My body may have been deep in my crappy Ikea couch tonight, but my mind was at my the high school where I taught the last ten years where my past colleagues stayed at work until 9pm to host parent teacher night.
My first parent teacher night in Bushwick was when I realized how important this night was to figuring out my students as people. Seeing who my students went home to at night peeled back layers and layers of who they were and they made so much more sense. I feel very strongly that so much of us comes from our parents--the good and the bad--and that once you meet someone's parents you truly begin to understand their quirks and neuroses. When you observe how the parents dress and how they carry themselves, once you hear how they speak, once you watch how they beat or berate their kid in front of you for the bad grades, once can realize that their kid has them more duped than he had you, once you see a single mom cry after she reads her son's college essay about her....Wow. So much is said by both words and body language on parent teacher night.
I miss that window into my students' worlds.
Because now I teach adults. They may mostly be one year older than my prior students as freshmen in community college, but they are no longer wards of the NYC Department of Education and they are paying for their education. After the first day of class, I stood in my empty room after my students left and made mental notes of which parents to call when I realized, "I don't have anyone's phone number!" Several times I have wanted to call when a student was absent, or if s/he did something amazing, but I can't.
It's so strange!
But I also realize how--developmentally--it's important. It's time for personal responsibility to kick the f*ck in finally. Now my students have nobody to fail but themselves in this attempt to secure their human capital through education and a degree, and it's high time they know that. Nobody's checking on you, so check yourself (before you wreck yourself, as Ice Cube would say).
And, as a control freak, it's time for me to let go, too. Grow up, my students. And welcome to the harsh, and often rewarding, world of adulthood.
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Survivor's Guilt
Like many of you around the country, I have been listening to a great amount of news coverage this week on the 10 year anniversary of 9/11. Having been here in New York City on 9/11, these conversations have given me a sort of personal pause; I have been reflecting on what the last 10 years have meant to me. The ten year anniversary of 9/11 also coincides with my teaching career: ten of my eleven years in the classroom were at Cobble Hill, a school that became my second home. It was on my second day of teaching my classes that the planes hit, and all my memories of that day are tied to my old school.
Teaching in a struggling inner city school is the work of civil servitude in the truest sense of the word. No, teachers don't run into burning buildings like firemen, but they do challenging and seemingly impossible work on a daily basis that fosters a sense of "brotherhood" (to steal from the firemen) between them. The united struggle of working in such a school becomes a twisted badge of pride--a deserved one.
In the last ten years, a handfull of us stayed at our school through the administrative upheavals and many new people joined the faculty that continued to be the fabric that held the school together. These teachers have watched me grow as a person and as a teacher. They have celebrated my marriage with me, the birth of my two children, and the completion of my never-ending doctoral work. They let me cry when I lost our first pregnancy and had to continue to teach a class of eight pregnant seniors, when my close friend died, and when the frustrations of the job became too much. We were a very close staff, and one of the things I am most proud of as an educator were the respectful, loving, friendly, and caring relationships we modeled for our students. We supported each other in an unsupportive environment.
The teaching profession employs a lot of war metaphors. Those of us in hard schools consider it "the trenches" compared to the selective fancy schools. When I emailed my colleagues that I was leaving Cobble Hill several wrote back saying, "You did your time." Therefore I guess this feeling of survivor's guilt that I am having right now fits right in.
Although I will be working with the same student population (just one year later in their educational trajectory), there is a part of me that feels I deserted my people when I left my school; I deserted the profession that I had so zealously advocated for throughout the years. I feel like public education of the poor right now is a sinking ship, and somehow I jumped and survived. And I feel guilty.
I know they will all be fine without me, that they will keep working and crying and laughing and drinking and teaching and thinking and making the best of the broken system they are a part of. I know it was definitely my time to go. What I don't know is when I will stop feeling like somehow I escaped and left them behind.
Teaching in a struggling inner city school is the work of civil servitude in the truest sense of the word. No, teachers don't run into burning buildings like firemen, but they do challenging and seemingly impossible work on a daily basis that fosters a sense of "brotherhood" (to steal from the firemen) between them. The united struggle of working in such a school becomes a twisted badge of pride--a deserved one.
In the last ten years, a handfull of us stayed at our school through the administrative upheavals and many new people joined the faculty that continued to be the fabric that held the school together. These teachers have watched me grow as a person and as a teacher. They have celebrated my marriage with me, the birth of my two children, and the completion of my never-ending doctoral work. They let me cry when I lost our first pregnancy and had to continue to teach a class of eight pregnant seniors, when my close friend died, and when the frustrations of the job became too much. We were a very close staff, and one of the things I am most proud of as an educator were the respectful, loving, friendly, and caring relationships we modeled for our students. We supported each other in an unsupportive environment.
The teaching profession employs a lot of war metaphors. Those of us in hard schools consider it "the trenches" compared to the selective fancy schools. When I emailed my colleagues that I was leaving Cobble Hill several wrote back saying, "You did your time." Therefore I guess this feeling of survivor's guilt that I am having right now fits right in.
Although I will be working with the same student population (just one year later in their educational trajectory), there is a part of me that feels I deserted my people when I left my school; I deserted the profession that I had so zealously advocated for throughout the years. I feel like public education of the poor right now is a sinking ship, and somehow I jumped and survived. And I feel guilty.
I know they will all be fine without me, that they will keep working and crying and laughing and drinking and teaching and thinking and making the best of the broken system they are a part of. I know it was definitely my time to go. What I don't know is when I will stop feeling like somehow I escaped and left them behind.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Struggle
I taught my first college class today. Freshman Composition at Kingsborough Community College, a charming little campus facing the water at the end of Brooklyn. I have had a lot of anxiety about my new job and the switch to teaching college even though I know I am very qualified and capable of doing so. Transitions simply do not come easy for me, and I have been trying to process why I have felt slightly weepy all week. Today I figured it out.
Today went like this:
In the hour before class I ran into FIVE students from Cobble Hill (the high school where I had taught for the last 10 years). That was reassuring--like I was still home in some way--and made me feel grounded. Good start.
Then I went to my classroom to set up. The smartboard worked. The kids came (mostly) on time. They were sweet, engaged, and responded to my sense of humor. I could not believe how diverse they were; it was a Noah's Ark slice of New York City: a few Black kids, a few White kids, a few Asian kids, one kid back from Bangladesh, some tan supermodel-looking girl who went to a female military school (what?), a girl in hijab...It was like the United Nations in my classroom. They were all lovely. And intriguing. I am so excited to teach them.
I taught for 2 hours. Easily.
Then I got in my car and cried.
Why?
Because it was easy. Because I felt so appreciated, respected, and given the benefit that I knew what I was doing by these students. And I realized that I have been on the verge of tears all week while starting this new job because everyone--students, colleagues, the IT guy--just expect that I am competent. I have received more compliments on my resume, my interviewing process, and my work in the last couple of weeks than I had ever heard in my ten years of teaching. I have been told how certain individuals at the New Community College fought to get me an interview because they knew I was the "perfect" fit for the job although others doubted me due to my lack of college teaching experience. I was given a computer of choice, a bag of office supplies (although I had my own, which all have my name on them written hugely in white-out in case anyone ever tried to steal them from my classroom), and a warm welcome. It has been mind-blowing.
And it's so hard to explain how much these gestures hurt me. I didn't realize how much I had been broken by the lack of appreciation I was constantly fed while teaching in such a hard school for so many years. You simply get used to being treated like shit, even when you are considered one of the "good" teachers by the administration, the Network, and other higher-up individuals. There's such a deficit approach to teachers right now--they are seen as all lacking in myriad ways and that's why kids are failing--but I hadn't realized how much I had internalized it and how much it had really destroyed me as a person. I feel like I have been grieving all week in some strange way.
