Traffic Jam

Yesterday I went to a funeral.  While waiting for the chapel to clear out, I got a chance to watch the previous group all get into their cars to follow the hearse to the grave site.  There were a lot of cars. 

As this group was waiting to make a right turn onto the street, another group following a hearse came into the memorial park.  And it just struck me.  How often does one see two funeral processions passing each other?  

Change of Luck

When I got into today's classroom, all I found on the teacher's desk was an emailed lesson plan for yesterday.  Written all over it were the notes from yesterday's sub.  Uh oh.

I called the main office to see if the teacher had emailed new plans for today. Outlook had been down all morning, but it had just come up.  I was to send a student to go and fetch the lesson plans.

At this point the warning bell had rung.  The students were coming into the class.  I was in a classroom at the back of campus, so I figured that it would take at least ten minutes for a student to get the plans and bring them back.  I had to figure out what to do with the students for those ten minutes. Sophomores.  They could go crazy in that amount of time.

Here's where my luck completely changed.

First, it turned out that I had a TA for first period.  No wondering about who to send to the office.  That's in the TA's job description.  And then the counselor walked in.

The counselor was carrying a big box and a big projector.  She was there to talk to all the sophomore classes.  All day.

It is that time of year.  They are beginning signing the kids up for next year's classes.  Today sophomores got the talk--graduation requirements, college entrance requirements, and planning for junior and senior years.  

This meant that all I had to do was take roll and sit back and let the counselor do all the work.  Nice!  Easy day for me.  Whew.

Snitch

"Ms. A, you're a snitch."

A student said this to me as she walked into 4th period.  She was angry at me because I had left her name for her English teacher (today I was covering biology).  I don't remember what she was doing--probably talking instead of listening to a story on CD--but if I felt it merited mention to her teacher, then it must have been inappropriate.  

This girl was denied a buyout on that Friday, so she was upset.  Not my problem, really.  But I got to hear all about her displeasure.  

The snitch comment bothered me, though.  It implied that I'm supposed to let them do whatever they want when their teacher is away.  That's not how I understood my responsibilities.  I tried to explain this.  I'm not a peer.  I'm not their friend.  I am a teacher.  I let the teacher know what went on in his/her classroom during his/her absence.  

She didn't get any of this, of course.  She stopped listening after I said I wasn't her peer.  She's been so angry lately.  Every time I see her she's ranting about something.  

What happens with the sub stays with the sub?  Um, no.  

Too Much Help?

Yesterday I covered the reentry program.  This is a class for students who aged out of the continuation high school (if they didn't graduate in the June of their senior year and they turned 18).  It meets in the late afternoon from 2:30 to 6:30.

Every student is busily trying to finish his/her high school diploma work.  For the most part the students work on their own.  Occasionally they need some extra help.

One of the students was working on algebra.  He was having difficulty, so he asked for my help.  I helped for a bit, moved away to check on someone else, and then went back to check on him.  The problem he was working on was exactly the same as the problem that I had just helped him with, but this one he got wrong.  So, I was needed there.

Two hours later I was still sitting by him, helping him with his math.  After a while it started to feel like I was doing the work for him.  It wasn't that he wasn't getting it.  As soon as he understood how to do one kind of problem, he had finished that set and was working on a different set of problems.  

It's hard sometimes to know how much help to give.  All I could do was note it in my sub report and hope that I hadn't helped him too much.

How Do You Spell...?

"Are there two M's in commitment?"

Since this was a spelling test, I did not answer.  I just gave the student a look. He relented, and the test continued.

You might be surprised how often that little maneuver turns up.  "How do you spell permit?" or "How do you spell number seven?"  Both were asked as I was reading out the words to them (in different periods).  Very funny.

The period continued on, and at some point (as all middle school classes do) they asked if I had written any names down.  I told them that the question about commitment went into the note.  Mistake.

The boy who had asked that question then tried to bargain with me.  "If I'm good for the rest of the period, will you erase my name?"  I said no.  He sulked for the rest of the period.  I passed his desk--he had not started the assignment (a different one after the test).  

Then after school he spent what seemed like ten minutes begging me not to leave his name for the teacher.  He offered to get down on his knees (I declined).  In the end all I agreed to was to think about it.  That's what got him to finally leave (with a polite, "Thank you for your consideration," after).  

