But that doesn't mean I don't still want to . . .
The countdown has begun: only 21 more weeks of school left this year.
Although each school day does have its bright spots, I spend the majority of my time at school standing at the front of the classroom, providing instruction while most of my students talk about the big fight last week, who is going to beat up whom today, doing each other’s hair, or staring off into space.
The bright spots are caused by simple acts, like when Sammy asks me if I’m feeling OK because I’ve got that “I hate my job” scowl on my face, and I can tell he’s really concerned about me. Or when Tina asks me for help on an assignment because she’s really trying to write the paragraphs I’ve asked her to write, but she just doesn’t have the skills. Or when Jimmy, who has spent most of the year sleeping at his desk, stays alert and awake for the entire 90-minute period and contributes interesting and thoughtful comments to our discussion. Or when Zander stays after school to ask my advice about girls. These are pleasant interactions, even if some of them occur during a class period in which most of the students are cursing at each other.
I’m happy, then, that a local community college (LCC) offered me a position as adjunct faculty for spring semester. I was offered the job last Friday, and classes began the following Tuesday, but the short notice has not made teaching willing, enthusiastic adults any less enjoyable. The department chair told me I wouldn’t make great money doing this. I told him I was more interested in this being a foot in the door. When things get really frustrating at my high school, I just cling to the hope that next year the LCC will offer me a full-time job.
Of course, if I stop teaching on the South Side, I won’t have nearly as many sad/funny stories to tell anymore, which is one of the best parts of teaching here.
For example: the other day, some students were talking about drinking and getting drunk, and Sammy, one of the students I have really managed to connect with, said something like “You know those white motherfuckers are always getting drunk.” I looked at him, but he apparently didn’t realize I had overheard him, because he asked me “Mr. Richardson, do you ever get drunk?” To which I replied “I don’t know, Sammy. Am I a white motherfucker?”
Everyone had a good laugh at that.
Then there was the day when I played the last third of Martin Luther King, Jr’s “I have a dream speech.” During our discussion, I asked the students if they knew what Stone Mountain in Georgia was, since MLK references it in his speech. No one knew, so I explained that it is a mountain in Georgia that has the images of Stonewall Jackson, Robert E. Lee and Jefferson Davis carved into it. No reaction. I asked the class if they knew who those people were. They didn’t.
Only 21 more weeks to go . . .
Although each school day does have its bright spots, I spend the majority of my time at school standing at the front of the classroom, providing instruction while most of my students talk about the big fight last week, who is going to beat up whom today, doing each other’s hair, or staring off into space.
The bright spots are caused by simple acts, like when Sammy asks me if I’m feeling OK because I’ve got that “I hate my job” scowl on my face, and I can tell he’s really concerned about me. Or when Tina asks me for help on an assignment because she’s really trying to write the paragraphs I’ve asked her to write, but she just doesn’t have the skills. Or when Jimmy, who has spent most of the year sleeping at his desk, stays alert and awake for the entire 90-minute period and contributes interesting and thoughtful comments to our discussion. Or when Zander stays after school to ask my advice about girls. These are pleasant interactions, even if some of them occur during a class period in which most of the students are cursing at each other.
I’m happy, then, that a local community college (LCC) offered me a position as adjunct faculty for spring semester. I was offered the job last Friday, and classes began the following Tuesday, but the short notice has not made teaching willing, enthusiastic adults any less enjoyable. The department chair told me I wouldn’t make great money doing this. I told him I was more interested in this being a foot in the door. When things get really frustrating at my high school, I just cling to the hope that next year the LCC will offer me a full-time job.
Of course, if I stop teaching on the South Side, I won’t have nearly as many sad/funny stories to tell anymore, which is one of the best parts of teaching here.
For example: the other day, some students were talking about drinking and getting drunk, and Sammy, one of the students I have really managed to connect with, said something like “You know those white motherfuckers are always getting drunk.” I looked at him, but he apparently didn’t realize I had overheard him, because he asked me “Mr. Richardson, do you ever get drunk?” To which I replied “I don’t know, Sammy. Am I a white motherfucker?”
Everyone had a good laugh at that.
Then there was the day when I played the last third of Martin Luther King, Jr’s “I have a dream speech.” During our discussion, I asked the students if they knew what Stone Mountain in Georgia was, since MLK references it in his speech. No one knew, so I explained that it is a mountain in Georgia that has the images of Stonewall Jackson, Robert E. Lee and Jefferson Davis carved into it. No reaction. I asked the class if they knew who those people were. They didn’t.
Only 21 more weeks to go . . .
posted by Christopher at
9:17 PM
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