Chicago Teacher Man

Lucky me

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Mon, 26 Sep 2011 20:42:00 +0000

"You know," I say to one of my advisees, "you guys are really lucky I'm not in charge this year."

"I know!" he says. "We were just talking about that."

We're walking up to my classroom from the library. I've pulled him out of study hall because I'm too curious, I need him to give me some details. Now. And he has just complimented me. He doesn't know it, but it's the nicest thing he's said to me all year.

"What do you think will happen?" he asks.

"I have no idea," I say, "but I know what I would do in this situation – suspend you. All 30 of you!"

He gulps. Last year, I tried my hand at administration, and one of my goals was a get-tough-on-crime approach. And I think it worked. Sure, we had a few disciplinary cases, but not a single alcohol or drugs offense. Kids either didn't party or (more likely) they hid it well.

But this past weekend 30 students were discovered to have been partying in a hotel. Six of them from my advisor group. Which means that I have, quite by accident, the cool kids in my advisor group. Their biggest crime, as far as I'm concerned, is that some of them were mixing vodka with Coke. No wonder one girl had to go to the hospital to get her stomach pumped! Their other crime, more serious, was drinking enough to get caught. When one person goes to the hospital, everyone else signed out of dorms for that event gets called in and busted.

Funny, sad, true story about the girl taken to the hospital:

The staff member who went with the girl informed the doctor that the girl had drunk a lot of vodka.

The very Indian doctor asked, "Oh. Is there alcohol in vodka?"

"Can you please help her? She's been throwing up a lot!"

And he asked, "What has she been throwing?"

I had to laugh when I heard that. And I couldn't restrain myself, I had to laugh in class.

"What's the matter with you guys?" I asked one of my classes. "I know it's Monday and all, but you all look absolutely hung over today!" This didn't get the laughter or applause it deserved. Later, some girls accused me of being mean, of bullying the poor wretches.

In another class, my advisee asked me to repeat something. "I'm sorry," I said, "I know you killed some brain cells yesterday. So ... do ... you ... need ... me ... to ... speak ... more ... slowly?" His friend laughed; nobody else did.

But my philosophy this year is different from last year. I don't need to worry about the safety of all the students and the reputation of the school anymore. I can laugh. And, really, these guys will laugh about this someday, too. Maybe when they return from their one-month suspension. (Well, that's what I would've pushed for.) Maybe at graduation. Or five years from now. Who knows when, but they will see the humor eventually.

"It's not like you guys killed somebody," I tell my lucky group of six. "So relax, you'll be OK."

But they're worried about their parents' reactions. About missing school. About losing leadership positions. About a blemish on their transcript.

"Well, you should have thought about all that when that booze came into the room. And anyway," I say, "you want to know what a college admissions counselor will say if he sees you were suspended for partying? Probably: 'Oh, he's guilty of being a teenager.'"

I don't really know if this is true, but it makes sense to me. Every university official knows teenagers drink. And maybe it's better that kids get the partying and trouble out of the way during high school. If a high school junior gets in trouble in the first quarter, and then is clean after that, well, that's a sign of growth! Of learning! Maybe he or she won't drink to excess during the first week of college life. Maybe. I don't really know anything about that (although maybe I should remind my advisees that two years ago, a group of juniors was busted drinking and they were suspended. Today, they're all in college). And anyway, I do know that I drank less after the age of 21 than before. I also know that I wasn't ever stupid about drinking, that I slowly built up my tolerance before getting completely smashed.

Well, that's not entirely true. But the only people who really know about my first drunken experience aren't around anymore. No, they're not dead. I just don't know them anymore.

These kids today, they don't want to snitch on their friends – there's a code of some sort – so they won't reveal who provided the alcohol, and so they will probably all face the same consequences. When I tell them that their friendship rules are stupid, they are horrified. "So, what's your definition of friendship?" one of them asks.

"I don't know about definitions," I say, "but I'll tell you this: Out of my very best friends from high school, the guys I thought would be around forever, well, I don't keep in touch with them anymore." And it's true. On facebook, I'm friends with four or five people from high school, and I keep in somewhat regular contact with two. "You'll go to college, make new friends," I continue. I'm on lecture mode now. "Then you'll get a job, move, meet new people, forget about old ones. And the people you're protecting today, you'll forget all about them. Probably."

High school life, I guess, is so immediate. So eternal. With so little perspective. So everything seems like such a big deal. But they'll all survive this. They'll laugh about it. I just wouldn't want them laughing at the school, which is why I think they should get strong consequences. They need to laugh at themselves, at their stupidity, their own foolishness and naivety. But we'll see who laughs last. I'm just lucky I'm not in charge.

Must write

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Sat, 24 Sep 2011 17:16:00 +0000

Comments. Must write five sentences (at least) about every single student I teach. How many different ways are there to write, "I'm unimpressed"? Just kidding; many students are actually quite good, but comment-writing always brings out my inner bitch.
Anyway, here's one way I'm procrastinating: Great piece in the New York Times Magazine called "What if the Secret to Success is Failure?" It's the perfect length to forget all about unwritten comments. And the headline alone gives me an idea for my next comment: If the secret to success is failure, then your son is well on his way.

In the article, an educator looked at former students and found that "only 33 percent of students who graduated from [his] middle school 10 or more years ago have graduated from a four-year college. That rate is considerably better than the 8 percent of children from low-income families who currently complete college nationwide, and it even beats the average national rate of college completion for all income groups, which is 31 percent."

