Student Teaching Diaries

In Which the Space-Time Continuum is Nearly Annihilated

2005-06-22T20:27:00.000-05:00

Tuesday morning, I miraculously found my way to the school at which I am doing my second seven-week session. This school, according to the ever-accurate Mapquest, is approximately 34 minutes from my house. I know how to get to the town in which the school is located, but I wasn't sure exactly where the school was. Being ever-cautious, I allowed myself an hour, giving my directionally-challenged self plenty of room to get lost. Well, get lost I did. I'm glad that I gave myself that hour, because I pulled into the parking lot of the school at exactly 9:30am, the time I was scheduled to meet with her.

After winding my way through the labyrinth of hallways (this town has one elementary school, and, thusly, eight sections of second grade, the grade I'll be student teaching), I finally made my way to the office. The, uh, wrong office. The, uh, grades 3-5 office. I promptly got lost on my way to the K-2 office, and somehow stumbled upon it after about three minutes of aimless wandering. There, they gave me easy-to-follow directions to the classroom, which, miraculously, I found without incident. On my way out, I should've asked them for a fucking map.

Anyway. I was expecting the room to be empty, and the teacher to be sitting in there while her kids were at special or something, which is how the other teacher handled it. But no. I walked in on a class bustling with children bundling up a year's worth of seasonally-dressed paper dolls with string, "like a present," she instructed them. "If you need help, Ms. Frazzled or I will help you."

Oh. Well. Actually, Ms. Frazzled has the fine motor skills of a four year-old and the spacial relations concepts of a kindergartner, so she'll probably just watch and pronounce everything you do a "Great job!" in hopes of avoiding having to figure out what the hell you're doing. Luckily, these kids turned out to be pretty well-trained, and simply repeating the directions I heard the teacher give - "Now tie it like a shoelace" - was enough to prompt them and not make me look like a totally inept schmuck.

Way to make an impression, right? That was my introduction to this woman's room.

But that wasn't the only thing that threw me off. Ohhhh, no. The first thing that I noticed was that this woman - who bears the same (real) last name as Ms. Sneakers - resembles Ms. Sneakers in a rather striking manner. Same blonde hair in a messy ponytail; same facial bone structure and body type... and they were even dressed alike. Ms Sneakers-Clone (which is what this woman shall be henceforth known as, or Ms. S-C for short) was clad in pale blue capris and a white t-shirt that was very similar to that belonging to Ms. Sneakers... but, alas, no pink sneakers. Instead, she wore pretty white sandals. However, the overall effect was quite unnerving. I briefly wondered which episode of The Twilight Zone I'd become party to.

Despite this brief upset in the space-time continuum, I think that things with Ms. S-C are going to work out just fine. She's extremely friendly and personable, and she made me feel comfortable right away, just like she'd done on the phone. Her manner with the kids is great. Obviously she's had the whole year to fine-tune her relationship with them, but she was able to sit with me and talk for about half an hour and they carried on just as they were supposed to. And she has those highly-developed observation skills common to all good teachers; she'd pause every few minutes to address something, and get right back on track with me. It was interesting to see.

My first in-person impressions of both of these women are good. While I obviously don't know anything of any real substance yet, I have positive feelings towards both of them so far. At the very least, I'm not cringing in horror yet. That'll start as the end of August approaches. For now, I'll just enjoy the fact that I'm pre-horror.

In Which our Protagonist References A Hit Single by Journey

2005-06-20T11:53:00.000-05:00

The title of this entry really ought to read, "In Which our Protagonist Falls to Her Knees in Self-Flagellation and Gratitude," but I can't resist using the Journey reference, and to include both would make the title go onto the next line. I'm a smidge too neurotic for that.

When I walked into my meeting with the first of my two cooperating teachers this afternoon, I was not in good spirits. Aside from being highly anxious due to the less-than-stellar phone "conversation" I had with her last week, it was approaching 80 degrees, and I was in a fucking blazer. A fucking lined blazer. And a pair of strappy, irritating sandals that were slicing fine red lines into my sweaty feet with every step. Oh, Ms. Frazzled; you and your fashion faux pas, I thought. If she doesn't hate you for calling her last week, she's certainly going to think you a little odd in this get-up. And what's with the purse? Totally doesn't match. And still, I pressed on.

And when I saw her sitting at her desk in her spacious, bright classroom, immediately I heard bars from "Don't Stop Believing" by - yes, you guessed it; look at how smart you are! - Journey begin playing in my head. Don't ask me why, but for some reason, that song is my "love at first sight" anthem. I have no idea from where this association arises; I only know that it exists, and that it is generally a superb sign. Like a vision, there she was, with a messy blonde ponytail, cute little scholarly glasses, a white t-shirt, khaki capris, and - here's where it gets good - white socks and pink sneakers. She was wearing pink sneakers. Her sneakers matched my shirt. She had me at the pink sneakers.

When she smiled and began using phrases I recognized, like "classroom community building," "guided reading groups," "writing workshop," and "DEAR time," all of my fear melted into a puddle and joined the sweat at my uncomfortable, but sexily-sandaled, feet. Ha.

