Signing Shirts

Monday of the last week of school. Eighth grade English, co-taught. Fourth period. 

The eighth graders were done. Their grades had been submitted the prior Friday. Eighth grade promotion activities started Tuesday. So, the lesson for the day was a streamed movie. 

As it was a co-taught class, Ms. R was there. (I was subbing for the special ed teacher.) And she was really done with them. She wasn't going to permit them to sit next to their friends, but she was going to permit them to sign yearbooks. 

After going over the agenda for the rest of the week (she made sure to stress that the quicker they followed directions on Tuesday, the quicker they could be done with promotion practice), she put on the movie. 

A boy pulled out a red Sharpie...

The kiddos are not allowed to bring Sharpies to school. The kiddos have not made good choices with regards to where they write with that permanent ink marker. 

Ms. R, exasperated, reminded the kiddos that she had spent a lot of time at the beginning of the year warning them about having Sharpies at school. She was not in the mood to deal with it, though, so she told the boy to put it away. 

He explained that he brought it so that people could autograph his shirt. 

Okay, I might need to back up here a bit. It was tradition in my elementary school, and likely many of the elementary schools in the area, that on the last day of school, the sixth graders got to wear a white t-shirt that everyone could sign. I still have mine. Someplace. 

He was in a white t-shirt. In fact, there was a good portion of the class that were in white t-shirts that had various writings on them. (This is the first time I've seen it in the middle school.) Okay, then... 

So, people were signing shirts. A few of them had yearbooks, but more had shirts. (They were complaining about the price of the full-color, hardcover yearbooks. Their yearbooks were much nicer than my junior high yearbooks were.) 

I mean, it is a Title I school. I'm sure some couldn't afford the yearbooks. 

Reruns

We're at that time of year. Last week I did not cover a class I had not covered before this school year. I kind of needed that after the prior week. 

On Monday I caught an assignment at the adult transition center for the teacher I've covered a couple times this year. While there, a job popped up for Tuesday. After snagging it, I explained to the instructional assistants in class that I knew exactly what was going to happen. 

Ms. S coteaches with Ms. W. Ms. W was going to ask me to swap jobs for the day. She'd teach Ms. S's eighth grade math classes while I'd take over her fifth period success class and her seventh period learning center. 

And when I arrived at school on Tuesday? Exactly what I said would happen happened. (Ms. W's success class is very different from Ms. T's. How? Special ed. Ms. W has a smaller class and an instructional aide. That does make a world of difference.)

There were a couple surprises as I ended up covering an extra period, but that was also in the learning center. The learning center is an extra room where special ed kiddos can take a test in a separate setting (for those that need that, specified in their IEP). It's basically a period of me sitting and watching an empty room (although that class had a study hall type class and a whole math class came in to take a test). 

Wednesday I covered an economics class I had covered earlier in the year. Thursday I covered a special ed co-teacher who I covered for a week in February (and worked with when I did that long term two years ago). And Friday I covered that Spanish class that had a student teacher. 

When I say the bad days balance out, this is what I mean. Two weeks ago: brutal. Last week: cake. 

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...

Seventh Grade

Thursday. Seventh grade math. First period. 

It was a co-taught class, and I was subbing for the special ed teacher, so Ms. G ran her class as usual. The topic for the day was percentages. 

Ms. G explained the formula to them, gave examples, gave them a chance to try some problems, went over those problems so the kiddos knew what to do, and then she gave them problems to work on. Typical math class. 

And typical seventh graders. 

One boy just sat there, kind of staring off into space. Ms. G was doing notes, and he wasn't copying down what she was writing. When I tried to get him to do something, he said he didn't know what to do. Well, start with copying the notes she was demonstrating for him. That's a good place to start. 

Seventh graders think they can talk and work. What they end up doing is going off on tangents and getting no work done. So, while they were allowed to "work together", they weren't getting as much done as they could. 

Well, at least I could help them when they needed it. Mostly. And for a seventh grade class, they weren't too horrible. 

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. 

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.)

Missed Lesson Plans

Last week I caught a four-day assignment for Ms. L, who I worked with two years ago when Mr. J was on his paternity leave. I knew who she co-taught with, and I had a vague idea of her schedule. So, when I arrived at school on Tuesday, I headed directly for the learning center. 

The class was "study skills" which is code for study hall. As it was the first day back after a four-day weekend, I was not surprised when the kiddos didn't have anything to work on. 

I hovered a little, but I pretty much left them to it. It wasn't like they kept track of what they did or anything... 

Um, well... 

