The Chills

Whenever I find myself dealing with a challenging class, the teacher usually says something about them being "good kids". Only once before has a teacher referred to a kiddo as "evil". (I don't know if I wrote about her at the time, but I had her in a class later. This student.) 

I have encountered another. 

Damien (alias picked for obvious reasons) was noted in the lesson plan as "he won't do any work, but he won't disrupt the class". 

Okay, then. Tuesday. Eighth period. Eighth grade success. 

They were working on a Mission Map. They were to figure out a mission statement (for their life, I guess) and their four pillars (ideals of some sort), and then they were to make a poster with this information. 

They were given a packet of work to go through with setting goals and figuring out where they wanted their life to go. (This is the end of the year, so it was kind of a culmination assignment going over stuff they've been talking about all year.) They had instructions online. Ms. T said she went over all the instructions the week prior, so they should have known what to do.

But eighth graders with a sub for a week. They played weaponized incompetence. 

So, I wasn't much watching Damien. I did note that his desk had brown marker all over it. And he clearly wasn't doing any work. As promised. 

Half way through the period I passed out poster board. They were to make a poster, after all, and while I did not expect them to start the poster yet, I wanted them to have the materials they'd need. 

I warned them that they would only get one sheet of poster paper. (Otherwise the middle schoolers will make a mistake and need another. Not all, but most of them will. This is not my first rodeo. I know how they work.) 

And while most of the kiddos continued with their packets, Damien folded his poster paper into little boxes, and then he proceeded to tear them into little cards. Okay, then... 

I had Damien in class again on Thursday. The first thing he did was to grab the bottle of glue... 

Oh, no. Absolutely not. 

I took that glue from him so fast. (I didn't know what he was going to do with it, but it wasn't going to be good.) Then I noticed he had a blue marker. I attempted to take that away from him... 

And that's when I saw it. He kind of growled at me. 

Not his marker, but I decided not to have that fight. 

I tried to get him on task. I mentioned that he had already destroyed his poster paper. "Oh, was that what it was for?" Someone wasn't listening when instructions were given. 

But, I did give him another packet. (I had extra.) He then did with that what he had done with the poster paper. 

We kind of looked at each other. Damien just looked at me... Yeah, I like to joke that eighth graders are evil, but it is a joke. I know they'll grow out of it. They really are good kids. But Damien... 

Before I could contemplate how to get the blue marker away from him so he didn't make a mess of the desk again, the school psychologist came in and asked to take him for counseling. 

Yeah, I was good with that. Sadly, he returned after a half hour. 

Damien did not do any work. But he did not sacrifice any small creatures, so a win? (And I was able to clean off the desk.) 

Stupid Eighth Grade Games

I caught a week-long assignment in an eighth grade success class. And it was as bad as I anticipated. Oh well. 

Ms. T left me a packet of instructions with students who were likely to be issues and places to send them to. Many of the kiddos I had met in other classes, starting with that vacant art class at the beginning of the year. 

First period. Monday. 

Six boys spent the period in play mode. 

If I wasn't spending the period putting out (figurative) fires, I would have written down a list of their random conversations. They were at various parts of the room, so their conversations involved the whole class. And nothing would make them settle. 

So, when I had them again on Wednesday, I had a hair trigger. (The school is on a block schedule, so each period meets every other day.) 

Class hadn't quite started when Royce dropped an f-bomb loud enough for me to hear it. I didn't hear the conversation, but Royce had spent Monday joking with Antonio, and that was a good enough reason to send him out of class. (A neighboring teacher had offered to take a kiddo if need be.) 

Once Royce was gone, Ignacio started in. Well, not started. He sat in a corner, and he didn't do all that much. I had had him in the art class, and in the times I've seen him since then, he's only behaved worse. He was on Ms. T's list of students to look out for, and I was already irritated. So, out Ignacio went. 

As Ignacio was packing up, Joaquin decided it was a good time to start a rock-paper-scissors competition with Ignacio. I went to stand between them. Joaquin tilted a little so he could continue to see Ignacio on the other side of me. Okay, then, Joaquin just volunteered to go, too. 

I told Joaquin to go to the room directly below the one we were in. At this point Joaquin remembered he was on the escort list. (A fact he denied on Monday.) He refused to leave the room without an escort. 

Luckily, I had already called one for Ignacio (who was being sent to the in-house detention room), so I just asked her to escort Joaquin downstairs. She agreed. 

Three down. The class got very quiet. 

Then, Antonio started to talk... 

Me: "Do you want to work in another class, too?" 

I had three more classrooms to send kiddos to. 

Antonio wisely decided that that conversation was not one he wanted to have. 

It was amazing how peaceful things got once they were gone. Well, for a little while. 

The students complained of some high pitched tone. "Can't you hear that?" 

I didn't hear a thing. I closed the door. They said it didn't help. 

That's when I remembered the tones that only teenagers can hear. I spent a class period playing the tones several years back. 

So, I mentioned that someone was probably playing tones on their Chromebook that only the kiddos in the room could hear. As I am old, I was deaf to it. 

Kiddos were plugging their ears. Complaining. But as I couldn't hear it, I couldn't determine where it was coming from. 