Dear readers, I could see myself very easily developing a crush on Ms. Sneakers, as she will be known from here on. I shan't permit myself this indulgence, however, for obvious reasons, not the least of which is the fact that she's close to forty and married. However, I am comforted by this. She is not, indeed, anything resembling the Hitler of elementary school teachers, and I think that she might turn out to be okay, after all. The veracity of this statement does remain to be seen, but so far, I shall say, so good.

Tomorrow, I meet in person with the cooperating teacher for my second seven-week session. She and I have spoken twice on the phone, and I already possess nothing but good feelings for her. I'm actually looking forward to seeing her. That is, of couse, assuming I can find the school.

Oh, Goddess, Deliver Me from Impending Pants-Shitting Terror

2005-06-17T20:05:00.000-05:00

My single greatest fear about student teaching is not that I will have a group of thirty heedless, godless pagans whose pencil-stabbings I have to dodge on a regular basis. It is not that I will stand in front of them and be unable to do anything but stutter and say things like, "Guys, please, could you settle down?" and "Come onnnnn!" It's not even, really, that I will be a terrible teacher and just simply not cut out for it, although that's certainly high up there on the terror meter. (Hm, I think I should develop my own colour-coding system for student teaching fears.)

No. My single greatest fear is that I will have an unfriendly, unhelpful, bitch of a cooperating teacher. If she (they) are kind, positive, and supportive, I can take thirty heedless, godless pagans intent upon stabbing me to death. I can take lessons going poorly. I can take just not being cut out for it. Those things would suck, but they'd suck significantly less than having to deal with the Hitler of elementary school teachers on a daily basis, and, worse yet, take over her classroom.

Yeah. So on Thursday, when I called the teacher with whom I'll be doing my first seven weeks, and she was short, snappish, and decidedly unhappy with the intrusion into her time, I had a panic attack, curled into a ball, and howled like a whipped puppy. Actually, that last part's a lie. I didn't. But I wanted to. Oh, man. I wanted to. The entire phone call lasted maybe thirty seconds (I told you she was short), but it was enough to make me quiver in my comfortable sandals. We managed to make an appointment to meet on Monday at noon, and I'm decidedly not looking forward to it.

I'm terrible, in that I often make snap judgements based on very little information. I called her at 3:20pm on a Thursday. She may have had children staying after with her; she may be super stressed due to the fact that it's the last few days of school; she may have had a really crappy day; she may have been ill... any number of innocuous things could have accounted for her curt manner. She may be Mother fucking Theresa, for all I know. However, I have a sneaking suspicion that she is not Mother fucking Theresa. As unfortunate as it may be that I make snap judgements, I have come to trust them. If I dislike someone right away, I almost always find out later that it's justified. In this case, I hope that it's not, for obvious reasons. But oh, man. Ohhhhh, man. I can't imagine anything worse than having a crappy cooperating teacher.

Oh, Goddess, pray for the soul of this sinning student teacher; deliver her from cooperating teacher hell; take upon you her burdens of copious sweaty panic and impending pants-shitting terror...

Ms. Frazzled Dons a Bra. And Shows 300 People.

2005-06-05T13:10:00.000-05:00

What I am hoping at this very moment: in the future, none of my coworkers or students' parents will come up to me and say, "I knew I knew you from somewhere. You look different with your clothes on. You're that girl I saw dancing at [the gay club] in her bra on June 4th! Nice tattoo." (A la Josh Cohen, whose story I wholeheartedly appreciated.)

Well, that's a step up from the last entry. At least I was wearing a bra.

In other news, I finally got my first placement for student teaching next semester. I will be in a fourth grade in the ghetto. I did one of my prior observations at that school, and it was definitely an experience. I'm thinking that I may have some of the kids I did my observation with, since I was in a third grade room. At least I know the school, and it's fairly close. On Monday, I have to call the teacher and set up an appointment to meet with her.

Know what's funny? Both of my cooperating teachers have the same last name. One less thing for me to worry about forgetting.

In Which Ms. Frazzled is Made Highly Uncomfortable in Public

2005-05-20T21:30:00.000-05:00

This evening, I got my first taste of what being a teacher really means for one's social life. Out and about with a close friend of mine, and, perhaps, not dressed as tastefully as I might have been (picture, if you will, a braless Ms. Frazzled, decked out in a tank top that revealed two of her tattoos, jeans hanging dangerously low on her hips and ripped at the cuff, a hoodie as old as dirt, and sandals clearly displaying her less-than-perfectly-polished toenails), with my sunglasses perched rakishly atop my less-than-coifed head, eyeliner smeared rather whorishly about, with my purse slung around me like a common tramp, I came upon a small boy. This small boy was not just any small boy; he was a small boy who I'd scolded many a time in this past semester's third grade placement, and who'd enveloped me in the loveliest hug when I left.

Meeting his eye accidentally, I realized that I must make a choice. Do I ignore said small boy, pretending as though I don't recognize him, and, therefore, must not be the Ms. Frazzled he'd come to know and love? No, that won't do. This particular tot was a smart one, and his scoldings had mostly occurred because he was so bright that, when he finished his work miles ahead of his classmates, he became quickly bored, and therefore entertained himself by making various types of trouble. I had to acknowledge him.

