Downwind

Friday. Sophomore math. Second period. (Yup, them again.) 

Mr. Y was going over the day's notes (this day's discussion was about parallel lines cut by a transversal) when a terrible smell drifted in the room. 

Teenagers and terrible smells don't go well together. They react. Strongly. And complain. Loudly. 

When I am the only teacher in the room, this situation can devolve quickly. But luckily, this class was co-taught with a teacher they like. And still, the kiddos acted as if they were being poisoned. 

One of the boys opined that it smelled like someone had set off a fart bomb. Then the boys accused each other of doing that deed. Mr. Y and I both attested that no one in that room had set off any sort of stink bomb. 

There are days when things are chaotic enough that someone could sneak something like that by. This class at that point in the period? No. The class was way too calm. We would have noticed. 

Mr. Y continued on with his lesson even while a bunch of students made a lot of noise in the halls outside. Even while the kiddos in class whined and complained. I mean, the smell was bad, but not unbearable. And I'm pretty sensitive to smell. 

One of the custodians walked by. He set up a big fan outside. Then, Ms. P (another math teacher who I have subbed for a few times in the past) popped her head in. Her classroom was above ours. 

The smell was so bad in Ms. P's classroom that she had removed her class to work elsewhere. The custodian returned, and he confirmed what the boys had guessed. Someone had set off a stink bomb in the building. 

Eventually, Mr. Y finished with the notes portion of the class. Then it was time for the students to practice. I passed out the worksheet, and then I commented to Mr. Y that perhaps now was a good time to go outside. While he was giving notes, we needed the screen so the kiddos could see the examples. But now they had the notes, and they were just going to be working independently. 

Mr. Y agreed. 

It was a fairly nice day. The sun was out, but it cool. (It was around 9 AM.) My weather app said it was 60°. 

Most of the class got the worksheet done. The boys took advantage of being outside and did things that they don't generally try in the classroom. (Read: mock wrestling.) 

The students had left their backpacks in the classroom, so we returned for the last five minutes of class. The smell had dispersed. Luckily. 

Later that day, I got confirmation that the long term English assignment I knew was coming was going to start on April 1st. (I write about my previous week here, so this all took place on March 28th.) Which meant that this was my last even day in Mr. R's class. 

Quite the way to go out. Although, considering the second period, not all that surprising. 

Today's A to Z Challenge post brought to you by the letter

Check My Arithmetic

Wednesday. Sophomore math, eighth period. 

While most of Mr. R's classes are co-taught, his eighth period is not, which means that I get to teach it. Woo-hoo!

They just started a unit on geometry. (Back in the day, freshmen took algebra 1, sophomores took geometry, and juniors took algebra 2. Nowadays they've mixed all the topics up and distributed them over the three years differently.) We did a day of definitions (which they should have learned the previous year), and on this day it was time to go over some problems having to do with those definitions. 

I showed the kiddos how to set up one of the problems. I gave them some time to try it out. And then I worked it out with them to make sure they knew what they were doing. 

As I worked the problem, I got to a point where I had to subtract two numbers. And I paused. 

I tell this like a joke, but it's true. I got through calculus just fine, but I stumble when it comes to arithmetic. 

I mean, I can add, subtract, multiply, and divide. But not fast, and not well. 

Give me an algebra problem, and I have no problem. Geometry is even easier. I took four semesters of calculus in college. I majored in physics. I can do the math. Just not the arithmetic. 

I was trying to subtract two numbers in front of the class. It was something like 123 - 15. The mental gymnastics weren't happening. A student helpfully provided me with the 108. 

And so, I admitted my problem. I told them, "Seriously, check my arithmetic." 

I figure it's better to admit it. They all use calculators, anyway. I'd rather they catch me if I write down the wrong number. If they let me know where I made an error, I can fix it right away, thereby not confusing them with mistakes. 

As I proceeded through the page of problems, I made sure to check the key, just in case. I didn't make any major errors. I miswrote a bunch of things (I wrote a 6 when I meant to write an x), but I got the arithmetic mostly right. 

Still, I'll never entirely trust myself. It's too easy for me to slip up. 

Today's A to Z Challenge post brought to you by the letter

Bigger

Wednesday. Second period sophomore math (again). 

Why is it always second period? Anyway...

Mr. Y had an IEP meeting, so it was just me and them. But no worries, as the topic was geometry, and I felt quite comfortable teaching it. 

Just after 9 AM, Alonzo left class. He had cleared it with me ahead of time as the band had a performance. I had seen the email, so I knew it was legit. But the boys were offended that he had gotten up and gone. (Before Alonzo left, he caught my eye and reminded me he was going. I nodded to indicate that was fine.) It was as if they were in charge, or something. 

I explained that Alonzo had left with permission, and it wasn't anything that the boys needed to be concerned with. Alonzo would be performing for the assembly for the sixth graders.

Sixth graders? 

