Professor Noob's Daily Disquisitions
Sunday, May 3, 2009
My last day, which was a day for the celebration of my students' heritage, was a whirlwind of crafts and activities - thanks to Perfect Mentor and myself. Since there were more activities than student groups, not everyone got to do everything, and our little group of students had originally been scheduled to attend only sit-down lectures on such vastly entertaining topics as Mineral Rights. One of the girls almost cried as she was forced to watch possibly the most boring PowerPoint presentation possible on the degrees required to become a Forest Ranger. So Mentor and I outright skipped some of our original activities in favor of Hand Games and Horseback Riding. Much more fun.
One aspect of this event persistently irritated me: the sexism.
I know it's traditional. I know that it's an important part of my students' culture. I know that girls have their own special games and duties as well. But that does not stop my petulant inner privileged-white-feminist voice from seething, "What do you mean I can't touch the drums? Or throw arrows? Goddammit, I don't wanna bead fucking earrings instead, you chauvinist %**$&!"
I just don't come from a culture where such a blatant division of the sexes is acceptable. I'm not used to having to listen to a male student "play" the drums so badly that my palm is actually itching to snatch the stick away from him while all my female students sit silently on the couches and watch.
Am I accustomed to having my gender be used against me in subtle yet horribly detrimental ways? Yes. Have I ever heard someone actually say, "No, girls aren't allowed to do____?" No. Because that someone would get their ass sued, that's why. It's just Not Allowed. We (white mainstream Americans) are not less sexist, just less obvious.
Nevertheless, it still pisses me off to run up against such a bald-faced, outright glorified wall of difference between the sexes. In fact, I think I would have been less offended if they'd said I couldn't do something because I am white. I'm not sure what that says about me, the system, or this tribe.
Oh, and for the record: boys were allowed to bead earrings, too.
One aspect of this event persistently irritated me: the sexism.
I know it's traditional. I know that it's an important part of my students' culture. I know that girls have their own special games and duties as well. But that does not stop my petulant inner privileged-white-feminist voice from seething, "What do you mean I can't touch the drums? Or throw arrows? Goddammit, I don't wanna bead fucking earrings instead, you chauvinist %**$&!"
I just don't come from a culture where such a blatant division of the sexes is acceptable. I'm not used to having to listen to a male student "play" the drums so badly that my palm is actually itching to snatch the stick away from him while all my female students sit silently on the couches and watch.
Am I accustomed to having my gender be used against me in subtle yet horribly detrimental ways? Yes. Have I ever heard someone actually say, "No, girls aren't allowed to do____?" No. Because that someone would get their ass sued, that's why. It's just Not Allowed. We (white mainstream Americans) are not less sexist, just less obvious.
Nevertheless, it still pisses me off to run up against such a bald-faced, outright glorified wall of difference between the sexes. In fact, I think I would have been less offended if they'd said I couldn't do something because I am white. I'm not sure what that says about me, the system, or this tribe.
Oh, and for the record: boys were allowed to bead earrings, too.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Professor Noob's Manifesto
We have come full circle, my friends. A few months ago I was blogging about how I should be working on my book instead, and lookee here...I'm still blogging about how I should be working on my book instead. Eh, I've already put off my final Honors paper to the week before graduation, I might as well procrastinate some more...
...which has resulted in a new template, as you can see. Fleur and The Only Bagel in France shamed me into actually being creative.
This particular template is representative of the miraculous direction in which my life is headed. No more stodginess! No more nagging! No more worrying about what a gaggle of teenagers think of me! Instead, there lies ahead of me a path of poverty, struggle, intellectual exhaustion and the rude broadening of my tender horizons. But - and this is important - it does not involve wearing a suit. I will saunter down my path of vague but high ambitions with combat boots and a half-shaved head, aiming the tank of my prose at prejudiced ass-hats and refusing to be embarrassed by farts.
So there.
...which has resulted in a new template, as you can see. Fleur and The Only Bagel in France shamed me into actually being creative.