However, "he noticed something curious: the students who persisted in college were not necessarily the ones who had excelled academically at KIPP; they were the ones with exceptional character strengths, like optimism and persistence and social intelligence. They were the ones who were able to recover from a bad grade and resolve to do better next time; to bounce back from a fight with their parents; to resist the urge to go out to the movies and stay home and study instead; to persuade professors to give them extra help after class."

So ...
What to teach? And when? Can "exceptional character strengths" be taught?

Maybe I should finish reading the Times piece to find out. And then start on those damn comments.

Free throw

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 00:47:00 +0000

Writing, I think, is like riding a bicycle. No, that's a cliche (which one avoids in writing), and it isn't true. Riding a bicycle requires a little bit of balance and a willingness to just let go -- two qualities writing shares -- but, ultimately, you learn to ride once and never forget. With writing, you get rusty. You forget and need to relearn.

So, then, a comparison as simple but more accurate: Writing is like shooting free throws. It's the easiest thing -- well, it's certainly the easiest shot in basketball -- and it's beautiful when you get it right. The audience hushes when you take aim and exhales only when you nail the point. Still, it takes lots of practice to get good at it, it's impossible to be perfect, it's frustrating when you miss, and if you spend enough time away from the line, you need to relearn the process. Back to the practice court for many, many hours of bend the knee, flick the wrist, release. Bend, flick, release. Back to the practice court just to get into the habit.

I am back on the line after some time. The hardest thing for me right now is listening to students and noticing: ah, I can do something interesting with that.

Lucky for me there is email. This morning I noticed a student had written at around midnight. Here's his message:

I am writing to you at this hour because I simply want you to know that I suck at managing my time. Please help me manage my time better. I had a week to read the book, but due to misplaced concerns and laziness, I was not able to read the book. I would like you to help me improve my time managing skills.

There's a quiz on Part 1 of the novel this morning. Let's see, he has class at about 11 a.m., so he still had almost 12 hours to go. But it was late, he was sleepy, and so he sent a last-ditch email to, what, get some sympathy? This guy's a basketball player, so maybe he'll appreciate the metaphor. He threw a last-second full-court shot, hoping for that elusive three-pointer at the end of the half. My response, though, is that the full-court shot isn't really a proper play. Sure, you hope it goes in, but it's not really a strategy for winning. A coach doesn't say in the locker room, "Let's fall behind by a point or two; then, at the end of the half, we'll pull out our secret weapon -- the full-court bomb for three points!"

A winning strategy is practice. Want to be a better writer? Practice. Every day. The same can be said of reading. You can't think that when you open a book for the first time that you'll just absorb the information. You need a quiet room with no one around, and for 30 minutes, you bend, flick, release. Bend into a comfortable position, flick through the pages slowly, and release your mind.

Ah, crap ending. I'm out of practice, you see.

So, let me finish this way: Ultimately, it's really disappointing that this kid didn't read. More so than any other. Because last week, when I handed out the novel, he stuck around after class to tell me that he remembers this book from when he was a kid. "I remember my family sitting around and talking about this book. For many days." That story blew me away. He actually has this childhood memory of people being so excited about a work of literature that they spent several evenings in deep conversation about it. And now he has the chance to read that novel and join the conversation.

He needs to get into practice. If he wants to nail that simple, single point and win the game, he'll need to practice.

Changing attitudes, changing grades

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 01:09:00 +0000

There are many teachers that get offended by the way students write emails. They start off with "Hey," they include shorthand and misspellings, and they just seem rude. I've never been offended, but I also want to teach students something more proper. So I recently presented my students with this offer: Send me a polite email -- one dripping with respect and appreciation -- and I will change one of your bad grades with a good one.

And so students sent me the most sarcastic emails I've ever received. I've always thought using satire and wit was challenging, but these kids nailed it. Here are some examples:

Thank you for being such a merciful and generous teacher.

Thank you so much for your kindness in allowing us to replace one of our bad grades with a better one. I promise that the bad grade will be my last and i will always give my best to achieve good scores on every assignment you throw at me.

I'm so honored to have this amazing opportunity to change my crappy grade to a better one.

Thank you so much for being such a great person in understanding students struggles and being kind enough to provide a second opportunity to increase our grades. In taking hold of this opportunity you provided, I kindly request you to change my grade for "Thank you for arguing" quiz, in which the result was 2 out of 10, 20% , in accordance with my recent essay plan which was 28 out of 30, 93. 3%. Thank you again for considering this small favor and thus helping me in saving myself from mental and physical disorders such as depression, constant head-aches, late night sleeps, sleep-talking, etc. By doing this you are not only helping me in the improvement of my grade but also lightening my burden of worry a little, which currently seems to be the main reason for all the disorders in me.

Thank you so much for this opportunity to raise my dismal mark in English to a slightly less dismal mark. I received a total of twenty-nine (29) points out of thirty (30) on the Leadership and Madness Essay Plan, which roughly translates to ninety-six point six recurring percent (96.6%). On a previous quiz, the first Train to Pakistan Quiz, I scored an abominable twenty-two (22) points out of thirty (30), which roughly translates to a horrendous seventy-three point three recurring percent (73.3%). It would complete my life if it were possible to substitute my twenty-nine (29) points in my Leadership Essay Plan into said quiz, which would bring the total points up on that quiz to twenty-nine (29) out of thirty (30). Thank you so much for the fantastic opportunity and for taking time out of your incredibly busy and fulfilling schedule to even consider my humble request.

And more than that, thank you for helping me (along with the rest of my class) brush up on my mathematical skills. I did more calculations trying to maximize my overall grade for English than I did in all my Math classes this semester. What an incentive! I can't help but wonder if you're secretly a mathematician at heart....

