Facutly restroom update

I got an email from the principal in charge of the building last night (as opposed to the principal who is just in charge of the Achievement Academy)--he says the building engineer will fix the lock on the restroom within the week.

Facutly restroom = teachers only. Not around here.

While I was using the men's faculty restroom on the 2nd floor today, at the beginning of 3rd period, a group of four or five male students jimmied the lock and entered the restroom. I know they jimmied it, because I made sure the door locked behind me. However, I have also noticed that, with about half a dozen turns of the doorknob, it is still possible to open the door, locked or not. And even if the knob and lock worked properly, it is still possible to open that door with a credit card or an ID.

When I left the bathroom stall, I said "This is a faculty restroom, get out." The boys argued in a smug way before they eventually left, but I had to tell them three more times to leave.

I don't want to think about what would have happened had this group of boys decided to argue with me in a threatening manner. They were, after all, standing between me and the only door. Most teachers would just ignore the students and walk out, sending the implicit message that they can do whatever they want to around here. I put up with enough crap in my classroom--I'd like to at least be able to pee in peace around here.

And this is to say nothing of the sanitation issues that arise when students have access to the men's facutly restroom. There isn't a day I go in there I don't have to clean the toilet seat before I use it. Yesterday, I saw yellow liquid in the sink (it sat there because that sink is plugged and drains very slowly). My guess was that students are now urinating in the sink.

Obviously, the door on the men's faculty restroom on the second floor needs to be fitted with a lock that is more tamper-proof than the one currently installed.

Most of this post is also an email I sent to my boss. The second such one in two weeks. I trust my boss to fix this, but it's not all up to her. This is, after all, a very large bureacracy, and when the wheels turn at all, they turn very slowly.

"Virgil" update

Remember that student who refused to give me his cell phone, the one I called "Virgil"? Well, my worries that his refusal would undermine my authority seem to have been largely unfounded. The students who refuse to heed my authority would do so (and do) even if they didn't witness Virgil's defiance. The students who would respect my authority anyway still respect it.

Also, Virgil is in jail. Or the juvenile school where they handcuff students to the desks. If there is even a difference. He's been there for almost two months. I can't say the lack of Virgil in my class has made my class a paradise, but his absence has meant I have one less defiant and/or apathetic student to clash wills with on a daily basis.

I hear he's coming back when he gets out. That should be fun.

Clueless

CPS doesn’t call them “Parent-teacher conferences.” CPS calls it “Report Card Pick-Up Day.” The parents have to come into the school between 1 p.m. and 6 p.m. to get the report card and talk with the student’s teachers. There are no classes this day, which happens twice a year, right after report cards come out.

It’s a day when, first and foremost, I can sleep in. I don’t have to struggle to manage a class. I get to talk with parents face-to-face, which is something I am exceedingly good at. I’m not being immodest. Well, maybe immodest, but I’m not exaggerating. My mentor teacher during my student-teaching days complimented me on how well I handled some of the most demanding parents in the state (this was in rich district, where many parents would punish their children for getting an A instead of a full A). My fiancée overheard me on the phone one day telling a parent about a time I referred to her son’s actions in class in a slightly less than professional way (I said he was acting like a dick, which he was). When I explained what her son had been doing, she completely agreed with me. Lisa was floored that I could finesse such a situation and come out smelling like roses.

So report-card pickup is usually a good day. I’ve been trying to figure out why this one was such a downer, and I think I have it boiled down to one phrase I kept saying over and over all night long: “if your child would just come to class . . .”

While this is the first time I have spoken with some parents, there are some that I have seen before. One such parent was the mother of “Kirk,” who was astounded when I called her last month to tell her Kirk had missed an entire week’s worth of my class. “I don’t know how that can be, I drop him off at 7:45 every morning.”

Well, the student advocates did some sniffing around, and caught Kirk coming into school just before 8 a.m., MAYBE sticking around for his first class (mine) or, more likely, sneaking out another door. But Kirk is clever. Since his mother comes back to school at 3 p.m. to pick him up (she’s worried about his safety), he makes sure to be outside the school waiting for her at 2:55.

And it’s not like Kirk is having trouble in my class. When he shows up, he’s quiet, he does his work, he gets good grades. But since he rarely shows up, he can’t do the work, and he ends up failing.

There are many students who make my day with their absence. Kirk isn’t one of them. He seems intelligent and well-socialized. I have absolutely no idea why he chooses to miss so much school.

Kirk’s mother has known about his sly school-skipping for weeks, but whatever she does at home to discourage him obviously isn’t working. When I was talking with her this evening, I could tell she kept waiting for me to give her some kind of magic solution to her son’s behavior. Believe me, I wanted to delve into her parenting practices, find out what she was doing and not doing to influence her son’s life, to point out to her that she is expecting her son to act like an adult when he clearly is not capable of doing so (I want to say this to a LOT of parents).