The kiddo managed to annoy their classmates and their classmates only. 

I sat back. Watched for issues I could deal with. 

The kiddo must have decided that me not reacting at all wasn't any fun. The rest of the class no longer seemed to have an issue with a noise that I could not hear. 

Not too terrible. Sadly, Friday did not go as smoothly. 

(I'm writing this Sunday afternoon. I already got an email response from Ms. T. She is not pleased. The kiddos aren't going to be having a nice time upon her return to class.) 

The Conversation

Thursday. Eighth grade math, special day class. Eighth period. 

To start every class, Mr. R has them do "Good Things". This is special ed, so the classes are small, so each student gets a turn. 

When it was Alonzo's turn, all I heard was something about going on a cruise. Well, that's cool. Only, as Alonzo continued speaking, the explanation went into Hantavirus and something about bombing the ship... 

Eighth graders... 

We moved on from Alonzo and finished Good Things, but when it was time for them to start working on their math, Alonzo circled back to Hantavirus. 

He had all the questions. I have not been following the news. I heard part of a report in passing about a cruise ship and Hantavirus, and that's really all I know. I suppose I could have looked this up, but they had math to work on, and I wasn't in the mood to humor Alonzo with this random topic. 

Alonzo? He found other topics to discuss with his classmates. Because I was of a mind to, I listed as many of the topics as I could for their teacher as they happened. As the topic changed, I added to the list. The list wasn't exhaustive, though, as some things were said in passing that I felt didn't merit inclusion on the list, and some things I just didn't get. 

So, what do eighth grade boys discuss when they should be doing math? 

• Hantavirus: Alonzo really couldn't let this go.
• History class assignment roles: apparently their history teacher had assigned them roles for some Civil War project. One boy was a spy. One boy was a slave. And the third boy's role was kind of unclear. There was a long conversation about how they liked/did not like their roles and how things got assigned.
• McDonald's: this was a weird ramble about food that turned into some VR chat that was McDonald's based. I was again unclear on what exactly they were talking about. 
• Tigger: yes, the tiger in Winnie the Pooh. This was more a rhyming thing where they did go there (starts with N...), but they were also wondering if they got the correct name for the tiger in Winnie the Pooh. 
• TikTok Challenges: they went from Tide Pods to a bunch I'd never heard of. 
• Mall food: food is always a popular topic. It ended up being a thing about various things they could get, and then Alonzo said he could also get food when he went to the mall for something else. Somehow this segued into how Alonzo needed to go to the bookstore to pick up a new book coming out (the kiddos were amazingly well-read). 
• Fake dice: they acted like they were playing craps. Without dice. For about a minute. 
• "Why are you rubbing your belly?" He was not rubbing his belly. 
• Movies: Hoppers and Project Hail Mary. They liked both. 
• Someone started whistling.
• "Jesse called some girl 'slave'", which then turned into Alonzo saying that he could say all sorts of career-ruining things about Jesse. 
• Alonzo said that some teacher said that because he did something with his thumbs, that he was double jointed.
• Alonzo pulled out some money and a receipt he had. The receipt got passed around. The money was counted. (After they left, I found a nickel on the floor.) 
• Somehow the money led to them talking about various gum flavors. Mostly listing and stating whether they liked them.
• Video games: a brief mention of some games they liked.
• They circled back to Tigger and words that rhyme with it.
• Kool-Aid pickles: and then pickles in general. 
• Six... seven... Yes, sadly, that's still a thing, and it just pops up at random times.
• And then some sidetrack into Zuckerberg. Why? I have no idea.

So, you won't be surprised that I rated the class as "some made better use of their time than others" and that I doubted they had finished their assignments. Because, seriously? 

Broken Record, Student Edition

Wednesday. English 9, special day class (read: special ed). Fourth period.  

The lesson plans had all sorts of warnings about this class, including the note that this was her least favorite class. The instructional assistant went on to warn me that the half the kiddos just didn't care no matter what they did. So, I was prepared for the worst. 

And... things weren't that bad. They were doing a vocabulary assignment that went along with their reading of To Kill a Mockingbird, and then they could use that assignment on a quiz for the last couple chapters they read in class. 

Early in the period, Kaleb asked to use the restroom. He returned in a timely manner. 

About halfway through the period the instructional assistant left (as that was her usual quitting time). 

It was almost the end of the period, and Kaleb again asked to use the restroom. I said no. 

Kaleb was not pleased. He asked why he could not go. 

I explained that he had already gotten one restroom pass in the class, and getting one pass out of class was all he was going to get. Besides, there were only ten minutes left in the class period, and the school administration had instituted a rule that no students were to be allowed out of class for those last ten minutes. 

Kaleb did not see my point. One pass per period? That was unreasonable as far as he was concerned. 

So, he asked again. Could he go and use the restroom? And again, I said no. 

"But why?"

Me: "I already explained why." 

Kaleb argued that when he asked the first time there had been eleven minutes left of class. (According to the clock on my computer, it had been less than ten minutes.) But even he couldn't argue that since the first time he asked time had passed, and at this point there was definitely less than ten minutes left of class. 

Then, Kaleb: "Can I go to the restroom?" 