You are a very, very sweet person, and I would not complain about you to [your future wife] anymore.

Thank you for this opportunity, i will work harder and focus on the criteria and rubric next time, to create better paragraphs in every essay :)

I'm truly sorry for adding another annoying message in your inbox but if you could do this small thing for me, it would really brighten up my day. I got 22 out of 30 which is a 73 percent in the essay plan. I would like to replace my first quiz on Train to Pakistan (I'm very sorry for not italicizing.I just can't figure it out how to do it) with the 73%. I promise I'll strive for the best in the upcoming assignments. If you're not in a good mood right now, please do come back and check this pitiful message again. :)

Thank you so much for reading this. Have a wonderful evening!

I'm back to talk about back then

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 00:52:00 +0000

From Rueters: The military's "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" law for gay personnel is slated to run out as scheduled on Tuesday, the armed forces said, ending a 17-year rule fraught with controversy.

Likewise, I am ending a several-year ban on my blog. Chicago Teacher Man is back, but he's still in India, so it really should be International Teacher Man. But I'm in the classroom, and even though this isn't the inner city and the day-to-day events aren't as fraught with violence and anger, there are still stories that I want to remember. Some poignant. Some funny. Some memorable. Some just plain and ordinary but worthwhile in their own way.

Like last week. Students were doing a Pop Oral Presentation -- a POP, I like to call it. I had given them a famous speech to read, put them in groups, gave them 15 minutes to prepare, and had them quickly present the speech to the rest of the class. One group had JFK's inauguration speech, another Gandhi's "Quit India" speech, and another had Mary Fisher's 1992 Republican National Convention address. This one isn't as famous, perhaps, as the others, but a pretty great speech, asking Republicans to fund AIDS research.

Here's something I'm slowly discovering as a teacher: Many students are actually better at writing and speaking when they don't have a lot of time to think. Well, they perform better. Or at least I'm more impressed with the results. Give students 15 minutes to prepare a presentation and the expectations are quite low, so when they do OK, that's impressive. Give them a couple of nights to do the work and the expectations rise -- they should be much better, right? Usually they're not. So grades on formal assignments are low while in-class work gets high marks.

The first POP group was great. One girl had somehow managed to research Fisher's speech and told the class that Fisher convinced the nation that AIDS was not just a gay disease but rather something that could affect anyone. A boy in the group said something like this: "You have to remember that, back then, there was a lot of anti-gay prejudice in the U.S."

The whole class nodded thoughtfully, and I was stuck to my chair. "Back then." For high school juniors and seniors, 1992 is "back then."

I've always hated when students say those two words. It's usually used to refer to something in 1947, or 1492, or some distant time in history, a time students don't actually know or remember, so they'll make some blanket statement about "back then." Back then people were dumb. Back then people didn't know about love. Back then the world was black and white. And I'm always like, come on, do some research, don't just fall back on "back then" when you don't actually know anything about it.

This time, though, the kid said "back then" about 1992. Back then, I was a university student. This means, ultimately, that I grew up "back then." I grew up in history. Am a relic. A man from the past, a time traveler. Old. For a 17-year-old student, 1992 is ancient history, a time he doesn't know much about, so he puts statements into context by saying "back then."

In this case, the student was right: Back then, the world was more anti-gay than it is today. Evidence: The U.S. military's don't-ask, don't-tell policy, which was passed 17 years ago, ends today.

The people who think growing up in 2011 is difficult, more difficult than when they were young, are wrong. In some ways, the world today is a little better. But history will have to decide. And if history doesn't, there will be some student 17 years from now talking about 2011, and he'll say, "Back then, people still thought blogging was cool."

Posse

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Sun, 11 Jan 2009 08:51:00 +0000

THIS is what I miss about Chicago:

Remember, D, the kid who had his laptop stolen? I wrote about him, saying that he was special and would amount to great things. So readers of this blog donated something like $1,000, plus a new laptop, to replace the computer, not because they knew me or D, but because they wanted to make a difference in the life of a kid with potential.

Well, I'm happy to say that Devin (I should start calling him by his name) is on his way to reaching that potential. He recently emailed me, saying that he has won the Posse Scholarship, which will pay his tuition for four years at Oberlin College, a private liberal arts school in Ohio, "the school I really wanted to go to."

You can read about Posse on its website, but here's the main point:

The Posse Foundation identifies public high school students with extraordinary academic and leadership potential who may be overlooked by traditional college selection processes. Posse’s partner colleges and universities award Posse Scholars four-year, full-tuition leadership scholarships. These Scholars graduate at a rate of 90 percent and make a visible difference on campus and throughout their professional careers.

Makes me proud to have been a part of Devin's life ...

D gets the money

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 22:46:00 +0000

A final update on D, my student whose laptop was stolen and then replaced by readers of this blog (click on the label below to follow the entire story): I met with D a couple of days ago to present him with a "scholarship fund" of $1,000. The money, most of it donated by a group of amazing people, will go toward upcoming travel and other expenses relating to his college search. He said he's spending this summer preparing for his senior year (four of his teachers assigned summer work) and visiting various campuses. Plus, at some point, he'll try to relax.