This particular template is representative of the miraculous direction in which my life is headed. No more stodginess! No more nagging! No more worrying about what a gaggle of teenagers think of me! Instead, there lies ahead of me a path of poverty, struggle, intellectual exhaustion and the rude broadening of my tender horizons. But - and this is important - it does not involve wearing a suit. I will saunter down my path of vague but high ambitions with combat boots and a half-shaved head, aiming the tank of my prose at prejudiced ass-hats and refusing to be embarrassed by farts.
So there.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
This Is the Definition of "Not With a Bang, But a Whimper"
Well.
This is going to get interesting.
The bare facts of the coming *&$#@ storm are:
1) 70% of my students are failing.
2) This is only slightly worse than the school-wide average.
3) It's pretty much too late to do anything about it.
Because of this, half the school's running around screaming "We're all gonna diiiiiiieee!" and the other half is crouching behind makeshift bunkers crudely fashioned out of desks, drinking the whiteboard-cleaning fluid and flashing their battle scars. And that's just the teachers.
The students, in contrast, have been transformed into shambling horors that stumble around in mobs, stretching their greedy hands out and moaning "Graaades...GRAAADES..."
I don't know what the principal is doing. We think he might be infected.
The sad news is, this is only the beginning. So far, this is only the "Night of the Living 'F'." When the parents get involved...
You know, I hear Belize is nice. And, you know, has no extradition policy.
This is going to get interesting.
The bare facts of the coming *&$#@ storm are:
1) 70% of my students are failing.
2) This is only slightly worse than the school-wide average.
3) It's pretty much too late to do anything about it.
Because of this, half the school's running around screaming "We're all gonna diiiiiiieee!" and the other half is crouching behind makeshift bunkers crudely fashioned out of desks, drinking the whiteboard-cleaning fluid and flashing their battle scars. And that's just the teachers.
The students, in contrast, have been transformed into shambling horors that stumble around in mobs, stretching their greedy hands out and moaning "Graaades...GRAAADES..."
I don't know what the principal is doing. We think he might be infected.
The sad news is, this is only the beginning. So far, this is only the "Night of the Living 'F'." When the parents get involved...
You know, I hear Belize is nice. And, you know, has no extradition policy.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Well, I feel like a bitch - and stupid, to boot. Not only do I vent my spleen at a tiny minority of my students and then completely fail to post about any of the wonderful things that have happened in the past few weeks, I do it on a blog that's linked to my university, so everybody knows who I am and can henceforth label me as the student teacher with the Bad Attitude. Nice.
I'm not apologizing for what I said. In fact, I'm glad I finally stood up and declared, "This rainbow-and-sparkles-I-want-to-adopt-all-my-students crap? This is bullshit." What's more, when I privately conveyed my rage and hurt at my students' behavior to Perfect Mentor, I received none of the censure that I expected.
"Oh, yeah," she said knowingly. "There will always be students that you can't stand."
What? This is normal? I'm not supposed to be some sort of weird science, genetically altered, Dead Poets Society and Freedom Writers spouting android? And if that's the case...why didn't we talk about this sooner?!
This is my formal suggestion to my professors at the College of Ed: Please, please, please discuss this more. In modern society, teachers are required not only to teach but to mentor, defend, accomodate, nag, shield, comfort, support, sacrifice for, and (platonically) love our students. Those are all good things to do, and I don't think we should stop. I'm just asking that there be more discussion about the emotional toll that takes, because as it is too many of us student teachers are made to feel guilty for not getting all the students to stand on their desks and recite Whitman, let alone disliking a few of the teenagers in our classes.
What I am sorry about is that I've let the behavior of a few of my students influence my views of teaching in general. I was very bitter for a long time after that outburst, and because nobody told me to "Shut up, stupid," (and I really wish they had), I just kept talking on and on about my own self-righteous rage. It wasn't until I went on a rant at my parents' house that I started listening to what I was actually saying - and was shocked. I couldn't believe how disparaging I had become.
A few months ago, I had been an idealist who came to the Reservation to experience a different culture. I had never expected it to be easy, but I did expect my students to understand the concept of homework and to automatically treat me, their teacher, with respect. They don't.
So what?
I used to pride myself on being pragmatic. "Deal with things as they are, not as they should be." And now there I was, raving continuously about how students "should" do their work and "should" read quietly and "should" not be so rude and "should" actually try to pass. It's true, they should - but wishing and complaining and whining about how things "should" be isn't going to make them better students. Only dealing with things as they are, not as how I'd like them to be, can accomplish that.