The struggles that teachers in inner city schools face are impossible to describe to anyone who hasn't walked in their shoes. Every small thing becomes a struggle in that environment, and while the successes feel even greater when they are surrounded by such insurmountable struggle, they day-to-day of the system that created that environment does eat away at you. I am only just realizing that.
Which makes this new job very bittersweet.
Today went like this:
In the hour before class I ran into FIVE students from Cobble Hill (the high school where I had taught for the last 10 years). That was reassuring--like I was still home in some way--and made me feel grounded. Good start.
Then I went to my classroom to set up. The smartboard worked. The kids came (mostly) on time. They were sweet, engaged, and responded to my sense of humor. I could not believe how diverse they were; it was a Noah's Ark slice of New York City: a few Black kids, a few White kids, a few Asian kids, one kid back from Bangladesh, some tan supermodel-looking girl who went to a female military school (what?), a girl in hijab...It was like the United Nations in my classroom. They were all lovely. And intriguing. I am so excited to teach them.
I taught for 2 hours. Easily.
Then I got in my car and cried.
Why?
Because it was easy. Because I felt so appreciated, respected, and given the benefit that I knew what I was doing by these students. And I realized that I have been on the verge of tears all week while starting this new job because everyone--students, colleagues, the IT guy--just expect that I am competent. I have received more compliments on my resume, my interviewing process, and my work in the last couple of weeks than I had ever heard in my ten years of teaching. I have been told how certain individuals at the New Community College fought to get me an interview because they knew I was the "perfect" fit for the job although others doubted me due to my lack of college teaching experience. I was given a computer of choice, a bag of office supplies (although I had my own, which all have my name on them written hugely in white-out in case anyone ever tried to steal them from my classroom), and a warm welcome. It has been mind-blowing.
And it's so hard to explain how much these gestures hurt me. I didn't realize how much I had been broken by the lack of appreciation I was constantly fed while teaching in such a hard school for so many years. You simply get used to being treated like shit, even when you are considered one of the "good" teachers by the administration, the Network, and other higher-up individuals. There's such a deficit approach to teachers right now--they are seen as all lacking in myriad ways and that's why kids are failing--but I hadn't realized how much I had internalized it and how much it had really destroyed me as a person. I feel like I have been grieving all week in some strange way.
The struggles that teachers in inner city schools face are impossible to describe to anyone who hasn't walked in their shoes. Every small thing becomes a struggle in that environment, and while the successes feel even greater when they are surrounded by such insurmountable struggle, they day-to-day of the system that created that environment does eat away at you. I am only just realizing that.
Which makes this new job very bittersweet.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Teacher Effectiveness
I have been getting irritated to bordering on rage lately with this entire discussion of teacher effectiveness. Let me premise this post by saying that I *do* think that teachers should be held accountable for being effective in their classrooms. I do think less-than-effective teachers should be given professional development, and I do think that some should be counseled out of the profession. But, this has been happening! Not like this is some new idea in the education sector.
By and large, most educators don't go into teaching in order to coast for 25+ years until retirement. The teachers I work with work HARD. And yes, some are more effective in delivering instruction than others, but as mentors/substitute parents/caring adults they are all 100% effective. Unfortunately, we are never be rated on the hours of social work we do as educators.
The vilifying language used to describe the teaching profession is infuriating and the idea that our country's students are failing b/c teachers are ineffective is ridiculous. Our students are falling behind globally for myriad reasons, none of which have to do with the quality of their teachers. The country itself has fallen behind economically, technologically, and scientifically for the past several decades. Anyone remember the "Nation at Risk" report that came out in the early 80's with these same fears? Same shit, decades later.
Coming down hard on teachers is NOT going to solve any of the educational conundrums we are facing at this moment in history. What it will do is drive the best and brightest out of the profession. And it most certainly will drive the strong teachers out of the struggling schools. And yes, I *am* indirectly talking about myself. I have taught in a Title I, academically struggling school of all Black, Hispanic, and Arab kids for 10 years by choice. I could have left many times, but I chose to stay. But, this spring I will be getting my doctorate in education. At this point in my teaching career, I have had myriad leadership positions in my school, including being a Lead English teacher, the school's literacy coach, and currently the school's Master Teacher for English. As much as our school has struggled in other subject, our English scores have been solid. I have options--even in this economy. I could go elsewhere.
But teaching this student population is truly where my heart is. It will break me to either leave my students to go teach at a celebrated high school (like Brooklyn Tech, or Stuy, read: White and Asian kids) or to leave the classroom overall. But I am not sure how long I can handle this pendulum swing that has all fingers pointing at me as the root cause for my students' failure to pass. I am not.
The semester just ended. I had 14 kids fail my 6th/7th period English class that has 34 kids in it. And I don't mean fail by a couple of points, I mean FAIL b/c they had a 17 average. I will be asked for call logs that document the millions of times I called their homes to question their lack of attendance (do you know how many parents asked me to stop calling?), my gradebook will be scrutinized, and my documentation of letters sent home will be checked as will those students' empty work portfolios. Of course, they are all in order b/c I *am* an effective teacher. But I will be questioned nonetheless.
And it didn't use to be like this. One, I never had so many kids outright fail--students are not coming to school for various reasons, and in 2011 I think it has a great deal to do with the economy, the lack of value in a high school diploma, and the easy access to making money illegally. Two, in the past, the administration didn't every question me when I did fail a kid (and I did), but now each kid = a statistic, and each statistic = our school's progress, and our school's progress = Race to the Top funding...
I honestly just don't know how much longer I can be held responsible when 18 year old juniors decide they want to sell weed or work at McDonald's instead of coming to class. You seriously think that an engaging lesson on "The Crucible" will pull them away from immediate monetary gain? Bullshit.
Nobody is discussing the real issues in education: both poverty and entitlement, the economy, the increasing divide between the rich and poor and the disappearing middle class, the lack of jobs, the institutional racism in public schooling....Teachers can't be the scapegoat for all the issues our government refuses to address. If they fire all of us and rehired a new crop of teachers, it wouldn't change a thing.
By and large, most educators don't go into teaching in order to coast for 25+ years until retirement. The teachers I work with work HARD. And yes, some are more effective in delivering instruction than others, but as mentors/substitute parents/caring adults they are all 100% effective. Unfortunately, we are never be rated on the hours of social work we do as educators.
The vilifying language used to describe the teaching profession is infuriating and the idea that our country's students are failing b/c teachers are ineffective is ridiculous. Our students are falling behind globally for myriad reasons, none of which have to do with the quality of their teachers. The country itself has fallen behind economically, technologically, and scientifically for the past several decades. Anyone remember the "Nation at Risk" report that came out in the early 80's with these same fears? Same shit, decades later.
Coming down hard on teachers is NOT going to solve any of the educational conundrums we are facing at this moment in history. What it will do is drive the best and brightest out of the profession. And it most certainly will drive the strong teachers out of the struggling schools. And yes, I *am* indirectly talking about myself. I have taught in a Title I, academically struggling school of all Black, Hispanic, and Arab kids for 10 years by choice. I could have left many times, but I chose to stay. But, this spring I will be getting my doctorate in education. At this point in my teaching career, I have had myriad leadership positions in my school, including being a Lead English teacher, the school's literacy coach, and currently the school's Master Teacher for English. As much as our school has struggled in other subject, our English scores have been solid. I have options--even in this economy. I could go elsewhere.
But teaching this student population is truly where my heart is. It will break me to either leave my students to go teach at a celebrated high school (like Brooklyn Tech, or Stuy, read: White and Asian kids) or to leave the classroom overall. But I am not sure how long I can handle this pendulum swing that has all fingers pointing at me as the root cause for my students' failure to pass. I am not.
