happened or how immediate my course of action should be. I can't talk with his counselor now, it will have to wait until after school. I didn't really think he was serious, but even when a kid is joking about suicide, it's not good.

Alex and I sat down with his guidance counselor a few days later, which was rather uneventful. We let him know that there was help available to him if he wanted or needed it. But he never brought it up again. I'm sure Alex turned out just fine, but he shook me up.

There was nothing in my training about how to deal with a potentially suicidal student or a rape victim. I was not emotionally prepared to handle it. It was not what I had signed up for.

Religious Schooling

When Trouble went missing for about twenty minutes last week because he was sent home on the wrong bus, I had a chance to meet one of our neighbors. A genuinely wonderful woman who lives in the house by the bus stop came out to see if she could help. I had my cell phone and she was able to supply me with the numbers for the school and the bus company so I could start making some calls without leaving the bus stop, for which I am extremely grateful. I had never met this woman before and she was still willing to jump in and provide any help she could while I stood in the heat on the street corner with a three year-old and an idling school bus which is roughly as loud as I would imagine a tank to sound. The bus driver was also trying to locate Trouble on her radio and cell phone, while she was having difficulties getting through she assured me that Trouble would make it home safely. She eventually had to leave unable to resolve anything because she had a bus full of other kids to deliver home and had already been delayed with me for over ten minutes.

The lovely neighbor who so graciously supplied me with the phone numbers waited with me as I continued to watch for the bus. She commented on how calm I was about not knowing where my son was, saying that she would have been beside herself. It's not that I wasn't a bit nervous that Trouble was not on the bus he should be, but that I knew there was nothing to be gained by resorting to out and out panic. I understood it was the first day of school and all circumstances pointed to the fact that Trouble was on the wrong bus and would eventually be dropped where he belonged. Besides, Trouble is a bright kid with a better sense of direction than I have and he could do a fair job of directing the bus towards home. I knew the only thing to do was not leave the bus stop until Trouble got there. I'm sure it's the rational INTJ in me that squelches the panic reflex most other mothers would succumb to in that situation.

The lovely neighbor has a daughter in third grade who goes to the local Catholic or Presbyterian school, I didn't quite gather which, I was a bit distracted. She pulled her daughter out of the public school my son attends last year when she was assigned a teacher with a bad reputation and she couldn't get her switched out of the classroom. When I related this to Blackstone he sarcastically commented about how well I must have gotten along with this woman since she's sending her daughter to a religious school, given my anti-religious tendencies. I get his response, but that's not my view on religious schooling at all. And I think the place that these schools are taking in our communities deserves a little reflection.

You may have read some of Polly's responses to my postings of my teaching experiences about considering to send her daughter to private school or home school her. Polly's not the only one not too keen on public schools these days. My former landlord's kids are home schooled, the Peapod delivery guy's kids are going to Catholic school, and I have a several friends whose kids are in the public school system and have mixed feelings about it. I myself have mixed feelings about keeping my boys in the public school system. If I ever feel terribly unhappy with one of their teachers or believe that their education is suffering, I will seek the alternatives. And I haven't ruled out a religious school. Are you shocked?

Now, I don't have any first hand experience with private or religious schooling, but here's what I see happening. More and more parents are uncomfortable with having their kids in the public schools. They see the violence and the drugs and they want to keep their kids away from that. Now a wealthier family may go straight to a high-priced private school. They can afford it, they know the price tag keeps the riff-raff out and they're creating the social networking they want for themselves and their children. But if you're a middle class family, you can't necessarily afford the tuition to a private school, and if you're not into home schooling, that pretty much leaves the religious schools. Now from what I've heard, these schools charge tuition too, they're just not quite as expensive as the private schools, being partially subsidized by the church or diocese or what-have-you. Now, I'm sure some parents decide to go this route because they are focused on religion and that's what's driving their decision. But most people I know who are opting for this choice are seeking it mainly because they want their kids out of public schools and either can't afford or don't want to pay for a private school. It's not about religion, it's about the best education they feel they can provide for their kids.