Again, I answered no. Again, Kaleb asked why. And again, I said that I had already explained. 

This time Kaleb offered that he would be able to get to the restroom and back before the end of the period. (Likely true, as the restroom was just steps away from the classroom.) I did not doubt him, but I did not give permission. 

It was now time for the class to start getting packed up, so I made that announcement. Kaleb? Asked to use the restroom again. And again, he asked why not?

Now the rest of the class was invested. They encouraged Kaleb to just walk out. If it was them, they would just walk out. (If it was them and earlier in the period, I would have let them go as they hadn't used their pass for the period.) Kaleb did not take the dare. 

Around we went again. Maybe twice? I lost count. Eventually, time ran out. The bell rang. And they all left. 

Deep sigh. I'm not sure why Kaleb thought that repeatedly asking me the same questions would get different results, but freshmen. Kaleb did not realize just how stubborn I can be when pushed. 

Zhuzhing Up the AI

Tuesday. Graphic arts. Fifth period. 

The day's assignment: using Canva's AI, create a poster picturing the student in a future career. And then include information about that career. 

(I'm not a fan of AI. And many students have expressed their dislike as well. The word on how the data centers steal resources has gotten out. But this is not my class, and my job is to execute the teacher's lesson plan. So, that's what I did.) 

Some of the students dove right in, finding the right site and application. Most did not like that they had to upload a picture of themselves (as the AI would insert them into the career image), but they did it. (Well, not everyone. A bunch of them did as little work as possible. I'm sure their grades already reflect their lack-of-work-ethic.) 

I walked around, making sure the students didn't have any questions. 

One boy was staring at his image. It had him as an electrician. He didn't like it, he said. 

I drilled down. What was the problem with the image? What could he tell the AI to do differently? 

Turned out, the background was pink, and that was his only problem with it. 

We found where one could "refine" the image by telling the AI what to change. He typed "get rid of the pink", and I pointed out he should be specific, so he added "make it white". 

The AI replaced the pink background with a white one, changing nothing else. And the student was satisfied. Okay, then. 

It was kind of eerie how the AI took their faces and put them into a real-looking work setting. This would be a great way to help students see a future that they might not be able to picture. But AI? Ugh. 

Have you made images using AI? Did you complete the A to Z Challenge? Do you plan to attempt it next year?

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

Taking Down the Notes

Wednesday. Eighth grade English, co-taught. Seventh period.

I was in for Mr. S, the special ed teacher. Ms. R, the general ed teacher, was present, so the class proceeded as normal. And on this day, they were reading the play, The Diary of Anne Frank. 

(I have covered this class before, this year even.) 

Ms. R got them started. They were in the middle of Act 1, Scene 2. 

My job was to make sure the kiddos were following along. Which they were. So, I roamed around the back of the room, looking for issues. 

I knew Oscar was going to be an issue. 

Students had been assigned parts, so the reading went fairly smoothly. Mostly, the kiddos were following along and read when it was their turn. Occasionally a student would lose their place, but that's normal. 

Then, Ms. R would pause them to discuss what had just happened. There were nuances that the kiddos weren't picking up on as they don't tend to closely pay attention. So, Ms. R pointed out some of the conflict going on between Anne and her mother. She explained how Anne was more outgoing while her sister, Margot, was more reserved. And such.

While Ms. R was discussing, she reminded the kiddos that they were to be taking notes. 

They had sheets in front of them. There was a column entitled Plot. And a second column with Characterization, Conflict, and Setting. 

As Ms. R discussed how Anne was reacting to something, she pointed out that this was something that would work for Characterization. When she mentioned Anne getting upset at her mother, she pointed out that this was Conflict. And so on. 

Oscar? Yeah, not writing anything. 

I went over to point out that while Ms. R was talking, he should be taking notes. Problem: he had no pencil. 

I told him to ask Ms. R for one (as I don't normally carry supplies). I walked away. He got Ms. R's attention. They discussed something, but I could tell it was not about acquiring a pencil. Ms. R went back to instructing the class. 

At the next discussion point, I found Oscar had a pencil. But now his neighbor did not. She informed me that Oscar had taken her pencil. Oscar said he got the pencil from Ms. R. I watched them. Ms. R had not given Oscar a pencil. So, I made Oscar give the pencil back to his neighbor.

Oh, while Oscar had the pencil, did he write down any notes? Of course not. 

At the next break, Oscar did, in fact, ask Ms. R for a pencil, and she gave him one. So, I wandered over. Was Oscar writing notes? Of course not. 

Was the rest of the class taking down notes? Yes, mostly. There was one boy who wasn't. He claimed he was reading the play so he couldn't take down notes. And yet, when Ms. R would break to discuss, was he writing then? But he was in the minority. 

I stopped going over to check on Oscar. He wasn't trying. If he was just having trouble figuring out what to write, I could have helped him with that. But he was just playing.

Class over, and they left. I said something to Ms. R. Her response: just like every day. Yup. Oscar did this every day. 

Ms. R was a bit perplexed, though. She said that something happened in January. In January and February, Oscar was actually doing well. Attentive. Turning in work. She made him her student of the month for January. And then, sometime in March, he went back to this. 

Deep sigh. 