Every teacher has a "home base". For most teachers, that's their classroom. They keep all their stuff in there. For the special ed co-teachers there are desks that are in the two learning centers. Ms. L's desk is in the other learning center. (I thought it odd she taught classes in the learning center where her desk wasn't, but scheduling issues.) 

Ms. L's desk is in the learning center next door to Mr. J's classroom. So, on my way to that period, I breezed by, just to make sure she had left no lesson plans on her desk (as she hadn't the last time I covered her classes). Alas... 

Yeah, Ms. L had left lesson plans. And I had been supposed to give the first class a paper to note what they got accomplished in class. 

Oops. 

Well, I wasn't going to make that mistake again, and I did have three more days of the class. 

In my defense, the special ed co-teachers don't usually leave lesson plans. We're just assisting the general ed teachers in the classes we go to. And her desk was on the other side of campus. 

(I'm exaggerating. A bit. It was out of the way, but it wasn't a terrible distance.) 

At least I took roll. 

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..." 

Working Hard (or Not)

"Could you cover a sixth period..."

Wednesday. Sixth period. Eighth grade English, co-taught. Which meant that the general ed teacher was there. All I had to do was follow her lead. (I've covered Ms. C and I've worked with Ms. C many, many times.) 

Ms. C started with an apology to me and a warning. The room was infested with fruit flies. Someone had left bananas under all the desks before they left for winter break...

Eighth graders... 

They were taking a standardized test (one I've given many, many times), and one of their teachers was there, so I just sat back. The room was filled with familiar faces. Several of them had been in that seventh grade science class I started the year in last school year. (Like Simon.)

At one point Orson called me over. As I search through my previous posts, I see I did not mention Orson before, so let me explain. 

Orson is weird. Probably autistic. I recognize his concerns. Anyway, he speaks very deliberately, and he likes to make sure things are situated as they "should be". He's not a bad kid, but he doesn't fit in well with his classmates. Which sucks, really. 

We're about a half hour or so into the test. The two other boys at Orson's table are clearly not applying themselves. But they weren't talking, so I leaned in to Orson so he could ask his question. 

"Some students are only on question number four," Orson told me. 

I looked down at Orson's test. He was on question 37. The boy next to him was on question four. 

At that point, they totally should have been on at least question twenty. Orson was making decent progress. 

Me: "That's not anything you need to worry about." (I said it kindly. It wasn't his problem and it wasn't anything he needed to do anything about. I was aware the kiddos weren't applying themselves, and when they're still working while everyone else is finished, they'll realize how they wasted their own time.) 

Shortly thereafter Orson informed me he had finished. I told him congratulations. He moved to a different seat and started playing a video game. (There wasn't another assignment after they finished, and the computerized test just closed when he finished, so there was nothing I needed to do.) 

Orson's neighbor? Still working on the test. 

Orson had quite a bit of time to play his game before Ms. C called time. Several students had not finished, so they would be testing the next class period. Including Orson's neighbor. 

And I am not at all concerned. The ones that weren't applying themselves have to keep working until they finish. Those that were got free time. The punishment fits the crime.

A Reading Lesson

Tuesday of the week before Thanksgiving, I had nothing. (I saved my subbing stories for when I was back at work.) I had the rest of the week booked, but not Tuesday. I just missed catching two assignments during the school day Monday, and as I was leaving school for the day, I was trying to accept that I might not work that Tuesday. 

Then, just as I was pulling out of my parking space, my phone alerted. I grabbed that assignment so fast... 

Tuesday. Senior English. Co-taught. 

Since it was a late(erish) call out, the general ed teacher taught the class as planned. (Even if it had been longer planned, I think Ms. U would have just kept on with the plan for the day anyway.) They were getting ready to start a new book, and they were doing the prelim work for it. 

Me? I sat at the back of the room, unneeded. 

The lesson went off very smoothly. The students were attentive when Ms. U was instructing, and they actually discussed what she asked them to discuss as the period wore on. (I know this as I walked the room then, listening in. I didn't have to prompt them.) 

This is not normally the sort of day that makes the blog. The only reason I'm mentioning it is because of what they were going to be reading...

A comic book. A graphic novel. This one: Hawkeye: My Life as a Weapon.

It was fascinating. Ms. U had the class do notes on the superhero genre. What were the expectations? What sorts of stories are usually told in this medium? How does one read a comic book, anyway? 

She used terminology (frame, gutter, etc.). She had them write about what they knew of this type of story. She explained how they were to look at the various panels and how to compare panel sequences. 