Initially, we thought we'd use half of the money to start up some sort of charity, but with me leaving, that became something of a challenge. So ... yeah ... here he is in front of the school (with a rare smile on his face):

A week in Madison

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 11:43:00 +0000

There's a post I meant to write every day last week, but I never got around to it. It was going to go something like this:

Just got out of my seven-hour lecture on teaching AP English. And when I say lecture, I mean it. I'm at a workshop being run by two UW professors and three experienced high school AP teachers, and all week, they've been talking at us. Standing there and talking. Actually, in the case of one of the profs, sitting in front of us and talking. No sharing of ideas by the participants, no collaborative work, no time to practice new teaching strategies.

It's funny how teachers preach something called "best practices," but when they stand up in front of a group of teachers they do what should never be done to students: lecture lecture lecture, blah blah blah, listen to me pontificate.

You would think it's been a miserable experience, but to be honest, it hasn't.

First of all, in a collection of 40 teachers, there are always at least a couple of really dynamic, brilliant people that have a lot to share during lunch and after class.

Second, forced to sit there, I've taken to perusing the materials, and I must admit to getting very psyched up to teach AP.

Most important, though, is that Madison has the perfect spot to have a beer after class: the terrace behind the Union. It's a collection of colorful metal tables and chairs set up in shade and sun, overlooking the lake where boaters float lazily by. There are loads of students hanging out, but maybe because it's summer, the focus seems to be on grad students, plus professors, tutors, locals with children, and a collection of brain-fried AP teachers. The Union serves great beer--New Glaris, Bell's--and it's cheap. Every day there are scheduled activities: movie nights and live music afternoons. If there is a better place to grab a drink, on a college campus or otherwise, I'd love to hear about it.

Whenever I attend a professional development activity, no matter how bored or frustrated I become, I always try to stay positive and look for that one moment, that one piece of advice that might change my teaching. I don't know if that moment came during the workshop this time, but it certainly did afterwards.

A new home for my kitty?

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 02:35:00 +0000

I craigslisted the following ad about my cat: Typically crazy Siamese cat needs a home. If you want a cat to scare off all of your friends, Chisai might be the one for you!

Detour, part 2

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Sat, 14 Jun 2008 14:10:00 +0000

When I returned from Japan nine years ago, I had no concrete plans. But being someone who likes to write five-year plans and then promptly forget them, here's what I thought would happen:

I would either settle down
or stay for a few years and then move on, becoming a lifelong expatriate.

The first point got a push from my dad, who helped me buy a condo near Senn High School, where I had been hired to teach. A couple of years passed, and I was offered the opportunity to teach in the school's International Baccalaureate program. After that, no matter what happened during the rest of the day, I had one period a day with bright, eager, usually motivated students. These kinds of students are a drug to teachers: They listen, ask, challenge, compete, learn.

Eventually, I became a slightly better teacher, and I was able to get "regular" students to respond. Life wasn't bad.

But still, in the middle of every school year I started wishing for something more. I'd look at the world map in my classroom and wonder about the possibilities. The world is big. Life is short.

Meanwhile, my friends were getting married, having children, settling down. I felt torn: I wanted that too, but I also wanted the independence and freedom to bounce around the planet one or two years at a time. This wishy-washiness doomed every relationship I was ever in. Years passed.

So ... flash-forward to this school year. Sometime in December, I decided that this was it. I HAD to move on. I told my principal I wasn't coming back, asked for a letter of recommendation. I told everyone that I was moving to California, either to the sunshine of San Diego or my friends in the Bay Area. One hundred percent guaranteed. I started examining housing and job opportunities.

I soon discovered that this might not be the best year to move to California: Arnold had ordered school districts to cut 10 percent of their budgets, and teachers around the state were losing jobs, searching elsewhere to work. No worries, I thought: I can do something else. A friend of mine is big time in the blogging world, so maybe I could somehow work with him or maybe he could set me up. Other friends are resourceful and generous, so I'd make it.

Then ... something happened on this blog. Because of this blog. Readers started posting really positive comments about me. Readers got together to donate money to one of my students, and they said they wanted to help in part because of the kind of teacher I am. And I realized: I'm not yet a great teacher, but I'm slowly getting there. And I don't want to do anything but teach, to work with teens, to help in whatever way I can.

So ... what could a person in my shoes do? I thought about my dream to bounce around the planet. I thought about a couple of my friends that had gone off to teach at international schools. And so I checked recruitment services that help place teachers at schools around the world.

I discovered it was too late to attend an international school recruitment fair. But one source listed schools that were still hiring. I checked out those schools' website and was intrigued by one. "Well, it's a long shot," I thought, "but if this place hires me, I'm going."

I filled out the application form, sent my resume and letters of recommendation, and hoped. The school replied, sorry, the position has been filled. I responded, thank you, maybe I'd consider working in the residence hall and wait for an English position next year. (This is a boarding school, so they need people to help take care of students outside of school hours.) They interviewed me. And a few days later said that the English position is available after all, what were my intentions?

I'm writing this quickly, with few details, but mostly as a reminder for myself, so I don't know if any of this makes sense to anyone reading. But the bottom line is this: I have been hired to teach high school English at a boarding school in the mountains of India. I leave next month.

Half my new students will be Indian. The other half from all over the world. Yes, they speak English. In fact, the school has an American curriculum, and many of the students end up coming to the U.S. for university; others go on to study in the U.K., Australia, or all over Asia.

Yes, I'll miss Senn and my students, but I'm excited to move on and start a new chapter of my life. And yes, I'll continue blogging, and will post a link on this page when it's ready. Thank you all for reading; I have a few more loose ends to tie up, which I'll do in the coming days.

Detour, part 1

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 22:38:00 +0000

Heard a Jens Lekman song recently that starts with these lyrics:

If I had to choose a moment in time
to take with me into eternity
I would choose this,
this moment with you in my arms.