That Oscar did improve is good news. I wonder what made him revert. I wonder if he'll improve again. He's an eighth grader. He's bound to mature. Eventually. 

What would you guess Oscar's problem is? Do you prefer to write in pen or pencil?

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

Motivation Lacking

Monday (the week before spring break). Tenth grade world history. Eighth period. 

The assignment: work on the study guide to prepare for their test on Friday. For the last thirty minutes of class, show the movie Midway. Apparently they'd been watching it in thirty minute increments for a couple days. 

The test was for their unit on World War II. As I meandered around I got relevant questions. One girl verified who the Axis were. Another student was verifying who the leader was in Italy. 

But not everyone was on task. 

I noticed that Jasper and his buddy weren't on the study guide on their Chromebooks. I pointed out that perhaps they wanted to get to the work. They needed to be ready for their upcoming test. 

Jasper didn't see my point. It was Monday. The test was Friday. He had plenty of time to do the study guide. 

Oh yes, I've had this conversation before. Many, many times. 

Somehow Jasper got on the topic of his grades. He was doing fine, he said. Three Fs was just where he wanted to be. Um... 

The low grades, the having plenty of time to get his work done that he was not doing, those are topics I usually discuss with the students at the continuation high school. I said as much. Jasper? He thought the continuation high school sounded like something he should aspire to. 

While I do not begrudge the students at the continuation high school, as they were probably going through some things, I do not encourage students at the traditional high schools to go there. The continuation high school is to help the kiddos out of the bad situation they got themselves into. If they can avoid this, they should do so. 

But again, Jasper thought the continuation high school sounded way easier than his school. Sure, in ways it is. But if Jasper is going to avoid work, he won't get anywhere at the continuation high school. Which I said. But he didn't see my point. 

Deep sigh. 

I left his name in the note, and I let Mr. M know what Jasper didn't do. I assume Jasper bombed his test, and Mr. M can follow up to remind Jasper that he did not use his time wisely when it was given to him. 

Will that do any good? Likely not. But if Jasper hears it enough, it might eventually make some impact. 

Then we got to watch some of the movie Midway, which I had not seen. I'm including the trailer just in case you missed it, too. 

Have you ever seen this Midway? Do you enjoy history? 

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

Shut Down

Wednesday. Integrated Math 2 (read: math for sophomores, kind of geometry). Sixth period. 

If the above room looks familiar, it's because I was there two years ago in a long term for Mr. J. Ms. L, his co-teacher, was there, and she was going over the topic of the day, special right triangles. 

I was in the back of the room, and I noticed a student hadn't gotten out her notes or anything. She was on her phone, but she was using it for pictures that she was drawing in a sketchbook. While I have no problems with students drawing, it was time for the girl to do math. I gently urged her to get out her notes and follow along with Ms. L. She ignored me.

The girl next to her had her notes. And then it was time for the kiddos to get into IXL which is a math program. They are given a problem to solve. If they get it right, the problems get harder. If they get it wrong, they are given how it should have been solved, and then they get another similar problem. 

This girl had the computer open, the program loaded, but she wasn't starting the assignment. I leaned over and clicked open the assignment. (She was right there. It was one click.) The girl? She immediately backed out of it. Sigh. 

Later, girl one had her head on her desk. Girl 2 was busily writing a paragraph on the back of her math notes. Whining. About having to do math. (I didn't read the whole thing, but I glanced at a couple sentences.)

Ms. L, who also went over and urged them to work, told me that the girls hadn't been doing much in the way of math this school year. Ms. L said she was kind of happy that at least girl one was coming to class, as the last year she had spent more time in the wellness center than in class. So, progress? 

Baby steps, I guess. 

So, I helped the students who were actually trying and who actually asked for help. There were several of them, and they really did seem to catch on. 

This is how some students fail. I can only do so much in a class period, so I'd rather help the students who will take the help. 

Observed

Thursday. Eighth grade math, special ed. Third period.

It was a complete-the-online-assignment day, and half the class said they were already done. (On a newly-assigned assignment? Not likely.) I noted who said they were done and left that information for the teacher. 

The phone rang. It was the health office letting me know they were sending over someone to observe the kiddo in the class who already had a one-to-one aide, but they didn't want the student to know. Something about a seizure disorder. 

I don't question when staff shows up in class. We have various observers for various things all the time. One day the new principal showed up while I was doing something with a class. I didn't know who he was or why he was there, but he was with another staff member I did know, so I kept doing what I was doing. Another time, the new district superintendent showed up in class. Again, she was with a staff member I did know. And again, I kept doing what I was doing until we had a moment to talk. 

So, when the staff member, who I did recognize from seeing around campus, showed up, I just kept doing what I was doing. (Read: watching the kiddos play games on their computers rather than do the assignment.) 

But, now there were two other adults watching one kiddo. And they questioned what he was supposed to be doing. So, he dutifully found the actual assignment. And then got stuck. 

Well, that part was my job. 

They were turning word problems into equations. It wasn't too hard, but the kiddos were having trouble deciphering whether they needed to add, subtract, multiply, or divide. 

The kiddo did not have any seizures while in class. (They don't usually.) But at least he got some math done. 

