Entries Tagged '8th Grade' ↓

“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.

Duran Duran wakes me up as I drive.

So why don’t you use it
Try not to bruse it
Buy time don’t lose it

“It” is my brain: my brain on four hours of sleep. I might have lost it somewhere in between dreams last night. Normally, I am quite energized in the morning (not really), but today I am lagging–far behind.

Task 1: Wait

Since I am not qualified to pass out exams, read instructions, and sit at a desk as students decide how good they want to make their school look with a well-placed mark from a classic No. 2, I am instead told to sit tight as a supplementary assignment is hatched. My eighth grade assignment, it would seem, is on hold until testing is done.

“We can use you somewhere else. Just wait for a sec.”

Task 2: Get My Money Back

I am losing at the waiting game so I decide to call the same teacher’s union I refused to join for help. I was recently told that my full day assignment would only be paid at a half day rate because I had not met the three and a half hour minimum.

First, it blows my mind as a taxpayer that three and a half hours counts as a full day in public schools. Second, it blows my mind as a substitute that teachers are not paid more for what they do–I get to leave at the end of the day, the teacher has to come back in the morning. Third, I believe I did meet that requirement because I “worked” during my two hour prep period–bringing my total hours to five.

Task 3: Painting Hands Green

Eventually, I am demoted to kindergarten (considering the alternative, some might call it a promotion). Although it is story time when I walk in, the class stops and welcomes me.

“Hi everyone,” I say to the friendly faces.

My job is to take the students’ hand prints as part of a Mother’s Day project. Although, judging by the yellow paint and green paper, I would have thought it was a jump start on St. Patrick’s Day 2009. The kids are eager to have me paint yellow on their hands–almost as eager as they are to be my “helpers.”

“Why are you singing?” one girl asks.

“Because we are painting, silly! You can’t paint without singing; it’s like chewing gum without blowing bubbles.”

Task 4: Treat ‘em Like Adults

“Are you French?”

Personal question.

“Do you speak Spanish?”

Personal question. Next.

“Who is your favorite soccer team?”

Personal question. Anything else?

“What is your name?”

I have found that middle school students ask personal questions in order to stall. They stall because they do not want me to assign the work their teacher has left for them. Questions also have the effect of distributing power–from me to them. The more they know about me, the less of a threat I am to them. It is not that I am mean or unwilling to be friendly, I am just not into power-sharing. My survival depends on it.

“Those are all personal questions. If you want the answers, you can stay after class (yeah right!) and we can chat. Otherwise, you need to just do your work.” At this point, some antsy students are sensing I am on autopilot.

“By the way: No cussing, no getting up, no group work, no pencil sharpening without asking me first, and no ipods or cell phones.” My rules strike some as mean and unwarranted.

“Mr. J is mean,” one snorts.

“Class, class, your attention please. Do you think I am mean because of my rules and refusal to answer personal questions that have nothing to do with getting your algebra work done?”

One collective, “yes,” rings out.

“Okay, but why is it that when I come into a class and allow the students to work in groups at will, I end up regretting it. Don’t you think it is a double-standard? Shouldn’t you have to earn my respect?”

There is dead silence until someone responds by saying, “You need to speak English to us.” The class laughs on cue.

“What is a double-standard?” aonther asks.

“Forget it.” I am unsure why I am in disbelief. Is it because these 13 year-olds do not know the definition of a “double standard” or because I have no simpler way of explaining myself.

“You are right. It was mean to treat you all like kids by giving you so many rules. You all almost adults and adults do not ask for permission before sharpening pencils or getting up. I have a deal for you,” the students perk up, “I can either treat you like adults without the rules or like kids with them.”

“Like adults!”

“Wait! If I treat you like adults, I expect you to act responsibly. If you mess up, even once, I will send you straight to the office. Adults do not get second chances in the real world (so false). But, if I treat you like kids with lots of rules, I will also give you lots of chances.”

Those familiar with the artwork in the office immediately chime in with, “Treat us like kids!”

Task 5: Make that Money

The day is done and I am done with it. I have no energy for anything but a teacher’s nap and boba, that is until I got a call from the president of the teacher’s union. As it turns out, I was right: a prep period does count toward instructional hours. I should have been paid a full day’s rate.

“Mr. J, how long have you been substitute teaching?”

“About a month, ma’am.”

“Oh okay, that explains why your name is not in our union’s system yet.”

Yeah, I guess it does.

I blew into Mia High School and (politely) demanded someone to review my time sheet. I was a man on a mission. After explaining the situation twice–and who I was three times–the secretary realized I was not going away without my earned income. She hesitated to make a move without approval from someone higher on the pay grade. It is time for some personal questions of my own.

“Well, I actually just started working here.”

“Yeah, I have only been here a month.”

“Sure, I like it.”

With our life-long friendship established, she got over her fear of correction and made the change on my time sheet. She even said I deserved the extra money. I agreed, walked out, and realized it was time to celebrate.