But I did not want to bring his mother into this. Ohhhh, no. She must not see me in this decidedly unprofessional manner. Calling him by name was also out, because when a mother hears her child's name, that can quickly turn from innocent meeting to interrogation. I decided upon a friendly wave while his mother's attention was turned elsewhere, and a characteristic Ms. Frazzled smile. I thought that this did the trick. He waved back, a curious look upon his face, as though he had just seen Ms. Frazzled not in her Friday Night Best, but in her Birthday Suit. He then walked along, and I turned away from him and brought my attention to the line for the register wherein I was waiting.

Several minutes later, when my transaction was complete, my friend and I continued out into the mall, where we perched on a bench waiting for a third party who had things to take to her car. While we waited upon said bench, the small boy and his mother proceeded through the door and walked past us. This time, I pretended to be engrossed in conversation with my friend, because I hadn't caught his eye, and thought ignoring to be the best course of action. Unfortunately, this bright and highly observant child did not fail to notice me. Ohhhh, no.

What do I hear but "Hi, Ms. Frazzled!" This, of course, forced me to turn and acknowledge the boy by name. "Hi, J. How're you?" I said back, hoping he'd not answer. Mercifully, he did not, and he and his (tall, blond, elegant looking) mother continued on. She gave me a kind smile, which is always better than a disapproving frown, but it left me quite shaken.

Teachers are not safe from their profession anywhere. The bartender could be your student's uncle. The police officer who tickets you for unsafe speed could be the superintendant's sister. The clerk at the porn store? No doubt your pupil's mother.

I shudder to think that I could have been decked out in my dykiest finery, my red Chick Magnet t-shirt out and proud; or that I could have had my favourite little boy's Bust A Nut shirt on, just begging for a lecture from this blond and, surely, concerned, matron. Or, God forbid, she find me at my most unprofessional, femmed out with cleavage up to my neck and my best "fuck me" jeans.

I am thankful that I was simply sloppy, and not outright offensive.

How do we reconcile this, when our classroom self is so distinctly different from our everyday self? I have never been anything but professional in front of students (save, perhaps, the time that I sprawled on my ass, in a most decidedly unprofessional manner, from a student's chair and had to smooth my skirt, which had behaved badly in said spill), but outside of school... that's not me. I'm a little vulgar; I take some joy in being controversial; I'm nothing if not relaxed and utterly unglamorous. I don't want to give that up. It's essential to my identity and to my mental health.

I suppose I just have to be cautious. Hoodies are always good. You can zip them up to hide almost anything emblazoned across your chest, and they make excellent disguises for tattoos. I will, forever more, be a devout carrier.

In Which our Protagonist Becomes Emotional Pudding

2005-05-18T11:14:00.000-05:00

Today was officially my last day of school for the semester. All the work is done and handed in; all of the projects and presentations are complete; all of the books for my thematic unit have been returned to the library; all the work I'll be getting back is back... and I couldn't possibly be more relieved. I am going to positively relish the boredom whenever it appears over the next few months. I am going to bask in having nothing whatsoever to do. I am going to become orgasmic at the thought of coming home from work and not having to spend my evening poring over this computer screen for anything but porn. Ha.

And it was a nice last day, too. Everybody brought in something to eat, and we had a breakfast, and everybody shared their thoughts about the semester, and it was generally just a relaxed, gentle way to ease us back into having lives again.

And the nicest part of it all was getting my work returned. Mark, the professor for the science portion of my Math/Science/Technology course, and I have gotten to know each other pretty well over these past couple of months. His daughter, who's in her twenties, has severe autism, and she went to school where I work in its earliest years. Mark's wife works there, and I've spoken to her once or twice. He and I formed a nice little bond over this common thread in our lives, and we email back and forth, and we talk quite a bit outside of the usual academic conversation. He's one of the warmest, funniest people I've ever met, and I positively adore him.

Anyway. He handed two of the assignments that he graded for me. One of them said, "I love this lesson. Can I keep it and use it as an example of an Inquiry-Based CLE for my next class? I'll take your name off if you want, but I would be proud of this. You write so well and have so much creativity that I'm jealous." On the bottom of the paper, he wrote "C. [one of the teachers where I work, who Mark knows very well] wants me to tell you to be a special ed. teacher. Invite me to your class when you decide what you're gonna do. I know I'll be impressed." In the other assignment, my science journal, that he handed back, he'd tucked an index card into it and wrote, "C.H. [same teacher] says you're a natural with the kids."

Nothing this semester was as good for my heart and for my soul as what he wrote to me. Over the past couple of days, I've been seriously questioning whether I'm doing the right thing. You give a lot of yourself and a lot of your time when you embark on this journey, and there is absolutely nothing easy about it. It can be stressful, lonely, difficult, and heart-breaking sometimes. I was concerned that I really don't have the inner resources that I need to be successful at teaching, and I even contemplated dropping out at this late stage in the game and taking some office job where people would leave me the hell alone and never ask me, for the seventeenth time, if they can sharpen their fucking pencil.