The semester just ended. I had 14 kids fail my 6th/7th period English class that has 34 kids in it. And I don't mean fail by a couple of points, I mean FAIL b/c they had a 17 average. I will be asked for call logs that document the millions of times I called their homes to question their lack of attendance (do you know how many parents asked me to stop calling?), my gradebook will be scrutinized, and my documentation of letters sent home will be checked as will those students' empty work portfolios. Of course, they are all in order b/c I *am* an effective teacher. But I will be questioned nonetheless.
And it didn't use to be like this. One, I never had so many kids outright fail--students are not coming to school for various reasons, and in 2011 I think it has a great deal to do with the economy, the lack of value in a high school diploma, and the easy access to making money illegally. Two, in the past, the administration didn't every question me when I did fail a kid (and I did), but now each kid = a statistic, and each statistic = our school's progress, and our school's progress = Race to the Top funding...
I honestly just don't know how much longer I can be held responsible when 18 year old juniors decide they want to sell weed or work at McDonald's instead of coming to class. You seriously think that an engaging lesson on "The Crucible" will pull them away from immediate monetary gain? Bullshit.
Nobody is discussing the real issues in education: both poverty and entitlement, the economy, the increasing divide between the rich and poor and the disappearing middle class, the lack of jobs, the institutional racism in public schooling....Teachers can't be the scapegoat for all the issues our government refuses to address. If they fire all of us and rehired a new crop of teachers, it wouldn't change a thing.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Classroom Management
I have been teaching ten years, this is my 11th. Classroom management has never been my forte in this profession. I have never had serious problems, but when given a difficult group of kids that I can't immediately win over with my charming wit, my hilarity of performance, and my illuminating content knowledge, combined with my amazing lesson planning & effective instruction of course, I struggle.
Which is why today's anecdote about Alexandra made me laugh.
Adam came home to report that Alexandra's teacher told him this morning that Alexandra now reads the classroom story to the daycare class before naptime. Let me preface this by saying that Alexandra cannot read, but she makes up very descriptive and mostly accurate stories based on the pictures in the book. She creates different characters' voices, and oftentimes the dialogue emulates what she's heard at home or at school (i.e.: and the lion said, "If you don't stay in your chair through all of dinner you will get NO dessert!"). Having caught myself listening to her storytelling instead of doing the dishes, folding laundry, or making dinner, I can attest that she has quite a talent and is captivating. No exaggeration b/c I'm her mama.
BUT, the best part of the story--according to her teachers--is that when one of the teachers at daycare reads the pre-nap story, she always has to tell the kids to sit criss-cross-applesauce (the new politically correct term for indian style) and to stay seated and focus about a dozen times. But when Alexandra reads, the kids sit still and listen. Perfectly. Every. Time.
Man, my 3 1/2 year old already has better classroom management than I do.
Which is why today's anecdote about Alexandra made me laugh.
Adam came home to report that Alexandra's teacher told him this morning that Alexandra now reads the classroom story to the daycare class before naptime. Let me preface this by saying that Alexandra cannot read, but she makes up very descriptive and mostly accurate stories based on the pictures in the book. She creates different characters' voices, and oftentimes the dialogue emulates what she's heard at home or at school (i.e.: and the lion said, "If you don't stay in your chair through all of dinner you will get NO dessert!"). Having caught myself listening to her storytelling instead of doing the dishes, folding laundry, or making dinner, I can attest that she has quite a talent and is captivating. No exaggeration b/c I'm her mama.
BUT, the best part of the story--according to her teachers--is that when one of the teachers at daycare reads the pre-nap story, she always has to tell the kids to sit criss-cross-applesauce (the new politically correct term for indian style) and to stay seated and focus about a dozen times. But when Alexandra reads, the kids sit still and listen. Perfectly. Every. Time.
Man, my 3 1/2 year old already has better classroom management than I do.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
One liners
Today was a day of pure frustration. TMI here, but I once again have a series of chronic UTIs. When I get a UTI, they seem to come in bouts of 5-6. I got one last week, did 5 days of antibiotics, took my last antibiotic yesterday morning and by last night had the raging symptoms all over again, but worse. For anyone who has had one you know--NOT fun.
So, I spent the morning trying to get in to a dr. My doctor closed. My midwife at a birth and not returning calls. The midwives in the neighborhood closed. Seriously, wtf to all the doctors' offices closed on Wednesday? Walk in clinic stopped taking patients at 11 and I got there at 11:15, so I rushed to work to teach two of my four classes so I wouldn't be marked absent for the day. Ugh.
After I taught my class, a student of mine from the morning class I missed came in and said, "Miss, where were you? I missed you a little bit." This girl is a HARD nut to crack. She's mean, and every time I ask her to do anything she sucks her teeth at me and rolls her eyes and says something nasty under her breath. I tried calling the mom about her sass, but no luck. Her and her mom are BFFs--she has her mom's name tattooed on her wrist and she's 16 years old! So, I have been chipping away at her mean girl facade and today's one liner was evidence that I. have. won. Woot! I told her that her comment made coming to work today worthwhile and she paused. "Really?" she asked. "Yep," I said, "It's not everyday you say something nice." Tender teaching moment.
One liner #2: Go back to walk in clinic at 2:30 and get seen at 4:30. Thank god for a good book from a coworker in my bag. As the doctor and I chatted about my chronic UTIs, he said, and I quote, "In a woman YOUR AGE...." What? A woman MY AGE? Lord, he made me sound like an artifact or something. I don't think I have ever heard that expression before, but I'm sure I'll hear it again.
Oy.
So, I spent the morning trying to get in to a dr. My doctor closed. My midwife at a birth and not returning calls. The midwives in the neighborhood closed. Seriously, wtf to all the doctors' offices closed on Wednesday? Walk in clinic stopped taking patients at 11 and I got there at 11:15, so I rushed to work to teach two of my four classes so I wouldn't be marked absent for the day. Ugh.
After I taught my class, a student of mine from the morning class I missed came in and said, "Miss, where were you? I missed you a little bit." This girl is a HARD nut to crack. She's mean, and every time I ask her to do anything she sucks her teeth at me and rolls her eyes and says something nasty under her breath. I tried calling the mom about her sass, but no luck. Her and her mom are BFFs--she has her mom's name tattooed on her wrist and she's 16 years old! So, I have been chipping away at her mean girl facade and today's one liner was evidence that I. have. won. Woot! I told her that her comment made coming to work today worthwhile and she paused. "Really?" she asked. "Yep," I said, "It's not everyday you say something nice." Tender teaching moment.
One liner #2: Go back to walk in clinic at 2:30 and get seen at 4:30. Thank god for a good book from a coworker in my bag. As the doctor and I chatted about my chronic UTIs, he said, and I quote, "In a woman YOUR AGE...." What? A woman MY AGE? Lord, he made me sound like an artifact or something. I don't think I have ever heard that expression before, but I'm sure I'll hear it again.
Oy.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Firework
I had about five students tell me this week that I look like the woman giving birth in the new Katy Perry "Firework" video, so tonight, since Adam's in CT and I have ample time to procrastinate on my own, I found it and just watched it about five times. And yes, I do kinda look like her in that we're both White women with brown hair, bangs, and a decent-sized nose, so I'm kinda flattered that they actually thought of me. I love getting my pop culture references from them.
But something about this song really moved me. The video just seemed so powerful. And yes, before you crucify me as a pop music addict and refuse to take me seriously--watch it.
First, I don't think there's really a more perfect comparison to giving birth than to feeling like a firework is exploding out of you in the most amazing and terrifying feeling that that might bring. So, the woman giving birth--my doppelganger--really spoke to me. Especially since I birthed both my babies on my back and probably had a similar look of terror/exhaustion on my face as my firework babies emerged. Doesn't every woman? Really impressive metaphor there.
