Entries Tagged '7th Grade' ↓

Too much.

The bad student is always defined by their excess. Whether they are talking too much or taking too much time, they are always immoderate. For them, the teacher must be an inexhaustible source of patience. When he is anything but, they look the other away, launch their noises into the sky, and say, “See, how unfair he is–I didn’t even do anything.” Today, I had a bad student.

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No words.

The good students never need them. They use them sparingly because they do not need to form rambling excuses. These students are always on task. They anticipate the teacher’s next move–seeking it out to stay ahead. These students want direction, yet they only need a spark. The creative drive that follows, well, that is all their own.

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“Gather around”

“Can we go inside?” one eight grader asks.

“No, gather up, I have a few ground rules to go over first.” I am adamant about setting the class straight before we even enter the class. With one hand on the locked door and one hand in the air as if to signal me desire to proceed, I wait for a critical mass of students to gather around.

Last week, I learned that benchmark students may be intelligent, but they will not behave unless ground rules are laid out ahead of time and enforced. I like benchmark students because they are bright. I dread benchmark students because they expect your left kidney in return for their supposed brilliance.

“Here are the rules: No cussing. No threats. No hats or hoods. No getting up out of your seat without permission: that includes getting up for water, pencil sharpening, or to throw away trash,” I pause and try to think of anything else I might have missed, “Well, that is it–Come in.”

The flood gates opened, but the flood never came.

Over the course of two hours, this English and social studies class–notorious for treating substitutes like single-serving condiment wrappers–was well behaved. Hands were raised to ask for bathroom and movement privileges. Students were quiet during the class readings and cooperated during the group work.

For those students that got out of line, I simply wrote there names on the white board. No games this time, I was going to employ the lessons I had gleamed from the last benchmark class. Those lessons worked like a charm. Once the cumbersome students were on the detention list, they quickly settled down and began to cooperate. The wind (hot air) had been knocked out of them and they were down for the count.

Since I refused to crack a smile–a necessary evil into order to maintain order in the class–I decided to loosen up by the end of the period. As the students were wrapping up some work, I approached all four students who were on my detention list. Since all four had straightened out, I asked them if they had learned there lesson. After receiving an automated “yes” from all, I erased their names.

It felt good to walk into a class, teach material, and expect students to follow my directions. It could have been a number of other factors, but I was definitely on my game today. I refused to compromise and the students actually respected me for it. Also, I did not have to be the bad guy. I forgave them for acting up when it was warranted: after each had made appropriate reparations. In doing so, each knew that I was not out to get them, I was just trying to maintain order.

Mission accomplished, finally.

“Send someone over here,” I plead, “This class is terrible!”

Finally, a hush falls over the room. Then, a baffled voice drips in, “Okay, just wait a minute.”

Wait a minute? I had waited two hours for a “benchmark” class to quiet down. Instead, they kept talking, laughing, and driving my patience to the brink. Usually, it only takes about two minutes of my you-do-not-want-to-see-me-angry face to get the full attention of my classes—even if that attention is short-lived. These 7th graders, however, never quiet figured out they were cast as the students in today’s tragedy.

So Much for the “Smart” Kids

First, I tried to shame the children. “You are the ‘benchmark’ class so I expect a lot from you.”

“Don’t call us smart,” the children interrupted, “Smart’ is a bad word around here.”

“Okay, so you are not smart?”

“No, we are just intelligent.”

I stood corrected. It would seem that intelligent people—in the eyes of these children—need not be accountable for their actions.

You Scratch My Back

Second, I attempted negotiation. I did not have the upper hand going into these talks; after all, it is the last period of the day and the children were exhausted from three weeks of state testing. More importantly, it is a Friday and Friday is never a productive day for substitutes. Although I had the cards stacked against me, I put my best deal on the table.

“If you get through an hour’s worth of work, then I’ll let you socialize for the last hour of class.”

“Can we eat too?”

“Sure.”

“Can we get up and move around?”

“No problem.”

“Can we . . .” I was not in the mood for 18 more questions, so I interjected, “I do not care what you do, as long as you complete the work.”

The children accepted the “I do not care what you do” part of the deal and disregarded my condition about completing the work. My words created something worse than a monster, it created a loophole: one big enough for an aircraft carrier.

Game Over

Finally, I gave into desperation. Just as I was about to put my head down and sit out the rest of the period, the office rang in over the intercom.

“Can you send Jane Doe to the office for an early dismissal?”

“Sure, but can you send someone over here because this class is terrible!”

I have never resorted to asking the office for help. Asking for help sends a message that the teacher has lost control of the entire class and cannot regain it on their own. For a substitute—whose role has more to do with crowd control than it does teaching—calling the office is a sign that you have failed in your job.

When help arrived, the children fell silent. They where thoroughly chastised before being released back into my control. Once they were back in my control, I administered a quiz on the Crusades and listened for any sign of chatter. There was none. The will of the children had been broken; they were now ready to be students.

Not to be outdone, I told the class to begin cleaning up. As they shuffled their papers, I walked around the room and asked for names. Armed with only a scratch paper and a pencil, I targeted eight students who seemed to have the most to lose. Each was baffled, then dejected, and ultimately complaint with my request.

“What are you going to do with those names?” One ventured to ask.