So, with that in mind, some of the things I'm really pleased about:
1) The Poetry Slam
At the end of the poetry unit we had a slam, where students drank coffee/hot chocolate, read their poetry and competed for prizes. A few of my students refused to read (and were graded down for participation), but the rest stood behind the podium and shared their work, some of which was excellent - not just excellent for high schoolers, but flat out excellent. That event (the coffee and the silly prizes) set me back half my food budget for the week, resulting in some funny meals. It was worth every penny. In fact, the slam was such a success that we're having a much bigger, school-wide slam at the end of April.
2) The Zines
We're reading The Giver at the moment, and since it is in the Top 100 Banned Books list I'm having them study it through the lens of censorship. Not only are we looking at why people ban books, we're also studying the censorship within the Giver, and why people need information in order to make choices.
At about the same time we started this unit, I got turned on to Bikini Kill and the Riot Grrrl scene. Those ideas smooshed around in my brain and spat out an (I think) excellent idea. Zines (photo-copied, self-published, DIY magazines) are used to combat media censorship and to share personal experiences - why not have my students make a class zine? Each student gets a page, and on one side of the page they write an article, and on the other side they write a Giver-style memory. Put together, each zine becomes a repository of the knowledge and experiences of each class, functioning a little bit like the Giver does in Jonas' community. It also shows them how to express their ideas and convictions without risking censorship or having to tailor their beliefs for the mainstream media. And it's fun. So sue me, I like to have fun.
The articles were okay, though some were too picture-heavy to really even count as articles
(made those students re-write them). But now the memories are being turned in, and once again I'm awed by my students. They are not shying away from this assignment. They are taking my instructions to "choose a powerful memory" very seriously, and some of their memories are...horrific. But well-written, and stirring, and exactly what I wanted - and, I think, what they needed to write.
Woot.
I'm not apologizing for what I said. In fact, I'm glad I finally stood up and declared, "This rainbow-and-sparkles-I-want-to-adopt-all-my-students crap? This is bullshit." What's more, when I privately conveyed my rage and hurt at my students' behavior to Perfect Mentor, I received none of the censure that I expected.
"Oh, yeah," she said knowingly. "There will always be students that you can't stand."
What? This is normal? I'm not supposed to be some sort of weird science, genetically altered, Dead Poets Society and Freedom Writers spouting android? And if that's the case...why didn't we talk about this sooner?!
This is my formal suggestion to my professors at the College of Ed: Please, please, please discuss this more. In modern society, teachers are required not only to teach but to mentor, defend, accomodate, nag, shield, comfort, support, sacrifice for, and (platonically) love our students. Those are all good things to do, and I don't think we should stop. I'm just asking that there be more discussion about the emotional toll that takes, because as it is too many of us student teachers are made to feel guilty for not getting all the students to stand on their desks and recite Whitman, let alone disliking a few of the teenagers in our classes.
What I am sorry about is that I've let the behavior of a few of my students influence my views of teaching in general. I was very bitter for a long time after that outburst, and because nobody told me to "Shut up, stupid," (and I really wish they had), I just kept talking on and on about my own self-righteous rage. It wasn't until I went on a rant at my parents' house that I started listening to what I was actually saying - and was shocked. I couldn't believe how disparaging I had become.
A few months ago, I had been an idealist who came to the Reservation to experience a different culture. I had never expected it to be easy, but I did expect my students to understand the concept of homework and to automatically treat me, their teacher, with respect. They don't.
So what?
I used to pride myself on being pragmatic. "Deal with things as they are, not as they should be." And now there I was, raving continuously about how students "should" do their work and "should" read quietly and "should" not be so rude and "should" actually try to pass. It's true, they should - but wishing and complaining and whining about how things "should" be isn't going to make them better students. Only dealing with things as they are, not as how I'd like them to be, can accomplish that.