Secondly, the little girl with cancer just ripped me apart. Yes, because she was a little girl with cancer and if that doesn't just make you fall to pieces you are obviously not human, but also because of a story I heard on NPR probably 13 or so years ago. The story went over creative ways to celebrate the end of life, and one way was to get cremated and use your ashes in the creation of some fireworks and then to set them off in your honor. I LOVE that idea. No lie. I want to be a firework when I die. Every time Adam and I have seen fireworks together I point out the colors and shapes and sounds I like for future reference. So, when I saw that little girl my mind traipsed over the the death zone and I got all emotional.
And lastly, I freakin' love this vein of pop songs that celebrates being DIFFERENT and, as an educator, I can't say enough what a desperately needed mantra that is for youth today. I could make a whole post on that, but I'll save that for another day. Pink's "Raise A Glass" is another song like this that came out recently.
Maybe I am just a pop music aficionado, but watch the video. Am I wrong? It's spectacular.
But something about this song really moved me. The video just seemed so powerful. And yes, before you crucify me as a pop music addict and refuse to take me seriously--watch it.
First, I don't think there's really a more perfect comparison to giving birth than to feeling like a firework is exploding out of you in the most amazing and terrifying feeling that that might bring. So, the woman giving birth--my doppelganger--really spoke to me. Especially since I birthed both my babies on my back and probably had a similar look of terror/exhaustion on my face as my firework babies emerged. Doesn't every woman? Really impressive metaphor there.
Secondly, the little girl with cancer just ripped me apart. Yes, because she was a little girl with cancer and if that doesn't just make you fall to pieces you are obviously not human, but also because of a story I heard on NPR probably 13 or so years ago. The story went over creative ways to celebrate the end of life, and one way was to get cremated and use your ashes in the creation of some fireworks and then to set them off in your honor. I LOVE that idea. No lie. I want to be a firework when I die. Every time Adam and I have seen fireworks together I point out the colors and shapes and sounds I like for future reference. So, when I saw that little girl my mind traipsed over the the death zone and I got all emotional.
And lastly, I freakin' love this vein of pop songs that celebrates being DIFFERENT and, as an educator, I can't say enough what a desperately needed mantra that is for youth today. I could make a whole post on that, but I'll save that for another day. Pink's "Raise A Glass" is another song like this that came out recently.
Maybe I am just a pop music aficionado, but watch the video. Am I wrong? It's spectacular.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Outta Here
I just wanted for formally announce that I'm outta here. Where? The public school classroom.
I'm just going to up and go into a completely new sector of employment where I have no formal education, training, or experience. Why? Because I'm a pretty damn superstar teacher and I have shown exemplary success in getting kids who are stubborn, defiant, low-leveled, and downright nasty how to write an essay to pass the New York State Regents Exam, how to act and enjoy a play, and how to analyze literature. I know how to differentiate content, process, and product. I know how to work with multiple learning modalities. I am trained in the new National Core Curriculum Standards. I also know how to deal with a kid who calls me a "Fucking White bitch" in class and I know how to gently talk to a student whose grandmother--who raised him after his dad abandoned the family when he was five--is dying of cancer. I know more about the Bloods and Crips than your average White person; I know the neighborhoods of Brooklyn and how gangs and neighborhoods affect the in's and out's of daily school life. Oh yeah, and I have a Masters in English Education and almost a doctorate in Education. I have eleven years of teaching experience in low-performing urban schools with students who are socio-economically struggling. So, why the hell shouldn't I be able to do anything?! Right?
That seems to be the logic of our mayor, Mr. Michael Bloomberg, who has once again demonstrated that he believes educators are unfit to run the education system.
Bloomberg's appointment of Cathie Black, Hearst Magazines chairwoman, to become the Chancellor the New York City Public Schools is illustrative of how he feels about educators. The New York City Department of Education has over 100,000 employees--classroom teachers, assistant principals, principals, regional employees, city employees--and out of ALL of these individuals who have classroom experience, formal education IN education, and management experience he could not find a single person to fill Klein's position as Chancellor? Forget the City and look outside the system, too. But the problem isn't that there are not qualified people; the problem is that he didn't look for anyone with experience in education.
Like any shamelessly self-promoting zealot, Bloomberg believes that his business model that has effectively made him ridiculously rich is the only model for education. The students are clients. The teachers are worker bees. The administration is middle management. Honestly, I don't take issue with this business-like hierarchy. What I do find problematic is that the new Queen Bee for our educational hive--the largest public school system in the nation--is not an educator, is not trained in education, nor has ever personally experienced life in any public school as a student or a parent. How is that even possible?
Along those lines, I'm going to go run my husband's well-established and respected architecture firm. Sure, I don't know anything about city codes, the politics of developing urban spaces, building budgets, or even how a building gets built from the ground up without falling over, but I manage about 80 students a day and am responsible for the professional development of my 80 fellow co-workers (as their Master Teacher), so, shoot, I'm qualified enough. Right? The same goes for any profession. Maybe I'll skip over architecture (not really enough money) and run an investment firm, or car manufacturing plant, or decide to perform some surgeries at a hospital...The options are endless when your education and experience in no way determine your employment trajectory.
Education needs to be run by educators. Any chancellor needs to have spent time in a classroom. Even if s/he spent five years in a classroom, then got her/his MBA and ran Citibank for 15 years and then returns to education--that's legitimate. But hiring someone from publishing, for god's sake, who has no education experience is ludicrous. And it's disrespectful to those of us who have spent our lives both working in and studying about education, poverty, immigration, curriculum, policy, race, literacy, and the history of education in order to make ourselves better teachers and leaders in schools.
Cathie Black, a reluctant welcome to the jungle to you. May you all prove of us wrong, but somehow I doubt you will.
I'm just going to up and go into a completely new sector of employment where I have no formal education, training, or experience. Why? Because I'm a pretty damn superstar teacher and I have shown exemplary success in getting kids who are stubborn, defiant, low-leveled, and downright nasty how to write an essay to pass the New York State Regents Exam, how to act and enjoy a play, and how to analyze literature. I know how to differentiate content, process, and product. I know how to work with multiple learning modalities. I am trained in the new National Core Curriculum Standards. I also know how to deal with a kid who calls me a "Fucking White bitch" in class and I know how to gently talk to a student whose grandmother--who raised him after his dad abandoned the family when he was five--is dying of cancer. I know more about the Bloods and Crips than your average White person; I know the neighborhoods of Brooklyn and how gangs and neighborhoods affect the in's and out's of daily school life. Oh yeah, and I have a Masters in English Education and almost a doctorate in Education. I have eleven years of teaching experience in low-performing urban schools with students who are socio-economically struggling. So, why the hell shouldn't I be able to do anything?! Right?
That seems to be the logic of our mayor, Mr. Michael Bloomberg, who has once again demonstrated that he believes educators are unfit to run the education system.
Bloomberg's appointment of Cathie Black, Hearst Magazines chairwoman, to become the Chancellor the New York City Public Schools is illustrative of how he feels about educators. The New York City Department of Education has over 100,000 employees--classroom teachers, assistant principals, principals, regional employees, city employees--and out of ALL of these individuals who have classroom experience, formal education IN education, and management experience he could not find a single person to fill Klein's position as Chancellor? Forget the City and look outside the system, too. But the problem isn't that there are not qualified people; the problem is that he didn't look for anyone with experience in education.
Like any shamelessly self-promoting zealot, Bloomberg believes that his business model that has effectively made him ridiculously rich is the only model for education. The students are clients. The teachers are worker bees. The administration is middle management. Honestly, I don't take issue with this business-like hierarchy. What I do find problematic is that the new Queen Bee for our educational hive--the largest public school system in the nation--is not an educator, is not trained in education, nor has ever personally experienced life in any public school as a student or a parent. How is that even possible?
