Sunday, June 26, 2011

Secret Life of the American Teacher

I know you’re wondering: what do teachers do all summer?

I’m wondering the same thing.

I’m home for the summer (Glen Allen, that is) because all of my teacher friends evacuated Eastern North Carolina almost the minute they tasted freedom. Thus, I’ve found myself in a weird, in-between spot. I’ve spent the past 10 months on my own, creating a new life that involves both a career and plenty of bills. Yet here I am, home again, with the summer off, much like any other summer in high school or college. While all of my friends work 9 to 5 jobs, I’m trying to figure out how to best spend this short but sweet time off.

I turned down the offer (request?) to teach a summer school program for rising 6th graders, mainly because I couldn’t imagine having to go back to work just days after I had that ever-so-sweet taste of freedom. In my head, I deserved a summer off after such a challenging first year, not to mention the fact that I had only about two weeks of summer last year because of Induction, Institute, and Round Zero (all fancy TFA terms for torture). All of my first-year teacher friends agreed.

So instead, I’ve found that most days, I split my time between three main activities: shopping, reading, and running.

The first is obviously very expensive and not necessarily the most responsible use of my time and money. However, I can’t help but take advantage of the plethora of stores at my fingertips. Because in less than 2 months’ time, there will be 45 minutes between me and the closest Target, and I will certainly suffer retail withdrawals.

The second activity, however stimulating it may be for the brain, makes me feel a bit lazy. I take that back. It makes me worried that I appear lazy to other people. I could spend hours and hours reading on the back porch, and sometimes I do. I also love to go the library, which I’ve done at least 4 times since I’ve been home. But I do feel a little self-conscious about my apparent lack of purpose. Is that man in the armchair wondering why I’m not at work? Is the lady banging away at her laptop silently cursing the youth of America and their sense of entitlement? (I feel ya sister—“Gimme a pencil.” “Miss H, where’s my cupcake?”) And then I remember three things: 1. I look all of 17 years old, so they probably assume I’m a teenager out of school for the summer. 2. I just worked my butt off for twelve straight months and I couldn’t care less what they think. 3. Why aren't the man in the armchair and the woman banging away at her laptop at work?

Anyways, I’ve managed to read four books in just a couple of weeks, and I’m currently working on two more. Have you heard of the Hunger Games trilogy? If not, you should read them. Amazing. I’m working on #2, Catching Fire. I’m also doing a little professional development by reading/taking notes on Teach Like a Champion. So at least I’m being a little productive!

I have a love/hate relationship with my third activity. My family loves to remind me that when I was little, I refused to play t-ball when I found out that I had to run the bases after I hit the ball. Any chance I had at being an all-star athlete like my sister was shot with that declaration. And even though I swam for many years and played volleyball in high school, I never had the determination and motivation it takes to really be an athlete. So my recent dedication to running may take some by surprise.

During the school year, running became an escape for me, a way to release all of the stress of school. I didn’t enjoy it, but it became somewhat of a necessary evil, a survival mechanism. Then, sometime in the cold, bleak winter months, when the lack of sunshine and abundance of pre-teen attitude muddled the clarity of my mind, I agreed to run a half-marathon with my dad. I don’t even recall much hesitation on my part, which is a bit troubling. Especially considering I’ve run the Ukrops Monument Avenue 10K twice, and swore I’d never run another race. Numerous people told me that races are so much fun, that the adrenaline and the atmosphere keep you going. I, however, hated every minute of both races, and was either too tired or too nauseous to feel any significant sense of accomplishment as I crossed the finish line.

Yet here I am, training to run 13.1 miles, or, to put it in perspective, to run over 2 hours without stopping. Ummm…what?

I wouldn’t say I am excited. Indifferent is more like it. I’m not dreading it, but I’m certainly not counting down the days like we did for the end of the school year. I will say, however, that I have never felt healthier in my life. The half marathon has given me a reason to stay in shape, and I actually do feel proud each day that I finish the distance suggested on my novice training schedule. Sundays are my long run days. I’m about halfway through training, and tonight I ran a whopping 6.3 miles—the farthest distance I’ve ever run in my life (granted, it’s only a tenth of a mile further than a 10K, but still). And in about 6 weeks, I’ll be in Providence, Rhode Island, running side by side with my dad, accomplishing what I bet no one would have ever imagined I would do the day I walked off the “field” in our front yard and refused to run the bases.

I have no idea what the average American teacher does during summer break. I do know that most of my friends are traveling and enjoying the days without lesson planning, breaking up fights, and waking up at 5:30 am. In the weeks to come, I'll surely continue my shopping, reading, and running. But I'll also be visiting friends in other states (even cross-country!) and making the most of this down time.