I learned a lot. 

I would have loved a lesson like this when I was their age. Graphic novels have come a long way. 

As I was looking up the graphic novel so I could link to it, I found it on YouTube. In case you're interested, this is for the first story in the graphic novel. (It contains five. The class was only going to read the first two or three, time permitting.) 

Ms. U got them started with the first couple pages. She hinted about how they'd also be learning about subverting expectations. 

Phantom Cramp

Thursday. Eighth grade English. 

I had covered this about a month ago (and I have covered Ms. R's class many, many times), so I knew what I was in for. I also knew that her co-teacher was going to be out. The night before I made a silly wish. "Wouldn't it be great if Ms. S was subbing for the co-teacher?" 

Guess who ended up subbing for the co-teacher? 

It made for a way easier day. 

Third period. The class had just finished their warm up, and I explained their assignment. They had chosen a story or article the previous week (there were a limited number of choices, but they did get to pick amongst them), and Ms. S and I had passed out the stories to the students. They were to annotate the story they picked, and then they'd have questions to answer about them. 

While they were getting started on the assignment, Russell "fell" out of his chair. He was lying on the ground, not moving, just lying there. 

Ms. S and I conferred. She remarked that Russell should probably be kicked out of class. I concurred. Having known Russell from the art class, I knew that his behavior wasn't going to improve. This was the perfect excuse to send him out. 

Ms. S called another classroom to find him a spot. Russell complained. "But I have a cramp!"

Uh huh. Sure you do. 

Ms. S escorted Russell away. And when she returned, neither of us had to deal with his shenanigans for the rest of the period. Bliss.

Did this scare the rest of the class? Of course not. But at least they mostly read quietly. 

I do not kick students out often enough. There's a part of me that wants to give them one more chance. Maybe they'll actually "be good", which is what they always promise when I go to assign a consequence. The thing is, they never do. They just get worse. 

The Swap

I arrived to school on Friday, and the co-teacher began by asking if I wouldn't mind... 

Eighth grade math. They were to have a test the following week, but both the general ed and the special ed teacher had been out the previous class (for a meeting for the whole math department), and things hadn't gone so well with that sub. Although, as soon as she asked it, I remembered her asking me the same thing the last time I covered the class, last school year. 

Ms. W asked if we could swap. She'd teach Ms. S's classes (the classes that weren't co-taught but were doing the exact same thing as the co-taught ones), and I'd cover her classes. (One period of learning center, and one period of success.) 

I've always been rather flexible with work. I've had days where I came in expecting to sub for one teacher but was switched to another class for reasons. The previous week the secretary had emailed me asking if I was willing to swap gigs. Sometimes it turns out I'm covering one teacher for half a day and another teacher for the other half. My job is to fill in for absent teachers, and I'm perfectly okay with going where they need me to fill in. 

And besides, this was a way easier day than the one I'd been expecting. 

Although, it meant I didn't have a "home base" at all. Four different rooms. (Well, three, but I was also asked to cover an extra period that day.) 

But that's a minor issue when I can go where I'll do the most good that day. It's way better to have the teacher who knows the material and is familiar with the test making sure the kiddos are ready rather than insisting on following the classes I was assigned for the day. 

It's one reason why I enjoy subbing. The variety. 

One AM

I went to bed last Sunday night figuring I wasn't working Monday. I hadn't managed to pick up an assignment. (I had just missed a couple. Sigh.) 

I had worked myself into looking forward to a day off. I went to bed a bit late. But I was totally asleep when the alert on my phone woke me with a job for Monday. I grabbed it without looking at it too closely. It was one AM. 

I was covering a special ed teacher who co-taught with three different teachers. Not a bad gig. (Block schedule, so I only had three classes.) 

The first block I had integrated math 1 (think: algebra 1). It turned out the general ed teacher was also out. After a bit of a scramble (as the general ed teacher had assumed Mr. R would be there), another teacher got the lesson loaded to Google Classroom, and we were good to go. 

The class... 

The other sub was competent. She took roll while I got the class going on what they needed to work on. The kiddos were very laid back which was fine. But, they were not following certain rules, like having their cell phones put away and like actually doing their assignment. Sigh. 

But things came to a head when three students "returned" from somewhere. We had been keeping track of who was allowed out of class, and the three of them hadn't been allowed out of class. (How we missed them leaving, I have no idea.) 

The other sub asked the kiddos their names. And one of them lied to her about it. That's when we learned that this girl was not enrolled in the class. Deep sigh. 