Okay, so all the sixth graders from the local feeder elementary schools were going to be on campus for a kind of preview day. (The middle school is kind of attached to the high school. Long story.) They've only been doing this for a couple years, so it's a relatively new thing. Anyway, the high school band, color guard, cheerleaders, and choir were performing along with their middle school counterparts. 

The boys seemed to think that meant an assembly for the high schoolers. Yeah, no. Class was as normal for those not involved in specific activities. 

I continued on discussing how two adjacent angles could be added together. 

And then, the sixth graders appeared. 

This classroom is on the bottom floor of the STEAM building, and it has great big windows. 

We can see everyone who passes by. Mr. Y is fond of the view as he can see his students, especially those who arrive late. (I kind of feel like we're in a fishbowl, but I'm only there for a couple weeks.) 

So, of course we could also see the classes of sixth graders arriving and making their way through campus. 

I pointed this out to the class. They looked over. 

Some of the sixth graders waved. A few of the students waved back. 

(I had more time than material to cover, and I thought it was fun.) 

The students' main comment: "Why are they so small?"

Funnily enough, this is not the first time I've heard this comment. I assured the students that the sixth graders were normal sized for their age. They were just bigger now.

They weren't quite sure I was right. It just seems wrong to them, somehow. I'm not sure why. 

The sixth graders had passed us, so I went back to reminding them that all the angles in a triangle add up to 180°. 

And just like that, it's April. The only thing that changes around here is my titling. My personal game is to make my usual posts fit the letter of the day. Sometimes they just fall into place, like today. Other days I have to work a bit harder at it. 

Today's A to Z Challenge post brought to you by the letter

The Gambler

Wednesday. Second period, sophomore math. (Yes, the same group I discussed yesterday.)

Second period had four boys who just... They'd spend the period hanging out, not paying attention to the math of it all. 

Mr. Y (the co-teacher) had enough, and on Wednesday he separated them to the four corners of the room. So, of course, the obvious happened. Rather than keeping their little party to themselves, they were now talking across the room. Sigh. 

The topic of conversation turned to sports betting. Because one of the boys, Ximenez, has a problem. In the previous class, he talked about how he had won a parlay, but he lost all his winnings on other bets. 

Funnily enough, I was only aware of the terminology at all because my Sunday night show's topic had been about sports betting on apps. In case you'd like to take a look:

(I suppose I should warn you about John Oliver. The show is on HBO, and they take advantage of being allowed to use all the adult language. And the jokes can be a bit juvenile. Along with some good info.)

I held it in as long as I could, but then I spoke up and explained to Ximenez that perhaps the gambling wasn't a good idea. (Especially since I caught him watching a baseball game on his phone rather than taking down the notes that Mr. Y had been giving them earlier in the period.) 

Of course Ximenez didn't see my point and denied that he had a problem. Sigh.

(Okay, so before you ask, yes, Ximenez is a minor. Sophomore. I just looked up his age. He's actually a junior. He's 16--he'll be 17 in a bit under two weeks. I am not surprised this junior is in a sophomore-level class. Clearly he failed a math class in his high school career.) 

He claimed that he'd give it up after... Oh, I don't know. He gave me a couple different times he'd give it up, and I wasn't listening. Because there was a guy in one of the clips Oliver showed that said the exact same thing. Which I pointed out. But Ximenez again wasn't seeing my point. 

This is how gambling problems start. Sadly, there was nothing I was going to say that Ximenez would hear. Not now.

I did recommend the episode. (I knew they post it on YouTube after the episode airs.) Yes, I know it's not really a good show for a minor, but if anyone could get through to him, it'd be through humor, not preaching. 

Ximenez's response? He had a parlay going, and if he won, he'd get $400. And he'd give me $20. (I told him to keep the money. He assumed he'd win. I rather thought the opposite.)

By the time you read this, we should know how that bet went. I don't believe that Ximenez is going to actually follow up with me (and I will likely forget the next time he's in class). 

Edited to add: On Monday Ximenez informed me that... he lost the parlay.

The Boys

Sophomore math. Second period. Monday.

Second period is the class. Every teacher has one. The difficult group. 

This class is made difficult by four boys. They all sit over in one corner of the room, and they spend the period goofing off. Although, they held it together for their test. But during working time...

The previous class period (Wednesday, the day we found out), had been the test. So, on Monday they were starting a new unit on geometry. They had a "what do you remember?" worksheet. And while most of the class was busy trying to remember things (or looking them up on their phones--this was permitted), the boys were playing around. 

They were eating in class even after being asked specifically not to. (Ximenez: "But it's fruit.") They were discussing some new album that some rapper had released. They were talking about gambling. (Jasper to Ximenez: "You keep all but $10 of your winnings, and then bet the $10. You don't bet all of your winnings...") 

If I had been alone and writing this incident in my note to the teacher, I would have said the boys "were having way too much fun". It's not that they shouldn't have fun, but they were clearly not on task. 

But that rap album was too hard to resist. One boy had to play it out. (They have headphones/earbuds. They can listen to music on their own and not blast it for the whole class to hear.) 

