Don't walk out of here looking defeated. I tried to encourage myself as much as possible after a first grade teacher witnessed me standing in the middle of an art room, surrounded by a whir of first graders in various stages of putting on coats, cleaning (or rather NOT cleaning) their spaces, and chattering happily to each other. It was time for them to go to the bus and they were not ready. A couple hallways and minutes later, I asked the same teacher for some clarification on bus duty and she, after joining me outside, practically took over the duty as I watched teachers and students avoid the puddle dominating the sidewalk and choose between walking through mud-saturated grass or ice-saturated snow.
Little did I know that that would be the first of many trials in substitute teaching last week. Classroom management. The two cryptic words which encapsulate so much for any teacher or student. As I think back to Thursday, the specific students and incidents blur together into the emotion of frustration and defeat. I was teaching art at a junior high school. All day, junior high boys made flat refusals to by instructions, swearing under their breath, dryly declaring that they don't care how their behavior affects their classmates, clenching fists and huffing, or swearing at me and turning quickly as if they could escape the consequences. As one class of 33+ filed out and the next filed in, the behaviors continued. Markers constantly thrown, students unyielding, talking-talking-talking, and always moving.
I left the school discouraged--especially since I knew I was returning the next day--and determined that I had to run. This emotional coping strategy has been with me since I was in junior high, and typically I have run to deal with anger, but having run also to mourn, fume, or lament. I walked into my house, immediately changed, grabbed my mp3 player and began pounding the pavement. My mp3 player uttered calm melodies, and I let them be calm--waiting about a mile before I switched it to The Gossip.
And as I ran, I mused. I thought of the discipline structure at the school--each part of the chain of consequences involved removing the student from the learning environment. Let's say that Fernando just can't keep a lid on his mouth and prefers to stand or wander rather than sit. Daily he is punished/disciplined by being removed from the learning--first for 30 seconds, then for 5 minutes, then to another classroom, and then finally removed entirely from the class. Each time, he gets further and further behind in his work and each time it is harder for him to catch on. The work becomes more difficult--decreasing his motivation to behave and increasing the negative behaviors. I picked up the pace as I saw the helplessness of this spiral. I thought of Fernando acting out in high school until he dropped out at sixteen--remembering the atrocious drop out rates in urban areas of my community. I then thought of my other students--the on-task students. Whether gifted or not, their pace of learning is constantly being affected by the outbursts of their fellow students. Having 33 students in a classroom, I may be trying to root out why a student is acting out by talking one-one-one with that student. During that time, one student asks me for a pass to the nurse, another to the bathroom, another has a question on the assignment, and in the distance I see Michael and Tony throwing markers at each other. And I continued to run and to lament over this broken system. I lamented that I was tempted to spend more time subbing in the suburbs instead just because I have found the students more behaved and on task.
There is some redemption to this story. I had to go back to the school Friday--the last day before their spring break. Reflecting again on how I could be faithful to these students, I began to formulate a plan. I had read an anecdote on Thursday about oranges--sometimes the ones that look the most perfect are dry, flavorful, and stringy. And sometimes, it is the most despised of oranges that houses the most delicious fruit. I thought of my students and prayed that I would not be a respecter of persons--that I would not judge on appearances. I walked into the school hopeful. A couple staff recognized me and asked how I was or gave me surprised gazes because I had returned to that school.
I entered the classroom and planned. I used the white board to create visuals and opening activities to engage the students. I wrote up expectations and an agenda for the day. I thought of how I would introduce myself to sound more human and developed a reward structure for class behavior. By the end of second hour, I used accents with students (6th graders are so easily impressed) and gave some students the promised reward, knowledge of my first name, and they were again impressed. In some small way, I had a victory. I smiled when talking and spent extra time getting to know students rather than trying to intimidate them into better behavior. Maybe I should have called this the "Fall and Rise" rather than "Rise and Fall," however I know that I will have many more falls, and I'm okay with that.
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