The Dance

The students were sent to 2nd period even though they'd be leaving on their field trip as soon as the bus arrived. They were going to a local community college.

Thomas had his earbuds in and was singing along with the rap song. Since he'd be leaving, I wasn't concerned at his not beginning the assignment and listening to music. I was, however, concerned at his singing along. In a mostly silent classroom. Lyrics that had a healthy sprinkling of profanity.

He was totally oblivious to my telling him to stop. But my standing over him... Yeah, he didn't like that.

(I should also note that he didn't see the problem. The only way I could reason with him was to threaten to stand over him.)

He agreed to stop singing. That's when he started with the dance moves. In his seat. To the amusement of the other students (who were remaining in class).

"What? I'm not singing."

Because the dancing was better?

Luckily, he was only in class about two more minutes before the announcement releasing the field trip students from class. *Deep sigh*

The 51st State

I covered Mr. H's class again this past week. And there was not a blog-worthy thing that happened. Unless you want to hear about kiddos talking rather than working. Yawn. So, I'm going #ThrowbackThursday to something that was blog-worthy. Mostly because as I was in the room, I remembered this incident and had to reshare. This was reposted on September 27, 2009.

It was near the end of the day. I had two students just sniping at each other as much as they could (though, to be fair, they spent most of the period quietly working). The boy was calling the girl stupid while the girl was berating everything the boy said.

It was a government class, and they were studying Congress. I tried to draw the conversation back to the topic at hand by asking where the largest congressional district was (it was a question on "Jeopardy" a little while ago). The answer: Alaska.

So, the girl comes back with, "That's our 51st state."

Now, I hate to have to side with the boy here. I was trying not to take sides. The girl wasn't really that stupid (she was on task, after all). But...

I explained that Hawaii is the 50th state. I explained that there are only 50 states. But the girl insisted. She was sure that there were 51.

"Count the stars on the flag," I said.

But then the bell rang, and she was out of there.

Sometimes, the students scare me a little.

Also, I'm at Unicorn Bell all this week. I'd love it if you'd stop by and say "hi".

Passing Notes

It was Friday at the continuation high school. A group of students in the back far corner weren't doing a heck of a whole lot, but the conversation was fairly benign. 

The period ended. They left. I did a quick sweep of the room to pick up loose papers and pencils when a page caught my eye.

It was left where that group had been sitting. And it makes no sense. Neither side.

"I Feel like we look like them 'the city'!"

I mean, it wasn't like they were silent. Why they needed to write this stuff down, I have no idea. 

Just when I'd given up on the future of the human race, I spied a notebook from the same class.

I have no idea what the rest of the second thing is supposed to be (besides the anarchy symbol), but the first statement is rather well put. 

Of course, he would have spent his time better, oh, I don't know, perhaps doing the assignment for class.

Ah well. It was Friday, after all.

A Challenge?

Another August Thursday at the continuation high school...

Considering the issues I had with this group just two weeks ago (on this day, this day, and this day), I was expecting more fodder for the blog. Nope. They did their work (mostly), and I needed to find ways to fill my day.

The teacher's desk was piled with worksheets. The students kind of work at their own pace, so at any given time, there can be as many as five different assignments out with them. And they were all stacked in one pile.

I noticed that a few had been paper clipped together into like assignments, so I decided my task for the day would be to finish sorting the rest.

Fourth period came in. I gave my usual speech, took roll, made sure everyone had something to work on, and then I went back to the sorting of the worksheets. I hadn't been at it two minutes when something made me look over at the class.

Two boys were on the floor doing push ups.

Huh?

I didn't even say anything I was so stunned. The look I gave them must have conveyed this, as they stopped the exercise immediately. They said something about "a challenge" and then went back to their desks.

And the craziest part--the rest of the class sat back and calmly watched the show.

Well, that had to go in the note. I couldn't not share that with Mr. H.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, Juan was in that class. He had his backpack on. I guess he won his battle.

The Backpack Scandal

Never argue with a teenager. It doesn't matter how many reasonable, well-thought-out points you make. If they feel they are right, nothing you say will convince them otherwise.