Mr. Y warned them to turn it off. And they did, for a time.

But then they played it out again. And again. And again. 

I warned them that it was time to take their phones if they couldn't be trusted to not play music in class. (Me: "I don't want to hear anything coming from your phones.")

But, of course...

This time, Mr. Y went over there and took the phones from two of the boys. Who both claimed that they were not the ones playing the music. 

And yet, the music stopped after that. 

I doubt the boys got any of the work completed. The period finished, and everyone left. Everyone, except the two boys whose phones Mr. Y still had. 

Mr. Y looked at them. I pointed out he still had their phones. 

The boys: "We'll tell you who was playing the music..."

No one knew when class was in session, but after... Yeah. Getting their phones back was a great motivator. 

Not that Mr. Y was going to keep their phones. (He could turn them in to the main office, but considering the situation, it was way more trouble than it was worth. This is a minor cell phone infraction, really.) 

Once the boys left (with their phones), Mr. Y expressed his frustration with the class. Yup, I understood. So, because the boys had been getting on his last nerve, Mr. Y decided it was time to break the group up. New seats for them all.

They did not like this. It helped settle them enough so Mr. Y could teach the class the next period. But after, when they were doing independent work, the boys continued their conversation... across the room. Sigh. 

The Get-Out-of-the-Test-Free Card

Thursday. Sophomore math. Third period.

I had been in the class since Tuesday as the teacher had some foot injury that meant he couldn't put any weight on it. I was supposed to start Monday, but I stayed home with a cold. 

On Tuesday, the students got the study guide for Thursday's test. (Block schedule. The classes meet every other day.) They had some time to work on it, and then Mr. Y, the co-teacher, went over the problems so the students knew how to do them. (They were studying solving quadratic equations.) 

Then Wednesday happened. (If you haven't seen yesterday's post, you might want to check it out.) 

As first period ended and third period began, I was not surprised at the arrival of the principal, an assistant principal, and three counselors. Because, you see, the student had been in this class, and their passing would be very noticeable. 

(The student sat in the back of the room, so maybe some of them wouldn't have noticed. But one tends to at least have a passing acquaintance with the students in one's classes.)

I mean, this is when it would hit you, if you didn't have the student in another class before this. And three girls huddled in the middle of the room, one bawling while two others held her. Mr. Y found the tissue and made sure to distribute it. 

The principal talked about where the students could go for support. There's a whole system in place currently. The others said a few words. And then, when none of the students had anything to say, they left. 

Test time? Nah. Mr. Y wasn't going to make them take a test. Not now. 

While some of the students weren't close with the student who was now gone, some were. And, it just wasn't the day for it. 

Many of the students spent the period on their phones. Some talked. Some cried. I assume some were avoiding thinking about it. I understand. 

After class, Mr. Y wondered about when he'd give the test. I advocated for just cancelling it for them. (All the other classes took it.) Giving it the next week would throw third period off the same schedule as the rest of the classes. They'd be a day behind. 

(And, it was hard for Mr. Y as well. The previous class he sat with the student and talked to them for a bit. Later, before I left school on Tuesday, Mr. Y told me the student seemed off that day.)

Ultimately, Mr. Y will discuss this with Mr. R (the teacher I was subbing for), and they'll make that decision. (It'll hit Mr. R hard, too. All the teachers who had that student are feeling this.) 

It's such a weird time. I think missing one test won't make all that much difference in the grand scheme of things. 

The Stranger

Tuesday. Sophomore math, period five. 

I had been scheduled to cover the full week, but I called out sick on Monday. I wasn't feeling 100% on Tuesday, but I was feeling a whole lot better. (And if I don't work, I don't get paid, so...)

It was a co-taught math class, and they were due to have a test the next class period (block schedule, so that was Thursday), so they were working on a study guide. I started off by passing out the study guide. 

This is a pretty simple procedure. At the front of each row, I hand the student enough copies for them and the students behind them. They pass them back. The only thing that complicates the procedure is when a kiddo at the front of a row is not paying attention. 

At the fourth row, a kiddo wasn't paying attention. Joaquin. He was completely turned around, talking to someone cattycorner to him. 

I waved the papers. Nothing. I said something to get his attention. He turned... 

"I don't talk to strangers." 

Um...

As I explained that he didn't need to talk to me to take the assignment from me, his neighbors pointed out that he needed to take the papers so they could get their work. 

Sigh. Some kiddos...

Joaquin was on stage, and the rest of the class was his audience. Or so he thought. 

And me, a stranger? Well, yeah, sort of. 

But, considering the situation, not so much. I was clearly the substitute teacher. At this point in his schooling career, this cannot be the first time he's encountered one of us. And his usual co-teacher was there, not doing anything to get rid of me. 

Too logical, I suppose. The other students had no issue with me. (Many of them knew me from previous classes.) 

(Joaquin was absent the following Thursday for the test. The rest of the class seemed rather happy about this. His audience? Not as entertained as he thinks they are.)