Anxiety

In the middle of my 4-5 block yesterday, I had an anxiety attack and almost passed out. I was sent home by the nurse and the assistant principal.

This is not awesome.

The Shit Show Continues!

Step right up, step right up! Only five cents to peek behind the curtain! We have all SORTS of heinous acts for your viewing pleasure.

Would you care to see.....

An assistant principal who is removed so an investigation can take place over whether or not he was within his rights in restraining a screaming, violent individual, leaving NEITHER of the original principals at the school-- but an interim, and another guy from the district?

A mother insisting that her daughter, the raging student in question, would not lie?

The very student herself, 5'6", stout and very strong, booming voice and facial piercings galore?

Step right up!


For an extra five cents, come and see ToDaY's special acts:

8:15-3:15 The Invisible Assistant Principal. Is he still removed, or is he a ghost? Come and see for yourself!

8:15-11:00: The student in question! Yes, folks, the VERY ONE! She is at school for your viewing pleasure, and you can see her--for your own safety-- from behind the glass of the ISS room. Why is she still in the school? Why has she not been removed? Or expelled? Ahh, a mystery indeed!

12:00ish: Be privy to a call home to the Very Student's Mother to inform her that her daughter does indeed need to be wearing dress code appropriate clothing just like every other student! Take with you this lesson, boys and girls, and listen to it well.......... Violence is just fine, just as long as you dress appropriately! Enjoy the fisticuffs and delight in your right to fight for noooooo consequences! Yes, here at DME we believe in the sanctity of anarchy. Step right up!

12:00ish: Witness the very student with her mother, right beyond the front office doors. Yes! Out of captivity and temporarily free. Do you dare step inside the lion's territory? But wait--there's more. Feast your eyes and enjoy the epic scene of MOTHER AND DAUGHTER SCREAM/FIGHT EXTRAVAGANZA! If you are patient, wait and you will see the police make a special appearance, cuffing our Very Student and taking her away in cuffs...

To be continued....

Let's use our WORDS people....

So yesterday, two girls in my last class got into a huge brawl at lunch, and had to be separated by my favorite student, B, because no one else could tear them apart-- teachers included.

That apparently heightened tensions between two groups of girls in my last period class because today (while I was in bed, sick and curled in the fetal position), two MORE girls from the same class, two girls I have NEVER had problems with, started brawling. (Can you please tell me why this is their answer to every problem?)

A third girl, the one who regularly gets up in my face and has to be removed from my class, videotaped the fight with her phone. The assistant principal asked her for the video, she refused, and it escalated until SHE STARTED THROWING PUNCHES AT HIM.

Holy. Crap.

I guess the cops came, and when they got there, our AP was restraining her using his training. Knees on her back.

Unbelievable.

Yes!

1) Two days in a row: not one student cursed at me.
2) Nemesis student number one was actually FUN.
3) A student stayed after school and raised his grade from a 16% to a 64% and now has a total of 14 100%'s in various competencies and only 3 major areas in which to improve.
4) I got to bond with my favorite girl after school, who told me her hellish life story. Now, I respect her all the more.

IT WAS A GOOD DAY!

Time to celebrate.

Thoughts on the Senate Letter

So, someone who subbed in my district wrote a scathing letter about our students to the SENATE. While the author did not sub at my school, the attention has been causing a lot of outrage, and controversy. It also fired up the immigration debate further as it was read on the senate floor.

You can read about it here at NPR or here.

This sparks...well, a bit of outrage, and yet, a sad sigh.

First, let me just say that the articles that have said that "we should be listening to teachers" makes me a bit infuriated. Subbing is an insanely hard job. Some subs have been teachers. But just because the person subs, doesn't mean they are a teacher, have any experience teaching, or know how to handle high-needs kids. We have had subs spread religious paraphernalia, tell our kids they were useless, scream at them, talk on their cell phones the entire hour, shop on the computer, and read magazines. Subs do not command a lot of respect unless they are seasoned veterans of the field, usually. Most are not. So, while I know there are most likely a great number out there who are legitimately good, the ones we tend to get.... have no idea what world they are walking into, do not know how to deescalate a situation, do not have content knowledge, and are still living in the 50s.