So when it comes down to it, would I be able to or want to pay the price tag for a private school? I know more than ten years ago the price to our local private school for the year was more than my tuition at the state college. I'm not so sure I would. I also don't know if I'd be comfortable with having my boys in that social network. I'm concerned that they wouldn't be getting the diverse and real life picture of the world I want them to have. I don't want to raise any sheltered, prissy little boys. Not that all private schools are like that, but it is one of my worries. Not to mention they'd probably be two of the poorest kids in the school, not being able to afford all the ski vacations and trips to Europe. So, I might consider sending them to a religious school. I'd want to look over the curriculum and make sure that education was the focus and not church. But if we're talking one religious class a day, then it would be an option. I want my kids to learn about different religions, their histories and beliefs. I just want them to be open-minded and tolerant and realize that there are many different religions out there and they should learn to have respect for all of them, that they should respect people from all ethnicities and belief structures.

I do hope that my boys will be products of our public school system, but I'm not exactly making any promises over here. And I hold no judgment for those of you who have already decided against it. But I do ask that you keep education at the forefront of your mind on your next visit to the polls. If you've already pulled your kids out of the public schools, then you probably realize how much trouble they're in. Either that or you're terribly wealthy and there's a good chance you're republican and I'm wasting my breath.

A Teaching Moment

You might be getting the idea that all I have to say about my teaching experiences is bad, but that's not true. A lot of it is bad, most of it is bad, some of it is horrifying - but there was some good stuff too. If it weren't for all the other BS that goes on in our schools today, if teaching were really about teaching, I might have been happy doing it. And there were those moments where it was about teaching, about helping a student learn something, about having that teaching moment with a class where you feel like they actually got it, or at least some of them actually got it.

I taught a class of honors ninth graders and the first writing assignment they turned into me was atrocious. These were the honors kids? You're joking, right? Please, you must be joking. Because this is ninth grade and half of these kids can't write a complete sentence, let alone a complete and coherent paragraph. I had to start the post-initial-writing-assignment-class with a discussion on why we use a period after Mrs., Ms., and Mr. but not after Miss, and when to use there, they're and their, the difference between its and it's, and basic subject/verb sentence structuring. Back to elementary school anyone?

One of my tasks with the ninth graders was to teach them to write your standard, five paragraph essay - introduction with thesis statement, three body paragraphs supporting the thesis, and a conclusion. This was taught using a writing process that had the students handing in several drafts of their essay for comments before handing in the finalized essay. I wanted to de-mystify the writing process for them, so we spent days drafting an essay together in class on the board. And it worked. Not for everyone. I did this with all my ninth grade classes at all levels. The students had to hand in all the drafts with their final essay. Half of them couldn't even manage to do that. But for some, the progress was truly staggering.

There is one girl from that honors class that I will always remember. She was very bright, an excellent student with brilliant ideas who worked hard and applied herself, but her initial writing with me was horrifying. I couldn't believe that someone so articulate, who was such an excellent student had such horrid writing abilities at this stage in the game. Her sentences were incomplete. Her printing resembled that of a second grader, complete with the spelling and grammatical errors to match. And paragraphs? There were no paragraphs. Just one, rambling block of text that one could barely make heads or tails of. I was deeply concerned. Her tests, homework and class participation may have allowed her to continue in the honors track up until this point, but with those writing skills I was going to have to recommend dropping her a level unless she showed some dramatic progress.

The writing process for, lets call her Olivia, was a difficult task. But like I said, she was smart and diligent and determined to master it. Perhaps she was just finally ready to learn how to write, but I like to think I had a little something to do with it. By the end of the year, she was one of the best writers in my class. The transformation was astounding, but it didn't happen over night. She wrote more drafts than any other student in any of my classes, and I read and directed her on all of them. She listened to my corrections and explanations and actually went back and applied them. Her sentences were not only complete, they were thoughtful and insightful, but that had never been Olivia's problem. She had always had thoughtful and insightful critiques and perspectives, she just had no idea how to write them down. But I doubt by the end of ninth grade writing was ever a problem for Olivia again. The horrible penmanship was replaced by type-written pages. The ideas of her inquisitive and sharp mind were well-formulated into a structured, coherent and well-argued essay. I was emmensely proud of her for the work she put in that year, as well as the progress she made.