Scared of Girls

Friday. Tenth grade world history, special ed. Fifth period. 

Because it was a special ed class, I had an instructional assistant. Ms. M warned me about fifth period. Specifically, about the three boys on the baseball team. They would likely be late. Why? 

The classroom is located on the end of the building. There's an outer door that opens into a kind of foyer. If you head straight ahead, you find the classroom. Right next to the classroom, if you head to the left instead of straight, is the girls' restroom. (And next door to that is a locked faculty restroom. Very convenient.) 

These three boys... don't want to be seen near the girls' restroom. Or be seen by the girls in the restroom? The aversion is unclear. 

So, passing period. I prop open the classroom door to make sure the kiddos will enter (and not hover outside). Angelo and Kyson whooshed into the room, headed for the table next to the TV (if you look at the above photo, there's a standing desk to the right of the TV; that's where they were). They turned towards the whiteboard, and hid their faces. 

They would not be convinced to go to their seats, not until the door was closed. 

Deep sigh. 

The bell rang. I closed the door. And Angelo and Kyson took their seats. Soon thereafter, Noah whooshed into the room. He made sure that door closed behind him.

And... I... Huh? 

Ms. M made the comment, out of their hearing, that it wasn't like they had to go through the girls' restroom to get to the classroom. 

I am very familiar with this classroom. Exactly a year ago, I was doing a long term in this very classroom (for a vacant class). And I could not tell you what the girls' restroom looks like. I've never been in there. 

But for some reason, those boys (and only those boys) do not want to be seen by the girls. 

While the door was closed, Angelo, Kyson, and Noah were fine. Well, not "fine". Noah claimed he had already completed the day's new assignment (it had been posted first thing in the morning, so he could have accessed it in his previous classes), and so he spent the period moving about and getting his lunch (he had a baseball game later that day). 

The three boys were not well-behaved. 

About a half hour before the end of the period, Noah and Kyson had to leave for their game. They stood before the door, waiting for the minute they could go, but they opened the door just a crack. Just to look. 

They begged to leave early. Well, earlier. Nope. 

I guess they were trying to get out while the coast was clear. Of girls. 

The second they could go... whoosh. 

That's... that's a new one on me. Wow.

Sophomore Meltdown

Wednesday. Tenth grade English, special ed. Seventh period.

It's district writing assessment time, and that includes the special ed students. Ms. C gave me very specific instructions on what to do. 

Their routine is to grab a Chromebook, log in, and do a warmup. But we were switching things up so they'd have more time to write. As I got class started, I informed the class they wouldn't need their Chromebooks, so would they please put them back. 

Adrian was not pleased. While the rest of the class put their computers back and I passed out the packets they'd need for their writing, Adrian wailed. He did not want to give up his computer. 

Luckily (or maybe obviously), Adrian had a one-to-one aide. Mr. J went over to Adrian and pointed out that Adrian was disrupting the class. Adrian needed to put his Chromebook back. 

Adrian? Laid on the floor. Wailing. 

One is not often treated to a fifteen-year-old throwing a toddler temper tantrum. At least he wasn't flailing his limbs and screaming. 

While the rest of the class looked on, Mr. J calmly pointed out that Adrian was disrupting the class, and maybe Adrian needed to take a little walk to calm down. Adrian didn't like that idea. He didn't want to be in trouble. And somehow that got Adrian off the floor. He put away his computer. And we continued class. 

Of course Adrian complained about the essay. And the topic. (They had an argumentative essay. Topic: the space program--continued funding, yea or nay.) And he objected to how they spelled "center" in the articles they were to use as their sources. (Apparently Adrian is obsessed with English spelling and said it should be "centre". Well, if he wants English spellings, fine.) 

Did Adrian finish the essay? Nope. But he did actually write something. So, that's a win. 

Dude-Bros

Monday. Esports. Fifth period. 

I mean, it's a class where they play video games. Cake, right?

I was walking the room, making sure the students weren't doing anything stupid, as is my job. And I got pulled into conversation with three boys... Deep sigh. You know this isn't going to go well. 

So, there was a lot going on. And in retrospect it's hard to remember what bit came first. In the note to their teacher, I explained them thusly: They didn’t seem to be doing much other than being provocative. 

Marco found a totally inappropriate game to play. (Title: Five Nights at Epstein's. Normally I'd search it up so I could link to it for you, but no.) I pointed out the inappropriateness of this endeavor, but Marco didn't see my point. His compatriots logged in and played the game, too. They claimed that Mr. P wouldn't mind. Sure he wouldn't. 

Jorge explained to me how the Jews controlled everything. I countered with how wrong and racist that whole argument was. I even pointed out how the people pushing those theories were the very ones who were backing ICE and such. And, that since the three boys were varying shades of Latino, they were directly targeting them. No dice. 

And the three of them actively mocked the very special ed kids who were also in the class. Those kiddos weren't in the room at the time, so I didn't realize what they were doing, but in retrospect, it was clear. 

The instructional assistant that came with the special ed kiddos is someone I have worked with many times. She clued me in. This was Mr. P's worst class. Obviously. And the maturity level of those boys was the main reason for it. 