That being said....

There are a lot of good kids in our school (despite the year I'm having, I still believe that), and a lot of good kids that have gone through our school. There's a group of former students that are graduating a year early because they were fast-tracked on so many advanced classes. Many have been accepted to the community college for their senior year to build up additional credits before they're ready to go to a university, including some that aren't graduating early.

They call or text me to see if I'm doing okay, they invite me to their quinceneara's (I know I butchered the spelling of that)-- they invite me over for dinner. There are some great, great families.

But there are also some tragic stories. I learned that one of my FAVORITES from last year is in juvie. I don't know why, and while I knew he hung with a crowd that wasn't so great, I didn't think he'd actually get in trouble.

So, I guess that's the crux of it. It isn't that there are a lot of horrid kids that want to be gang bangers. There are a lot of good kids, and a couple of really, really bad seeds. And those seeds can poison a few and take them down with them. Just today, five of my girls got suspended for 5 days for having vodka at school and I can almost guarantee you it was due to the influence of a new pretty, popular girl who just started a couple weeks ago.

They want to be loved, they want acceptance, and they want to feel successful. But when their parents aren't around (whether they're good parents or not), when their teachers routinely quit on them (by giving up, leaving year after year) or when they have first year teachers EVERY YEAR..... they need to find that acceptance somewhere else. So, some find it in gangs. And some get into such terrible trouble because it is the only way to get that so-desired attention from their parents.

Furthermore, these kids feel totally de-validated every. single. day. This state has made it law that we can't speak Spanish to them. They know about SB1070 and are outraged because many of them ARE citizens and feel like they are being profiled and that their civil liberties are at risk. They know about the schools in Tucson that offered a Hispanic or African view on American history and were pummeled for it. White culture is promoted. Latin culture is denied.

So, how would you feel? How would you react?

I'm not defending the kids who have no respect, who treat me (and others) like total crap, and have no discipline. There should be tough consequences for those who bring drugs or alcohol to school, start riots, or are defiant. Yet, in teaching we learn that sometimes--SOMETIMES-- when shit is hitting the fan, we have to look at ourselves.

Maybe the kids all failed that test because we did a sucky job teaching.
Maybe the kids are all failing because we as a STATE are doing a sucky job supporting parents, creating programs for lower income families, and educating the youth.

We ask them to take responsibility all the time-- but do those with the power ever do the same? Or do they pass the buck? It is easier, far easier to blame the children rather than to say that YOU might be the fault.

Barney Backfired

Luis: Miss J, will you wait for me?
Me: For you to what?
Luis: You know, wait till I'm 18 so you can marry me? I'll wear all purple. Purple hat with a feather in it, purple suit, cane, so I'll look like--
Me: Barney?
Luis: I love you, you love me, we're--
Me: (my expression says: shit.)
Luis: That really backfired on you, didn't it?

I win!

I am doing the new-job-dance right now.

Over the last couple of weeks, I have interviewed extensively at a few different places in My New City of Awesomeness.

All had something very different to offer-- hardcore science and tech at one, insanely high achievement and collaboration at another, teachers with loads of teaching and travel experience at the international school, and a focus on sustainability and a holistic teaching approach at the green school.

For one school, I not only was interviewed 4 times in one day (the principal, assistant principal, discipline guru, and curriculum specialist separately), but also taught a 50 minute lesson, and watched another teacher so I could talk about their strengths and weaknesses (hello, hot seat). At the end of a grueling and exciting day, the assistant principal told me if I had any other offers, I had to contact them immediately. By Monday, I had a job offer. I had a week to get back to them.