But reading what Mark had to say, and his passing on what C. had said about me (and C. is one of my goddamn role models at work; she is one of the best special educators I've had the pleasure of working with) - it gave me back some of my conviction and confidence. I love what I do. If I could make enough money to support myself at it, and just stay as an aide, I would. I'm at my best there. My best qualities - my patience, my sense of humour, my kindness - come out when I'm with my kids. To know that someone else sees this and has faith in my abilities is so heartening and amazing to me. I want to do it. And, in order to make enough money to keep doing it, I have to have a degree, and I have to have certification. And if I have to jump through a thousand hoops to do it, then I will.

Ms. Frazzled, Lesbian Extraordinaire

2005-05-14T12:30:00.000-05:00

You may (or may not) have noticed my recent posting gap. This is due to the fact that something other than student teaching has taken over the neurotic, obsessive function of my brain for the past week or so, thus rendering me unable to focus the sort of bonafide-nut attention here that I normally would.

What could possibly be so important, you ask? What on Earth could possibly divert my tunnel vision?

Her name is Amy. And she's way more fun.

And why am I talking about her here, pray tell? Because being a dyke complicates things when you're going to be teaching elementary-aged students, perhaps a bit more than it complicates things in most other professions (save, perhaps, becoming a member of the clergy).

Traditionally, teaching is a rather conservative occupation. I understand that there are huge numbers of progressive, liberal, and queer-friendly teachers and administrators. In fact, I will daresay that there are more of them than there are staunch, inflexible conservative ones. At least, that seems to be the case in my particular area. But, as a whole, teaching is still a conservative profession. Teachers are expected to dress a certain way, behave a certain way, and to serve as role models for young people.

In today's political climate, I don't feel particularly safe disclosing this part of my personal life in a professional setting. In the "real world," I'm so out that it hurts (not me, mind you, but anyone who might be the least bit uncomfortable with it.) Ha. In my professional life, I have never lied, but I don't bring it up in conversation, and I certainly don't have "Ms. Frazzled, Lesbian Extraordinaire" printed on my business cards. Unfortunately, it's a risk.

Over the past several weeks, I have read about two separate instances in two different states of attempts being made to bar gays and lesbians (everybody leaves out the poor bisexuals, transgendered folk, and other queers when they're on their anti-fag crusades, I've noticed) from teaching in public schools. The thought of this is terrifying.

People tend to get a little bent out of shape when comparisons are made between the treatment of queers in today's society and the treatment of the Jews in much of just-pre-Holocaust Germany, but come on now. I'm not expecting to be carted off to the showers anytime soon, and I don't mean to imply that I am. What I do mean to imply, however, is that we are seeing systematic, government-sanctioned and indeed, government-initiated and -sponsored attempts to prevent gays and lesbians from participating in mainstream society. We are prevented from entering into certain legal contracts; our economic interests are being threatened by prejudice; our ideas and our lives are being censored (the recent events in Alabama libraries, anyone?) and touted as "obscenity," and we are forever being blamed and scapegoated for everything that's gone wrong in this country.

Breakdown of traditional marriage? Totally our fault, especially since we can't get married. The moral decay of children? Yep, that's us again. 9/11? Sorry about that. Our very presence tends to incur the wrath of God in the form of religious wackos flying aircraft without authorization. Global warming? Nah, it's not your gas-guzzling, Saudi dick-sucking SUV's, don't worry, and don't stop buying them. It's the goddamn fags and their super-carbondioxide-producing respiratory systems.

So you can see why I'm a tad apprehensive. The last thing I want is some angry asshole's repressed homosexuality to prevent me from using the degree I've busted my ass to earn. I don't want to have to be constantly on the defensive with parents; to be held to a different standard than my colleagues because they're just itching for a legitimate reason to fire me; to be presumed to be a morally bankrupt pedophile because when I go home, I eat dinner and watch crappy television with a beautiful woman instead of a man. It's insanity, and it's getting worse, not better. There's a huge backlash against all of the gains we've made in the past century, and I don't want to put myself in the line of fire any more than necessary.

How do I behave towards students and parents if they see me out with my girlfriend, holding hands? How do I respond to questions about my "husband" or my "boyfriend" (other than simply saying I don't have one)? How do I keep my integrity in a heterosexist, homo-fearful environment?

I feel like if I were going to be a highschool or college instructor, things would be different. I can remember having queer teachers in highschool and in college, and nobody made a big deal out of it. Sure, people snickered in the locker room and were utterly disgusting out of their earshot. I can handle that. But as far as I knew, there was never any real flak with parents or with the administration.

Maybe I'm going to find that my worries are completely ridiculous, and I hope that I do. But I fear for the worst, because I don't like the direction this country is heading. I don't feel safe with the headlines that are swirling around and the attempts that are being made to keep "my kind" away from the precious little children. It gives me creepy-crawlies up my spine. And it makes me absolutely furious.