Students like Olivia are what teaching is all about. She is one of my most treasured memories from those dark years. I know that in the midst of all the chaos and kids, struggling and frustration - I helped at least one girl learn how to write. She probably doesn't even remember my name, but that's okay, I'll always remember hers.

Higher Learning

I doubt it's surprising to many of us that (gasp) some of our students in high school are on drugs. It's not like I grew up in the Dark Ages, there were drugs going around when I was a high school student. I did a little experimenting myself, though when I say little, I do mean little. I was a conscientious student who was preparing for college and eventually a career, I was not about to be side tracked with an expensive habit that required me to shoot money directly up my nose or into my arms while my life went down the crapper. While I did blow off some steam  with alcohol, pot and cigarettes, that's as far as it went for me. I knew there were kids that did more serious drugs, but they weren't in any direct contact with me. And my friends and I had the good sense to keep our indiscretions on the down-low when it came to parents and teachers.

So I was surprised to see how brazenly my students talked about partying, drinking and drugs in front of me. They did not whisper. They were not discrete. They rolled there eyes and were inconvenienced when I told them they were talking openly about being involved in illegal activities in front of a teacher and if they didn't want to spend serious time with their guidance counselor they should have the good sense to keep their mouths shut about it in front of me. One student looked at me cockily after I told him to stop talking about getting drunk and said, "My mom buys it for me. What are you going to do about it?"

Um, lets see, what am I going to do about it indeed? Nothing, really. But the police if they catch you will arrest you, and your mother for that matter, seeing she's the dumb-ass who's illegally supplying you with booze. And that's if you don't kill yourself driving drunk which seems like a very likely possibility from where I'm standing. Which I did tell him, in much more watered-down and politically-correct terms.

I'm rather appalled at what our high schools are becoming - hubs for hooking up, dealing drugs and socializing. The kids are not there to learn about Shakespeare, math and science, or to prepare themselves for college. They're there to meet up with their friends, try to find a boy/girlfriend, and buy and sell drugs. And those that are trying to learn something are frustrated and distracted by all the minutia going on around them.

I feel very strongly that we need to do away with the whole concept of high school. It's not doing anyone any good, or at least not nearly enough of people any good. I think we should move the majority of high school students away from the traditional high school setting and curriculum and put them in a technical high school instead. Now, this may sound rather elitist at first, but bear with me for a moment. After I quit my full time teaching gig I spent a semester teaching at a technical high school. It was by far the most effective high school I had ever worked in. The kids were required to tow a certain line with their grades and behavior, too many infringements and they were sent back to their regular district high school. Imagine that, young adults actually being held accountable for their actions. I was in heaven. And most of them were willing to tow that line because they were tracked in a program of their choice that would certify them to work in one field or another once they graduated. And there was a diverse amount of programs being offered - automotive, cosmetology, culinary, electrical, graphic design - to name a few. These kids were motivated because they were learning about something they were interested in, that they felt was useful and applicable in their own lives. This made so much sense. Why do technical schools get such a bad rap?

Now I think every kid should have the opportunity to enter a college prep type program. But I also think there should be requirements for them to get in and remain in the program. And I also think that kids that are caught with drugs, have been suspended a certain amount of times for fighting, cutting class, or bunking school - should be expelled. And expulsion should be permanent. As in, no more tax-funded education for you. Did you know that kids are often re-admitted after being expelled? That often they're just moved from one district to another? Or assigned a state-funded tutor? We need to put an end to that. School districts need to have the right to expel and it needs to be permanent and national, otherwise we're never going to eradicate violence and drugs from our schools.

One of my students was truly a waste of space in my classroom. He did not attempt to do any work. Some days he slept, others he was a constant annoyance. And when kids go this far in their mis-behaving, they eventually are no longer amusing even to their classmates. This kid was sitting in school while waiting for a spot to open up in rehab. I was warned not to call his mother because it would only make her cry. Understandable I guess, if that were my son I wouldn't know what to do but cry too. If this were a fictional novel or up-lifting film there'd be this inspiring story about how I was able to reach him, make him see how important it is to get a good education. But this is real life and their is no happy ending. Only him leaving my class later to get the treatment he so desperately needed. I hope it did him some good.

