Often my students take no real interest in me--what I have to say, who I am, where I came from, etc., etc. I value those opportunities in which students are engaged and view me as both human and a valuable resource (ie a teacher). However, there are some questions I am not sure I ought to answer.
In the following instance, I brought it on myself a bit. I was making some comment/critique of a student's drawing. I threw in some ridiculous comment like, "Maybe I'm some crazy revolutionary liberal from Minneapolis, but . . ." and then I think I said that she would have to use more pastel colors than white in order for me to actually be able to see her drawing. I should have used the word "revolutionary" and skipped "liberal," because with the latter word the group of surrounding students suddenly became focused on politics and they began asking about my current and past political standing.
"What do you think of Obama in his second term?"
"Did you vote for Obama?"
"Are you a Republican or a Democrat?"
Student 1: Would you vote for McCain or Obama?
Teacher: Would I or did I?
Student 2: Did you?
Teacher: I don't think I should say.
Student 1: Why not?
Teacher: Because I'm your teacher and I'm not supposed to influence your political views.
Student 1: No offense, but what you say probably isn't going to affect us at all.
Student 3: Are you a Democrat or a Republican? (Pause) You look like a Democrat.
Teacher: (Laughs)
Student 1: We aren't really that interested. We just want to know because you won't tell us.
They didn't get it out of me, though they did ask me again the next day with, "Did you figure out if you're allowed to tell us or not?" The most I said about politics was that I didn't vote on party lines but on candidates, which brought a, "So you're an independent!" This same triumvirate has asked me other questions since, launching them into deep conversations when they out to be drawing, but I try to give them some freedom every now and again when I can see they're not just chatting about petty everyday things, but really hashing out ideas. I understand that teachers aren't to preach to their students or try to manipulate them in any way, but we are in a position of influence to some degree, and though I don't want to start rousing student support for any candidate, I do hope that I can at least influence them as learners a little bit.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
I need help!
Teaching art can be quite different than other subject areas. Rather than spending the majority of time in lecture, worksheets, or activities, the students spend the majority of their time working on art pieces. As such, facilitating an art classroom calls the teacher to different duties. Often, the "real teaching" happens when I walk around, viewing student pieces, and offer one-on-one critiques and pointers.
One of my classes was not particularly thrilled about my attention to them. Much of the class had been called away for a meeting to review test scores. Those remaining deplored my presence. One asking when their regular teacher would be back. I gave a prompt, "Never, she just had a baby." Another student chimed in saying that she (their regular teacher) never bugged them but only those who worked slowly. I reminded them that their teacher had been pregnant and not as able to wander around as usual, and I declared that I tried to give every student individual attention. She returned, "I'm not your student." I let it drop and the rest of the class went on with much apathy on the part of the students.
The following day, students began their routine in the class--retrieving drawing implements and their various papers. Many put in their headphones and selected their own music. I decided not to turn on the radio and enjoyed the silence. I wandered a little bit, but was contented that students were on task and I minimized my individualized directives. I returned to my desk, reviewing things from another class, when a student burst out with, "I need help!" His tone was not overly emotional, but a matter-of-fact, loud declaration. I could have rebuffed at his lack of manners, but instead I was amused and somewhat thankful that at least one of my students realized that I was a resource to them.
One of my classes was not particularly thrilled about my attention to them. Much of the class had been called away for a meeting to review test scores. Those remaining deplored my presence. One asking when their regular teacher would be back. I gave a prompt, "Never, she just had a baby." Another student chimed in saying that she (their regular teacher) never bugged them but only those who worked slowly. I reminded them that their teacher had been pregnant and not as able to wander around as usual, and I declared that I tried to give every student individual attention. She returned, "I'm not your student." I let it drop and the rest of the class went on with much apathy on the part of the students.
The following day, students began their routine in the class--retrieving drawing implements and their various papers. Many put in their headphones and selected their own music. I decided not to turn on the radio and enjoyed the silence. I wandered a little bit, but was contented that students were on task and I minimized my individualized directives. I returned to my desk, reviewing things from another class, when a student burst out with, "I need help!" His tone was not overly emotional, but a matter-of-fact, loud declaration. I could have rebuffed at his lack of manners, but instead I was amused and somewhat thankful that at least one of my students realized that I was a resource to them.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
At an Iowa rest stop . . .