“You’ll see on Monday when your teacher returns.” The guilt prevented them from fighting back. They knew that I had tried to be nice to them and now they would just get wrath from their teacher. It seemed they were intelligent enough to know that they had passed up a good deal at my expense. For a moment, it felt good to watch them squirm.

“Actually,” I conceded, “I will not give these names to your teacher. I was just testing you to see if fear would have worked earlier. I guess I know now.”

In retrospect, I should have taken names and even sent some children to the office. It probably would have only taken one example to scare the class straight. Shame and negotiation does not work with 7th graders. Shame works for younger children and negotiation should be left in the boardroom. For adolescents, especially benchmark students, fear of sanction is a great motivator. No games, just green slips. Instead, I dabbled in a fairy tale where I could talk to these children like equals and expect them to return the favor. To my horror, that wish came true; I had just forgotten that children treat their peers like dirt.

6:31AM: The telephone rings.

After staying up until 2 the night before trying to find a position, the automated substitute locater system (”SLS”) finally sends me a job. I am greeted with, “You will substitute for Ms. X at New High School.” No I won’t; I was there last week and it was a terrible assignment. I had to send one boy to the office and the rest of the students barely did their work. I hang up and go back to bed. It is nice to just say no to work sometimes.

9:31AM: The telephone rings, again.

I yawn as SLS tries to sell a half-day position in a 7th grade class. It is at a school next door to NHS. I decide not to let NHS taint its little neighbor’s reputation. I take the job.

11:31AM: Testing, Interrupted.

With the state’s standardized testing in progress, I quietly open the door to my assigned class. The students look up, yet I try to remain invisible by tip-toeing to the back of the room. For the second time in two days, I met the teacher before I took over the class. She greets me with a five-foot voice and I respond with my five-inch special.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Yes,” I respond, “I just did.”

“Well, I don’t really need you until 12:40. Feel free to leave and come back later.”

And I am gone before she can finish. Well, I am mentally gone at least. I did not have anywhere to go so I picked a corner in the back of the class and tried to refresh myself on basic cardiovascular functions. Fun times.

12:22PM: Praise.

I left the classroom door open during lunch. I do not normally like to be disturbed during lunch time. Lunch time is my time to take refuge and recharge. However, since I do not have anything to recharge from quite yet, I decided to keep the door open. Students trickled into the room. I got asked for my name.

“Mr. J,” I responded.

Before I know it, some artistic girls are writing my name on the board. They write that I am “awesome” and “cool.” They have no idea.

Ms. Y must have been thinking along the same lines because she asked me to leave my name and number so she could call me for future assignments. This is the second day in a row that I have gotten a call-back without the customary test-drive. I must have one of those faces.

12:43PM: Enter the smart students.

For the next 100 minutes, I am responsible for teaching the “benchmark” (i.e., honors) class. These students are talkative, but in a innocent sort of way. There is no cussing, no yelling, and no apologies. I stand there for a minute or two after the bell rings, silently sizing up the class. I decide to no say a word.

I begin writing on the board:

“My name is Mr. R,” a growing chorus of voices starts to vocalize every word for me, “I am here as your substitute today / Please turn to page 496 in the book and begin doing your vocabulary words / Stay in your seats while I take role.”

Finally, I break into the choir with my own solo debut.

“Class, I will first take role, then I will let you work. You may talk with those around you but please stay on task. I will do my best to stay out of your way, please do the same for me. Thanks.”

The students start to work, loudly. Some read the chapter first. Others define the vocabulary words. There are one or two throwing paper bombs at each other. I refuse to discipline because it is a benchmark class. I just take a cue from General Sherman and cut of the supplies. It turns out Ms. Y supplies the class with unlimited binder paper. After I captured the cache of paper, the war ended. Peace had been restored to the class and I did not even have to fire off a word of anger to accomplish it.

1:31PM: It Gets Too Loud.

Up until now, most of the “benchmark” students have been great multi-taskers: using their hands to write out of problem set answers as they gossip. With only 30 minutes to go, I started to wonder how much work was getting done. After all, the talking had been steadily increasing since it bottomed out sometime around one o’clock.

To took a quick survey of the class and found most of the students were not even halfway done. It was time for drastic measures.

“Class, I was nice and let you talk as you worked. You took advantage of me. Now, I need it to be absolutely silent for the next 30 minutes so you can complete the work. Actually, no, you are benchmark students. You should only need 20 minutes. Get to work.”

Acting as a silent observer, I pull up a chair next to the door and survey the class with my eyes. Before I confronted the class, students would catch my glance and take it as a sign they should be working. Now, no one looked up. No one dared speak a word. I can only hear the sound of pages furiously turning as the students make up lost time. All this and I did not need to pull out a green slip. These are “benchmark” students after all. They get it.

1:50PM: Too Nice for my Own Good.

It has been 20 minutes and I am growing tired of the silence. I need some excitement. I also need to keep my word and do another survey of the work completed. It turns out most of the students had made great strides toward completion in 20 minutes. For my part, I decided to let the students end on a high note.

“Okay class, you may begin speaking again. Please continue working until the bell rings.”

In less then two minutes, the room is filled with gossip again. This time, however, their idle talk was running over papers that had been pumped with lead and pressed into my hands–their exit pass to freedom.