So, then the next wave of interviews started and I found one place that stood out just a TINY bit more than the rest. In talking to one of the principals, I learned that they use the tenants of BRAIN RULES to plan their instruction. OH MY GOD! BRAIN RULES! I have been trying to get teachers to read this book for YEARS. And their WHOLE SCHOOL uses it? And their kids all have laptops? And their high school boosts a 100% admittance to college rate? Holy crap.I got off the phone with her and bounced around the house like a caffeinated cricket. AND they have 85 minute science blocks? AND I only teach three classes? AND there's time built into the day to collaborate with the teacher who teaches the same content as you. WAIT-- there IS A TEACHER WHO TEACHES THE SAME CONTENT AS YOU?

Did I say holy crap?

Incredible. A totally perfect fit.

Then, the next day, the third school called and put me through their first interview. E-mailed me the second day telling me they wanted me to come out, teach, and do that whole rigamarole again, that I was a really strong candidate but blah blah blah. By that time, it didn't matter.

I had already accepted.

So, its settled-- new home, here I come!

I have to say though, that I am very grateful for the experience I've gotten at this school now. While this year has been far from the best, each year I've grown exponentially. The struggles I've faced--from having to create all curriculum totally from scratch, to having kids who speak no English at all (to having kids call me a bitch nearly every day).... all if it has made me the teacher that I am. So-- a big thank you also goes out to the kids, the teachers and the admin that helped me or pushed me along the way.

I always thought if I put in my years, I would get to go wherever I wanted. And now, I know that's true.

Dear Arizona

Dear Arizona,
Go ahead. Keep putting scorpions on my shower curtain. Blast me with your heat rays. Fill my classroom with malevolent hoodlums. Ensure that nasty rumors spin like tumbleweed. Hail on my parade. Cause my feet to swell with ant bites. Do your worst. Because in June, I'll be out. What's that? The economy sucks, how will I ever find a job out there? Your taunts fall on deaf ears, my friend.

Because I already did. You may now congratulate me, Arizona, for I have navigated your terrain and as of next week-- my lily white butt belongs to A Seriously Awesome School in Denver. My kids will all have laptops instead of fisticuffs (Okay, they might have laptops AND fisticuffs. Who am I kidding?) I will spend my preps collaborating instead of commiserating.

I have a shiny star to affix my eye upon now, Arizona. So you can not get me down.

Love,
Miss J

Love

The decision to leave has been weighing on me for weeks.

While every class period, I count down the minutes until I have the next, I am also counting down the days until summer. But probably not for the reason you'd think.

Will.
The Branams.
Monica.
"Carmen Miranda"
Maritza.
Little Alex.
Monica, Julio, Vianey, Yesenia.
Castro, Aidan, Angelica, Miguel, Jesus O., Bayron
Bryanna, Crystal, Jessica, Karla, Juan S., Jesus & Pedro....

There are a hundred reasons why I don't want to leave. All of them are former students.

So, I couldn't wait any more. I had to tell them.

So, last week, I went on my teacher facebook page (I created one like how celebrities and politicians do so we could keep in touch) and told them I needed to call a meeting. Texted those whose numbers I had. Told them all to spread the word. Many called back, or emailed to tell me they couldn't make it.

But there were probably 50 kids in my room today. For most of them, I bounded out of my chair and shrieked their names before hugging them.

When they all settled in, I began to speak. I told them about my year, and how much I have struggled. My stolen ipod, the sheer disrespect, and I watched as their lips pursed and their brows furrowed. They sat, in total silence while I described the hell that has been this year.

And then I told them that I kept staying year after year for them. That I loved them. That they were my family. That I was so, so grateful to have been a part in their lives. That they were so important to me, and always would be. And I started to cry.

I told them I was moving to Denver, a 16 hour car ride away.

I saw some of my girls were starting to cry, seeing my tears, and when I looked at Big Will's face, my chest got tight.

They rallied around me, hugged me, told me it was okay. And then, for the next hour and a half, they stayed. To get me caught up. To hug me. To tell me it was okay to take care of myself. To beg me to take them with me.