I'm posting this from a rest stop in Iowa. Yes, you heard me correctly. A rest stop. In Iowa. You should check the time stamp on this post. I have been led to these circumstances through strange turns of events that befit the sporadic life of all substitute teachers.
Today I taught at my former high school. (I know, the astounding statements just keep on coming!) I have accepted a long term substitute position there. Now is the time for you to think back on your k-12 experience and conjure up images of pregnant teachers. If you ever had one, you may recall the three months that your teacher went off to suckle her newborn child and some young or very old teacher came in their place. He or she was a fixture for a while, but never the real deal. I recall only one such long-term substitute in my high school Spanish 3 class. One of the students convinced her that his uncle was a conductor on a nearby train route and the entire class convinced her that we must have a Cinco de Mayo party and that we must prepare for it by spending days making paper mache pinatas.
I'll not think on that too hard, as I am now the long-term sub for 7-12 art. Accepting a long-term substitute position contingent on someone's birthing is quite the thrill. I recommend it if you want to add some spice and uncertainty to your life. Perhaps you'll receive concerned texts or emails from the teacher, wondering if she will deliver extra early. Then you will open your planner and figure out how to restructure your life so that you can make it to a teaching post over 200 miles a way at the breaking of one's water.
Yet that does not answer why I am sitting at a dark rest stop off I-35, unnerved by the state patrolman's flashing blue and red lights over by a pack of semis. On Monday this week, I missed a call from the school secretary, saying it was likely I would be needed on Wednesday due to the teacher not feeling well. Ironically, I was in Iowa at the time, but would need to fly (well, drive) to Minnesota for a Monday night engagement and to pack teacher clothes in order to teach out the rest of the week. Tuesday I conversed with the teacher and it was established that I would teach for her Wednesday-Friday, and she might resume teaching the following Monday depending on health.
This was a nice gaurantee of a few days of teaching, but it still left me on shifting ground. So I packed my car in a whirlwind and drove to my sister's to stay. This morning I went in to teach and was greeted by the news that the aforesaid teacher was in the hospital, her water having broke. Finally, some reassurance! Some sense of permanance in the midst of shifty days, accepting jobs as late as 8 or 9 in the morning, wondering where I would be and what I would see.!
Yet I am still a nomad, my bed sitting empty in Minnesota while my body sits at a rest stop in Iowa. I realized in my packing that I was to miss a house meeting wherein my housemates would discuss the times persons were moving in and out and whatnot. Knowing it was necessary for me to be at this meeting, I needed to find a place where I could access Skype. My sister's home where I have been saying is without wireless. 12 miles away is another sister's home where I will be residing soon. At present, only her husband is at home--who often goes to sleep quite early. Their wireless seeming unreasonable to access, I went to my step-family's house, however, they turn in early at night, making the possibility of accessing internet there seem like quite the intrusion. So, I thank God for the wireless internet in Iowa along I-35, and I drove to seek one out. So here I sit, blue and red lights still flashing behind me, waiting to Skype with roommates hundreds of miles away, all the while planning in the back of my mind at the excitement to be had in the art classroom on the morrow.
Today I taught at my former high school. (I know, the astounding statements just keep on coming!) I have accepted a long term substitute position there. Now is the time for you to think back on your k-12 experience and conjure up images of pregnant teachers. If you ever had one, you may recall the three months that your teacher went off to suckle her newborn child and some young or very old teacher came in their place. He or she was a fixture for a while, but never the real deal. I recall only one such long-term substitute in my high school Spanish 3 class. One of the students convinced her that his uncle was a conductor on a nearby train route and the entire class convinced her that we must have a Cinco de Mayo party and that we must prepare for it by spending days making paper mache pinatas.
I'll not think on that too hard, as I am now the long-term sub for 7-12 art. Accepting a long-term substitute position contingent on someone's birthing is quite the thrill. I recommend it if you want to add some spice and uncertainty to your life. Perhaps you'll receive concerned texts or emails from the teacher, wondering if she will deliver extra early. Then you will open your planner and figure out how to restructure your life so that you can make it to a teaching post over 200 miles a way at the breaking of one's water.
Yet that does not answer why I am sitting at a dark rest stop off I-35, unnerved by the state patrolman's flashing blue and red lights over by a pack of semis. On Monday this week, I missed a call from the school secretary, saying it was likely I would be needed on Wednesday due to the teacher not feeling well. Ironically, I was in Iowa at the time, but would need to fly (well, drive) to Minnesota for a Monday night engagement and to pack teacher clothes in order to teach out the rest of the week. Tuesday I conversed with the teacher and it was established that I would teach for her Wednesday-Friday, and she might resume teaching the following Monday depending on health.