He wasn't the only kid in my classes that I knew was on drugs. After one of my students scared the day lights out of me with a ranting verbal attack, I went directly to guidance to figure out what was wrong with him. He'd always been a rather agreeable student, even if his assignments and attendance were sporadic. Turns out he was detoxing which made him rather irritable. You don't say? Why the hell is he detoxing at school? I went through the year with him intermittently on and off the drugs. I definitely liked him better high.

And then there was the litany of kids that just spent too much time drinking and smoking pot. One of the pot heads in my class always had me laughing. He obviously didn't spend much time looking over his tests. Instead of T or F on the true and false sections, he'd answer A,B,C or D. I kept pointing it out to him. Not sure if he just kept forgetting or just didn't care.

Doodle

There is nothing more infuriating to me than a person of above normal intelligence who uses their gift to belittle and persecute others who are not as well-endowed in the cranial department. As a teacher, to watch a student engage in this behavior, you're always wondering where do you step in? Because these kids are smart, and their taunting and teasing often happens in such a way that there's really nothing for you to punish or even call them on. It's just an, "I know what you're doing, don't think I didn't notice," kind of warning. Sometimes spoken explicitly and sometimes just a knowing look shared between two parties that don't dare to make a further move but fully appreciate where the other stands.

Keily was one such student. He should have been in an advanced level English class, but he was lazy and didn't feel like working that hard. He cruised through the average level work with hardly a glance. He could answer almost any question you asked him, except when he hadn't even bothered to scan the story we were reading. Keily loved attention. He talked constantly, loved to make jokes at other people's expenses, and was in my opinion, a rather despicable human being. His true colors showed vibrantly through when a new student entered our class half way through the year. His name was Walter. If I remember right he was an army brat. He came to us from the mid-west somewhere and didn't know anyone. Walter was a sweet kid, but none too bright and was eager to make some friends. God was cruel the day he sent him into Keily's path.

It couldn't have been more than a few weeks after Walter entered the class that we read, "The Scarlet Ibis" by James Hurst. The narrator of the story is ashamed of his crippled younger brother Doodle. He teaches him to walk so he doesn't have to be embarrassed by him and eventually his pride and embarrassment of his brother leads to his brother's death. The story is a complicated one about the human spirit, anger, disappointment and shame. None of this was lost on Keily. So when Walter tried to chime in on Keily's jokes and be a part of the group, Keily started calling him Doodle. The insidiousness of the nickname was lost on Walter, he thought this to be a compliment. You could see in his innocent smile that he felt he was finally being included by someone who obviously held a prominent place in the adolescent hierarchy.

I was at a loss over this new development. I could not immediately single Keily out for his insult because Walter did not even realize that he had been insulted. To chastise Keily would only make the situation worse for Walter. He would not only realize he'd been the victim of a cruel joke but he'd also have to come to terms with the fact that he was dumb enough to actually be flattered by it. I did speak to Keily after class about making derogatory comments at the expense of another student, but at that point the damage was already done. The nickname stuck. Walter had no problem being called Doodle and I didn't have the heart to explain it to him. I'm not sure he would have wanted me to or that it would have been in his best interest. After all, he now had a place within the group. For me to take that away from him would have been cruel on my part.

Can you hear me now?

Often as a teacher, once you meet a student's parents their kid's behavior becomes more understandable. And the parent that you really want to meet, the ones that you really want the opportunity to discuss their child's behavior and their work ethic with - those are the ones who never go to parent-teacher conferences and never return your phone calls. It is apparent they couldn't care less about the trouble their child is giving you or the fact that their kid is failing your class or possibly in danger of flunking out of school.

One particular female student I had, let's call her Maria, was such a handful. She was loud, bossy, absent most of the time and a complete and utter distraction when she did deem to grace you with her presence. She could have been a decent student if she paid any attention, showed up more often and did more than 10% of her assignments. But obviously school was very low on her list of priorities. I tried speaking with her after class, trying to persuade her that with just the smallest amount of effort she could pass English. I appealed to her logically, there is no failing English, if you fail English, you fail for the year, you'll repeat tenth grade. When it became obvious this was getting me nowhere and Maria would in fact fail English and end up in summer school or repeating the year, I went to her guidance counselor. The guidance counselor basically told me to throw in the towel, trying to reach this student was useless. I asked about talking to Maria's parents and she rolled her eyes and cautioned me against it.