So, with that in mind, some of the things I'm really pleased about:
1) The Poetry Slam
At the end of the poetry unit we had a slam, where students drank coffee/hot chocolate, read their poetry and competed for prizes. A few of my students refused to read (and were graded down for participation), but the rest stood behind the podium and shared their work, some of which was excellent - not just excellent for high schoolers, but flat out excellent. That event (the coffee and the silly prizes) set me back half my food budget for the week, resulting in some funny meals. It was worth every penny. In fact, the slam was such a success that we're having a much bigger, school-wide slam at the end of April.
2) The Zines
We're reading The Giver at the moment, and since it is in the Top 100 Banned Books list I'm having them study it through the lens of censorship. Not only are we looking at why people ban books, we're also studying the censorship within the Giver, and why people need information in order to make choices.
At about the same time we started this unit, I got turned on to Bikini Kill and the Riot Grrrl scene. Those ideas smooshed around in my brain and spat out an (I think) excellent idea. Zines (photo-copied, self-published, DIY magazines) are used to combat media censorship and to share personal experiences - why not have my students make a class zine? Each student gets a page, and on one side of the page they write an article, and on the other side they write a Giver-style memory. Put together, each zine becomes a repository of the knowledge and experiences of each class, functioning a little bit like the Giver does in Jonas' community. It also shows them how to express their ideas and convictions without risking censorship or having to tailor their beliefs for the mainstream media. And it's fun. So sue me, I like to have fun.
The articles were okay, though some were too picture-heavy to really even count as articles
(made those students re-write them). But now the memories are being turned in, and once again I'm awed by my students. They are not shying away from this assignment. They are taking my instructions to "choose a powerful memory" very seriously, and some of their memories are...horrific. But well-written, and stirring, and exactly what I wanted - and, I think, what they needed to write.
Woot.
Friday, March 27, 2009
This Post Would Get Me Fired, If I Was Getting Paid
You know, I consider myself pretty competent at dealing with asshat students by now. Despite the threats that are aired in this online journal, I am actually quite a mild-mannered teacher: the Clark Kent of pedagogy, if you will (except that if I ever wore my underwear outside my pants, I'd be fired. And then sued for traumatizing the poor little kiddies, all of whom have had sex and not a few of whom are parents). Still, I've learned how to shut Ms. Mouth down and how to not make such a public fuss if someone isn't doing their work. It helps that my students have actually cleaned up their act somewhat and keep their sass to reasonable bounds.
Until today, when I decided to try and have an actual conversation with them. They'd just attended an assembly, during which members of the community (actually, they were all from the casino) and elders of the tribe spoke. I was fascinated by the elders' stories about the days before running water, before electricity, before spanking was verboten, before entitlement and snowflakery. The students, who have listened to their elders' sing-song voices lecturing them about respect since they were in the womb, were less impressed. In fact, it seemed to make them cranky.
So when I asked in class, "What did you think of today's assembly?" the first response I got back was, "What kind of question is that?" One that requires effort, apparently, and is therefore a Stupid Teacher Question.
The "conversation" rapidly degenerated into:
Me: [in my brisk, professional "teacher" voice]. Stop that tapping, "Mutter". I find it annoying.
Mutter: I think you're annoying.
Me: [finally snapping a little under the pressure of the continual rudeness]. You're funny. I laugh at you, you know.
Mutter: I laugh at you. We ALL laugh at you.
Me: [still smiling] Really? Why would you do that?
Mean Girl: Because you're ugly.
Me: [still smiling, because I don't know what else to do] Well, I know that isn't true.
What was I supposed to do? Beat them? Yell at them? Send them into the hallway (can't, last time I did that they blocked the hall doors with desks). Dock their grades? Write them up? Probably one of the above would be the correct response. But I, stunned by their sheer fuckwittery, by their stupid rudeness and their bitchy, fragmented, hate-driven little minds, didn't do anything except keep talking.
The talk didn't end so badly. Building on the elders' lament that so few students spoke the local language, I pitched my university to them as a college that is Native-friendly, complete with Native-language classes so they can learn their tribe's traditional tongue. A few listened. A few nodded when I asked if that had helped, bless them.
But as to the others:
I hate you. I'll still teach you and I'll still be fair to you and no, I won't write you up for stating your opinion on my looks. But I hate you. I want nothing to do with you. Does that surprise you, snowflakes? Oh, I forgot, I'm a teacher. Apparently, it's my job to suffer your abuse and still love you in spite of it. No, screw you. I'm here for your classmates, the ones who actually have the courtesy to not be complete douchebags to my face.