This was a nice gaurantee of a few days of teaching, but it still left me on shifting ground. So I packed my car in a whirlwind and drove to my sister's to stay. This morning I went in to teach and was greeted by the news that the aforesaid teacher was in the hospital, her water having broke. Finally, some reassurance! Some sense of permanance in the midst of shifty days, accepting jobs as late as 8 or 9 in the morning, wondering where I would be and what I would see.!
Yet I am still a nomad, my bed sitting empty in Minnesota while my body sits at a rest stop in Iowa. I realized in my packing that I was to miss a house meeting wherein my housemates would discuss the times persons were moving in and out and whatnot. Knowing it was necessary for me to be at this meeting, I needed to find a place where I could access Skype. My sister's home where I have been saying is without wireless. 12 miles away is another sister's home where I will be residing soon. At present, only her husband is at home--who often goes to sleep quite early. Their wireless seeming unreasonable to access, I went to my step-family's house, however, they turn in early at night, making the possibility of accessing internet there seem like quite the intrusion. So, I thank God for the wireless internet in Iowa along I-35, and I drove to seek one out. So here I sit, blue and red lights still flashing behind me, waiting to Skype with roommates hundreds of miles away, all the while planning in the back of my mind at the excitement to be had in the art classroom on the morrow.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Nah, Girl!
Chaos. It is the fear of every substitute teacher to some extent. I have embraced it. I often have wondered over my even-keel self, disconcerted about how often I wasn't disconcerted, wondering if my constantly cold hands were really an indication that I had no heart. Having the emotional range of tofu in a classroom full of unruly children makes substitute teaching a little easier to stomach. However, having a classroom full of disrespectful children that you know you will be teaching again the next day does little for one's sense of hope.
I need not go into all of the antics of junior high school students and the school environment as a whole. You all have been there, and--try as you might--I daresay you haven't forgotten it. I have been so risky as to accept two consecutive days in a classroom in which I had ne'er taught in. For this pair of days, it was for a remedial reading class. I was personally asked to sub by the teacher, who had met me in passing during an AM gym duty. I accepted, and I found a few students that were quite "active" both days. One student which fell into this category was a 6th grade female, who tried to disguise her attitude in a false cloak of indifference.
I had issued intermittent reminders to her to be working after seeing her meander at her leisure to distract and chat with other students. After yet another reminder to get to her seat and get to work, she replied with a plunky, "Nah, girl."
Girl. Not "Miss S."
A student jumped on it, interjecting, "J---, you can't talk to her like that, she's a teacher."
"But she's a girl."
"She's a woman."
I love it when students do the arguing for me. I just gave a firm, "I don't mind if you forget my last name and just call me 'Miss S,' but 'girl' is an inappropriate way to address me." She shrugged it off, somewhere managing to call me girl a couple more times for good measure. She did not make it through the rest of the block of class. I sent her out--not for calling me 'girl,' but for kicking another student.
I need not go into all of the antics of junior high school students and the school environment as a whole. You all have been there, and--try as you might--I daresay you haven't forgotten it. I have been so risky as to accept two consecutive days in a classroom in which I had ne'er taught in. For this pair of days, it was for a remedial reading class. I was personally asked to sub by the teacher, who had met me in passing during an AM gym duty. I accepted, and I found a few students that were quite "active" both days. One student which fell into this category was a 6th grade female, who tried to disguise her attitude in a false cloak of indifference.
I had issued intermittent reminders to her to be working after seeing her meander at her leisure to distract and chat with other students. After yet another reminder to get to her seat and get to work, she replied with a plunky, "Nah, girl."
Girl. Not "Miss S."
A student jumped on it, interjecting, "J---, you can't talk to her like that, she's a teacher."
"But she's a girl."
"She's a woman."
I love it when students do the arguing for me. I just gave a firm, "I don't mind if you forget my last name and just call me 'Miss S,' but 'girl' is an inappropriate way to address me." She shrugged it off, somewhere managing to call me girl a couple more times for good measure. She did not make it through the rest of the block of class. I sent her out--not for calling me 'girl,' but for kicking another student.
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