I don't know if the concept of taking a moment into eternity has religious or cultural significance, but it reminds me of an excellent Japanese movie I saw a while back called After Life. The movie is very simple, and slow-moving, but profound: After people die, they go to a sort of in-between place where they must choose one memory from their lives that will be recorded for them to take with them to heaven, or wherever the afterlife is.

After seeing the movie, then buying the DVD and seeing it again, the concept became a most favored conversation topic for a while: What if you had to choose just one experience from life, and that's the only thing you'd remember for all of eternity? Which experience would you choose?

Hey, actually, maybe you can skip down to the comments, write your memory out, which will then be preserved for the eternal life of the internet. Then, come back to this spot and keep reading.

OK ... done writing (or thinking about) your one eternal memory?

Here's mine:

Almost exactly eleven years ago, back in 1997, I stepped off a plane at the Osaka, Japan, airport. I was alone, with a couple of suitcases of clothes and CDs, waiting to be picked up and taken to my new home. I had recently been hired to teach conversational English in a town called Numazu. I had also recently broken up with a longterm girlfriend, quit a kick-ass job at a small newspaper in Vermont, said sayonara to friends and family, and boarded the plane with little knowledge of what was to come.

Here's how stupid I was (stupid? naive? clueless? whatever word fits best): With me I had no contact information should anything go wrong. I simply relied on my new employer's word that someone would be at the airport to pick me up. Well, you guessed it, no one was there.

After I passed through customs and into the airport, I was bombarded with newness: This place was clean and modern, so much like the country I had just left, but I was hearing announcements in a language I didn't understand, I was looking at signs with squiggly writing, I was seeing lots and lots of Japanese people. This was my first time out of the country, and I wasn't prepared for any of it.

I didn't see anyone looking for me. No sign with my name on it. No one calling my name. As my fellow passengers cleared out, I was left alone. It was evening, maybe 8 p.m., but it was amazing how quickly the place quieted down. No ... one ... left.

"I guess they're late," I thought, and plopped down on my bags. Fifteen minutes later, and still no one. I started feeling tinges of concern. No, wait, those feelings had started on the flight, this was escalating into panic. Yeah, I know, it was only fifteen minutes of waiting, but in that time, so many thoughts crossed my mind: What was I doing here? What was my problem? Why had I decided to drop everything to do this thing? Was I just running away from something or someone? What if no one comes to get me? What am I going to do? I wonder when the next flight back to Chicago is?

I eventually worked up the courage to approach the information desk.

"Um," I said, realizing I hadn't learned a single word of Japanese before coming over. Oh, I had planned to, but just had never gotten around to it. (At the time, I did know that one "Mr. Roboto" song, but had no idea that domo arigato means "thank you very much," even though that's stated very clearly in the song.)

"Can I help you?" the very cute woman at the information desk asked. She spoke English, yes!

"Someone is supposed to meet me," I said, "and they're not here. Did anyone ... call or anything?"

"What is the party's name, please?"

I had no idea. "I don't know," I said.

"No, I'm sorry, I don't think I can help you. Maybe you wait a little longer?"

Like I had a choice.

The next fifteen minutes, the fifteen minutes until someone actually did show up, that's the memory I'd like to take with me to eternity.

In that time, I felt so, I don't know, helpless, confused, scared, hopeless, but at the same time, alive. I know that most people say they feel most alive when they have a near-death experience, or when they scale some incredible mountain, or they watch their first child born. Those things haven't happened to me yet, but this one quarter of an hour at some random airport, I was completely alone. And I had no idea what would happen next. And I had no prospects. No way of surviving, even though I had cash in my pocket. In a lot of ways, I felt I was at a major crossroads in life. If no one came, how would I act? If I couldn't rely on anyone, would I be able to rely on myself?

I have never really felt those things again. The eleven years that have passed since that day have flown by, without a single moment I'd like to take with me to eternity. (Oh, hell, that's wrong in a lot of ways--there have been many, many amazing moments, experiences, days, and even weeks. But nothing that almost caused a complete circuit failure in the thing I call my brain.)

So, yeah. I want to recapture that feeling ...

Lookin' for love

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Fri, 06 Jun 2008 03:06:00 +0000

... in all the wrong places.

A billboard in my neighborhood.

The bad, the good, the great

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 03:44:00 +0000

It's ACT score time. I was really pushing my juniors to get an 18, and some are actually excited about their scores. Just got this email from one of my kids. All of a sudden I'm feeling better about the entire school year (and I guess about life).

Mr. P,

well i have some good news, some bad news, and some GREAT news.

im sure you want the bad news first so here it goes...

I DIDN'T PASS MY ACT EXAM!!!

bummer right...luckily there is also some good news...

I GOT A 17 AND IMPROVED MY SCORE BY 4 POINTS!!!

so close to the 18!!!!...ok now the great news...

IF I IMPROVED BY 4 POINTS THIS TIME, CAN YOU IMAGINE IF I TAKE IT AGAIN AND IMPROVE ANOTHER 4....THAT WOULD BE COOL

all this i did with your help...you were the only teacher in any of my classes that actually gave a damn about kids and their future. Thank you so much for supporting my classmates and me. Thank you for teaching us all the strategies that helped SO MUCH on the test.

IM GOING TO NEED YOU TO PLEASE GIVE ME TUTORING CLASSES AFTER SCHOOL TO TAKE THE ACT AGAIN NEXT YEAR...i know its my senior year and i wasnt supposed to worry about the test but now that i saw such progress i got motivated and i'm determined to get a higher score...

ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH REALLY...I DONT HAVE WORDS TO THANK YOU ENOUGH!!!

Geometry homework

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Fri, 30 May 2008 14:26:00 +0000

"My mother told me to give this to you. I don't know what you're talking about."

So long

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Fri, 30 May 2008 03:10:00 +0000

Well, it's been a long and sometimes-eventful school year. Thanks for reading. I think I have one or two loose ends to tie up, then it'll be summer time.

Speaking of ties, a student asked to borrow a tie for some semi-formal event coming up. Must remember to bring one in.
I have a new job. New city. New students. New experiences. Come back in mid-July for more info.
I have been chosen by the seniors to speak at graduation next weekend. Darn them, they must know my fear of public speaking. Maybe next week I'll post my rough draft and see if anyone can help.
Speaking of which, I was at Jewel the other day and ran into a kid I taught two or three years ago. "I'll see you at graduation," he said to me. Apparently he's got a younger sibling graduating this year. "Great," I said, "I guess I'll be saying a few words." He nodded and said, "Yeah, I heard."
D has yet to come up with a plan for the donated money. I'm thinking I'll just put the whole thing into some college savings account for him. After a few glitches, he's got the laptop working. And he's storing it in my locked closet these days.
Two kids who graduated last year stopped by the other day while one of my current juniors was hanging out. One of the now-college freshmen said he loved my class so much that he wrote an essay about it this year. Comments like that make an entire year worthwhile.
A students said something really hilarious the other day, possibly the funniest thing I've heard all year. "I should write that down," I said. But I didn't. And so I forgot what it was. (Darn, I was hoping that if I starting writing about it I'd remember.) Just goes to show why I NEED to post every day ...

Talk talk talk

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Wed, 21 May 2008 03:05:00 +0000

I wonder if it was like this when I was a teenager. Been so long that I don't remember. But anyway.

During passing periods, I stand outside my room, welcoming students, monitoring traffic, listening in on conversations. And today it seemed that every conversation I heard was a typical he-said, she-said drama. Kids walking down the hall, pissed off and venting that someone had said something, that someone better mind her own business, that someone said something to someone about something. It was enough to make me want to scream. And it was enough to make me wonder if any kid walking past me had anything at all to think about other than what someone might have said.

It was one of those days. Got worse fifth period when one of my favorite students walked in totally venting about the same thing. "And they were just whispering," I heard her saying. "Why can't they just say it out loud, why do they have to whisper?"

This girl is super bright, usually super motivated, the kind of kid who yells down the hall, "How's my favorite teacher?" and I duck, embarrassed by this awesome kid. But today she sank a level.

"Why do you care?" I asked as I passed her before the bell.

Class started. I was ready. Most kids were ready. But this girl was still whispering to her friends about the kids in the hall that were whispering about her.

"This poem," I said, referring to what I had just read, "is about something important. About something that matters. Not about some stupid little thing someone might have said in the hallway." Yeah, I was looking at Whisper Girl, and she knew it, and she was pissed off about it.

"Why do you have to call me out like that?" she asked.

"Why do you have to care about some idiots in the hall?" I asked.

"Because they annoy the hell out of me," she said. "Just like you!"

The usually-chatty classroom fell silent, waiting to see how I'd respond.

"There's probably a million things I can say right now," I said. "But I'm just going to avoid this confrontation." And I got the class going on something.

A couple of minutes later, I asked Whisper Girl to come over to my desk. I chatted with her for a bit about the assignment she was working on. Then I asked about what had happened in the hallway that had upset her so much. Of course it was just a case of some girls talking about her.

"Why can't they just say it out loud?" she said. "Then we can deal with it." By that she meant, they could fight. About what? Who knows.

I tried appealing to her intelligent side. "You know," I said. "You're bright. You have a future. You're going to college. Why do you want to sink to that level? The level of kids that have nothing better to think about so they just talk about others?"

"I don't know," she said. "I've been trying to ignore it. Really I have. But they just get to you, you know?"

"So you're letting them win?"

We chatted like this for a few minutes. Resolved nothing. Although eventually I had to admit that it does matter what people say. That it's important to be liked. Or, more importantly, to not be hated.

But there was no resolution. And there's no point to this post. Just like there's no point to the crap kids talk about in the hallways, the crap that holds their interest, that gets them so worked up that they're willing to fight it out just to make it go away.

Trying to pay attention

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Mon, 19 May 2008 11:10:00 +0000

My favorite librarian posted this video on her blog; it's a seven-minute message about the importance of technology in the classroom. Definitely worth watching (for teachers, at least).

Senioritis

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Sat, 17 May 2008 11:12:00 +0000

It's hard to get motivated to do anything these days ...

The weather's slowly getting better.

The students are restlessly staring at the calendar.

I'm tired. Tired of having the same conversation with seniors:
"So, if I come to class every day from now on and do all my work, will I pass?"
"We'll see."
"What if I do all my work? And some extra credit?"
"It's possible you'll pass."
"Possible? I want a guarantee."
"Fine. Let's talk about this tomorrow. In class. OK?"
"OK, I'll be there."
And then the kid is not there the next two days.

Ah, but I guess I'll miss most of it when it's gone. When I'm gone.

Just had an email exchange with the English Department chair at a school I will probably be at next year, and he wrote that one of my responsibilities would be to monitor study hall once a fortnight. The guy is from Ireland or Australia or something. Anyway, my English teacher question of the day is this: Without looking it up, do you know what "fortnight" means?