I sort of wish I'd said all that...
And now, five minutes ago, I did it again. I let a student who walked out of my classroom get by with just a warning. Not right, and not at all consistent, because I wrote him up last time. What the hell is wrong with me?
I think I need to pray at the shrine of Saint Snape. Oh, Severus Snape, show me the path to the dark truth of total student control. Bless me with the power of your glare, Great One, and I will wear black all my days in your honor...
Until today, when I decided to try and have an actual conversation with them. They'd just attended an assembly, during which members of the community (actually, they were all from the casino) and elders of the tribe spoke. I was fascinated by the elders' stories about the days before running water, before electricity, before spanking was verboten, before entitlement and snowflakery. The students, who have listened to their elders' sing-song voices lecturing them about respect since they were in the womb, were less impressed. In fact, it seemed to make them cranky.
So when I asked in class, "What did you think of today's assembly?" the first response I got back was, "What kind of question is that?" One that requires effort, apparently, and is therefore a Stupid Teacher Question.
The "conversation" rapidly degenerated into:
Me: [in my brisk, professional "teacher" voice]. Stop that tapping, "Mutter". I find it annoying.
Mutter: I think you're annoying.
Me: [finally snapping a little under the pressure of the continual rudeness]. You're funny. I laugh at you, you know.
Mutter: I laugh at you. We ALL laugh at you.
Me: [still smiling] Really? Why would you do that?
Mean Girl: Because you're ugly.
Me: [still smiling, because I don't know what else to do] Well, I know that isn't true.
What was I supposed to do? Beat them? Yell at them? Send them into the hallway (can't, last time I did that they blocked the hall doors with desks). Dock their grades? Write them up? Probably one of the above would be the correct response. But I, stunned by their sheer fuckwittery, by their stupid rudeness and their bitchy, fragmented, hate-driven little minds, didn't do anything except keep talking.
The talk didn't end so badly. Building on the elders' lament that so few students spoke the local language, I pitched my university to them as a college that is Native-friendly, complete with Native-language classes so they can learn their tribe's traditional tongue. A few listened. A few nodded when I asked if that had helped, bless them.
But as to the others:
I hate you. I'll still teach you and I'll still be fair to you and no, I won't write you up for stating your opinion on my looks. But I hate you. I want nothing to do with you. Does that surprise you, snowflakes? Oh, I forgot, I'm a teacher. Apparently, it's my job to suffer your abuse and still love you in spite of it. No, screw you. I'm here for your classmates, the ones who actually have the courtesy to not be complete douchebags to my face.
I sort of wish I'd said all that...
And now, five minutes ago, I did it again. I let a student who walked out of my classroom get by with just a warning. Not right, and not at all consistent, because I wrote him up last time. What the hell is wrong with me?
I think I need to pray at the shrine of Saint Snape. Oh, Severus Snape, show me the path to the dark truth of total student control. Bless me with the power of your glare, Great One, and I will wear black all my days in your honor...
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Well, that was anticlimatic.
No ranting. No fingerpointing. And damn near no parents. I had five parent-teacher conferences in two days, and not one of them lasted longer than three minutes. Only one parent of a failing student came in, and since her daughter has just gotten an IEP and will be getting help with her schoolwork from now on, she really didn't have anything to be pissy about.
I'm actually rather disappointed. I wish I could say that it's because I'd hoped more parents of struggling students would come in, but really, no one in their right mind actually expected them to. I was just hoping for a chance to practice withstanding a hurricane of parental ire while Perfect Mentor was standing (okay, sitting...and napping) behind me.
No ranting. No fingerpointing. And damn near no parents. I had five parent-teacher conferences in two days, and not one of them lasted longer than three minutes. Only one parent of a failing student came in, and since her daughter has just gotten an IEP and will be getting help with her schoolwork from now on, she really didn't have anything to be pissy about.
I'm actually rather disappointed. I wish I could say that it's because I'd hoped more parents of struggling students would come in, but really, no one in their right mind actually expected them to. I was just hoping for a chance to practice withstanding a hurricane of parental ire while Perfect Mentor was standing (okay, sitting...and napping) behind me.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
So, today I admit to being a little peeved - and for once, not at my students, but at those who brought them into being.
