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.