Along those lines, I'm going to go run my husband's well-established and respected architecture firm. Sure, I don't know anything about city codes, the politics of developing urban spaces, building budgets, or even how a building gets built from the ground up without falling over, but I manage about 80 students a day and am responsible for the professional development of my 80 fellow co-workers (as their Master Teacher), so, shoot, I'm qualified enough. Right? The same goes for any profession. Maybe I'll skip over architecture (not really enough money) and run an investment firm, or car manufacturing plant, or decide to perform some surgeries at a hospital...The options are endless when your education and experience in no way determine your employment trajectory.
Education needs to be run by educators. Any chancellor needs to have spent time in a classroom. Even if s/he spent five years in a classroom, then got her/his MBA and ran Citibank for 15 years and then returns to education--that's legitimate. But hiring someone from publishing, for god's sake, who has no education experience is ludicrous. And it's disrespectful to those of us who have spent our lives both working in and studying about education, poverty, immigration, curriculum, policy, race, literacy, and the history of education in order to make ourselves better teachers and leaders in schools.
Cathie Black, a reluctant welcome to the jungle to you. May you all prove of us wrong, but somehow I doubt you will.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
R.I.P. Miriam Perez
While I loathe all the teaching metaphors that relate to war (the trenches, the battleground, educational ground zero, the troops, etc.), there is something about teaching together that makes people close. The emotional job of teaching is exhausting. We literally raise these students while trying to get them to learn to read, write, and become life long learners; we encourage them to say please/thank you, not to scream "F*ck you" whenever they feel like it, and to have positive and respectful relationships with one another. Anyone who is a parent knows how difficult these goals are with your own children. Now multiply that by 150, subtract the fact that you do have some parental power & unconditional love with your own children, and that equals teaching.
With this in mind, teaching brings people together. I have cried, laughed, listened, talked, whined, worried, and gotten pissed (as in mad and drunk!)with my coworkers. We laugh when our principal says we're family, but we are. I have worked there for NINE years. My coworkers have guided me through engagement, marriage, miscarriage, masters work, doctorate work, the pregnancies and births of my two children, the death of a very close friend, marital conflicts, family issues, and many an existential crisis. I love them dearly--they truly are my family on so many levels.
(my coworkers: (L to R) Causha Vann-Innis, Miriam Perez, Mr. Cuthbert our principal, Akua Henderson-Brown--all these ladies are kick ass English teachers at Cobble Hill)
Which is why I couldn't catch my breath when Thai (whom I have worked with since she was a wee student teacher at our school) called me yesterday afternoon to tell me of the passing of Miriam Perez. Literally. My heart was racing--it was as if my brain could not process the information. I stood in front of Nico's daycare stunned.
Miriam and I have worked together for a long time; I can't remember my life at school without her. She had a dazzling smile, a love for poetry and poetry slams, documentary films (and made awesome Brooklyn tshirts!) and a hearty laugh that could warm a room. Over the years we had gotten closer and my gregarious self began to understand Miriam's more reserved personality. We began to laugh together, share stories of kids and our students, and be friends. I'll miss her presence in 212, our Humanities Teacher's Lounge. I can picture her there so clearly: at the end of the table, eating her healthy lunch and wearing her copper hoop earrings, maybe with her ipod on, trying to catch a moment of peace before teaching again.
I'll never forget the first time I saw Miriam outside of school--eight years ago?--at Prospect Park with a beautiful little girl at her side. Being me, I ran up to them and introduced myself and met her daughter, Afiya. She must have been 8 or 9 years old. She was lanky, had big, curious eyes, and a shy smile. Afiya has come to school many days with Miriam, and we have all be lucky to watch her grow into an amazing, grounded, confident, and intelligent similar-but-of-course-unique version of Miriam. I know Miriam's greatest love and focus in life was Afiya. I can't stop thinking of her and aching for her.
One of the things that has been touching about Miriam's passing is the response from her old students on Facebook. Teaching is such a thankless job; you never really know how the students feel about you until maybe--years later--you get a random email or friend request from a student who tells you how much you changed their lives. Those moments are rare and beautiful. Reading the students' comments about Miriam this morning demonstrated the love they had for her and the importance of her role as their teacher. Some have changed their profile pictures to her face. They are spreading the word and they, too, are shocked, sad, and aching.
Miriam--we all loved you at Cobble Hill, students and teachers alike. Thank you for staying at the school, year after year, amid many upheavals of teachers and administration; thank you for being so constant and consistent in your demeanor amid the craziness of our building; and thank you for being our friend and part of our family. We will all miss you deeply.
(my lovely coworkers at another coworker's wedding: (L to R) my Assistant Principal; Causha Vann-Innis, the bride; Miriam Perez; Katika Moore (we're still waiting for you to come back, Tika!); Thai Sanders; Akua Henderson-Brown. I was 2 weeks post-partum from Alexandra and not sadly there, but I got many texts from all of them during it!)
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
A First
I wrote my last blog post in my classroom on Friday. Adam picked up the kids so I could work late--I was drowning under a pile of grading and it was the last day of the marking period. I only worked until about 5, as Adam wasn't feeling well and I felt guilty for staying late. I went to move my time card out, checked my mailbox, and found this:
Memorandum
To: Ms. U (me), Mr. D, Ms. R, Mr. P, and Mr. L
From: Ms. J, Guidance Counselor
Re: Female student name
Last week Tuesday, April 27th, female student name's brother was murdered. Please assist her with the classwork and homework assignments. Thank you.
That was a first.
Memorandum
To: Ms. U (me), Mr. D, Ms. R, Mr. P, and Mr. L
From: Ms. J, Guidance Counselor
Re: Female student name
Last week Tuesday, April 27th, female student name's brother was murdered. Please assist her with the classwork and homework assignments. Thank you.
That was a first.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Mother's Day
I had a hard week at work. Hard. Totally lost my sh*t and cried in my classroom, my Assistant Principal's office, and at home over these kids. Sometimes I think becoming a parent has been the worst thing for my teaching career. Before I was a parent, I'd have students with dead parents and I'd sympathize, listen to them, and tell them that they just needed to push through and make themselves into the remarkable people that their parents believed them to be. I mean, I had a sick dad my whole life, and while he didn't die until I was 22, there was always that threat. I thought I knew (kinda) what they were going through. But now, as a parent, I realize I don't know jack.
I have a ridiculous amount of students with dead parents. Both parents. And then there are the kids with one dead and one absent/incarcerated parent. These children are being cared for by older siblings, some who are only 21 years old and open gang members, who fight like rabid dogs over the orphaned children for the social security check that accompanies them. Rarely is the welfare of the child taken into consideration.
My complete emotional breakdown this week happened when I had to call home for a student whom I knew was living with his grandmother. I hadn't called since March b/c his grandmother was raising 8 grandkids and was losing her mind; she told me that she was about to sign my student and his twin off to foster care. We all know the foster care system is--at best--mediocre and at worst a nightmare. Although this kid has skipped my class, come to class high, inappropriately touches another girl in here (who lets him), and does no work and disturbs my class, I haven't called. Well, this week I had to. And his grandmother told me that she was going to family court today and giving him and his brother up. I got off the phone and cried. Wept.
I don't understand why I have so many kids with dead parents. I don't understand how they all died, when most of them were my age or younger. But I am beginning to understand the gigantic hole it leaves in these young people's lives. ENORMOUS. A mohterless child has to be the saddest thing ever. I just look at them and ache. I want to hug them, bake them cookies, etc, but it's not the same.
A student of mine lost him mom unexpectedly this fall while I was on maternity leave. He wrote a poem for our poetry unit that pretty much sums it up:
Ode
Ode to my mom for years of joy and fun.
I see many kids with their moms and I say to myself
"Wow, those kids are lucky."
So many people in my family try to take care of me
But none of them do it the correct way...
The Mommy way.
Mothers out there--love your kids like crazy. And all of us who still have our moms, be thankful....so so thankful.