"It won't do any good," she told me. "Teachers and counselors call the house repeatedly and they never call back or come in to meet with us. Last year when you got their answering machine it would say, 'Sorry, we can't come to the phone right now because we're having sex.'" She shook her head in irritation, "There's nothing much you can do."

"So, if she's going to fail no matter what at this point and the parents are no help, what am I supposed to do with her for the rest of the year? What kind of recourse do I have to keep her behavior under control?" I asked.

"Try to give her some incentive that she could still pass. Otherwise you'll just have to do your best with her. Send her to the office if all else fails," she tells me.

Great, so basically I'm screwed. Because it's not going to be long before all Maria's opportunities to pass are gone for the year and we're only in the second quarter. And sending the girl to the office is only going to piss off the administration because they don't want to deal with her either. It was about this time that Maria's hall pass privileges were revoked. If students are found wandering the halls too often they are black listed by the office. This list was updated weekly and had all the most notorious students on it. Many of them once they'd been added to the list remained there for the rest of the year. This did not stop Maria from asking to go to the lavatory.

"Maria, you know I'm not allowed to give you a pass," I tell her.

"But I have to go to the bathroom. You can't keep me here if I need to pee," she says defiantly.

"Maria, I'm not going to fight with you about this. You have a problem, take it up with the office. It's not up to me. I'm not giving you a pass," I say unwaveringly.

"Fine. Don't give me a pass," she says. "But you can't keep me here. I'm leaving," and she walks out of the room.

I am not about to physically restrain this girl or chase her down. I have twenty-three other kids in this class and Maria takes up way too much of my time when she shows up. Now I have to phone the office and report that she's left class without permission and is wandering the halls. The thought that I don't get paid nearly enough to deal with this shit crosses my mind for the umpteenth time that week.

I am relieved when Maria doesn't show up during the rest of the period or the rest of the week. But I know my luck won't hold out forever and eventually she'll be back. It's about a week before she shows up again. She's only received a couple more detentions for the stunt she pulled last week and really another couple of detentions added to all the other ones she's racked up this year is just a drop in the bucket. But yet I'm not surprised to see the enormous attitude she's brought back to class with her.

Because she wasn't suspended I now have to put together all of the assignments she's missed and allow her to make them up. This is infuriating to me because chances are she won't turn them in anyway but I still have write everything out for her. The class is taking a test that Maria isn't prepared for, so I get them situated and then bring her up to my desk and start putting all the work together for her. Once this is done and she has the list of reading assignments and homework questions I send her back to her desk to get started but of course she starts chatting with one of students next to her.

"Maria, you cannot talk during the test. If I have to tell you again you'll receive detention," I warn her.

"I was just asking her about the dance. Jesus, you don't have to be such a bitch," she retorts with a challenging smirk on her face.

At this point all reason has left me. I am furious. In the blink of an eye I am in front of her, leaning over her desk my nose inches from her face. "Don't you EVER speak to me like that again!" The anger is palpable in my voice and flashing in my eyes. "Apologize to me at once!"

"Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says, squirming a bit in her seat. "It just slipped out."

I walk back to my desk and Maria is rather compliant for the rest of the period. I try to remind myself that all students have a right to an education, but really feel more strongly that they shouldn't have the right to abuse it the way Maria and so many others do. They ruin it for everyone else and bring many other students down to their level. In my mind, Maria should be expelled. It's way past second and third chances with her. She's constantly failing, repeatedly almost caught smoking (they can't actually be disciplined unless you catch them with the cigarette in hand which is almost impossible), cuts classes more than she attends them, swears at her teachers, fights with other students - if it were up to me she'd be out on her ear. But it's not up to me and I have to put up with her for another half a year.