Which leads me to believe that much of the problems currently in our country have to do with these kinds of dude-bros being too stupid to realize that they're stupid. We're spending way too much time trying to appeal to their better natures. Sadly, they don't have better natures...

I mean, we can hope those kiddos will grow out of it. I don't know. I think they were an object lesson to me. Don't bother. The rest of that class was fine. Focus on them. Not the dude-bros who don't even realize that they're the ultimate losers in this particular game.

A Likely Story

Friday. Twelfth grade English. Second period. 

It was almost an hour into the ninety-minute period (block schedule) when Jocelyn arrived. She asked if her friend, who didn't have a second period, could "hang out" in class with her.  

While Jocelyn informed her friend that she'd have to go elsewhere, I noticed that Jocelyn had handed me a yellow late pass. The pass said 8:39. It was 9:24. 

When Jocelyn returned to me to get the day's assignment, I asked her where she'd been for the better part of an hour. 

Jocelyn explained how there was a long line in the office to get a late pass, how she picked up a random yellow pass from the counter, and how the time stamps on those passes didn't mean anything, really. 

All of this? Lies. 

Rather than get into an argument with Jocelyn, I nodded, and she sat down and got to work. 

After second period was snack. I went to the attendance office. 

I told the clerk what Jocelyn had told me. As expected, she laughed. 

When a student arrives late, they get a pass. The attendance clerk stamps the pass with the time stamp machine. Then they're shooed to class. Most students arrive at class within a couple minutes of that time. (If the class is far from the office, it might be closer to five minutes.) 

If the student is more than a half hour late, the attendance office switches from yellow passes to red passes. Student gets it time stamped. Then the attendance office inputs the tardy as "excessive". 

The attendance clerk said that Jocelyn's grandmother had called the school wondering why Jocelyn had so many tardies. So, the clerk said she'd call Jocelyn out of class the next period and they could call the grandmother and talk to her on the phone together. 

Only... 

The next period the school had an assembly. (It was to celebrate students with good grades. It was beach themed. Perfect, actually as it was a 95℉ day.) I actually saw Jocelyn. She arrived late. She left early. And then I saw her strolling around campus when my class returned to class. Because, of course. 

I checked the attendance software, just to see. Jocelyn had been marked truant for both my period and the period after. The clerk left a note that she had been unable to find Jocelyn in the next class. 

Jocelyn is a senior. We're about one quarter away from graduation. I hope she doesn't miss it due to how much class she's been missing. 

From the Garden

I finally got to go back to the continuation high school. (And now I'm sort of shadow banned, but that's a whole different blog post.) 

Wednesday. English. 

As it was Wednesday, it was gardening day. Unlike the last time I pulled this gig, this time we actually could work in the garden. 

There was a "garden ranger" who ran the class. She did a short lecture on natural versus chemically derived ingredients, had them make some tea, and had them do some planting and pruning. 

(At various points she videoed the kiddos. Apparently, there's a program to bring gardening into schools. Here's their Instagram. And here's one of the videos she shot that day.) 

Fourth period. She had brought in some mint plants, and the earlier periods had found a spot to plant them and weeded the area. Fourth period got to plant them. She had them lay out the plants in a sort of grid. 

Seth took his shovel, and he stuck it where he wanted it. He jumped on the shovel, pounding it into the ground. He methodically did this three more times, and very quickly created a hole large enough to put the mint plant in. Clearly he had done this sort of thing before.

Seth explained that his grandmother had an award winning garden. It looked like he had assisted her. 

After they had planted about half the plants, Seth invited me to plant one.

Well, didn't want to, really. So, I gave some excuses. My hand hurt. I didn't have the strength. Etcetera. 

Seth? Yeah, he called me out on that. Shot down my arguments. And fair, really. 

I'm usually the one making the kiddos do things they don't want to. This period I had two students who were unwilling to "get dirty" (there are sinks; they can wash their hands after), and I was urging them to work. So, I'm not doing it? I knew I had to. 

So, I did. Slowly. And badly. But I managed to dig a hole with Seth's guidance. And he put the mint in the ground. 

I got a bit of sun that day. And many of the kiddos did kind of enjoy it. It looks like it's a great program.

The Stench

Tuesday. Seventh grade English. Sixth period.

The day had gone pretty well. But the instructional assistant warned me of one kiddo in period six. His seat was separate from the class for reasons. Okay, then. 

As I was getting the class going, the IA reminded Enzo of where his seat was. In the back, next to the door. I recognized Enzo; he had been in the art class (well, likely still is). 

The class settled into the assignment. They were reading something and answering questions. But laughter floated from Enzo's corner of the room. The table near to Enzo was enjoying Enzo's antics. Deep sigh. 

But then, that section of the room erupted in exclamations of horror. Enzo had farted, and they did not like the smell. I did the only thing I could. I ignored this. 

Enzo asked to use the restroom. 

Later, when the class had calmed down, and the table near Enzo seemed to be working, Enzo asked if he could go outside. 

My initial answer: no. But then I considered.

So, I went over to Enzo and asked him why. Yeah, he needed to fart again. 

Yes, please, take that nonsense outside. 

Enzo got no work done. If he had spent half the energy doing the assignment that he spent avoiding the assignment, he would have been done. But no. 