Connected at the Wii

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Wed, 14 May 2008 23:55:00 +0000

Having participated in job interviews recently, and having talked to friends in the business who have participated in job interviews recently, I've come to the conclusion that one of the most important questions a teacher needs to be ready to answer is the one about reaching the student that has fallen behind. We all have them. The kid with bad attendance. The learning disabled kid who can't seem to function in class. The smart kid who sits reading Kafka but refuses to turn in any work.

I finally have an answer on how to reach some of these kids. So, go on, ask me: Chicago Teacher Man, how do you reach the student that has fallen behind and make sure he passes?

Simple. I challenge the kid to a session of Nintendo Wii.

Well, OK, I've only done it once, but it's worked so well that I'm considering buying one of those machines before the end of this school year to make sure every single one of my slackers passes.

A few weeks ago, one of my students started talking about Wii. Having recently played it for the first time, I told him how much cooler it was than I had previously thought. And the thing is, Wii is a lot of fun. Unlike most video games these days, the Wii doesn't require you to memorize a million sequences of button-pushing on the joystick just to serve a tennis ball or swing a baseball bat.

"Tell you what," Wii Boy told me. "I'll bring in my Wii and we can play."

"Bring it on," I said, hoping he would but not really expecting him to.

A couple of days later, on a Friday, he walked into my classroom half an hour before classes started. He had his Wii. So we set it up, hooked it up to my LCD projector, and played for the next 20 minutes. My first period kids came in, baffled.

For the rest of the day, during my free periods, I kept playing. Against the young teacher down the hall who caught on really fast and kicked my butt.

Wii Boy is in my seventh period class, so by the time he came back I was a wee bit tired. After class, he hung around. "What about your eighth period class?" I asked.

"Oh whatever," he said, "I'm failing anyway. What's one more absence?"

"Alright," I said, shutting my door, turning the lights low, and firing up the Wii. For the next 45 minutes, this kid thoroughly killed me at all the Wii sports, plus a sword fighting game. In a way, I guess you can say we bonded. But really, there's more.

Pre-Wii, this kid

either didn't come to class
or slept in class
or goofed off
and never, ever turned in any work
claiming that he hated school
and the only thing he was interested in was alchemy.

Yeah, alchemy.

But in that Wii afternoon, I noticed something interesting. He turned into a very serious teacher, explaining the games and giving me tips and even cheering me on when I got a point. And I thought, damn, why can't I be that kind of teacher, someone who patiently explains and gives tips and congratulates students when they succeed?

After that day, he's shown up. Even turned in work. Seriously. The class had a pretty major personal essay to write, and I knew he wasn't working on it and I knew he wasn't going to try. So I took him aside and figured out a plan. I had seem him doodling, so I suggested he draw the essay as a graphic novel. And he did. It was six pages long, with some interesting details and funny moments.

Lately, he's been talking about bringing in the Wii again. "Don't worry," he told me after class today, "we'll make a Guitar Hero out of you yet."

Thanks, Teach!

Happy day-after Mother's Day

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Mon, 12 May 2008 23:13:00 +0000

One thing that annoys me is when late students pound on the door, demanding attention. Of course they know it annoys me, so they do it.

Five minutes into seventh period today, a kid who has had terrible attendance lately decided to knock loudly while shouting something to his buddies down the hall. While I was trying to read a poem to the class.

I walked over, violently pulled the door open, and practically yelled, "Do you have your cell phone?"

"What?" he asked. His cell phone was hanging off a chain around his neck.

"Good, you have it," I said. "Get in the back of the room and call your mother. When she's on the line, hand over the phone so I can tell her about you coming in whenever you feel like it."

"Man, this is my first time late," he said.

"Maybe," I said. "But that's probably because you haven't been here in a week. Now go call your mother."

"No way," he said. "I'm not burning my minutes calling my mom."

I had to laugh. And it broke the tension.

I said, "Fine, today you don't have to. But if you're late tomorrow, or any other day this week, you're calling home."

As he headed to his desk, I said, "Can't believe you won't burn your minutes on your mom."

It was his turn to laugh. "Whoops," he said.

The stupidest email message ever

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Mon, 12 May 2008 11:25:00 +0000

I recently wrote this email to a colleague:

Laura,
What is your email address? I want to pass it on to someone, but I have no idea what it is!

No, I'm not a complete idiot. I don't think I am. But, yes, I sent an email to a person asking her what her email address is.

The problem is the email system CPS uses, First Class. When you compose a message, in the "to" field, you type the person's name, either first or last. The system then shows you a list of every person who works for or attends CPS with that name. You click on the name of the person you're trying to send a message to, and the system does the rest. Nowhere does it actually show the person's email address. I've clicked around, made Laura my contact, looked at all information associated with her, and there's no sign of an address.

So I had to send her an email asking for her email address, possibly the stupidest email message ever written. Just another way my employer wastes my time.

Wedding toast

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Sat, 10 May 2008 17:17:00 +0000

Hey, it's my sister's wedding day today, so I've got to concentrate on writing a wedding toast. I'm known for making my wedding speeches good but way too long. But whatever, wedding guests are a good crowd, liquored up and in a good mood. I'm so used to being ignored by teenagers that I end up going a little overboard when I have people actually paying attention and laughing along.

Not sure what I'm going to say yet, but I know that I'll end with these two Polish words: Sto lat!

Words help

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Fri, 09 May 2008 03:35:00 +0000

As students were gathering up their materials and heading to their next class, I called two girls over to my desk.