It occurs to me later that going face to face with a student is perhaps not the wisest of actions. That I'm really lucky she didn't haul off and hit me. But also I know I've gained some respect in refusing to allow her to behave that way. I would have lost the entire class if I hadn't dealt with her quickly and firmly. But none of this crossed my mind before I confronted Maria. I suppose she's also rather lucky I didn't haul off and hit her. I'm way too level-headed for that, but I'd be lying if I said the desire to smack her wasn't there. Though I do rather feel bad for her too. Her cry for attention from her parents is deafening and they refuse to hear it.

pH Testing and Fresh Meat

  I did my student teaching in the spring of my senior year. I turned 21 towards the end of that semester and was only a few years older than some of the students. Being a young, female teacher in a high school is a tenuous position indeed. I was smart enough to keep my distance from the students. Those who aren't smart enough to do so put themselves on mighty dangerous ground. The kids, and you really need to see them as kids, want to break down that barrier. They will test, needle and continually make your life a living hell in an attempt to do so. But if you let them you're basically throwing in the towel on your career. (Really you could make the case that a career change would be to the teacher's benefit, but for the sake of argument we'll say it's not in the teacher's best interest.)

I was warned that one of the boys in my tenth grade class had "issues with women." He was notorious for harassing female teachers and had been purposely placed in a male teacher's English class only to have lucky me step in for the semester. "Jason" was a young teacher's worst nightmare. He was just smart enough to be a real pain in the ass. He interrupted constantly, asked for passes to lav so often they had been forbidden him (which of course didn't stop him from requesting them repeatedly). He loved to make a scene and was constantly out of his seat, making inappropriate comments and joking with class mates. As much as I had a terribly difficult time controlling him, I fared better than other women had before me. Jason had made himself notorious among teachers and students in science class a year beforehand. They were doing an experiment using pH strips to test the baseness or acidity of certain substances. Well, Jason found this so interesting that he decided to test the pH of his urine. So right in the middle of class he unzipped his pants and peed on the pH strip. Can you imagine being the teacher trying to handle that situation? As the teacher I was working with explained to me, "If he hasn't whipped it out in front of you yet, you're doing just fine."

Jason was not the only difficult student I had to deal with that semester. I had two seniors that were also a handful. I made the mistake of asking the class if they were going to the Freshman Dance. One of the boys responses was, "Of course, fresh meat," with a devilish grin. To which his friend replied, "Oh not me, Miss Diosa, I like older women," feigning sincerity. I swear I can see how female teachers who weren't popular with boys in high school or maybe even in college can be seduced by a male student. I'm not saying it's right. It's illegal and wrong, wrong, wrong. But if you were say the slightly over-weight wall flower or the nerdy girl with glasses and braces that sat home on Friday nights (luckily I was not) and now you're the young new teacher and the captain of the football team is flirting with you, who is seducing who?

I think we could make a real case for quarantining adolescent boys until they are able to control their hormones and behave in a public arena. At least until they can contain themselves from publicly exposing their genitals at school and referring to freshman girls as "fresh meat." And yes, this would go for my sons too. (As far as flirting with teachers goes, I do see that as the responsiblity of the teacher to squelch immediately.)

P.S. - I feel compelled to confess that Trouble publically exposed himself on the school bus this year, but I do believe we've put an end to that already. At six it's excusable. At fifteen, not so much.

Teachers Don't Have it Easy

It may be surprising to some that even after being out of the teaching field for eight years I still have very strong reactions toward the treatment of teachers. One issue that bothers me to no end is the mistaken idea that teachers have this easy job. They work 7:30-2 or 9-3, they get summers off, really we're paying them too much. Umm, no they don't and no we're not.

Teaching was the wrong field for me, no doubt. I love reading and writing, but that's no reason to become a teacher because so little of your job is the actual teaching. You have to love kids and have a desire to be a disciplinarian, social worker, therapist, role model and then a teacher - in that order. I fell into the field because I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my life and didn't want to graduate with just an English degree. I knew it would be challenging, but I never could have anticipated how hard it would be.