It is time to turn off autopilot and start enjoying this sunny day!

“Take the Rushmore Exit”

Check.

“Turn left”

Check.

“Then, turn right on Gerry”

Check.

“Follow Gerry and you will see the school on your right. You can’t miss it.”

Running late, I took the directions my sister gave me without thinking twice. Normally, my friend Google just draws me a map to the school. I drive to school as quickly (and as safely) as possible before turning into the first school parking lot I see. It was where my sister said it would be, it just was not the right school.

Whoops.

Today’s Lesson: Always cross check oral directions with a map.

Double Check.

“Have you ever taught about substance abuse before?” she asked.

It was clear from the blank look on my face that I clearly had not. For a brief moment, I thought I had walked into a land mine.

Today, I substituted at an inner-city school in California–although by its fresh paint and perfectly manicured grounds, you would never know. I had agreed to substitute for an 8th grade class. Before accepting the job, I had no idea what subject I would be teaching. All I could count on was raging hormones: macho boys acting up to look cool and insecure girls dressing up to hide themselves.

Surprise number one: the teacher was in the class before the bell rang. She greeted me with a warm smile and explained that she would be there through first period. “Great,” I thought, “She will be there to watch me stumble through class.”

Not quite. Ms. X explained that she would be teaching her first period English class. However, when she asked if I had experience teaching about substance abuse, I just stared at her blankly. Then, as if my brain finally realized that my body was starting to look like a big stump, I shrugged and said, “No.”

“Good,” she said with a smile, “Neither have I.”

Ms. X had three block periods. First and second would be politely forced to brainstorm reasons why marijuana and cigarettes were used and why they should not. As Ms. X pointed out, the students’ responses did not matter because we (meaning I) would direct the outcome of the brainstorming. The script–and there was a lengthy 9 page script I was expected to follow–required me to indicate that “Peer Pressure” was the number one reason that teenagers started smoking marijuana and cigarettes. It seemed easy enough, especially when Ms. X was going to show me how to do it during her first period class, that is, before she threw me to the sharks waiting in second.

Overall, I do not recall all the details of what Ms. X taught today. I do, however, clearly recall how she taught it. She had style, presence, and most of all, she commanded the respect of the class. She would be my personal guru as I sat quietly in the back soaking up her method of teaching.

For example, Ms. X, did not tolerate talking. There was absolutely no side chatter during her lesson. None! I have never, in my three long weeks as a substitute teacher not heard a class. Were these kids mutes? No, she controlled their innate desire to talk by filling up every second with questions, deadlines, and repetition.

Every time Ms. X asked a question, she quickly picked a student to respond. No confusion or dead air. Every time there was group work, she clearly defined how long the students would be given to work and stuck to it. No time to plot a hostile takeover. Lastly, she would state a fact and then ask the entire class to repeat what she just said. No time to forget that only pens, not pencils, are to be used.

By the time I got to second period, I was ready to try out the lessons I had learned. Unfortunately, I had chosen the English as a Second Language (”ESL”) class as my muse. First, these students may be Hispanic, but their English was fine. Second, these students may have a reputation for ruckus, but I found the loudest ones to be the most bright. Third, ESL classes are not for the faint of heart.

These ESL students thought they could walk all over me. From the moment they walked in, the teenagers paired into self-selected groups of six. That was my fault, I should have assigned the groups from the beginning. I learned that when you let students pick their own groups, they end up just sitting with their friends. I tried to have them sit boy-girl-boy but there where not enough girls to go around (story of my life). Instead, I ended up with one group of angels and three groups of bright little devils–devils expected to talk about why marijuana was bad for you.

Ultimately, with just 20 minutes left to go in a 120 minute class, I finally broke and sent one boy to the office. He had been part of a group that had been talking out of turn almost the entire class period. One of his group members, a girl, claimed she learned how to smoke marijuana from her mother. Thanks mom! Another group member, a boy, will probably grow up to be a very successful investment banker if he can make it out of high school without getting into a gang or otherwise getting out of line.

I found that once I sent that boy to the office, the rest of the class quieted down. In fact, it was dead silent. I asked the class,

“So, it took a green slip to get some respect?”

It was silent until one faint voice whispered, “You should have done it from the start.”

Lesson learned.

By third period, I was ready to take on the world. It turned out that I had some of the same honors students from first period and some of the scared-straight students from ESL in that class. After threatening to write another green slip to the first person to talk out of line, the entire class feel into line–no smiles, no jokes, no nonsense. That class was totally silent the entire period. Well, until I felt bad and allowed them to talk softy to their neighbors. I had broken for the second time.

Overall, I am too nice to be a teacher. I am too forgiving and too interested in good relations. I love to threaten with green slips, but, like so many things in life, the glory is in the follow-through. It is a good thing–for schools and students–I am only a substitute.