"Let me start with a question," I said. "Have I ever helped you out this past year?"

They stood there looking at me.

"Have I ever listened to your problems, tried to help you, anything like that?"

"Sure," one of the girls said. "Like all the time."

"Good," I said. "Because I was wondering if you could do me a favor? You know, since I've helped you out, maybe you can help me out with something?"

They stood there looking at me.

"OK, here's the deal," I said. "Just yesterday, I got an email from one of your classmates. I'm not going to name names, but I'm sure you'll know exactly who I'm talking about. In her email, she didn't name names, but I'm pretty sure I know who she was talking about. Anyway, her message was really sad. She said she felt that certain people were treating her like a piece of trash. That people were mean to her. And here's the thing. This girl, the one that wrote me the email, she's really a sensitive person. And she's actually really hurt by the way she's being treated. And so, I was wondering if you could do me a favor? Can you please stop it? I'm not asking you to be her friend, I'm not asking you to like her, but for me, could you please be nice?"

The two stared straight ahead. They looked like they felt really bad. I was afraid I was going to start crying, so I blamed my moodiness on the Vicodin I was taking, and continued: "I know a little about this girl's home life, and I can understand why she's sensitive. And that's why I don't want to see her hurt at school."

"Yeah, oh my God," one of the girls said. "When she talks about her dad, I get so sad."

"So, can you two do this for me?" I asked. "And here, let me write you a pass. You're late."

Later in the day, one of the girls stopped by on her way to her locker, told me that another girl in their class started crying when she heard about Hug Girl.

I saw Hug Girl after school. "How was your day?" I asked.

"Good," she said very seriously. "I talked to one girl. And she apologized about what happened yesterday. And I apologized. And then we hugged."

I don't know how long it'll last. But I have to say, here's another reason why I love my job and my students. Most of them are willing to listen. To help out. Most of them are actually really sweet and wonderful underneath, and are often unaware of their unintentional cruelty, but when it's pointed out, they can change. Sometimes they just have to be asked.

Words hurt

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Wed, 07 May 2008 15:30:00 +0000

Students stop by after school. To finish assignments. To take quizzes. To hang out. To talk about problems.

After the dismissal bell yesterday, a couple of kids were floating around my desk--a guy that wanted to talk about some poems he had written and a girl that often stops by to just chat. I call her Hug Girl because, at the start of the year, she insisted on giving and getting hugs to and from just about everyone. She'd chase the boys in her class just to get a hug. She'd corner teachers and demand a hug before heading for home. She's sensitive and sweet, and she wears her heart on her sleeve. Plus, based on what I saw at report card pick-up, she doesn't get much loving support at home. Still, I finally convinced her that all these hugs were somewhat inappropriate, so we've compromised and now high-five each other at the end of most school days.

Anyway, yesterday I had a 3:30 appointment with the dentist, so I hustled the kids out of my room. "I'll read your poems and talk to you about them tomorrow," I told the poet. "Email me and tell me what's on your mind," I told Hug Girl.

The trip to the dentist turned into a three-and-a-half hour marathon and required loads of anesthetic and then Vicodin. When I got home, there was the near no-hitter by the White Sox to watch, then some blogging and whatnot, and I didn't check my email until after midnight. And there it was, Hug Girl's message, titled: "Talking blah."

I quickly fired off a response. It was the kind of message from a student that demanded an immediate response. I'm not sure if my words could help. Today in class, she said she appreciated what I wrote, but I wonder if there's more I could have said. I asked her if it would be OK for me to share her message on my blog. She said OK.

So, if you've got time, read the following. If you are so moved, leave a comment for Hug Girl. I'll share anything you write with her tomorrow ...

Okay, here's what I wanted to talk to you about:
For some reason half the girls in this class do not like me. I'm not saying everyone should like me and all that la la la, but I feel as if they always think of me as someone bad and worthless off the street.
What did I do? Did I do something wrong? Did I offend someone and not even know it?
These are the very few questions that I ask myself when ever I'm near those girls. I know they don't like me. At all. I can feel it. The only thing that I am doing is being myself. Yes, I admit that I am not perfect and that I am not always nice to others when the mood hits me. But at least I'm honest about who I am and what I do.
I usually don't care what others think about me, but this is the kind of tension I have been feeling for as long as I can remember. I don't feel comfortable with this and every time I say something or do something weird, they would act as if I didn't exist.
This is something I do not understand. They would almost do the exact same thing and laugh as if it was the funniest thing in the world. The bad thing is, they don't even realize it. [A classmate] told me it was probably because they were so used to each other, they don't even think twice about any body else.
Why? I mean, if I don't like someone, I make it known. If I do like someone, I show it as well. There is no need to hide anything. It's not necessary to just stand there and look away as if I'm some piece of trash.
The sad part, is that this kind of behavior has been going on around me since second grade, getting worse with each new year.
The only place that I know that I have friends that do not do this is my ballet school. I have known a lot of them for a very long time. When there is someone new in our class, we welcome them with open arms and adopt them like one of our own. If we have a problem with each other, we show it and tell one another. At least that way, there isn't that backstabbing tension in the room and among us.
I honestly don't know what to do. I sure as hell won't change for anyone but I just want to know why is this?
Thanks a lot for taking your time to read this.

Vote early and often

noreply@blogger.com (AP) — Wed, 07 May 2008 04:15:00 +0000

Here in Chicago, we're known for stuffing the ballot box. So maybe some of you can help me out. I just learned that Chicago Teacher Man is nominated for the ED in '08 Blogger's Choice Award. You can vote here.

Thanks!