I have a ridiculous amount of students with dead parents. Both parents. And then there are the kids with one dead and one absent/incarcerated parent. These children are being cared for by older siblings, some who are only 21 years old and open gang members, who fight like rabid dogs over the orphaned children for the social security check that accompanies them. Rarely is the welfare of the child taken into consideration.
My complete emotional breakdown this week happened when I had to call home for a student whom I knew was living with his grandmother. I hadn't called since March b/c his grandmother was raising 8 grandkids and was losing her mind; she told me that she was about to sign my student and his twin off to foster care. We all know the foster care system is--at best--mediocre and at worst a nightmare. Although this kid has skipped my class, come to class high, inappropriately touches another girl in here (who lets him), and does no work and disturbs my class, I haven't called. Well, this week I had to. And his grandmother told me that she was going to family court today and giving him and his brother up. I got off the phone and cried. Wept.
I don't understand why I have so many kids with dead parents. I don't understand how they all died, when most of them were my age or younger. But I am beginning to understand the gigantic hole it leaves in these young people's lives. ENORMOUS. A mohterless child has to be the saddest thing ever. I just look at them and ache. I want to hug them, bake them cookies, etc, but it's not the same.
A student of mine lost him mom unexpectedly this fall while I was on maternity leave. He wrote a poem for our poetry unit that pretty much sums it up:
Ode
Ode to my mom for years of joy and fun.
I see many kids with their moms and I say to myself
"Wow, those kids are lucky."
So many people in my family try to take care of me
But none of them do it the correct way...
The Mommy way.
Mothers out there--love your kids like crazy. And all of us who still have our moms, be thankful....so so thankful.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Overheard in the Classroom
I have to write this before I forget it:
Last Friday, the bell was about to ring and the lesson was over. The students were chatting by the window and I was getting a standardized test ready for the next period when I overheard a tidbit of incorrect sex info. Of course, I pounced on it. I asked the students (9th grade girls) what they were talking about. One brazen one said,
"Miss, if your boyfriend comes in you and you stand up immediately and go to take a pee, then you won't get pregnant."
And THIS is why we have six. pregnant. freshmen. S-I-X.
I stopped the whole class and clarified that your urethra, where your pee comes out of, is a DIFFERENT hole from your vagina, where you have sex. Therefore peeing does NOTHING to "wash away the sperm" (as another student mentioned) and prevent pregnancy.
Their response: "No, Miss, you're wrong."
God help the children of those children.
Last Friday, the bell was about to ring and the lesson was over. The students were chatting by the window and I was getting a standardized test ready for the next period when I overheard a tidbit of incorrect sex info. Of course, I pounced on it. I asked the students (9th grade girls) what they were talking about. One brazen one said,
"Miss, if your boyfriend comes in you and you stand up immediately and go to take a pee, then you won't get pregnant."
And THIS is why we have six. pregnant. freshmen. S-I-X.
I stopped the whole class and clarified that your urethra, where your pee comes out of, is a DIFFERENT hole from your vagina, where you have sex. Therefore peeing does NOTHING to "wash away the sperm" (as another student mentioned) and prevent pregnancy.
Their response: "No, Miss, you're wrong."
God help the children of those children.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Calling Parents
Adam took today off to write a eulogy for Grandpop, therefore he picked up the kids and I was able to work late. This is the first time I have done this all year and it was awesome. I guess most folks wouldn't consider working until 5:30 on a Friday their idea of a good time, but damn, I was able to get so much work done it was like I was moving at superhuman pace. Wow.
One thing I have a hard time doing is calling parents. We have been forewarned about letting the kids have our cell phone numbers--next thing you know a kid texts you a picture of them in their panties and you're getting framed for having intimate relations with them. And shoot, daytime cell phone minutes are expensive. I have three periods off a day, but two of them I pump breastmilk and that leaves one to do work, copies, talk with the guidance counselors about kids, etc. By the time I get the kids to bed at night, eat, and clean up to work it's around 10--too late to call home. With these factors, I'm not the best at calling.
So today I called parents. I learned a lot, and it was heartbreaking. Here's a few examples why:
1. Call #1: Student's grandmother had called asking for an update. I called her back. She's taking care of said student, his twin brother, their 18 yo brother, and a 10 year old sister b/c their mother died two years ago. This is the FOURTH 9th grade student of mine who has lost a mother in the past two years. She also has three other kids from someone else. She is overwhelmed. She tells me she's giving my student's twin brother over to the city (foster care, group home) b/c she's "lost him to the streets and ain't nothing you can do once that happens." She was trying to decide what to do about my student--should she give him up too? She asks my opinion. Man.
2. Call #2: Nice student, good skills and sweet as anything, but always late to 1st period. Tell her mom and her mom says, "We just moved to a shelter in the Bronx, it's a long ride." I say, "Oh, I didn't know, I'm so sorry, I had heard student lived near 14th Street in the City." She says, "We were moved to another shelter so now she has to commute." This girl commutes two hours each way to our high school. From a shelter and goes "home" to a shelter. Ugh.
3. Call #3: Student who's mom died unexpectedly while I was on maternity leave. Call his sister to give her an update, sister with custody isn't home, talk to other sister who says they're having a hard time with student and aren't sure what to do with him. They are trying to get dad to take him/keep him, but his dad doesn't want him. Sisters are at a loss. Insert heart breaking here.
I made about 20 calls, and many were just plain fine, but those resonate in me tonight as I sit on my couch.
One thing I have a hard time doing is calling parents. We have been forewarned about letting the kids have our cell phone numbers--next thing you know a kid texts you a picture of them in their panties and you're getting framed for having intimate relations with them. And shoot, daytime cell phone minutes are expensive. I have three periods off a day, but two of them I pump breastmilk and that leaves one to do work, copies, talk with the guidance counselors about kids, etc. By the time I get the kids to bed at night, eat, and clean up to work it's around 10--too late to call home. With these factors, I'm not the best at calling.
So today I called parents. I learned a lot, and it was heartbreaking. Here's a few examples why:
1. Call #1: Student's grandmother had called asking for an update. I called her back. She's taking care of said student, his twin brother, their 18 yo brother, and a 10 year old sister b/c their mother died two years ago. This is the FOURTH 9th grade student of mine who has lost a mother in the past two years. She also has three other kids from someone else. She is overwhelmed. She tells me she's giving my student's twin brother over to the city (foster care, group home) b/c she's "lost him to the streets and ain't nothing you can do once that happens." She was trying to decide what to do about my student--should she give him up too? She asks my opinion. Man.
2. Call #2: Nice student, good skills and sweet as anything, but always late to 1st period. Tell her mom and her mom says, "We just moved to a shelter in the Bronx, it's a long ride." I say, "Oh, I didn't know, I'm so sorry, I had heard student lived near 14th Street in the City." She says, "We were moved to another shelter so now she has to commute." This girl commutes two hours each way to our high school. From a shelter and goes "home" to a shelter. Ugh.
3. Call #3: Student who's mom died unexpectedly while I was on maternity leave. Call his sister to give her an update, sister with custody isn't home, talk to other sister who says they're having a hard time with student and aren't sure what to do with him. They are trying to get dad to take him/keep him, but his dad doesn't want him. Sisters are at a loss. Insert heart breaking here.
I made about 20 calls, and many were just plain fine, but those resonate in me tonight as I sit on my couch.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
School Limbo
I have been meaning to post about this for a while, but haven't had time. But, for some ungodly reason I'm locked out of my online gradebook, so I might as well post b/c it's too early to pump before bed.
A few weeks ago we were called to an emergency UFT (United Federation of Teachers, the city's teacher union) meeting and were told that our school had been placed on some State-wide shit list and that one of four options would happen to us:
1. we would be closed down
2. we would be turned into a charter school
3. we would all stay, but next year we'd be under crazy surveillance and without UFT protection, therefore if those observing didn't like us or our test scores, we'd be fired. bye bye.