I never stopped working when I was teaching. I often left school around 4 or 5 with a mountain of paper work I never managed to diminish and lessons that still needed to be planned for the next day. Teachers are expected to stay after school to administer extra help, give make ups and to proctor extra-curricular activities (the extra-curriculars provide a measly stipend). The general community never takes this into account when they complain that teachers get out of work at 2 or 3. Parents get upset when teachers "Work to Rule" when negotiating a contract. I mean seriously, think about this, the teachers actually work to the letter of their contract and this is considered a negotiating tactic. It's a thankless job.

And everyone considers themselves as your boss. "I pay your salary," they'll tell you. What other job that requires a four year degree and eventually a Masters gets so little respect? And you graduate with four years of school loans to make around $30,000 a year, and that's before union dues, taxes and health insurance. And you max out after ten years and with a Masters degree around $60,000, maybe $65,000 if you've taken advantage of every incentive and option open to you.

A 2005 survey by the American Federation of Teachers states:

"Teachers, especially new ones, are finding it increasingly difficult to find affordable housing in their communities and to pay off student loan debts. These and other factors place the teaching profession—already plagued by high turnover and recruiting challenges—in further peril, according to the latest AFT teacher salary survey. The AFT teacher salary survey for the 2004-05 school year found that the average teacher salary was $47,602, a 2.2 percent increase from the previous year. The report asserts that, to make teacher pay competitive with pay in other professions by the end of the decade, teachers need a 30 percent raise—an additional investment in our children’s future of almost $15 billion per year. The 2005 salary survey also examines the impact of rising housing costs and student loan debt on teachers in the 50 largest cities." Read more.

Did you catch that? A 30% increase in pay to be competitive with other professions! You know what I did with my summers off? I waitress-ed. Many teachers work a second job in the summer if they're not staying home with their kids. Some teach summer school, some tutor, some do something else altogether. They're also working on their Masters degrees and taking incentive courses. Even the teachers I know who love their jobs, who devote their lives to educating our kids, who give their all every day are overwhelmed. We demand way too much of our teachers and don't pay them enough or give them enough respect.

Now, yes there are teachers out there who don't work until all hours, who don't give it their all. You may be thinking about a particular teacher you or one of your kids had. And of course there are lousy teachers out there, there's the great ones and the not so great ones. You'll find that in every field. But the problem as I see it is, why would they want to give it their all? All we as a society do is complain about them. We complain about their benefits and their summers off, we fight them about getting a cost of living increase, we want them to pay for their health insurance. And in the mean time we want them held more accountable for their students' grades, we want them to coordinate with other subjects, renew their teaching certificates, and lower the drop-out rate. All while never giving our kid detention or less than a B in their class and making sure they're well prepared for college. Not to mention we keep increasing their class sizes and many of the school buildings are in disrepair and the need for new computers, books and other supplies. It's enough to give a person high blood pressure, heart burn and a stress disorder. What kind of person wants to put up with that kind of stress for that kind of money?

It used to be if you got in trouble at school, you were going to get in bigger trouble at home. But now, if you discipline a student, often the parent will call the school and complain about it. And depending on how well the administration at your school backs its teachers, your hands might be pretty tied as to how much recourse you have with unruly students. At the school I taught at, we had to schedule detention with our students. I couldn't believe it, you give a kid detention for disrupting class and if they have to catch the bus, go to work, or have practice, you have to postpone the detention until they can show up. Isn't the whole point of detention supposed to be an inconvenience? That's why it's a deterrent to bad behavior. And if the kid never showed? The school held their report card. So, at the end of a quarter you'd have a slew of students with weeks worth of detentions they'd be making up en masse. Great system, hunh? You can pretty much guess how well that worked.

So, the next time the school district in your area is fighting for a raise or not to lose their benefits, think before you complain about it, especially in front of your kids. Do you even really know how much those teachers are making? Do you even know they get paid on different steps and which ones the raise is proposed for? Do you know the last time the teachers had a raise? The next time your kid complains about a teacher, gets in trouble at school, or blames a lousy teacher for their failing grade, think twice before automatically siding with your offspring. Kids are sometimes known to lie when it suits them. I'm asking you to give teachers their proper respect as they do hold the educations of the future business leaders, lawyers, doctors and politicians of our country in their hands.