True Teachers Teach Anywhere

I’ve gone back and forth, struggling with whether or not I’m good enough to be a teacher, whether or not I want to be a teacher, whether or not I know what I’m doing at all. The amount of self-doubt I’ve felt is, at times, overwhelming. And I was just waiting for a sign, any sign, to tell me if these steps I’m taking are the right ones.

Then, I had a sudden realization. If there was a “sign,” then it was this one, and it was around much longer than I’d suspected; it was around before I even decided to transition into this major. True Teachers Teach Anywhere.

My entire life, I have taken advantage of moments where I could teach something to someone. In elementary school, I was a leader of small groups because I learned quickly and finished work early. So, teachers would put me in charge of teaching and helping other students. In middle school, I was a peer mentor, teaching students “life lessons,” rather than academic lessons. In high school, I tutored various friends in different subjects. In university, I’m a writing tutor and have been paid by students to edit papers and by other adults to edit books. It’s always been there; I just didn’t know that the universe placed this sign in my life years before I would need it.

While on spring break, I was in Las Vegas, enjoying some freedom and forgetting about all my responsibilities. But when I found out that my sister had multiple assignments missing (her mother loves to pull her out of school, which is why my father takes care of her on weekdays), I chose to put my teacher cap back on. We spent days working on science, history, language arts, math. And then, when my dad’s girlfriend needed to submit documents for a custody hearing, I took the time to read through each document, and she asked me to teach her, not just correct her work, so she could do this on her own in the future. We spent hours discussing comma usage, sentence structure, and inessential clauses. When we were done, I headed to bed.

I laid in my bed for an hour, feeling really good about all the help I gave my sister and my dad’s girlfriend. And that’s when I realized that the feeling I got, right then, is the same feeling I get when I leave the classroom everyday. It hit me; I’ve always been a teacher. I have always taken the opportunity, no matter what, to teach others. I am a teacher, so why would I spend so much time questioning something I’m already doing? True Teachers Teach Anywhere, even if it means putting the teacher cap on after hours.

A “Normal” Day v. an “Abi” Day

There’s something I’ve realized. I am not alive. Maybe I’m breathing, but I am not alive. I do not function like I should. But, somehow, I get by. Let’s take a moment to look at my day.

 

A “normal” human: Wakes up at 6 AM, already in a good mood.

Me: Hears alarm at 6 AM, at 6:30 AM. Then, at 7 AM, I open an eye, realize I’m dreadfully awake, and then jump out of bed to get ready in 20 minutes.

 

A “normal” human: Eats breakfast with plenty of time to go.

Me: Do I have time to get a doughnut at RaceTrac? No, no. Get to school.

A “normal” human: Ah, 2 PM. What a glorious time! I have so much of the day to do what I need!

Me:

A “normal” human: Has groceries and makes a delicious dinner. Has enough to take leftovers to school.

Me: Yeah, I can’t afford that.

A “normal” human: 10 PM, time for bed! Good night, world!

Me: It’s 11 PM. If I go to bed now, I’ll get 7 hours of sleep… It’s 1 AM. If I go to bed now, I’ll get 5 hours of sleep… It’s 4 AM. Should I just stay up? 4:15 AM: Dead to the world.

  

 

And this is why I am not a glorious morning bird. And this is why I am not even a night owl. I am a perpetually tired, teaching pigeon. I hope you all are normal.

 

 

 

 

 

The Student that Drives You Crazy

This week, I had to stay after school with a student that really drives me crazy in class. Brad is a student that knows he can’t miss more than 10 days in a row, or he’ll be withdrawn from school. So, Brad is the kid who misses 9 days, comes in for 2, and misses 9 more. In class, Brad doesn’t participate, doesn’t listen, doesn’t do work. And Brad distracts others. I keep thinking to myself, “this kid is a jerk on purpose.” My CT felt the same way.

We got an email from Brad’s mom, a nice woman with a passion for her son’s excellence.  She begged us to let Brad make up his missing assignments. “He’ll stay after on Monday,” she said. Monday came and went, and Brad did not stay after school. He forgot, according to his mother, who begged us again to let him stay. So, we agreed, but we were both very bitter about it. But, then something interesting happened.

Brad actually approached me in class and asked if I would stay, alongside my CT, because he felt like he really could learn from me. I was easy to listen and relate to. Brad was a sweet kid. He was extremely appreciative of my staying to help him. He admitted to me that he doesn’t get his assignments done on time because he can’t focus. He has to be moving; he has to be bouncing around. Otherwise, he just doesn’t get it. Brad also admitted, though I could tell he was embarrassed, that his computer was so, so old that he could barely use it. He didn’t have a printer or much of anything else. Brad told me that he had problems doing work at home because he was so tired all the time. I asked him why he was always so tired, and he said he always had trouble sleeping at night. So, he sleeps all day and during lunch, which is why he always wants to eat during my class.

Things were starting to come together. Finally, Brad told me he couldn’t work on the art poster project due tomorrow because he doesn’t own any coloring supplies. I walked him to our classroom, from the library, and grabbed coloring supplies. My CT asked him if he had finished the book for the test on Thursday. “Um, no ma’am.” “How far into the book are you?” “Um, well, I’m only on page 100. I just have a really hard time focusing on the book, and the audiobook is too hard to pay attention to.” “Can you have your mom help you?” asked my CT. “Well, ma’am, I rarely get to see my mom, unfortunately. She isn’t ever home.” Ping. Pain in my heart. We decided to let him take the test on Monday, and he asked me to read our book to him. He feels that it is easier to pay attention when I read. So, while the students are taking their tests tomorrow, I’ll be reading to him.