Monica came and took my hand. "This is what you need. We will be okay. We always have your back, okay?" I started to cry again.

Love-- I burst with it for these kids. They have my heart, so the guilt I feel about leaving them is immense-- a giant thunderhead looming, leaving me covered in rain. They are my little sisters, my little brothers. So, I needed their permission. Yet even now, having it- I am all choked up. I know there will be new babies, but these kids will always be some of the most important people in my life.


I invited Becca, the girl who saves me every day during my Hell Class, to stay. As far as I was concerned, she'd earned her stripes for me already. She's already one of them. So, she stayed, and watched as the kids poured in, watched as I yelled their names as they ran toward me, watched their expressions as I talked and heard them voice their fury. Saw their sadness.

After I was done, and the kids were lingering, talking to me and reuniting with each other, I turned to Becca. "You know, you don't have to stay."
She just shook her head and took it all in.

Later, as Maritza was leaving, she gave me a hug and told me she loved me. Becca, next to me said "That's how it should be, Miss J."

As hard as teaching is, and as much as I feel like I am being beaten down every. single. day. Leaving these kids is the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

Welcome to the Abyss

I came back to see that all of my crayons were broken into two or three pieces, scattered around the room. A giant tupperwear container of them, big enough to fit a couple pairs of shoes in. And every single one was split.
I had to throw them out. We can no longer use crayons in this class.

My floor is filthy, covered with ink splotches and crayon streaks, like Picasso and Jackson Pollock worked in grime instead of paint. The undersides of my tables are coated with gum and gunk. Graffiti is all over. Nigger. Bitch. Fuck this. Call -------- for head. Becca's got a big dick. All over my room. All over the bathroom's four walls and stalls. This girl has big titties, that girl has a small dick.

A student gave me a stuffed animal dog for my birthday, a toy that clearly used to belong to her. They ripped its head off.

Another student gave me a chocolate bunny for Easter.
They ate it.

The giant sign on my wall that says MISS J and has notes from all of my students from two years ago, thanking me.....a giant gash right down the middle.

The models I made for the sub, so they would know what to do, destroyed, torn to pieces.

Staplers, springless. Papers torn, hanging from the walls.

I wrote up a detention. The student came back to my room, ripped it to pieces, crumpled it and threw it in my face, swearing at me as he left. Two students fighting on the playground, punching each other's faces and bodies, tell me they don't have to go to the office, they don't have to listen to anything I say because they didn't do anything wrong. I get back to class and two more students are taking turns slapping each other in the face. I go off on them. The boy turns to me and says "Well, SOMEONE'S angry." Smirks.

What I considered some of my GOOD kids smoking pot in the bathroom. Kids showing up every day in tears, and can't focus because of what others have said to them.

I can't do this anymore.

Idealistic, Realistic, Pessimistic

Idealistic
Yeah, I’ll change the world-
put power as knowledge into each boy and girl.
Hurdles are nothin’
we’ll soar above them,
roaring we will beat our
enemies—we’ll out race them.
Slay all the dragons
of poverty and racism.
We’ll win, World --you bring it on.
I’m armed with enough love to charm
any single demon that walks in
will be unarmed.
Classroom of misfits,
ain’t what I see,
We’re a band of heroes,
Olympian family
I’ll get ‘em all
motivated to grow
no excuses, high expectations
and we won’t plateau.
Shadows of others
won’t bring me down
deaf to the naysayers
whose rainbows have turned brown.

Realistic
Damn, this job is hard
the hippie’s retreated
a warrior’s in charge
still full of love, job’s full of reward
but the bounce in her step’s
been replaced with a sword.
If something’s not working,
I guess I’ll work harder,
these kids still need me,
and I can’t feed ‘em fodder.
They still deserve the best
that I can offer,
lessons from Midas
served on a gold platter.
Still, I’m starting to feel like
I can’t do enough to matter
Want to adopt all these sons and daughters.