Alas, some of them never learn that particular lesson. 

At least we didn't have a repeat of the stench from earlier in the period. 

Out-of-Date Seating Chart

Tuesday. Fourth period integrated math two (read: geometry/sophomore math). 

I was in for Ms. L all week, and I was expecting to find Mr. J. Instead, I found Mr. H. Oh, a two sub day... 

Mr. H has been a sub about as long as I have. (We even went to college together, although we didn't know each other then. Big school.) So, we greeted each other, and I found Ms. L's desk and sat down. 

As Mr. H was covering the general ed teacher, he went about taking roll. Mr. J had left his seating chart, and Mr. H was going about verifying who was there and who wasn't. Only, the kiddos weren't precisely in their assigned seats. 

When I covered for Mr. J when he was out on paternity leave two years ago, I learned that his seating chart was more of a suggestion. The kiddos could sit where they liked as long as they were on task, and some of them drifted to other parts of the room. Mr. J tried to keep his seating chart up-to-date, but it wasn't a priority. (This is true for many teachers.) 

Mr. H asked the kiddos who were out of their "assigned" seats to return to them. The kiddos were not pleased. 

One kiddo loudly complained to me. Others in the class came to his defense. I asked him to sit there just for the day. 

"You think I'm lying about my seat," he complained. 

I assured him that I did not. I knew how things worked in that class. But, I also knew that undermining the other sub in the room never helped things, and it was just for one day. 

Reluctantly, the kiddo remained in the seat, but I could see him stewing. 

The next day I ran into Mr. J. He apologized for also being out. (These things happen. I wasn't concerned.) I told him about the seating issue. 

And... Mr. J had warned the kiddos early on that if they drifted, they might be asked to return to their old seats by any subs who covered the class. It was the risk they took. 

Kiddos can be creatures of habit. They don't like being moved. 

(I did tell Mr. H about the seating chart's inaccuracies between classes so he wouldn't run into that issue again the next class. Or he would know if he chose to enforce the seating chart. 

Kiddos will lie about their assigned seats, and they'll sit someplace they shouldn't--like next to someone who will distract them. Or, they'll sit someplace where they can pester someone they shouldn't. So we subs generally make them sit where the seating chart says, because it will save us from other issues later on. It's one of those things that sometimes need to be enforced and sometimes don't.)

Weather Sense

I have very deliberately not been discussing the weather with y'all. I know much of the U.S. is buried in snow, and the temps have been bitterly cold. I'm sorry. It sucks. I'm wishing for an early thaw and an early spring. I can't even imagine how you all are coping. 

Tuesday. Sophomore English, third period. 

I was at the door, greeting students, as usual. As Jessica entered, she asked me to turn on the heat in the classroom. 

Jessica was dressed in jeans and sneakers, and she was wearing a tank top. No jacket. Deep sigh... 

At the end of the previous period, I checked the thermostat. It read 73 degrees. Knowing how many bodies raise the temperature in the classroom, I went to put on the fan. It was cool enough outside that there was no need for air conditioning. We definitely didn't need the heat. 

I told Jessica no. Then I asked her where her jacket was. 

She explained that when she stepped outside to leave for school, she noted how it was overcast and cool. But she didn't feel like turning around, going back inside, and getting a jacket. 

Her problem, then. 

The previous day, Jessica would have been dressed okay. The previous week, Jessica was dressed completely appropriately. Because the previous week, we were in the 80s. Yeah. End of January/beginning of February, and I had been wearing shorts. There were a couple days where we were pretty close to 90 degrees. 

But the weather reports had told us the temperature would be dropping. Rain was forecast for Tuesday evening. Our projected high was to be about 65 degrees. 

I pulled out warmer clothes. The rest of the class was dressed appropriately in long sleeve hoodies and the like. It wasn't bitterly cold, but it was not the day to be wearing a tank top with nothing over it. 

Jessica admitted she hadn't been paying attention to the weather reports. So, I warned her that the rest of the week was forecast to be cool. She might want to be bringing her jacket for the next couple weeks. 

This is very much a case of a lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine. I do not understand why it is so hard for teenagers to learn how to keep up with the weather reports. There's a default weather app on every phone. 

Unsettled

Thursday. Eighth grade English, co-taught. 

I was expecting a two sub day, but nope, Ms. C was there, like the last time I covered this class, just a couple weeks ago. 

They were doing the district writing assessment. Every quarter every student is required to write an essay. The prompts are standardized by grade level. They're given some source material (usually articles, but sometimes videos), and then they have some sort of question to answer. 

For this essay, the eighth graders were writing an argumentative essay on the media. (They could choose pro or con.) 

This was day two of the essay, and Orson had taken over the couch in the back of the room, stretched out. He had a computer with a game on it. Okay, then, Orson had finished the essay. 

The rest of the class, however... 

Ms. C gave them instructions. They basically already knew what to do. Ms. C had already explained the structure, and they'd been over things like citing evidence and creating a hook. Then Ms. C took a group of the students to work in another room, leaving me alone with the remaining group. All they had to do was to start writing...

Yeah, no.

While I hovered, helping those that had questions (mostly things to get started), the rest of the class started talking. And got louder... 