And if you feel jealous of the time off that teachers have, let me speak for my teacher friends and say, we deserve it. If there's one thing I've learned that I can't stand, it's when people imply (or flat-out say) that teachers have an easy job because of our two-month summer break. Ha. Get real.

Friday, June 10, 2011

The Last Days

Last Friday I depressed you with my story about my “baby”, my favorite student. The funny thing is, I had just come back from a fantastic field trip to Busch Gardens with some of the best and brightest of Enfield. But I couldn’t get the retention meeting out of my head. As I was catching up with a good friend that night, I couldn’t help but get choked up as I told him the story of Bobby. I worried all weekend, and showed up Monday morning expecting some answers and a chance to talk to Bobby. I reported to my morning duty post at 7:25, where the same 200 students walk by me everyday on their way to breakfast. Bobby is usually one of those 200. But when I didn’t see him with the rest of the boys from his bus, I had a sinking suspicion that something had happened on Friday.

Twenty minutes later, as I stood at my classroom door greeting my homeroom students, my suspicion was confirmed: Bobby was suspended for the rest of the year for fighting on Friday. The girls in my class swear it wasn’t his fault, that another student came up to him and instigated, and that Bobby refused to take the bait at first. I felt a small sense of pride hearing them recount the event. Although they could have been biased and painted it in a different light, I honestly believe that Bobby has learned something this year and may have even thought of how much it would disappoint Miss H if he got in trouble. Regardless, something happened that got him in trouble as well, and it took everything in me not to tear up when I realized that I wouldn’t see him again until August. I was mostly upset that I wouldn’t get to prepare him for the reality that could soon be his: retention in the 7th grade. But there was nothing I could do, so I took a deep breath and braced myself for a crazy week.

Monday and Tuesday were relatively normal days. We had an awards ceremony Monday afternoon and a celebration for the kids who participated in the reading fair Tuesday afternoon, so both of those days felt easier than most. Then came the whopper: Wednesday, the last day. My roommates and I hopped around the house that morning with big smiles on our faces. We said over and over again, “If we made it through 179 other days, we can certainly make it through one more.”

That was very nearly a false statement.

Wednesday was one of the hardest days of the year. The only thing that made it easier was knowing that freedom was so close. Eighth grade promotion was in the morning, and because of space limitations, we were not allowed to go. Starting around 8:30, parents began arriving to the school, and because our classrooms have doors to the outside, my kids kept yelling, “Oh there go my mamma! There go my auntie! I need to go talk to my cousin!” and running out the door. I had prepared awards and baked cupcakes for my homeroom, and allowed them to act crazy because I knew I only had to survive one more class period with them, ever. Until at 9:10, when they were all packed up and high on sugar, I was informed that we were not switching classes all day.

Almost five more hours with those same kids that I had let run wild, thinking I’d be rid of them in 90 minutes. Great.

After promotion, 8th graders and their parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and other “grown folks” were wandering the halls, once again encouraging my students’ desire to flee the classroom. I had to lock my door to keep random people from entering my classroom, and chased many of my kids back into the room when they decided to leave. It was complete and utter chaos, and there was no end in sight. I looked at the clock and it was only 10:15….10:43….11:20…still two more hours until lunch! My kids were having a dance party, playing cards, watching videos on the computer, texting, and of course, wandering the halls. I eventually gave up, sat myself at my desk, and started working on this blog, catching up on others, and scanning the news headlines. The day was so anticlimactic. By the end of the day, I was too annoyed and exhausted to truly appreciate the freedom that was mine. And I had a meeting with new Teach for America Corps Members right after school, so there wasn’t even much time to process what was going on. .

The beauty of it all really hit Thursday morning. Although I still woke up before 7:00, it was a full hour later than usual, and it felt good to “sleep in”. My workday was very productive, and everyone was in a good mood. I spent the majority of today doing paperwork with my 7th grade team members—we like to turn everything into a social event. We sat around, groomed the students’ cumulative folders, and chatted, joked, sang, etc. The women that I work with are one of the main reasons that I love my job so much, and I am starting to get sad as I think about next year. My mentor teacher and my saving grace, Mrs. Wiggins, will be leaving to pursue the final part of her masters in school leadership. Mrs. Robinson is moving over to the elective team to work with AVID (Advancement Via Individual Determination—an elective created for hard-working students in low income schools who are on track for college), and Ms. Mason is debating whether or not she wants to stay. I know that at the end of next week, when we all say goodbye for the summer, I’ll be crying my eyes out, whether at school or when I get home. I would never, ever have grown so much as a teacher and a person this year without my team.