It was Friday at the continuation high school. The counselor followed Juan into the room to retrieve his backpack. She left with two.

(The continuation high school does not permit backpacks. I've always assumed the ban was to discourage the bringing of weapons and/or drugs to campus, considering the makeup of the student body.)

Juan was incensed. It was one of those drawstring bags (kind of like this one), and it only contained a folder, his cell phone charger, his keys, and some hand sanitizer. (Which he pulled out before the bag was taken away. Which he could retrieve at the end of the day.)

Why, Juan wanted to know, couldn't he bring that to school when girls are allowed to bring purses?

And he grilled me on this.

(Because I am somehow responsible?)

After ten minutes of his haranguing, I explained that complaining to me about this policy was about as useful as arguing with the wall.

The policy is, I agree, a bit sexist. I understand the distinction, but the girls do take advantage of the purse exception. Some of them carry bags that hold about as much as a backpack does. But there are some things that a girl does need a purse for.

I tried to argue the distinction with Juan, but he shot down every one of my points. I don't know why I bothered. Even if I could find a good argument, Juan would have found a way to argue against it.

(This is not the first time I've been in this sort of situation.)

Somehow the class finally settled. But Juan was still upset. He decided to write a letter to the principal. He even suggested starting a petition and asked his classmates if they'd sign it. Even the girl in the room with the offending purse agreed.

I did not know Juan was writing this letter until he brought it over to me. He asked me to read it. I offered a few notes. (I checked the grammar. It was a bit rambly and had just a basic argument, but it made his point, so I told him it was "good".) By the end of the period he had it ready and he said he was going to take it to the office.

It'll be interesting to see if he gets anywhere with this. (It's within the realm of possibility that he could get the administration to make some sort of a change. Probably not everything he wants. Several policies have changed in the past, so it's possible.)

Is That a Cell Phone in Your Pocket?

He wasn't being very subtle about it.

All I did was to meander over to where Antoine and his two friends were giggling when Antoine exclaimed a few expletives when he saw that I was paying attention to him.

But I hadn't seen the cell phone yet.

It wasn't that long after that I took another stroll and spied Antoine watching some video on his phone. I immediately went in for the confiscate.

He refused to give me the phone. He said he'd go to the office. I had no problem with that and let him go.

He returned about fifteen minutes later with a pass back to class. And I thought nothing more of it. Until I meandered his way again and noticed a cell-phone-shaped bulge in his pocket.

So, when I had a moment I asked the office staff about it.

The secretary remembered the boy. She said he'd gone "behind closed doors" with the principal. But she was the one who was supposed to confiscate cell phones, so something was off. She went to the principal, and the principal said that Antoine had asked to talk to him about his credits.

Clever. And he would have gotten away with it too if I hadn't followed up.

But now administration knows why Antoine was really sent up to the office. (And I know in future to call the office and let them know a "cell phone violation" is on his/her way up.)

And Antoine? He gets the next punishment on the matrix, which is decidedly worse than having his cell phone confiscated until his parent can come and pick it up.

Missed Day

It was 5th period on the first day of school...

(The continuation high school is on a year-round schedule, so yes, they do actually start back up in July. I was shocked to get called, but I quickly got over it and took the gig.)

I was still in the midst of "getting started", which includes doing a head count and comparing it to the number who answered "here" when I called roll, when I caught a back-and-forth going on in the middle of the room. It only took a moment for me to learn what was up.

The continuation high school has two "sessions" a day--morning and afternoon. Some "morning" students can have an extra 5th period or an all-day schedule. The "afternoon" students start the day at 5th period.

Martin was confused by his schedule. He went to the first class listed--our class--but the first class listed was for 1st period. For 5th period he was supposed to be across campus in math.

Apparently, Martin never got the message that he had morning classes. Which meant that he had already missed the first four periods of the day. Oops.

"I'll just stay here..."

Sure, he was already late to 5th period, but he had, in effect, ditched the first four periods of the day. I kicked him out encouraged him to go to his actual class and explain the situation.

(The students are supposed to be notified as to whether they are morning or afternoon before the start of school. Especially if there is a change. But these mix ups happen, so he won't get into trouble.)