In My Classroom, There Will Be Hierarchy, Damnit

2005-05-05T17:10:00.000-05:00

Today, I had a terrific Teaching Language Arts and Social Studies class. The teacher for the social studies portion, which I had today, taught elementary school for 27 years before she became a professor. I've loved every class with her, because she cuts right through the bullshit to what the reality of teaching is, and that's something I really admire. I've had professors who've never spent a day in an elementary classroom, and it's very clear to anyone who has. Theory is nice, and it's great to be able to back up your practices with fancy language and namedropping when you're talking to people who're deciding whether they're going to hire you or not. But once you get into the classroom, it becomes a moot point.

This professor knows that, and she's got the balls to say it. I have a lot of respect for her because of that. And today, she devoted her entire class to Lee Canter's Assertive Discipline ideas, with which I've familiarized myself in recent weeks in my ravenous search for anything that will give me a leg up in the fall.

A lot of people in my class disapproved of his methods and of my professor's particular interpretation and implementation of them in her own classroom. And while I respect their right to do whatever they want to do in their own class (barring, of course, the defenstration of certain students, even when they do deserve it), I'm always a bit more inclined to listen to someone who's been there, and been there a very long time. My own experience in education, however limited, has taught me that. Listen to the veterans. They've survived, and there's a reason for that that goes beyond dumb luck.

A lot of the classes that I've taken leave me with a bit of a sour taste in my mouth when it comes to classroom management and discipline. I'm certainly not an expert, and I do realize that you need to be respectful and flexible with your students. Nobody goes into teaching with the intent to be a brutal dictator; people generally teach because they enjoy children, and they are excited by the prospect of helping children learn. But Jesus H. Christ, some of the stuff they're feeding pre-service teachers is flat out ridiculous, and I don't think that gives children the credit that they deserve.

Children are impressionable, for sure. Children have needs that are different from adults. Children are all unique entities, and they are all inherently deserving of respect, fairness, assistance, and love. They are not, however, fragile, dainty little flowers that are going to wilt at the slightest hint that they're not perfect. You are doing children no favors when you coddle them, maintain low expectations in the name of "encouraging diversity" and "cultural sensitivity," or insulate them from reality. You are setting them up for a huge culture shock, and you are not teaching them the skills that are necessary to survive. I'm not talking about teaching children to be cutthroat, merciless competitors who trample upon everyone to get their own way; I'm not talking about punishing them for every single thing, or berating them; I'm not talking about dampening their optimism, or about "spare the rod, spoil the child." Please. You know me better than that.

But for God's sake. It's okay to tell children no.

Look. I've never taught in an elementary school classroom. But I've worked with kids with special needs for four and a half years; my job is in a classroom. Believe me - if my kids can take it, "typical" elementary school kids can, too.

The people in my class today were talking about how it's damaging and ostracizing to students to have their name put on the board. About how you shouldn't have sticker charts for math scores or number of books read, because it will make students who've performed poorly feel bad. About how you shouldn't dump a student's messy desk on the floor to make a point.

C-R-A-P.

Students who make poor behavior choices deal with the consequences of those choices. They do it in my room now, and they're going to do it in my room in the future. I have to do it. Functioning, able adults all do it. My job is to help them grow into those adults. The sooner they start taking responsibility, the better. If a student is that horrified at having her or his name on the board, maybe they won't make that behavior choice again. One embarrassing incident isn't going to kill her.

Conversely, students who perform well deserve to be recognized. If my student is reading tons of books, I want to hold him up as an example of a terrific, voracious reader. If my student has studied hard and worked tirelessly on her math facts, I want her to be recognized as a hard-working, persistent student. It makes them feel good, and it gives their peers a positive model. If students are disappointed that they don't have a sticker on the chart, all they have to do is read a book, or study their math. It's within their control and capabilities; they have the option to do better for themselves.

Children are resilient. They are surprisingly capable human beings. The children in my classrooms, many of whom come from severe poverty and have poor parental involvement and care, and all of whom are moderately to severely disabled, surprise me every day with their ability to be better than anyone had ever hoped for them; to bounce back from adversity; to work hard; to smile; to outdo themselves in a thousand different ways. It's an amazing thing to witness, and if they are able, "typical" kids are more than able.

Self-esteem comes from rising to meet challenges. Self-esteem comes from realizing your own abilities because you use your own abilities. Self-esteem comes from independence, resilience, taking responsibility, making mistakes and forgiving yourself for them and learning from them and working to be better. Not from never being given the opportunity to fail, or never being expected to try. You teach children dependence, laziness, hypersensitivity, and irresponsibility when you do everything for them, and when you reinforce that type of behavior. Those are not traits inherent in children. They are learned behaviors.

Ha. Wow. I'm really on a rant here, aren't I?

I think I'll end this long-winded, preachy, self-righteous post with a few goals for my future classroom. Mwahahahaha.