I've met this student's mother before, and she's actually a friend of Perfect Mentor's. A lovely woman who is thankfully quite involved in her slightly wayward son's life. He hurt himself and had to take time off of school, and she was diligent about coming to school to pick up his homework, which he was equally diligent in at least trying to get it done correctly.
Side note: I don't care how many hours you log in tutoring, or how many homework assignments you make up. There is no substitute for class time. Believe it or not, you miss things when you're gone! Important things, like how to do the assignment properly and why it matters! And if you think I'm going to sit down and re-teach the whole lesson to every single student who has missed my class (of whom there are at least ten per day), you seriously underestimate both my workload and my patience.
Ahem. Sorry, that really had nothing to do with today's story. To continue...
So, everything was pleasant and wonderful. Then the boy comes back, spends a few days in classes, and promptly is suspended for doing...something very bad.
Cue an enraged e-mail from the mother, demanding his assignments and complaining that she has never received a syllabus for the semester. Complaining in the really formalized way that indicates that she might use this e-mail to take legal action.
Um...what?
Look, I'm not saying a syllabus isn't a good idea, it's just not required in high school. And I'm not saying that we haven't been a little disorganized about giving her son every assignment that he's missed (when he's been gone about half the semester, it's easy to overlook these things). But don't you dare take out your pissy mood over your son's misbehavior on me. It's not my fault that he misbehaved shamefully and it's not my fault that they suspended him. If you're going to yell at anyone but your son, at least go yell at the principal. It won't do you much good, but at least you won't be actively alienating the only people who can keep your son from failing.
Her e-mail, though annoying, has alerted me to a much more serious problem: the parent-teacher conferences. It's suddenly hit me that about half my students are failing (not my fault! I swear! Ask the staff, they'll back me up!) and that, most likely, their parents are all going to blame me for it. And accuse. And yell. And threaten me with bodily harm. And...okay, it probably won't be that bad. But my wager is that at least one conference will get ugly. Shall we start a pool? Person closest to the number of shouting matches wins?
I've met this student's mother before, and she's actually a friend of Perfect Mentor's. A lovely woman who is thankfully quite involved in her slightly wayward son's life. He hurt himself and had to take time off of school, and she was diligent about coming to school to pick up his homework, which he was equally diligent in at least trying to get it done correctly.
Side note: I don't care how many hours you log in tutoring, or how many homework assignments you make up. There is no substitute for class time. Believe it or not, you miss things when you're gone! Important things, like how to do the assignment properly and why it matters! And if you think I'm going to sit down and re-teach the whole lesson to every single student who has missed my class (of whom there are at least ten per day), you seriously underestimate both my workload and my patience.
Ahem. Sorry, that really had nothing to do with today's story. To continue...
So, everything was pleasant and wonderful. Then the boy comes back, spends a few days in classes, and promptly is suspended for doing...something very bad.
Cue an enraged e-mail from the mother, demanding his assignments and complaining that she has never received a syllabus for the semester. Complaining in the really formalized way that indicates that she might use this e-mail to take legal action.
Um...what?
Look, I'm not saying a syllabus isn't a good idea, it's just not required in high school. And I'm not saying that we haven't been a little disorganized about giving her son every assignment that he's missed (when he's been gone about half the semester, it's easy to overlook these things). But don't you dare take out your pissy mood over your son's misbehavior on me. It's not my fault that he misbehaved shamefully and it's not my fault that they suspended him. If you're going to yell at anyone but your son, at least go yell at the principal. It won't do you much good, but at least you won't be actively alienating the only people who can keep your son from failing.
Her e-mail, though annoying, has alerted me to a much more serious problem: the parent-teacher conferences. It's suddenly hit me that about half my students are failing (not my fault! I swear! Ask the staff, they'll back me up!) and that, most likely, their parents are all going to blame me for it. And accuse. And yell. And threaten me with bodily harm. And...okay, it probably won't be that bad. But my wager is that at least one conference will get ugly. Shall we start a pool? Person closest to the number of shouting matches wins?