Denied an Early Release

Occasionally, I get a teacher whose prep period is the last period of the day. Since I don't have to prep, as long as the school doesn't need me for another class, I get to go home early.

But last week, a small wrench got thrown into those plans.

Because the continuation high school is the way it is, last Wednesday was the day that the students all got their registration packets. But because the administration didn't want the students losing the paperwork, they had us hand it out to them at the end of their day.

(These are students who don't bring pencil or paper to school. Carrying paperwork around all day? Many will lose it.)

And because of they way they do things, that meant that I had the packets for two students. Which meant that I had to wait around for an hour so that I would still be at school for the last five minutes of the day.

Sigh.

(Yes, this is a very minor quibble. Which should tell you how smooth my day went that the only funny story I have to relate is of me having to wait around for an hour to pass out two packets of paperwork.)

Lazy Roll

The continuation high school is back in session. And not all the classes are crazy small. 

Last week, I covered the US History class. First period had 24 students enrolled. Something like 17 showed up.  

This isn't entirely a ditch thing. The continuation high school's year overlaps with the end of summer school, so many of the students who haven't been coming to class have been attending that. They can't be in two places at once.  

Still, it was kind of a shock to get four students in a class where 14 were enrolled. 

I looked at the group. I looked at the roll sheet. 

I hate calling out roll. With no seating chart, calling roll is the most efficient way to get the roll taken. Except in this case. 

So, instead, with clipboard and roster in hand, I walked up to each student.  

"What's your name?"  

Because I really hate stumbling over names. And most of them weren't there to correct me, anyway.  

Ace in my Pocket

There's something about seeing a sub that makes some students turn off. Especially at the continuation high school.

Mr. H is not a popular teacher. He's strict. He requires his classes to work silently. And they resent him for it. So, when I show up, the class relaxes (read: I can't get them to do anything).

Actual student quote: "A sub? Good. I'm not going to do any work today."

But as luck would have it, it was Thursday. At the continuation high school.

BUYOUTS!!!

I explained that if they wanted me to sign their buyouts, they had to do the work. And finish. (I've had students do one or two questions and think that's enough.)

But of course some students can't buy out. The student who said the above? Didn't do any work. Also, he didn't have a buyout.

Every student who had a buyout, however, did do the work. So, it was a win for me. Sort of.

A Neon Green Pen

"She gave up!" (This said with quite a bit of glee.)

I went around the classroom giving each student a sheet of assignment questions and a blank page on which to do the work. (This was at the continuation high school. They don't bring paper.) As I moved up the row, I found work distributed to students who I had not gotten to yet. That's when I saw the boy handing off the 3rd set of pages I had given him to a neighboring student.

I asked him: "You're not going to do it?"

I suppose I should have pushed harder. But it was Friday. At the continuation high school. I might have gotten him to keep the papers on his desk eventually, but he wasn't going to do the work. So, I moved on.

He was astonished. (See: quote above.)

Another student explained he couldn't do the assignment because he had nothing to write with. I offered a pencil. (The students don't bring pens/pencils to school either.)

"I can't write with pencils. I need...uh...a neon green pen."

Uh huh. Because I might be able to procure a pen for him, but could I find a neon green one?

Well, at least he kept the assignment.

Later, I passed by his desk. He had a pen. A black one. And then when I collected the work, he had done some. Not all of it, but more than some of them. In black ink.

The strangest thing was that period was the group that turned in the most work.  

Rolling Their Own

It had been three weeks since I was last at the continuation high school. Then when I do get there, a teacher who never leaves a video for his students left a video for his students.

Wow!

It was a U.S. History class, and they were studying World War II. The video was an overview of the 1940s. (Of course they were supposed to take notes. It was a standard video assignment.)

In one segment, the narrator discussed shortages and rationing during the war. He talked about how cigarettes were in such short supply that many people rolled their own (accompanied by film of a woman at dinner rolling a cigarette).

The students all reacted to this scene. Loudly. (Although, I was pleased that they were paying attention enough to notice.)

And every period I reminded the students that what they were rolling in those cigarettes was tobacco.

I knew my audience. They needed that disclaimer.