01. In my classroom, everyone will return home alive and (mostly) physically intact at the end of the day. I will recognize that, on some days, this may be the only goal that I can successfully meet, and I will be okay with this. I will not tolerate punching, slapping, kicking, poking, stabbing, shooting, pinching, scratching, hair-pulling, slicing, slashing, biting, head-butting, body-slamming, or any other form of physical violence in my classroom. Nor will I tolerate excessive speed in my classroom, in the hallway, or anywhere else in the school, or flat-out dangerous behavior that isn't listed here. On my worst days, I will enforce this, if nothing else. Parents expect students to come home breathing and not bleeding profusely, and I intend to rise to this expectation.

02. In my classroom, there will be minimal emotional damage inflicted. Most days, I will be able to ensure this, and I will. My classroom will be a safe place, physically and emotionally. I will not tolerate name-calling, emotional bullying, taunting, swearing, insulting, racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, classism, hatred or plain old nastiness in any form. After ensuring my students retain a pulse, this is my next priority. Students will be kind to one another and to me, and they will treat people with respect.

03. In my classroom, there will be a modicum of civility maintained. This goes beyond one and two. My next priority, after keeping students alive and not in a slumped heap of wailing, weeping emotional pudding, is to prevent anarchy. Students will not scream and carry on, talk over one another or me, throw things of any density, play with themselves or anything else at inappropriate times, undress, leap from their seats (or windows) at random, make rude gestures, steal from anyone, destroy property in a willful manner, or otherwise behave as godless pagans in my classroom. They will respect themselves, each other, me, and the property. Or at least pretend to.

04. In my classroom, everyone will own up to their own bullshit. Nobody is to blame for anyone else's irresponsibility, poor behavior, or bad choices. Likewise, nobody gets credit for another's successes and accomplishments. I will not have whining, sniveling, begging, or bargaining when homework is forgotten, consequences are doled out, or the class hamster dies of starvation. It's extremely annoying and could drive me to homicide, violating guiding principle numero uno. My students will be accountable for what they do, and I will teach them this and expect it from them by holding them responsible for both positive and negative behaviors. I will model this by owning up to my bullshit in full view of my students.

05. In my classroom, everyone will watch their own back. I will expect my students to ask for the help they need. No one will stare into space mining their noses when they fail to understand something that is being taught; no one will wet themselves because they neglected to ask for a bathroom break; everyone will accept any grade that they fail to discuss with me. My students will advocate for themselves, because self-advocacy is a lifelong, necessary skill.

06. In my classroom, you will try, goddamnit. I expect mistakes, and I will never punish a student for making an academic mistake. Period. Mistakes are opportunities to learn something; they are signs of positive risk-taking, thought processes, and a willingness to try. But students will make an attempt to complete their work beyond peering over their neighbor's shoulder, or they will suffer my wrath. Mwahaha. I will expect students to live up to their highest capabilities at each moment. I will understand that "highest capabilities" vary according to a number of different factors, including what students did or did not eat for breakfast, whether they were up all night tossing their cookies, the server status of their favourite website, etc. But I will always expect the best effort feasible.

07. In my classroom, you will learn academic skills and information. On my best days, I will teach something academic, and sometimes, it will stick.

I will start from the top and work my way down. Eventually, I'll make it to number seven. But that's impossible without everything else in place, and that takes time. We're growing people, here, people. Capable, empathic, kind, responsible, independent people. Smart grows from there.

Ms. Frazzled Discovers The Bible, and Other Small Miracles

2005-05-04T20:40:00.000-05:00

Today, I cheerfully skipped off to Barnes & Noble with my $100 gift card, courtesy of my mother, who always knows just how to say, "Happy birthday, my utterly neurotic, but somehow lovable, daughter!"

I spent approximately an hour haunting the section of the store that houses books for educators and classroom materials, and I finally selected four volumes of wisdom, advice, and ever-hungered-after reproduceables. What did I get? Differentiated Instructional Strategies by Gregory and Chapman; Qualities of Effective Teachers by Stronge; Learning to Teach by Shalaway and Beech, and Classroom Teacher's Survival Guide by Partin. Two of them are rather hefty, and I'm sure to get hours of do-it-yourself therapy out of them.

The other day, the copy of Setting Limits in the Classroom, Revised : How to Move Beyond the Dance of Discipline in Today's Classrooms by Robert Mackenzie that I ordered from Amazon.com arrived, and really, I think I'm in love. I immediately recognized myself in his characterization of "The Permissive" - the over-friendliness, the requests instead of statements or directions, ignoring behavior, giving unclear or mixed messages, blah blah blah blah. I'm glad that I was able to pinpoint my own problem behaviors before I wandered out in front of thirty kids and wondered why they wouldn't listen to a single word I said.

The book is amazing, and it's amazing in its simplicity. I wish I'd had this book when I first started at my job. Not because I think everything in it is just as valid for kids with autism as it is for "typical" kids, because it's definitely not. But there are things in there that do work for the kids that I deal with, and they're things that I've had to teach myself - and it's taken me four years. Yeah, I'm a slow learner.

But seriously. Giving the student a choice of two things (i.e. "You can sit quietly at the table for the next five minutes, or you can go to the quiet chair for the next five minutes," a la my dealings with M. the other day) focuses on the behavior, makes the behavior the student's responsibility and choice, and shortens the time it takes to deal with the problem considerably. You give the choices, the student takes one of them, and they either behave appropriately or they choose the consequence. So fucking simple, right?