But I don’t want to attack my best ally in the fight to save this kid’s future. Besides, I’m not the school counselor or social worker. I am neither credentialed, qualified, nor paid to assist parents with their child-rearing skills. So I make my phone calls, document my conversations, and feel more like a truant officer or secretary than a teacher. When Kirk fails, when he misses so many days of school that his mother is taken to court, my butt, at least, is covered. It’s cynical and sad and unfortunate, but that’s the way it is.

Fire?

Two fire alarms today. Both false, as far as I know. This makes three in the past week.

Oh, and while the students and teachers were outside, waiting to come back in, there were at least two fights, one during each false alarm.

OK, to be fair, the second one wasn't really a fight: it was one young man who REALLY wanted to fight another young man. His ire did not fade, even with three security guards trying to restrain him/ calm him down.

Never a dull moment here.

Attrition

The Achievement Academy has been short three math teachers--two for the freshmen, one for the sophomores--since September 6, when school started. We got by on subs for a while, and then, three weeks ago, a new sophomore math teacher was finally hired.

He quit last week.

Apparently, he left a voicemail in the main office at 5:30 a.m. last Thursday: I'm not coming in today, and I'm not coming back, period.

On the one hand, I feel like some kind of Iron Man: I've mangaed to last here for over a year.

On the other hand, I'm envious of what must be a more peaceful time in his life. This Iron Man is getting rusty, and his frequent attempts at polish are getting harder and harder to maintain.

Payday

After a day like Thursday, I was all set to call in sick on Friday. Luckily, Friday was professional development day, which meant teachers got time to finish calculating their 10-week grades and enter them into the official computer record. There were also meetings.

After the Achievement Academy’s meeting, our new principal gave us all an orange 8.5 x 11 sheet of paper on which appeared in 24-point font: "You have worked so hard this week that you deserve an extra pay day. Please check your mailbox." And in 14-point font below that: "There is nothing that is done in the open or in secret that is not seen or known about . . . ." And below that, in 12 point: "Please know that all of your hard work does not go unnoticed."

Of course, I zeroed in on the pay day part right away. An extra payday? Since there was no way we were getting any kind of a bonus, maybe we were getting a free day off? Maybe in our mailboxes was a note saying “You’ve been working hard, so take a day off. Let me know what day you want to de-stress, and I won’t count it as a sick day.”

I’ve been having a lot of bad days lately, so I was thinking big.

My initial reaction to the Payday candy bar in my mailbox was one of disappointment. I felt like I had been teased and let down. But when I stripped all of the ambiguities of the message away, and looked at this gesture for what it was, a show of support and appreciation from our new principal, I was happy.

After all, we never got anything like this last year. And it’s the thought that counts.

A fight + an act of kindness = my emotional breakdown

“Errol” came back from a ten-day suspension two days ago. He got suspended because he pushed his way through me to get out of my classroom. Because I wrote him up, he took his suspension personally. Whenever I say “hi” to him as he enters my classroom, which I do with all of my students, he says “don’t talk to me.”

Since coming back from his suspension, Errol has refused to do any work. I give him a handout, he throws it on the floor. I ask him to stop talking so he doesn’t distract any other students, he tells me not to talk to him, sometimes adding “I ain’t doin’ this shit,” or “I don’t have to do this shit,” or “I can say whatever the fuck I want, you can’t stop me,” or, if I happen to be standing near him “Get the fuck outta my face.”

Errol is a tense and unhappy young man who has serious anger management issues.

So when “Tyrone” walked into class late, and Errol made a comment, and Tyrone decided not to back down, I knew it was only a matter of time before both of them were standing chest-to-chest, each daring the other to throw the first punch, the act that would legitimize fighting back.

I knew Errol was spoiling for a fight, and I knew Tyrone was getting baited, so I walked over to Tyrone to try to get him to back down long enough for me to tell Errol to back off. I knew Errol would probably walk out if I reprimanded him, but I wanted to get Tyrone calmed down first. I might was well have been invisible, though, because while I stood right next to Tyrone saying his name over and over again in a firm but friendly tone, he just kept trading variations on “I ain’t afraid of you, you ain’t shit, you ain’t gonna do anything” with Errol.

Not wanting another fight to break out in my classroom (I’ve have enough of those this year, thank you very much) and realizing that I wasn’t going to be able to stop it, I poked my head out of the door and called for Mr. Henry, our security guard. No fight had broken out, but I wanted to be ready when one did. I was hoping Mr. Henry would take Errol out of the class, since he had instigated the shouting match, but since Tyrone was standing, Mr. Henry ushered him out of the classroom. Tyrone didn’t want to back down, and resisted Mr. Henry a little at first, but eventually went out with him. I walked the two of them to the door. I wanted to let Tyrone know I knew he hadn’t started it. Maybe that would calm him down. But when I turned back around to go into my classroom, there is Errol, blazing mad and trying to get past me and at Tyrone.