All this time, I have been getting so irritated with Brad, and I never stopped to think that his excuses aren’t just excuses. His explanations deserve to be heard. This realization has me feeling like I’ve failed him, like I could’ve helped him months ago. We always talk about how our students have lives we never know exist, and yet I didn’t even consider this. I think, from this point on, I’m going to start thinking about the invisible causes in these students’ lives. Rather than being irritated at their shortcomings, I need to help them find ways around them and help them grow. I’m so happy to have learned this lesson, and I’m so sad it took me this long.

Little Dog, Big Bark…But How Big is the Bite?

As a small, young-looking female, I have to work harder to be taken seriously. People look at me as though I have no presence or influence or power. So, I always have to make sure my bark is bigger than I am. I’m a fast talker, and I try to spout facts or funny stories, so people will feel my presence. Usually, it works; usually, I don’t have to resort to using anything but my bark. But, this past week, my bite was also put to the test.

So far, this teaching experience has been smooth sailing. My students have respected me, and I haven’t had to worry, really, about disciplining them. That’s up to Mrs. B., the teacher whose bite and bark are of equal power. She’s not been afraid to crack down on them when they need to be wrangled in. Sure, I’ve done the occasional yelling: “GUYS. I AM AT THE FRONT. YOUR EYES SHOULD BE ON ME. YOUR MOUTHS SHOULD BE CLOSED.” However, I haven’t had to do more than that. In my classes, my bark has come in handy. My mouth has been loud, my stories have been (appropriately) funny, and my facts have been dead-on. And, usually, my students respect that I do my best with what little (height-wise) I have.

There have been multiple times this semester that Mrs. B. is out of the classroom, leaving the teaching to me, with the help of a substitute. And, when this happens, the students have behaved magnificently. It’s given me the ability to brag, quite proudly, about how my students are mature, respectful adolescents. I guess, though, that my luck ran out because, last Friday, my third period was HORRIBLE.

Class began, and the students came in, as usual, asking where Mrs. B. was. “She’s not here today, guys, but do not forget that there is still a teacher in the room, and that teacher is me” is the standard line I give them. And, after saying that, I narrow my eyes, point my finger around the room, and say, “I will write all of you hooligans up, so don’t test me. You better check yo’ self before you wreck yo’ self,” which always has them laughing. I’ve been proud of this spiel because it’s the perfect mix of serious and likable.

I tried to get my third period started. It was fairly simple; we would read The Glass Castle (I would read aloud because this is my REP class, and there is absolutely no way they will read on their own), while M, J, and S would read silently in the hall. Those three were on schedule with the on-level classes, and they didn’t need as much supervision. This is how Mrs. B and I had been running the class over the last few weeks. This day was different; my kids were unprepared, even more so than usual, and could not get themselves together. H came into the class, saying, “welcome to H’s classroom!” I knew this was a joke, though H is actually one of the students who causes me, and Mrs. B, grief. I played along, saying “this is my house, H, and you’re living in it!” He laughed. I told them the day’s plans, which were exactly the same as the plans the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that.

At first, they seemed like they could handle it. M, J, and S went into the hall; I sat at the front, book open, ready to read. I could’t get J and R to open their books, which was mildly irritating. After emptily threatening them with lunch detention, they got the hint. D and H were my bigger fish to fry, anyway. One of the biggest issues with H is that he is ALWAYS on his phone, no matter what. He’s been written up at least, what seems like, a hundred times. The problem with D is that he is best friends with H, and they feed off each other, riling one another up. When H is gone, D has some of the best grades in the class. He’s smart, but he’s way too easily distracted. I’ve separated them, but they always manage to end up next to one another. I blink, and H is sitting next to D. This happened on Friday, but I was okay with it.

Over the past few days, D and H had been listening, reading along, not using phones, not trying to move around. I was proud of them, and the rest of the class, because they were really doing the work. I had some leftover cookies that I gave them, but those cookies came with a warning: they needed to be on their best behavior. They agreed; they lied. H moved up to the front, next to D. I told him to put his phone away, and, instead, he pulled his charger out and plugged it into the wall. He looked at me and said, “you know, you really need to put some more authority behind your voice because I just can’t take you seriously.” This is just H’s behavior, irritating, but standard. I ignored his statement and told him to put the phone away. He did, at first.

As I was reading, I heard him pick up his entire desk and move it toward the wall, plugging in his phone again. I stopped and looked at him, waiting until he moved back. He kept repeating this same action, as if the outcome would be different (which is crazy, ba-dum-tss). I was starting to get more and more agitated. Then, D asked me if he could use the restroom. I signed his pass, thinking nothing of it, and kept reading. After 10 minutes, or so, H said, “you know, D is still gone, but I’m pretty sure it’s number 2.” I got up, opened the door, and looked outside. D was sitting on the floor, playing on his phone. He never even used the restroom. This was it. I brought everyone into the classroom, including M, J, and S because they were responsible for not telling me about D. I was about to flip my lid, and they knew it.

I went on about how “if they wanted authority, they’d have it.” I told them how I’d been so respectful to them, joking and accepting their jokes, working with them on academic schedule to fit their needs. They were being disrespectful to me. After this, I wrote D a referral. Long story short (sort of), they became much more respectful. They answered my questions, listened to my explanations, and proved to me that they were doing their jobs. I realized that I can’t just be nice at all times. Sure, I love to joke with them and make them feel like they’re respected and important, but I am the teacher. It is my responsibility to take care of them, make sure they’re educated to the fullest degree, and care about their needs.

In the end, we need to remember that we have big barks, but our bites match, just the same. And, while we won’t use them all the time, sometimes a little nip reminds the student that we are here with a purpose. I am more confident, now, because of this.