Obviously, it won't work every time, which is why Mackenize gives you strategies to cut off an argument ("It's not the time to discuss it now. I'll be more than happy to make an appointment to discuss it with you after school or during lunch"), deal with students who tune you out or ignore you (have them repeat your directions exactly as they heard them), de-escalate a confrontation (give the student a choice of a place to go to calm down), and deal with passive-aggressive dawdlers (set a timer - something else I picked up at work!)

I think it's a terrific book, and I plan to imprint it on my memory. I won't be the teacher with the classroom of wild-running heathens, goddamnit. It's really common sense, but, uh, we all know how deficient I can be in that department. So for the clueless educators amongst us, it's worthwhile. I appreciate his emphasis on respectful interactions and on relabeling "difficult" students as "aggressive learners / kids who constantly challenge the limits" or "kids who learn by testing and experience."

Anyway. I'll stop gushing now. But, if you're ever looking for a fairly straightforward way to get some damn respect (Angelo, I'm thinking of you and your phobia of eight year-olds, hahahaha), pick it up.

Ms. Frazzled versus the Maniacal Giggler

2005-05-02T20:33:00.000-05:00

Today (like any other day, I guess) at work, I got to practice my behavior management techniques, hahaha. Like I said, I do that every day, but today, I felt like I ran the whole gamut of strategies in one half-hour block. And I feel really good about the way that I handled it, too, which is always good for the old confidence, right?

M. came in today in an awful state, crying over something that he wouldn't - or couldn't - articulate. He said something about being "bad on the bus," but that's all I could get out of him. The crying continued for most of the time until morning circle. In one of the morning lessons, he got sent to the quiet chair for incessant giggling and noncompliance.

I got him after lunch. Normally, M. isn't a behavior problem. He can be annoying and occasionally noncompliant, and he happens to be the kid that pushes my buttons in just the right way, but I don't generally have an issue with him. Anyway.

I'd watched his behavior for most of the day, and I was very conscious of how I handled him when he came to math. As soon as he sat down, I put him right next to me, because proximity, you learn, is control. I tried to make some positive connection with him; I asked him how his lunch was, what he had, etc. and he responded fine. Then I asked him what he wanted to work for, and he told me that he wanted to work for a walk. I said that was fine. And then I clearly outlined the behavior that I expected from him in order for him to earn that walk: paying attention, working at a steady pace, staying calm, and not being silly. I asked him if he thought he could do that, and he said yes.

It went fine for about fifteen minutes or so, while he did independent calculator work and I kept an eye on him and on the other kid that I had with me. But then he got that look in his eyes and he started to get silly, so I said, "M., are you still working for that walk?" He told me yes, but I could tell that he was close to losing control. I told him to take a minute to get himself under control and back on track, and I did a few deep breaths with him.

They worked for a little bit, and I managed to get some more productive work done with him, stopping to take some breaths and to praise him when he made efforts to keep himself together. But then he really started to lose it. That's when I told him that he was losing his walk.

He immediately said, "I'll be good; I'll be good!" I gave him one last chance to make a better choice, and I told him he could still earn his walk if he held it together for another five minutes and did his work. I asked him if he thought he could do that; he said yes; we took another few deep breaths...

and then he lost it, and started giggling in his weird, maniacal way. So I told him he'd lost his walk. I always hate doing that, but there's no way I'm rewarding a kid for behavior so far below what they're capable of. And he started the whole, "I'll be good! I want my walk; I'll do my work!" but I told him that he'd lost his chance to earn his walk, and it was time to sit quietly and do nothing for the last five minutes of the period.

He stayed giggly and bizarre, and so I told him that now he was making a choice between sitting at the table quietly for the last five minutes, or sitting in the quiet chair for the last five minutes. I told him to choose the table or the quiet chair, and he just kept up the behavior. So I said, "Now you've chosen the quiet chair. Go there." And he did. And he refused to stand appropriately there, so I went over and first verbally instructed him to stand quietly and face the wall, not lean on it. He ignored me, so I physically placed him in the correct position and told him he would stay until he was quiet.

I ignored him for the rest of the period. He kept trying to make eye contact and escalate the situation, but I wouldn't give him the opportunity.

I think that I handled this really well. I was firm, but I gave him many opportunities to make better choices. I modeled and instructed him on what my expectations were; I assisted him in employing strategies to calm down and focus; I positively reinforced his good choices (and made sure that he understood that he was making choices), and I followed through on the consequences that I'd outlined for him. I wish that it would have ended on a more positive note, but I feel like I did everything that I could do. I'm sure there was a better way, but I think what I did was appropriate.

One of my biggest challenges is dealing with behavior. Some people have a presence. You've met people like this, and you've probably had teachers like this - no matter how big they are physically, they have an aura of authority, and you immediately respect them. I don't think it comes naturally to all those people; I'm sure a lot of them have worked to hone it. But it does come naturally to some of them. I'm not one of these people. I have to really work to convey authority and to enforce rules. I don't project it; I have to earn it. It's hard for me.