Pessimistic
Remember the days I thought I
could do it all,
stormed into the schoolyard head high, walking tall.
But the world has chewed up my
babies and spit them out.
Drugs and pregnancy,
jail time and doubt.
They don’t believe what they did
just a year before, and they’ve got no one
to open up a door—
No assets, just asses leading them in the
wrong direction, and I couldn’t be there
to protect them.
And those in my room, graffiti and steal.
Call me a bitch,
don’t care how I feel.
Reeling, the tears glisten as they tell me
matter-of-factly
they don’t have to listen.
Still, I work harder through sobs,
as my boss tells me I’m not doing my job.
Five years now, and I’m the best teacher
yet, but feel wounded and poisoned
like a Vietnam vet.
But he must be right—so few call me mom.
They’d rather brawl in the hallways
and sound the alarms, spray paint
the bathroom and call to arms.
Throw up drunk in my room,
call me a cunt as tell me to
"Get back in my room.
Bitch, don’t you have some teaching to do?"
Excitement’s lost, stomach’s knotted
why am I trying when I can’t
accomplish?
Want to reach all, but teach to a few
the strong and aware,
Those who still see I love, and
how much I care.
For them, I walk tall and plan for each day
putting on a fake smile that’s
withered away.
Don’t want to admit it, am on the defense
but the naysayers now are starting
to make sense.

Support

Teaching has got to be one of the hardest jobs on the planet. I don't care what you say-- to be a good one, you have to be as smart as a doctor, as creative as an artist, as calmly argumentative as a lawyer, plus being insanely analytical, organized, flexible and a good communicator. You take a beating every day, and you only survive it if there is support.

If you're a surgeon, you have some pretty intense days. A lot rests in your hands, and I'm sure the pressure can be overwhelming. Yet, your environment is usually calm. The people you're helping are sedated. And when you ask for something, it is in your hand immediately. Your team is there to assist you, no questions asked and often times, there is more than one surgeon in the room. You have to be a well-oiled machine because a life is on the line. People treat you with high regard and assume you are good at your job, you are a professional. You have status. And money. Long days, always on call,probably constantly tired, and have to sometimes tell loved ones a person has passed. But you have support for all of those things.

In a classroom, it isn't just one life that's on the line. Its every single one. But because it can be a slow decay, we don't think of it as a life and death scenario. Yet, we could never blame the medical institution for thousands of people ending up in jail each year. Not so of education.

The people you're helping? Some are great-- brilliant lightning bolts of people. Yet, some don't want to be there, and can be apathetic or see you as the enemy instead of someone who wants to help them. When you ask for something, there may not be anything to give you. There is no money to get what you need. There aren't the resources. There is not time to collaborate and plan with your team. Your administrators are too busy to solve every problem on campus. You do not feel like a priority. You are an island on your own because every man is for himself, treading water, bleeding, surrounded by sharks, just trying to survive as the work gets piled, piled, piled on. And when you can't do everything alone, you're assumed to be either incompetent or insubordinate instead of what you probably are-- overwhelmed, exhausted, frantic, overworked and doing the best you can with what you have.

Some people in the community thank you, and take you in. Some people treat you as members of their family. Some people look at you like you're a saint for what you do for the money you receive, but even they have no idea what you deal with on a day to day basis. Others are shocked to find a "teacher who actually cares." Others think you're nuts for doing your job. Others assume you're probably not very smart, that you lecture all hour, that you're a glorified babysitter, that you're the reason this country is going down the drain. The lack of respect you get from just about everyone. The hours and hours and hours of work you put in after school hours are invisible, and people just tell you how lucky you are to have the summers off.

Yet, for all this, I know I want to stay in teaching. I am good at my job. Hell. I am great at my job. But, I am tired of being an island. People have told me over the last week that education sucks out a soul, that every school does this, but I don't believe it. I can't. I still have this tiny pinpoint of hope that says that somewhere there must be people who work together, are given time, are respected, are treated right, are paid right. Are taken care of.

