The Best Teaching Tactic Ever
It’s been an interesting week. Despite the many “business-as-usual” difficulties we faced before the school year had even started, or perhaps because of them, the first week of school actually went rather smoothly. For me, at least, feeling like the bureaucracy of the system was against me caused me to focus on my classroom, dig deep, and become more self-reliant. Reading Rick Smith’s Conscious Classroom Management, especially Chapter 3, “Inner Authority,” didn’t hurt, either. It’s the best thing I’ve ever gotten from CPS, actually. I’ve started this year off confident in my ability to say “No,” or its variant, “I understand, and the answer is no,” and although my classroom does not yet run like a well-oiled machine, it’s already running more smoothly than it ever did last year.
Add to this newfound confidence that I am the law, fair and just, in my classroom, with the amazing tool of insisting that I dismiss the class, not the bell, and I think I might actually be on my way to something approaching a well-oiled machine. Sure, some students complain when I insist that they put their butts in their seats before I will let them go, but—and this is what amazes me—they actually do it.
On the second day, when I was enforcing this new rule in my classroom, “Rodney,” a student who would rather be anywhere else than school, fumed in his seat. “If we all leave, he can’t stop us all,” he said. “And if he does, I’ll pound him like that,” and he slapped his right fist into his left hand. But he didn’t make a move to get up. There was some laughter, but no one else tried to bum rush me, either.
The next day, “Jimbo Jones,” actually attended class. Jimbo loves to challenge my authority. He and Rodney sometimes skip class together. When class was over, the bell rang, and some students, including Jimbo, got out of their desks. “Wait.” I said. “Sit down. Sit down and I will dismiss you.” There was some grumbling, and no one grumbled louder or more profanely than Jimbo. Everyone else—including Rodney—sat back down. But Jimbo wanted to fight me. So he stood there, cussing just loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Jimbo,” I said, “Sit down in the desk, please.”
“Naw, man.”
“Jimbo, please sit down. No one is going anywhere until you do.”
“I want to hold everybody up.” He leaned against the desk part of the desk with the attitude that he had all day and not a care in the world. Except I knew he wanted out of my class.
Me again: “Jimbo, sit down.”
Then Rodney spoke up: “C’mon, Jimbo, sit down.”
And there were some other similar mutterings. And then Jimbo sat down. And I dismissed the class.
The sense of victory and power this new rule/ procedure gives me would almost be intoxicating if I didn’t know just how slender a thread it can be. This week, application of this tactic was easy. Next week or next month it might be harder. Or easier. These students can be a moody bunch. So I find solace in another bit of advice from Rick Smith, which I call “Zen mind, teacher’s mind”: “we are generally best served not ‘riding’ on the good experiences or making too much over the bad ones” (79).
I record my good experience here for posterity, so I can remember that it actually happened, and Monday starts with a blank slate.
In this vein, I should also record that Thursday did not end particularly well. My middle class was awesome—kids were learning all over the place—but my last class was awful. Not as awful as some from last year, but hardly stellar. About a quarter of the class kept sleeping, and I have yet to find a good tactic to keep students from putting their heads down. My gut reaction is always “sure, they’re sleeping, but at least they’re quiet.” I’m not proud of this, but it’s true. So I came home Thursday night hating my job, lamenting that I would once again get only about four hours of sleep that night because I had to stay up and plan for Friday, frustrated that I have students who cannot write a simple sentence, and terrified that I would fall asleep from exhaustion and not get anything prepared for the next day.
I did fall asleep. I made the mistake of lying down in my oh-so-comfy bed, next to my oh-so-cuddly girlfriend, and woke with a start two hours later—10:00. After lurching around my apartment like a drunken chimpanzee on Quaaludes for about a half an hour, I finally forced myself awake enough to write up a lesson plan. I was done in an hour (which must be a new speed record for me) and back to a peaceful, although too short, sleep (damn my 4:30 a.m. alarm). The anxiety in such moments sometimes makes my heart race, my head pound, and my body start like a cat licking an electric wire. It is the worst part of teaching.
I record my bad experience here for posterity, so I can remember that I did actually survive it, and Monday starts with a blank slate.
And hopefully more than four hours of sleep.
Add to this newfound confidence that I am the law, fair and just, in my classroom, with the amazing tool of insisting that I dismiss the class, not the bell, and I think I might actually be on my way to something approaching a well-oiled machine. Sure, some students complain when I insist that they put their butts in their seats before I will let them go, but—and this is what amazes me—they actually do it.
On the second day, when I was enforcing this new rule in my classroom, “Rodney,” a student who would rather be anywhere else than school, fumed in his seat. “If we all leave, he can’t stop us all,” he said. “And if he does, I’ll pound him like that,” and he slapped his right fist into his left hand. But he didn’t make a move to get up. There was some laughter, but no one else tried to bum rush me, either.
The next day, “Jimbo Jones,” actually attended class. Jimbo loves to challenge my authority. He and Rodney sometimes skip class together. When class was over, the bell rang, and some students, including Jimbo, got out of their desks. “Wait.” I said. “Sit down. Sit down and I will dismiss you.” There was some grumbling, and no one grumbled louder or more profanely than Jimbo. Everyone else—including Rodney—sat back down. But Jimbo wanted to fight me. So he stood there, cussing just loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Jimbo,” I said, “Sit down in the desk, please.”
“Naw, man.”
“Jimbo, please sit down. No one is going anywhere until you do.”
“I want to hold everybody up.” He leaned against the desk part of the desk with the attitude that he had all day and not a care in the world. Except I knew he wanted out of my class.
Me again: “Jimbo, sit down.”
Then Rodney spoke up: “C’mon, Jimbo, sit down.”
And there were some other similar mutterings. And then Jimbo sat down. And I dismissed the class.
The sense of victory and power this new rule/ procedure gives me would almost be intoxicating if I didn’t know just how slender a thread it can be. This week, application of this tactic was easy. Next week or next month it might be harder. Or easier. These students can be a moody bunch. So I find solace in another bit of advice from Rick Smith, which I call “Zen mind, teacher’s mind”: “we are generally best served not ‘riding’ on the good experiences or making too much over the bad ones” (79).
I record my good experience here for posterity, so I can remember that it actually happened, and Monday starts with a blank slate.
In this vein, I should also record that Thursday did not end particularly well. My middle class was awesome—kids were learning all over the place—but my last class was awful. Not as awful as some from last year, but hardly stellar. About a quarter of the class kept sleeping, and I have yet to find a good tactic to keep students from putting their heads down. My gut reaction is always “sure, they’re sleeping, but at least they’re quiet.” I’m not proud of this, but it’s true. So I came home Thursday night hating my job, lamenting that I would once again get only about four hours of sleep that night because I had to stay up and plan for Friday, frustrated that I have students who cannot write a simple sentence, and terrified that I would fall asleep from exhaustion and not get anything prepared for the next day.
I did fall asleep. I made the mistake of lying down in my oh-so-comfy bed, next to my oh-so-cuddly girlfriend, and woke with a start two hours later—10:00. After lurching around my apartment like a drunken chimpanzee on Quaaludes for about a half an hour, I finally forced myself awake enough to write up a lesson plan. I was done in an hour (which must be a new speed record for me) and back to a peaceful, although too short, sleep (damn my 4:30 a.m. alarm). The anxiety in such moments sometimes makes my heart race, my head pound, and my body start like a cat licking an electric wire. It is the worst part of teaching.
I record my bad experience here for posterity, so I can remember that I did actually survive it, and Monday starts with a blank slate.
And hopefully more than four hours of sleep.
posted by Christopher at
1:00 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home