That's why small successes like today are so meaningful for me. It means that I'm getting better; that I'm learning and growing and acquiring skills. When I first started there, I wouldn't have been able to do what I did today. It gives me hope of someday actually being the one in charge, and being good at it.

Building confidence and skills a little at a time is the best that I can hope for myself. I think that the experience I've had over the last few years working with kids with such intense academic and behavioral needs will be beneficial to me when I do my student teaching. If nothing else, it will be a constant reminder to me that I've dealt with kids way bigger and way badder than these elementary school brats. Ha.

In Which the Protagonist Gathers Tools of Self-Deception

2005-05-01T20:25:00.000-05:00

Last night, I spent a considerable amount of time on Amazon.com making a list of books that I want to get my grubby little hands on before September. There are presently 34ish books on that list, and really, that's only the beginning. Once I get started on books, there's no hope for me, or for my checking account.

I quell my fears with knowledge. It makes me feel prepared, capable and intelligent, whether I actually am or not. False confidence is better than no confidence, eh? And the more I stuff into my brain, the better. It keeps me occupied and prevents the tearing out of my hair.

Honestly, at this point in time, I feel completely unprepared for student teaching, and I'm anxious that I only have these few months to get prepared. And even then, I'm concerned that there really is no preparation; that I just have to jump into the experience and hope to keep my head above water for 14 weeks. That's why I'm ~~obsessing~~ stressing about it so much, I think. I don't like being thrown into the pool to teach me how to swim. I think that experience when I was four and my aunt threw me into the pool to teach me how to swim sorta poisoned it for me. Ha.

People have asked me why I'm so uptight about the whole thing, and that's it. I'm not the kind of person who maintains my grace and poise under machinegun fire while being observed by veteran soldiers. My repetitive string of bad metaphors reveals the true depths of my anxiety. But seriously. I lack that one crucial teacher quality - thinking on my feet. I don't know if that's something that you pick up along the way, or if it's just something for which I am going to have to compensate with other stellar qualities. Or, if it's something that's going to end my teaching career before it even begins.

In any case, I figure the more I have stored in the back of my brain, the better. It will reduce the need for me to be brilliant all on my own, with short notice. Not eliminate it entirely; I understand this. But reduce it. Reduce, reduce.

And that's why I spent an hour in Barnes & Noble today fawning over books that I want, mostly expensive treatises on differentiating instruction and how not to freak out in front of your inclusive classroom. And why my mother bought me a gift certificate from there for my birthday and is going to give it to me early so that I can go in and get a 25% discount this week. It's their educator's week; I just have to bring in my pay stub, and I'm good to go. It ends the day after my birthday, but my mom wanted to give me time to fondle everything in the aisle and hem and haw about making a decision.

Does she know me, or what?

But I bet sometimes she wishes she didn't. Like when I'm venting to her and not this blog.

I'm Dreaming of Restrained Students

2005-04-30T08:51:00.000-05:00

Last night, I had my first student teaching dream (I wonder if it's a coincidence that I also had a dream wherein I was running from two sketchy-looking fellows in a truck, and ended up in my Teaching Mathematics, Science, and Technology classroom. Somehow I doubt it.) It wasn't of the most pleasant variety, but it wasn't of the most unpleasant variety, either.

After all, it's difficult to be too tremendously unpleasant when the 2nd graders are conveniently corralled in seats from which they cannot escape without considerable effort. I won't even attempt to explain these contraptions. They were totally space age. Little fuckers couldn't even turn around to talk to the detainees behind them.

Readers, I ask you this: Are they legal? and Where can I get me some o'them?

The rest of the dream is sort of blurry, but it did involve a cooperating teacher who was less than thrilled with me about one thing or another. As if a CT who devises technology to permanently keep "Eyes on me!" has any right to talk.

In Which the Prospective Student Teacher Begs for Sedation

2005-04-29T20:20:00.000-05:00

Well, here we go. I've finally conceded that I need a special place to document the journey that I'm about to take. I'm nearing the end of my professional semester, which means my next step is student teaching.

The concept terrifies me, and I tend to obsess on things that terrify me. Hence this blog.

I have one of my placements already - a 2nd grade classroom in a suburban/ruralish district, with a woman who appears, at first telephone conversation, to be enthusiastic, friendly, and easy-going. I hope that she's as good as she seems. She will be, for the first time, teaching an inclusion class. She's going to have about 13 regular ed. students for the morning, and then she's going to be getting a class of 1st and 2nd grade inclusion kids for the afternoon. The special educator will be joining her during this time.

This is a challenging prospect. Despite my experience in special ed., I've never been in a full-blown inclusion classroom, having to make decisions about behavioral management and differentiating instruction. I'm used to having one or two special ed. kids at a time - not a whole classful, plus a dozen "typical" students, all at different levels. If nothing else, it will be a learning experience for me. I hope that I have lots of support. And sedatives. Yeah. Sedatives. That will surely help. For me. Or them. Whichever works best.

Is it bad that I'm crying for sedation already?