I put my arms out to the sides, trying to block Errol. I told him to go back into the classroom and sit down. He pushed his way past me, but I kept backing up and yelling at him to go back into the classroom. Now about half my class was following. They smelled blood, and wanted to see the fight.

Errol kept trying to push me out of the way, screaming at me to get the fuck out of his way, and then Mr. Hooker, another security guard, showed up. He thought Errol was attacking me, so he grabbed Errol by the arms and tried to subdue him. Errol started pushing and swinging. Mr. Hooker had to shove Errol back into the wall to try and restrain him, but Errol was fighting back like a madman. Students from my classroom and from other classrooms were gathering around, like lemmings or sheep. I yelled at them to get back into class. They ignored me. Some shouted back. Errol was still fighting Mr. Hooker. Mr. Henry was on his radio, calling for backup. Errol only stopped flailing when more security arrived.

No one was hurt. Tyrone had been quickly ushered into a nearby office when Errol had come out into the hall. Errol was taken to the discipline office, where Mr. Hooker was going to press charges against Errol for attacking him.

I went back to my classroom and found most of the class’s textbooks and all of my lesson plans and transparencies scattered across the floor. Someone had obviously decided to take the papers on my overhead projector cart and toss them on the floor. I was upset, and screamed at my class in a fit of incredulous rage. At least Reeza, who is always helpful, and often reminds me of a puppy in her eagerness to please her teachers, was cleaning up the mess I knew she hadn’t had any part in creating.

I stood in the doorway, fuming at the chain reaction of chaos that had started when one student walked into my classroom late and another had made a comment about him. Some of my co-workers came up to me and asked me if I was OK. I was touched by their concern, but it didn’t abate my anger and disgust.

Mr. Hooker came back, asked me to write up a description of the incident. I was happy to be able to focus my anger on something constructive. While my fingers flew across my keyboard, most of my students stayed relatively quiet. A few even kept reading their books.

I finished, gave the write-up to Mr. Hooker. He left. Mr. Henry came by, told me I was wanted in the discipline office. I went, gave my input, and walked back to class. As I went up the stairs, I saw the building police officers leading Errol out in handcuffs.

I got back to my room with two minutes left in class. I stood and watched my students. When the bell rang, I excused them, and they handed me their folders on their way out the door. Jorry decided to turn the lights off as she left. She thinks it’s funny. It was just one more thing to add to my list.

My students were gone. My classroom finally quiet. I turned on the lights. I went over to my overhead cart. Reeza had put my plans and handouts and transparencies back. They were in a disorganized pile, but she had helped me out, and I was grateful, if still angry.

And then I saw the folded piece of notebook paper sitting on my cart. I picked it up, unfolded it, and read:

“Mr. Richardson Jorry dropped all your paper and book about 2-3 times while Shauna and Reeza try to help.
From Ariel Martin”

And this is where I finally lost it. I wept like an infant.

All day, I had been frustrated with my classes. Students not paying attention. Students being disrespectful. Students being jerks to each other. Then Errol getting into a fight with Mr. Hooker. I was furious and pissed off and disgusted. I wanted to quit. I wanted to walk out and never come back. I wanted to write everyone in this Godforsaken school off completely.

And then Ariel had to go and do something that showed she and Reeza and Shauna, at least, cared.

It was more of a roller-coaster than I could take, and I lost it.

I eventually got myself pulled together. I cheered myself up by surfing the web and listening to Def Leppard and “Dirty Rotten Scoundrels” on my ubiquitous iPod. I should have left school earlier than I did, but inertia kept me there. I left about 5, and hit average-slow traffic. By the time I got to Lisa’s place an hour later, I was again too frustrated to do anything but collapse on her couch. She didn’t try to help my by doing anything other than just being there, which was just what I needed, even though I was too emotionally drained to tell her that in a coherent way. I drove home before I got too tired to drive.

I ate some dinner. Watched an episode of “Firefly.” Wrote these blog entries. I can’t say I’m back at 100 percent, but at least tomorrow is a professional development day, which means I don’t have to deal with any students and ride the roller coaster they put me on. I prefer my rollercoasters to be literal, not metaphoric.

Some ups, many downs

As my sister pointed out in a mock-miffed tone (or maybe not so mock) last weekend, every time she’s checked on my blog lately, she keeps seeing the same old posting. I know. I dropped the ball. As my fiancé pointed out, if I’m going to promote my blog, I need to keep feeding it (and the curiosity of my readers).

