Teaching is one of the only jobs I can think of that follows you home like a sad-eyed puppy dog. Like a puppy, grading papers and creating lesson plans takes heaping masses of time. Far more time than you would ever imagine.The downside is that your workload will not cuddle with you, or look up adoringly at you with big, wide eyes. But… it will also not pee on your carpet.
I realized lately that I measure the amount of work I have to do in inches. Not hours, or minutes, or pages, like most normal people, but inches. For example, most weekends, I have just over five inches of papers to grade. Two of those inches is Dreaded Late Work, 1 inch is of tests, and the rest is composed of various assignments. And the junk just keeps piling up. I could spend 3 hours a night grading and getting things back, and still not have it all done.
Part of the problem is really my own fault—I give them assignments that I have to grade, assignments that have open ended questions and options to draw, so we really can’t grade it in class. I’m dooming myself, and will soon be a hermit if I keep up this lifestyle.... but my kids all learn better when I give them activities like this, things that allow them to use their own strengths to complete a task. Granted, sometimes they HAVE to write an essay, or do what I say (Haha! I’m just like Aladdin’s genie… Phenomenal cosmic powers…. Itty bitty living space), because just doing what “they want” won’t help them grow strong. Unless, of course, they really like drinking milk and lifting weights.
Anyhow, the point is, I want to be the sort of teacher that teaches how students learn. Not the sort of teacher who teaches what is most convenient for me. There are too many of those. You've had them.
They've got Ben Stein voices and say things like "Please open your books to page 294. Johnny please read the paragraph entitled 'Mid-Life Crisis of the Middle Ages.' Thank you. Susie, please continue. Your assignment is 1-4 on page 299. It is due tomorrow."
In the meantime, the students are all drooling, daydreaming, or both.
I'd rather inspiration from the text and teach it my way. Reading the book is boring. I don't learn that way, and neither do they. It's more work for me, and more hours spent grading instead of sleeping, but I chose this profession because I wanted to be useful, and because I wanted to learn. Not because I wanted an easy road. So, that's what I'm getting. But, at the end of they day, its worth it.
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I think I must have written the above after sleeping for an entire day. Right now, I literally cannot see straight. I just spent another 11-hour shift at the school, and then continued working at home. It's now almost ten, and I could easily continue working for two more hours. I'm beginning to hallucinate. And they're not cute, friendly green frog hallucinations either. It's more like those terrible hallucinations Dumbo had. Was Dumbo drunk? Maybe I should get drunk. Or sleep. Maybe sleeping would be good. I haven't done that in a while.
Anyhow, it feels like all of the 6th graders have moved into my head, and are moshing. My brain is being moshed. Please, help me..... ackk....
1) Some of my students kept referring to the Magna Carta as the Magma Carta.
2) Some of my students have started calling me their "homie" and saying things like "What up, Miss J?". These are, of course, little suburban white boys. I told them I was not part of their posse, but they just hit me with a "peace out, yo" and walked away.
3) Today we were talking about identical twins. My favorite 6th grade author (hey.... he turned me into a rapper.... could this be the reason for the above?... Hmm) today called me over and whispered in total seriousness "Hey, Miss J, did you know that Darren and I are identical twins?"
My author is a little skinny redhead with freckles and sharp elfin features. Darren is African-American.
"Oh yeah," I replied, "You know, I think I noticed that."
"Yeah. See, look. We totally have the same nose, and the same lips. The only difference really, is our hair. Mine's a different color."
"Well, but that's only because you dye yours."
"I gotta be my own person, Miss J. People kept mistaking me for him. I couldn't have that."
"Right, right."
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