As I watch my second period class saunter out the door on their way to an extended weekend, vivid snapshots of their faces burn into my inner-teacher-soul. Today I caved in, without them having done anything but walk through the door to class, and I treated them without any respect, calmness, or kindness. No compassion, no empathy, no patience. I smiled only when necessary, but not overly-so, and I spoke in a tired quietness, resigned to sit at the desk and wait for them to pay attention instead of demanding attention from them.
I gave in to their pressures and did not demand respect. Instead, I quietly allowed them to choose their responses individually instead of pleading with them.
The response was drastic and unimagined. Over half of my students recognized my tensions and resignation, staring at me when a peer spoke out, or watching for my nonverbal reaction to their friends’ behaviors. They waited for me to say something, but I did not. Instead, sitting at the teacher’s desk—which I cannot call my own—I waited for my classroom to stop talking, to pay attention, and to act like the adults they think they are. I waited for them to follow the directions I’d given them, watching as a few were unable to process the simplicity of my instructions and asked repeatedly what they were supposed to be doing.
“Put your name on your rubric,” I said. “Put your name on your peer evaluation,” I said. “Pass them both forward. And they looked at me with blank stares, their mouths open, flies wafting in and out without their recognition. Dumbness, I realized, is the ugliest expression. Blankness, stupidity, and blatant disregard are the most unattractive human expressions.
Hatred, I realized, is unavoidable. Resentment, resignation, and disenfranchisement are among those inescapable emotions that I will experience this year. But I can’t let my resentment of their resentment control my interactions and relationships with them.
Mantra: I’m mentally, emotionally, and physically above the lowness of my feelings.
I’d reached my peak of annoyance by 15 seconds into my first class, much faster than I would have assumed. I felt more like a student than an authority figure, more like a part-time camp counselor than an actual teacher. A vast majority of my students completely disregarded the first assignment, choosing instead to BS their introductory speeches on the spot, rambling and filling time with useless inclusions and long pauses. I’ve never been more disappointed in anything or anyone as I am in a vast majority of my first period students and their effort.
And while I’m not an actual teacher, they are my actual class; I just haven’t found a way to remind them of that yet.
My longtime boyfriend gave me advice about not letting their attitudes and laziness hurt my feelings or break my spirit. He's so supportive it takes my breath away. But as I cry on the phone, he's patiently listening for the conclusion so he can remind me of three ULTRA IMPORTANT things (he says it with emphasis.)
1. They're only 17 and 18 year olds. 2. They dislikedoing things, not necessarily doing the thingsItell them to do. 3. This is my biggest passion, and I can't let 17 young men and women deter me from what I've always wanted to do.
Mantra: I love my job. My kids will grow on me
I should have kept his sentiments in mind when faced with the negativity of my students, but I didn’t. Instead, by the time 6th period rolled around, I’d about given up on the day as a whole, succumbing to dub it a failure, a waste, a sham, resigned instead to go home, drink a glass of wine, and cry into my pillow about how much I hate the position I’m in. But when my next group of students walked through the door, the first smiled at me and said, “Today’s speech day, right? I’m ready to go today.”
I have to remember that the attitudes, joys, and frustrations of one class—of one student—are not related to their counterparts. 6th period was the light of my entire day. One female student shared a speech so moving and touching that three of my students were in tears. Their comradery, support, enthusiasm and effort are so exciting, and they remind me why I have dreamt about this job since I was a little girl. Their laughter, applause, and support for one and other was so empowering and moving I almost cried after they left. Had it not been for second hour, euthanizing me to the point of complete and utter exhaustion, I may have cried a little in class.
I won’t be at school tomorrow; I have to go to a seminar at ISU (Illinois State University) for student teaching ethics and practices, so my CT (cooperating teacher) is stepping in to (babysit) teach my students. I'm so overly proud of them that I wrote a note expressing my gratitude and pride in their behavior. Words can’t hardly express the warmth in my heart after witnessing their reactions to the nervousness seen in their peers associated with public speaking.
They remind me that there's light in this job, that there's passion and love and empathy somewhere; I just have to dig around a little to find it.