There are, of course, many reasons I’ve slacked off lately. For one, I’ve been trying to have a life. If I get a chance, I’d rather spend the evening with Lisa than grading papers or calling parents. On the other hand, I routinely spend anywhere from nine to 11 hours each day at school, so I really only get to see Lisa on the weekends.

But the main reason I haven’t been writing much lately is that it’s all just been too depressing. Or not depressing enough. Dramatic anecdotes make for the best blog fodder, of course, and there haven’t been much of those lately (but wait for my next entry—it’s a doozy).

I made a note to write about some of my positive experiences, like “Tavis,” a student who failed last year, who did almost nothing but screw around in class last year, and who, this year, has one of the only A grades in my first class. I even asked him once: “Where is the old Tavis, and what have you done with him?” Then I said “Don’t answer that—I like this new Tavis better.”

I’d like to say I did something wonderful to affect his turnaround, but unless you count failing him last year, I didn’t really do much. When I asked Tavis what motivated him to come to school on time every day and do all of his work this year, he just said it was failing last year that finally kicked him in the butt. This was a kid I had all but given up on at the end of last year. When I gave him his summer school application, he returned it at the end of class with these words on it: “Not going sorry.”

And now he’s not only passing, but getting an A.

The bitter part of this story is that, because Tavis was so uncooperative last year, the staff had him evaluated for special education services. And he got them: 900 minutes a week, the max anyone can get. Since the academy hasn’t been able to find and hire a special education teacher, however, there is no way Tavis can get his special education services while he is enrolled in the academy. So next semester, he gets transferred out to the regular high school. He doesn’t want to go, and I don’t want to lose someone who is now practically a model student, but rules are rules, I suppose.

Then there is “Jaxon.” I couldn’t stand Jaxon last year. He was rude, disruptive, disrespectful. He never did any work. He intimidated all of the other students. The best thing about him was that he was always getting suspended, and so was rarely in school. He failed my class, and every other class he had, except, maybe, math.

I knew I’d have him again this year, so I made a conscious effort to mentally wipe the slate clean. He came back to school with his customary swagger, but he didn’t give me too much trouble. He must have given someone trouble, however, because within the first two weeks of school, he had been transferred to the school at the juvenile jail. I didn’t find this out until Jaxon had been absent for over a week, and I called his mother to ask where he had been (to be honest, I didn’t really care, but it’s my job to try and keep attendance numbers up in my classes, so I call). She told me was in juvenile jail, and told me the date he’d be back in my class.

I steeled myself for the worst when Jaxon came back. He’d been in the prison system, and I wanted to be ready for whatever changes his experience had made in him.

Jaxon came back—and actually came to every class on time. He did all of his work. He asked me questions. He even took out his earrings when I asked him to. Not right away, and sometimes he’d put them back when I wasn’t looking, but Jaxon was a much improved student after his stay in the slammer. I found myself actually looking forward to seeing him every day, to teaching him. By the end of the first quarter, he was earning a C in my class.

And then his schedule got changed.

I don’t know why, but Jaxon’s schedule was changed, and that meant that instead of having me for the first two periods of the day, I would have him for the 4th and 5th periods of the day. Since the change a little over two weeks ago, I’ve seen him maybe twice. One of those days was yesterday, when he had a note from his mother saying he had been sick for two weeks. Maybe he was, but I just don’t think I’ll be seeing Jaxson in class much anymore, because 4th period is right after Division.

Attendance is all-important in the CPS system. Our target is 90 percent attendance for the kids who are enrolled. The school’s budget is based on our attendance figures. Official attendance, then, is taken from about 10:20 to10:30 every morning. This time is called Division. Attendance isn’t taken first thing in the morning because attendance at 8 a.m. is so spotty. When my 8 a.m. class starts, I routinely have anywhere from four to six students in my room. This is out of a roster of 27. By 9 a.m., maybe another dozen or so will show up.

Everyone knows that the only attendance number that really matters is the division attendance number. If you start missing Division 10 or more times, the attendance office can and will start trying to get you dropped from the official rolls, because those absences directly affect the amount of money the school receives from the city and state. But students can miss an actual class dozens of times, and they won’t get kicked out of school—as long as they go to Division. So by Division time, 99 percent of my students show up. And some of them disappear immediately afterwards, even when all they have to do to come to my class is stay in the room.

I’ve called one mother once each week to let her know her son comes to division, but rarely, if ever, comes to my class. If he isn’t in my class, he can’t do his work, and if he doesn’t do his work, he will fail (and did fail the first quarter). She is obviously concerned. She has come up to the school numerous times to meet with me and the other teachers. She brings her husband. They both lecture their son. They both say they will stay on him, and I believe they do. But he still doesn’t come to my class.