I left the note.  I added that he had apologized for his stupid remark.  I don't know how hard the teacher is going to come down on him (by the amount of begging, I should think rather hard).  Maybe next time he'll think before he speaks.

All Turned Around

Whenever I plan on going someplace new in a part of town I'm unfamiliar with, I prepare.  I get good directions.  I get out my map and plot my course. Then when I get in the car, my directions and map are out.  I pretty much know where I'm going and how to get there.

This morning I got a call from my sister-in-law.  Her grandmother was dying, and she needed me to pick my niece up from school.  No problem.

After my niece was in my car, I explained the situation.  She burst into tears. When I offered her the chance to go to the nursing home to say goodbye, she gave me a definite yes.  

But I had no idea where this nursing home was or how to get there.

I called my SIL.  I don't keep paper or writing utensil in my car, so I had to instantly memorize the directions.  They led me through a part of town that I was once familiar with (I had lived in that area in 2000-2001), but I hadn't been that way in a long time.  That's going to be my excuse.  Because I got so turned around...

What I heard was that I was supposed to make a left turn on this one street. But when I got to that street, I could only make a right (unless I wanted my car to get up close and personal with the Pacific Ocean).  Certain that I had made a wrong turn somewhere, I turned around and retraced my path.  

My niece was sure that I was taking too long.  She was sure that by the time we got to the nursing home her Nana would already have passed.  I was feeling horrible enough already.  And my niece could have been correct--we could have already missed her Nana.

I found a place to pull over to call my SIL again (certain that she thought I was an idiot by now).  Sure enough, I was going the right way before.  I should have made a right turn right where I turned around because I was sure I was in the wrong place.  

So, I got to the right street, but I made a right turn instead of a left.  I again called my SIL to confirm.  By now she was standing outside the nursing home (because she had to be sure that I would never find it on my own).  I turned around and headed (finally) in the right direction.  

Then I found the place easily, but I was in the wrong lane.  Of course there was a bus in the way so I couldn't change lanes.  And the guy behind me decided that he had to honk at me for being an idiot.   Yes, I was perfectly aware that I was an idiot.  But we had been in the car for nearly an hour getting to a place that was probably less than 20 minutes away from where I had started.  I wasn't in the mood to have to turn around again.

There's a reason I rarely drive.  I can't be trusted to find any place.

Anger Issues

I had one last day in that special ed class (the one from this day and this day).  Well, there might be more, but the meetings that this teacher has been out for are over.  Whew.

This boy had another meltdown.  This time it was over spelling.  He was freaking out when he couldn't find "rejected" in the dictionary.  

Some students are just needy.  At this level of school, they need to learn to work independently.  So, what set this boy off was the fact that we weren't sitting with him and telling him what to do every step of the way.  When he was calm he was working on his own just fine.  

The incident I didn't mention that day (I didn't want to overload the post) was with another boy who blows up at the slightest slight--real or imagined.  And he was at it again today.

I was very careful 5th period when I told him to get out his reading book. Everyone in the class had to read for 12 minutes.  Everyone else had a book out and was reading.  The last time I told him to get out his book he exploded at me for treating him like an idiot (for the record: I used the exact same tone of voice I use with any student in any class when telling them the exact same thing--and these are not special ed kids).  So, I was a little dubious at forcing the issue.

The boy had his head down on his desk.  I told him to get out his book, and I said it very gently.  I repeated.  And he got out his book.  He put it unopened on his desk.  I told him to open it.  He did.  Crisis averted.

I thought I was home free.  Then it was time for the class to get in a group and start on the day's assignment.  Somehow, this boy and this girl then irritated each other enough so that they started yelling at each other (about what I have no idea).  A third boy got into the mix, and all I wanted to do was yell at them to stop this nonsense.  I didn't.  

Apparently 5th period does this.  A lot.  

There were two other peacemakers in the class plus the others were done with the whole disruption (this was a class of eight), so somehow we managed to get order again.  

However, the boy's consequence for any blow up is a 15 minute detention.  He blew up in a previous period, so he was up to a half hour.  When he stalked into class at the end of the day, he was surprised to find that extra 15 minutes listed under his detention.  He argued the point, but eventually he had to admit that he did earn that extra 15 minutes.

It's sad to see so much anger in these kids.  But I suppose that's part of the reason that they're in this special ed class.