Then a boy arrived, late. He joined two others at the front of the room, and those three got into play mode. 

As I tried to figure out who the late boy was and settle the class, Cedric suggested that I adjust their seats. (Cedric was the boy from this day, unnamed the the post, but he was the one who played that entire period, at least until he left and had to be shooed back by security.) 

Just when I thought I was going to lose the class, Ms. C returned. And the whole class settled. Sigh.

(She apologized for being gone so long. There was a group of eighth graders roaming the school, including the boy who arrived late, and she was helping the principal corral them.) 

The three boys at the front? Ms. C stationed herself in front of them, and they still needed constant redirecting. 

And before you ask, one of the boys was not supposed to be sitting there, but Ms. C let him when the late boy wasn't there. Then when the late boy appeared she just left it like that rather than disrupt things during assessment essay time to move him. 

Ms. C told me that was her worst class. Me: "Really? I couldn't tell..." 

Returned

By the luck of the app, I happened to catch a day in the art class I had started this school year in. (If things hadn't been so dead lately, I probably would have "missed" it, but I couldn't afford to miss another day as there was no guarantee that anything else would pop up.) 

First period. Tuesday. 

They had a shading assignment. I was given instructions to go over with them, so it was a more labor intensive day for me. (Not a bad thing, but it meant that I was pretty busy engaging with students, and I had less dead time than usual.) 

And, of course, I had many restroom pass requests. 

I don't give this a lot of thought. If no one else is out of the room, the kiddo can go. I write down their names and the time they left (so I can track how long they were gone). 

Joshua was out of the room. I had three other students who were waiting to go. And the phone rang. 

"Did you let Joshua out to go to the restroom? Security found him out wandering..." And this is where I got reprimanded for letting Joshua out of class, because Joshua was on the escort list. 

Escort list? 

Okay, so some students take advantage of restroom passes. They leave their class, and instead of doing their business and getting back to class, they wander campus. They meet up with their friends. They share vapes in the restroom. I don't know what they do out there, but it's not something they should be doing. 

Students who take too long out of class get added to an escort list. That means that if that kiddo asks to use the restroom, the teacher has to call security to escort them to the restroom. They hate this, but they've demonstrated that they can't be trusted to leave class on their own. 

They provide subs with the list. It's in the folder we get. Although, usually the teacher will leave the names of who we need to call security for. It didn't even occur to me to check the list, not that I had time to do so. 

(Oh, and the list is a mess. It's mostly alphabetical by first names, grouped by grade level, but there are a few with last names listed first. And then half the list is a jumble of I don't know what, because it's not quite alphabetical and it's definitely not grouped by grade level.) 

Joshua returned to class fifteen minutes after he left (yes, I was keeping track). Surly. Ah well. 

Ms. D was on campus (they were doing some curriculum planning) and stopped by after first period. I told her of the incident. 

It turns out that Joshua was on the escort list for a week a while ago. Otherwise she totally would have left his name. And there were no other students on the escort list (as far as I could tell; I went through the list and compared it to the class rosters, and... well, I mentioned that the list was a mess). 

There has got to be a better way to deal with restroom passes and wandering students. I don't know what it is.

All Excuses

Friday. Period three, study skills.

Study skills is just a fancy way of saying study hall. I mean, technically the teacher is supposed to have curriculum that teaches skills for studying, but most of the kiddos who really want that are in AVID or success. (Or even if they don't but have someone urging them in that direction.) Study skills is the special ed equivalent, and most of the time, the teacher gives them time to work on missing assignments. 

This is a very long-winded way of saying that I had a class that had nothing to do. They were allowed to be on their phones once they were done with all their work. They were done with all their work. 

Except...

I had an instructional assistant, and she warned me of Nick. In semester one, Nick had claimed that he was doing all his work and he had no homework. Alas, his semester grades showed these claims to be lies. Miss B no longer trusted him. 

Miss B then told me that Nick would have many excuses. His work would be on paper, but the paper would be at home. And as it was homework, he'd do it at home. 

Nick arrived. Miss B asked him what he had to work on. He told her he didn't have anything. But Miss B wasn't having that.

It came out that Nick had some maps to complete for his history class, but he had left the papers at home. Miss B sent him to his teacher to get another copy. Upon his return, Miss B sent him to his math teacher to get work from her. 

And then, while he was out, I got a call from the speech therapist. Nick was needed for speech therapy. 

Naturally. 

Miss B set up his computer so the map he'd need was on the screen. She made sure he had everything he needed to complete his work. And when he returned, he did work. Kind of. 

I looked down at his map of the Middle East, and on the Arabian Peninsula he had written "France". He did get Africa and Asia in the right places, though. (My knowledge of geography is pretty terrible, but I can locate France.) 

When I pointed out where various of the list of places he needed to label were, he immediately wrote those down. But he was slow walking the looking up and figuring out where the places were on his own. I wasn't going to do it for him, so I walked away.

If you want to get something done, you find a way. If you don't, you find an excuse. Nick was all about the excuses. Sigh. 

One would hope that at some point he'll want good grades. Until then, he's going to fight us about doing his work. 

He's young. He may grow out of it.