4. half the staff would be "replaced" to restructure the school.
The union representative who delivered the message said that they had no idea which option the city would choose, but that as soon as anyone knew, we would know.
Nice, huh?
Let me clarify that we are on this shit list for graduation rates below the city's average for 2006, 2007, 2008, although we had a graduation rate HIGHER than the city average for 2009. We are NOT on the the list for test scores, only graduation rate.
I have worked at my school for nine years. No, it is not a great school and no, I would not send my kids to it, BUT it is a functioning school. 80% of our students live below the poverty level, our special education population is edging towards 30%, and the majority of the 9th graders enter reading at a 4th grade level, having scored 2's and 1's on their 8th grade English Language Arts exams (out of a possible 4). And, in spite of our student population and the challenges they bring, we have many loving, dedicated, and hard working teachers who not only bust their butts teaching things they don't know (ahem, I am NOT trained to teach reading, but literature), but they also mentor these kids in many ways--buying prom dresses, taking them to movies when their house has burned down and they have nowhere to go after school, calling colleges and trying to explain that the kid shouldn't lose their scholarship b/c her stepfather is an asshole who refuses to file his taxes because he's afraid of the government...the list is long.
So this is what I don't get: In the meritocracy that is the NYC DOE (high school is an application process, students take a test in 8th grade to get into specialized schools like Stuyvesant, one of the best high schools in the nation. Stuy admitted 9 Black students into their 2010 freshmen class of 700. In NEW YORK CITY. It's a public school. Yeah.), what the hell does the City think is going to happen to these kids?
I can tell you one thing that's going to happen: These schools are going to lose the good teachers. Teachers get so much crap in general and it's exhausting. I honestly believe my mission as an educator is to teach the population I currently teach, and that I am a good teacher, but I can tell you that after 10 years in I am tired of the bologna that comes with working with my student population. I love them, but what would it be like to work in a school with grade level students, that had resources, and didn't freak out every year about test scores?
The kids and schools who need good teachers are going to lose them under the guise of "aggressive actions" towards "failing schools." And then who will teach these kids? Great work--Obama, Bloomberg, & Klein. A-freakin'-plus.
A few weeks ago we were called to an emergency UFT (United Federation of Teachers, the city's teacher union) meeting and were told that our school had been placed on some State-wide shit list and that one of four options would happen to us:
1. we would be closed down
2. we would be turned into a charter school
3. we would all stay, but next year we'd be under crazy surveillance and without UFT protection, therefore if those observing didn't like us or our test scores, we'd be fired. bye bye.
4. half the staff would be "replaced" to restructure the school.
The union representative who delivered the message said that they had no idea which option the city would choose, but that as soon as anyone knew, we would know.
Nice, huh?
Let me clarify that we are on this shit list for graduation rates below the city's average for 2006, 2007, 2008, although we had a graduation rate HIGHER than the city average for 2009. We are NOT on the the list for test scores, only graduation rate.
I have worked at my school for nine years. No, it is not a great school and no, I would not send my kids to it, BUT it is a functioning school. 80% of our students live below the poverty level, our special education population is edging towards 30%, and the majority of the 9th graders enter reading at a 4th grade level, having scored 2's and 1's on their 8th grade English Language Arts exams (out of a possible 4). And, in spite of our student population and the challenges they bring, we have many loving, dedicated, and hard working teachers who not only bust their butts teaching things they don't know (ahem, I am NOT trained to teach reading, but literature), but they also mentor these kids in many ways--buying prom dresses, taking them to movies when their house has burned down and they have nowhere to go after school, calling colleges and trying to explain that the kid shouldn't lose their scholarship b/c her stepfather is an asshole who refuses to file his taxes because he's afraid of the government...the list is long.
So this is what I don't get: In the meritocracy that is the NYC DOE (high school is an application process, students take a test in 8th grade to get into specialized schools like Stuyvesant, one of the best high schools in the nation. Stuy admitted 9 Black students into their 2010 freshmen class of 700. In NEW YORK CITY. It's a public school. Yeah.), what the hell does the City think is going to happen to these kids?
I can tell you one thing that's going to happen: These schools are going to lose the good teachers. Teachers get so much crap in general and it's exhausting. I honestly believe my mission as an educator is to teach the population I currently teach, and that I am a good teacher, but I can tell you that after 10 years in I am tired of the bologna that comes with working with my student population. I love them, but what would it be like to work in a school with grade level students, that had resources, and didn't freak out every year about test scores?
The kids and schools who need good teachers are going to lose them under the guise of "aggressive actions" towards "failing schools." And then who will teach these kids? Great work--Obama, Bloomberg, & Klein. A-freakin'-plus.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Gangsta Gangsta!
Professional development is the bane of my existence as a teacher. At no time do I loathe the teaching profession more than during yet another worthless day, afternoon, or hour of professional development. All professional development has done for me in the past few years is provide me with multiple opportunities to realize why nobody takes teaching--as a profession--seriously. Nine out of ten times it's ludicrous. As my old teaching friend Rhonda would say, "I'll cut my arm off--right here and right now--if you can give me something that will work tomorrow in my classroom that I don't already know." Let's just say that I live by Rhonda's creed and I still have both arms.
But I was super excited when my Assistant Principal told me she had booked a guy from the District Attorney's office to come give us the 101 on gangs for a department meeting, claiming it was professional development for us. Wow--it was.
I feel like I know more than most bougie While folk about gangs after my ten years of teaching in a NYC public high school, but the fascinating thing about gang culture is that it is constantly shifting. But Mr. DA's office came in with his PowerPoint presentation on gang signs, colors, graffiti, and a pretty comprehensive history of the big players in NYC: the Bloods, the Crips, and the Latin Kings.
Let me share some facts with you:
--Bloods wear red, but also light brown (brown as in dried blood). They'll often wear brown when in mourning. This was news to me b/c I have a light brown bandanna I wear to workout in all the time. Oops.
--Bloods do everything on the right (tattoos, roll up pant leg, half shirt off), Crips on the left.
--Various gangs frequent restaurants based on their colors and/or what they can spell out from the restaurant names. Crips go to Burger King, BK=Blood Killer. Bloods do KFC, KFC=Killing F*ckin' Crips. They also wear clothing that represent their gangs, Bloods will wear CK (Crip Killer) and Crips used to wear British Knight shoes (Blood Killer)
--the Center for Disease Control claims that the average lifespan for a young man/woman in a gang is 24 years old. Too damn young.
Seriously, I could not process all the stuff the DA guy was telling me. I wish I had taken notes. It was fascinating.
Of course, there's not much we can do if we recognize a student is in a gang. It is not illegal to join a gang. But they said if we start to recognize who is in what gang then we can try to keep their altercations to a minimum in the classroom or just be aware of whose allegiances lie where. Pretty wild shit.
I guess I'd be missing an arm, now, according to Rhonda.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Overheard in the Classroom
I hear the craziest stuff teaching, so I'm going to start a regular post called Overheard in the Classroom.
Last week (the last week of the semester):
Student: Miss, I have had so many testes today!
Me: Oh honey, I really hope you haven't. . .Do you know what testes are? The plural of testicles! You had many TESTS today.
Class erupts screaming "Balls!!!!" And various other combinations, cracking up. The girl, a good girl, is embarrassed.
This is my profession.
Last week (the last week of the semester):
Student: Miss, I have had so many testes today!
Me: Oh honey, I really hope you haven't. . .Do you know what testes are? The plural of testicles! You had many TESTS today.
Class erupts screaming "Balls!!!!" And various other combinations, cracking up. The girl, a good girl, is embarrassed.