She was incensed that the other sub called security on her. She claimed that she had only just been taken out of the class... (Which poses a couple questions: If she knew she was in a different class, why would she go to her old one? When the other sub called roll, why did she not say anything when her name was not called? Why was she roaming campus, anyway?) 

The student acted like the aggrieved party, but security agreed with us. Because, seriously? Doubling down when you're in the wrong? 

When Mr. R responded to my email about the day, he commented that the class was very immature. Yeah, we caught that. 

The rest of my day was uneventful as the general ed teachers were there and taught their lessons. 

I don't really mind the one AM calls. It gives me time to go back to sleep before I have to go to work. 

Visiting Teacher

Friday. Sixth period. I got an email from the co-teacher, Ms. K. 

The eleventh grade English classes are all co-taught. (This means that there's another teacher, a special ed teacher, who is in class with me.) The ninth and tenth grade ELD classes are not. (ELD=English language development. Read: English for non-native speakers.) 

My day is: 1st block--conference period; 2nd block--11th graders; 3rd block--ELD; 4th block--11th graders. Ms. K is with my 2nd and 4th blocks. (We're on block schedule, so it takes me two days to see all the classes. Both even and odd days are the same, which is good and bad.) 

Anyway, I had seen Ms. K in fourth period and I would see her again in eighth, so getting the email was weird. 

But, the email explained that Ms. K wasn't feeling well and was going home. So, I wouldn't see her eighth period. 

No big deal. It was a minimum day, the Friday before spring break. We were watching a video (on F. Scott Fitzgerald--background info before reading The Great Gatsby). It wasn't like she really needed to be there. 

But, teacher contracts require all missing teachers have a sub. (I've been in classes where both teachers were absolutely needed, so I'm good with this.) Ms. K said there'd be a sub, and she let me know who it would be. (I wonder if she asked the teacher herself. I wouldn't be surprised.)

I was going to get to work with Ms. L again. Woo-hoo! 

Last year, exactly a year ago, I was in that math long term assignment. Ms. L was the co-teacher. 

And... Yeah, that's all the excitement there was. The class arrived. I explained the assignment. They whined a bit. I put on the video. While the video played Ms. L worked on her stuff. I got some grading done. 

(I mean, it's not like I haven't seen her around since then. We've run into each other.) 

It was a nice way to finish things off before our break. 

Of course, this week was our week back after spring break. (I saved the subbing stories for the week I'd be at work.) Next week I'll post about what happened this week (as is my custom). I hope you've had a wonderful week. 

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

Jazz Age Notes

Friday. Junior English. Third period.

It was my first day flying solo (so to speak--there's a co-teacher) in Ms. A's class. The lesson plans said to present a slideshow to the class while they took notes. Easy enough. 

I previewed the slides. And I panicked a little. The classes are 92 minutes long. There was no way the slides could possibly take up a full hour and a half of class time.

The classes will read The Great Gatsby once we return from spring break. The slideshow was about The American Dream, F. Scott Fitzgerald (the author), and general historical background on the 1920s Jazz Age (when the book is set). 

But, I had made the assignment from the previous class due Friday, so they'd get a bit of time to finish that up if they needed it. Or so the plan went. 

After the morning announcements, we got to work. As I do, I discussed the slides. They had bullet points about The American Dream. I expanded upon what was there. I pointed out how while taking notes, they didn't need to write down what was on the slides verbatim. 

And as I talked (and waited for the students to finish writing), I watched the clock. Time kept ticking away. And soon I realized this was all taking some time. A lot of time. 

We had twenty minutes of class time left. I did a mental inventory. We had a lot of slides left. And I realized, I wasn't going to finish the slideshow by the end of the period. 

Oops.

Although, this was a good problem to have. I was worried I'd have half the class to fill after finishing up. 

I had no idea I could talk that long. And it wasn't even an issue of me having to stop every two minutes to get their attention again. They were following along, a few piping up when I asked questions of the class. I mean, it went well. 

When I noticed that we were within five minutes of the end of the period, I called it. Not quite finished, but looking ahead to the next week, I realized I could finish off the slides then. I definitely have a bit of a cushion, although that means that we'll do a video on the author's life on the last day before spring break. They were supposed to have a free day as Ms. A was kind of expecting many of them not to show.

No big deal. The video is just on F. Scott Fitzgerald's life. I mean, it's interesting and all, but it won't hurt them if they miss that day. 

The slideshow was 55 slides long. I got through about 30 of them. 

So, now I know I can fill an entire 90-ish minute period with 30 slides. I might need this information later. 

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

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.