I need to feel taken care of. Because right now, I am just falling apart.

Crushed

I'm starting to lose it.

I don't know what it is about this year, but the kids are tearing me down, bit by bit. The year started off just fine-- I liked all of my classes. Now I dread coming to school. I get sick to my stomach, and the stress of it all has caused my cold to stick around for over three weeks. My stomach has a constant pang and I'm starting to think I'm developing another pre-ulcer like I had when my parents got divorced a few years ago. I'm disgusted. Furious. Exhausted. I'm so stressed out I can't sleep, can't focus, can't even write the way I used to be able to.

One of my kids said the other day "Miss J, you NEVER get mad." I laughed because by the end of almost every day, I'm outraged. I've just gotten so good at hiding it, at keeping everything I'm feeling behind a concrete wall so that all they see is a blank expression or a forced smile when I want to scream and pull out all my hair. Take a deep breath and go help the kid who just laughed in my face and interrupted me 10 times in the last two minutes.

And a few of these kids just won't stop-- they swear at me. They tell me they don't have to listen to a fucking thing I say. They disrupt the class every. single. day. Every couple of minutes, there's something.

And if I ask them to move to a different spot in the classroom, or go to a different classroom until they're ready to learn, they take 10 minutes to get out-- creating a circus the whole time while swearing at me some more. They instigate. They start fights. They bully each other, and I don't mean the gimme-your-lunch-money bullying. No. They bring it online and smear each other's names, call each other whores and sluts and make up stories about who's slept with who. And then they come back to school and beat the crap out of each other because of the stories they created. 8th grade girls, screaming at each other as they're coming back from gym, calling each other bitches and telling each other to keep "their fucking legs closed."

So many of them don't care. Don't try. Just sit there. Absolutely no effort. No motivation, and all the incentives and reprimands in the world aren't doing anything. While I bust my butt every single day to give them something that's broken down to their level, and try to make it interesting if I can, with the resources I have....they crap all over it.

I asked a kid to rejoin my class-- he was wandering the halls, and he should have been at lunch. He starts swearing at me, muttering and cursing and acting like I just told him he was a worthless piece of... I'm sorry. Am I being unreasonable? Is it wrong of me to ask you to eat lunch with the rest of the class? To follow the same rules?

I've always been able to find something about each kid that I liked or that I respected. Maybe they weren't academically gifted, but made me laugh, could draw really well, were really helpful, had an athletic gift....something. I've always been able to find something so that no matter what, I could come back and be happy.

I'm having a really, really hard time doing that right now.

And I didn't even TEACH them anatomy!

I opened up a chem book to help a student understand one of the patterns on the periodic table. On the top, written in pen it said:

"Miss J has a coochie."

And then there was a drawing of a vagina.
Splayed open like ham in a grocery advertisement.

Not a penis. Not my ass. Thanks for drawing something new, kids. Three cheers for you.

Dear Grad School

Dear Grad School,
This is no love poem, no ode or sonnet.
You are. Sucking out my soul. Like some demon vampire (but without sparkly skin or everlasting love), you ask more and more of me and leave me a withered shell, a wandering zombie, with puce crescents under puffy eyes and ulcers waiting menacingly in the shadows with acronyms aplenty. BICS, CALP, SEI, LEP, SIOP-- your dastardly thugs, all tattooed across my consciousness. You consume me until I can only blather on about pedagogy; Vygotsky haunts me, Piaget j-walks across my brain.

Ahh,I was a fool to think that by year five, I would have it all! That I would be ready to conquer you with my Medusa-like glare and Amazon precision. Even more foolish-- that I could do it in a year! Ha! I hear your laugh-- that mustache twirls as you tie me to the dual train tracks, the crossroads of higher pay and higher education. But at a price!

But-- what is that I see? A light, so far away, beckoning. Three and ten more weeks, and I will have you. In my clutches. You, nothing but a piece of paper which could smolder under my gaze and flutter like peppered moths into a blackened sky.

You will be mine.