This is my profession.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Lack of Sex Education
So, my horrid 9th graders are growing on me slowly. But the one thing about 9th graders that's different from 11th & 12th graders is their curiosity and blatant obsession with sex. For example, last week while teaching a lesson on closing arguments for the play "Twelve Angry Men" that we just read, a girl raised her hand. Keep in mind that I have seen more of this young woman's breasts in the past two weeks than I have of my own mother's in my whole life--she is well endowed and wears low cut shirts quite often. But that's another issue.
So, hand raised, "Miss, I have a question!" Me, thinking she's got a question on closing arguments b/c *duh* that's what the lesson is about, was thrown when she posed this one to me:
"Okay, so, like, when you're having an orgasm, do you pee all over the place?"
After regaining my composure I told her that I could not answer her question during class time, but if she was seriously that confused she should come talk to me after class. She was relentless, "Miss--just tell me!" I told her to ask her health teacher, and she replied that they don't get health until TWELFTH GRADE! She begged me to just tell her "yes" or "no," and giving in I said, "No--and now back to rhetorical devices to use in your closing argument."
But that little awkward interlude got me thinking. Then today the same girl and a handful of her friends came to my room during their lunch period to do some make-up work. ALL they talked about was sex, which girls gave head in the stairwell, who puts out in the 9th grade, and then they told me they were all virgins and that was okay, wasn't it? YES, I said, followed by a conversation on the long term ramifications of having sex when you're young and horny and immature and--no offense,ladies--stupid.
Wowza. And we wonder why we keep getting pregnant 9th graders (I have one now). Nobody is talking to these girls about sex and it's just plain terrifying. If I get fired from the DOE one day, it'll be because I talked to girls about sex. Mark my words. Somebody's got to...
So, hand raised, "Miss, I have a question!" Me, thinking she's got a question on closing arguments b/c *duh* that's what the lesson is about, was thrown when she posed this one to me:
"Okay, so, like, when you're having an orgasm, do you pee all over the place?"
After regaining my composure I told her that I could not answer her question during class time, but if she was seriously that confused she should come talk to me after class. She was relentless, "Miss--just tell me!" I told her to ask her health teacher, and she replied that they don't get health until TWELFTH GRADE! She begged me to just tell her "yes" or "no," and giving in I said, "No--and now back to rhetorical devices to use in your closing argument."
But that little awkward interlude got me thinking. Then today the same girl and a handful of her friends came to my room during their lunch period to do some make-up work. ALL they talked about was sex, which girls gave head in the stairwell, who puts out in the 9th grade, and then they told me they were all virgins and that was okay, wasn't it? YES, I said, followed by a conversation on the long term ramifications of having sex when you're young and horny and immature and--no offense,ladies--stupid.
Wowza. And we wonder why we keep getting pregnant 9th graders (I have one now). Nobody is talking to these girls about sex and it's just plain terrifying. If I get fired from the DOE one day, it'll be because I talked to girls about sex. Mark my words. Somebody's got to...
Friday, December 18, 2009
Student Metrocards
This week it was decided to slowly phase out the student metrocards here in New York City. For you guys unfamiliar with school transportation here, after elementary school there is really no such thing as zoned schools like in the suburbs. Well, there are, and if you're in a good zone you're psyched, but for a lot of this city if you're in a zone where the middle and high schools are less than appealing you try to get out and into schools in other parts of your borough or the city at large. You escape from your zone school by taking middle and high school entrance exams and your grades. These exams are no joke. There are cram schools, books, and tutors who specialize in getting your kid to pass the high school entrance exam (the Stuyvesant Exam) here in NYC. I swear, getting into Harvard might be easier.
But even for those kids who don't make it into the four top high schools of the city, getting out of your 'hood and into a different environment is important to them and their families. For example, the school where I teach. I work in Cobble Hill, at Cobble Hill School of American Studies. Cobble Hill is a very nice neighborhood. The two main streets are lined with expensive boutiques and restaurants, the brownstones (even ones in need of gut renovation) start at a million dollars, and the elementary schools are excellent. It's the safest precinct in Brooklyn as Cobble Hill was the first neighborhood to house the Italians when they left Little Italy in Manhattan, and all the mafioso grand-daddies are still there. It's beautiful--I can't afford to live there.
However the high school in Cobble Hill where I teach is less than okay. I would never let my kids go there. The test scores are low, the students enter reading at approximately a 4th grade level, and we have a lot of fights. We became a metal detector school this year. The students are lovely kids, and I work with some incredible educators, but we have no art teacher, few extracurriculars, and it's just not the environment I want my kids to have their high school experience in.
So who goes to this school? NOT the kids in Cobble Hill. The students come from Red Hook, Fort Greene, Clinton Hill, Bed-Stuy, East New York, Carnarsie, Sunset Park, Coney Island, and Bushwick. They commute to our school on multiple trains and buses, some for over an hour, just so they can escape their zone school and come to school in a safer neighborhood.
Keep in mind that over 80% of my students live below the poverty level.
Students currently receive free metrocards to come to school each day. They are assigned these metrocards in the beginning of the school year; they get three swipes each school day between the hours of 5:30am and 8:30pm which allows for them to get to an extracurricular activity or job afterschool. Currently the cost of a swipe to get on a bus or subway is $2.25, which make the metrocard valued at $6.75 per school day, about $34 a week, about $135 a month or $1280 for the school year (180 days of school).
Now you tell me, if a kid can't afford to eat lunch, wash his/her clothes, or is living in a shelter (common issues in my school) are they going to be able to pay that money to get to school? Hell, no.
Guess the city isn't THAT worried about their graduation rates after all.
(article in the Times on this situation)
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Why I Teach, #5
In my two weeks of teaching my freshmen before giving birth, this happened:
In the middle of my lesson, a student called me over: "Excuse me, Miss?" and since she sat in the front of the room and I was going over something at the Smartboard, I walked over to her desk as the students copied something into their notebooks. She turned a piece of looseleaf around and I read it. It was the above piece of looseleaf.
Teaching is a continuously humbling experience. I misspell words on the board and am corrected by my students, I receive comments such as, "Ms. Vann had a baby after you and she's already skinny!" or "Miss, you have a LOT of gray hair" or "This sucks." And, I am constantly reminded that I am your Grade A prototypical White girl.
Not that other races don't overuse "like" in their dialogue--god knows my biracial niece Annika sounds just like Alicia Silverstone in the movie "Clueless"--but I never realized that I, too, sound like that "Clueless" heroine much more than I'd like. This was brought to my attention many times in my first years of teaching when students would mimic my voice perfectly and I, in denial, said, "I don't sound like that!" Then I had to make a teaching video to get permanently certified by NY State, and OMG, that was ridiculous because I realized that I do, indeed, sound like that.
In a lot of ways, I think it's good to be continuously reminded of how I appear to others...It no longer bothers me at all. In fact, when the student showed me this paper, I said, "I have to..like...have that!" and she happily gave it to me. I try to defy a lot of the stereotypes about White folks, but some I just can't shake.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Post Script to Gang Posting
I was chided by the security guards at my school today (well, two of them and the attendance secretary) for questioning why a Crip student would come to our school (and stay). It went down like this:Everyone standing at the timeclock and reading the list of seven new students who are now in in-school suspension for a fight (this is the FIFTH day of school).
One security guard, who has been around a while, says, "Oh, (student name), she's a character."
Newer security guard, "Yeah, I have already heard of her."
Older security guard, "Yeah, she's Crip."
Me: "What's she doing at our school if she's a Crip?" (kinda joking, but not really because it's pretty public knowledge that we're a Blood school)
Attendance secretary: "Now Ms. (my name), you can't say that. We don't discriminate. FREE public education for ALL! We take everyone!" (her voice is serious, but she's also smiling and winking at me)
Me: "But seriously, why would (student name) stay here?"
Security guards laughing. We part ways.
I still don't get why a Crip student would stay in a predominately Blood school...Anyone else?
(Photo from hospital chair in hospital where Alexandra was born.)
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