I found out today as I was stuffing the cumulative folders that Bobby has been selected for promotion to the 8th grade. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel the sense of relief that I thought I would. Instead, I felt wistfulness about having to let him go, and fear knowing that no other teacher in his life may ever stay on him like I did, believe in him like I do, or love him despite his ability to drive anyone absolutely crazy. It breaks my heart to think of such potential lost. I’m sure I’ll poke my head into his classes next year to check on him, and I’ll still give him a stern talkin’ to when I know he’s not on his A-game. And I can't help but wish I had done more for him. But really all I can do now is pray. Bobby has a lot of odds to overcome and a lot of growing up to do, with very little support. What I wouldn’t give to sit at his high school graduation in five years and know he’s headed off to a four-year college, his ticket out of this town and this life.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Freedom!

I'M FINISHED!

As of 3:05 pm yesterday, NO MORE KIDS until August :) :) :) Workdays until next Thursday, then 2 months off!

Details of the last day and updates later, but just wanted to share with you my excitement!!

Friday, June 3, 2011

Good(s) Friday

I should warn you, this is the longest post I’ve ever written.


It’s Friday. Fridays are always met with a gigantic sigh of relief at the Ponderosa (in case you’ve missed it before, that’s what we call our house because of its “waterfront” view of a pond). This Friday, however, was special. We took our kids who passed both EOGs to Busch Gardens, and it was a blast. Look for a post about the trip soon. Unfortuantely, the topic for this post is a little bit gloomier than a recap of a day at the amusement park with 100+ middle schoolers. Brace yourselves.


The harsh reality of the achievement gap and its effects on my students really hit me yesterday as I choked back tears in my living room while recounting the latest 7th grade news to my roommate: Bobby is up for retention. (I wish I could use his last name, because it has a certain ring to it, but for his privacy and the sake of my job, I won't. Just know it's why this post has the title it does.) Bobby’s time in my class is just a blip on his teenage radar, but to me, it is the pinnacle of my first year of teaching; Bobby has my heart.


As I scanned my homeroom roster on August 25th, I was so relieved to see Bobby’s name. It was the first name I felt confident that I could pronounce, and I imagined that a kid with such a simple name would be as unobtrusive as those two syllables.


Boy, was I mistaken.


From day one, Bobby proved to be the biggest handful in my homeroom class. I spent weeks trying to get him to just sit down, and even longer convincing him to pick up a pencil (that I provided), much less do anything productive. He is a “cool kid” from the projects of Scotland Neck, and his confidence is as unwavering as his stare. Thus, Bobby was more of a leader in the classroom than I was in those first dark days, although he never used his influence for anything productive. But as much as I should have wanted to kill the kid, with each passing day I loved him more and more. I have no idea why—I guess this is a lesson in love.


Bobby became a constant topic of conversation in our seventh grade team meetings, and never in a good way. He was disruptive, defiant, playful, and unmotivated, and the other teachers had had enough already. From the beginning, there seemed to be no hope for Bobby—he was destined to be a failure. But I couldn’t give up on him. Here was the perfect example of how the achievement gap was widening in Enfield, NC. Because of his circumstances, his environment, and his socioeconomic status, Bobby’s future has been written for him, and it is not a bright one.


I remember coming home in those first months of school proudly claiming that Bobby was going to be my “project”; I was going to get him where he needed to be, and he was going to appreciate school by the time he left my class. He was going to see the discrepancy between the life that was dictated for him and the life he had the potential to live. If I was going to change one kid this year, it would be Bobby.


There were some big obstacles in the way of Bobby’s success. He loved to play in class, and he wasn’t making the connection that his behavior was affecting his grades. I took the liberty of keeping a list for one whole week of all of his misbehaviors and held him after class one Friday to read him the list. He was shocked at how many times he was off task, out of his seat, and talking to friends in that period of time, and even seemed a bit embarrassed to see it in black and white. Not to mention he had created a following in his class, and it would be hard to make a change so drastic without feeling some backlash from his friends. I promised him that I would do whatever it took to help him be successful, if he could commit to coming in to class ready to work every day. It ended in a deal: six muffins if he could give me three good days in a row.


Slowly but surely, I started to see progress in both Bobby’s behavior and his academics. I nagged him like he was my own child and hovered over him while he completed assignments. He was never prepared, so I supplied him with paper and pencil on a daily basis. I eventually made him give me his lunch money and used it to buy him a box of pencils, which he kept up with for a whole month (!!). I was amazed at how academically capable he was when he finally put himself to work, and it only strengthened my faith in him. Those three good days didn’t come right away, but a little over a week later I delivered his six blueberry muffins to the cafeteria during breakfast. If only I could have captured the look on his face—part surprise that I actually came through with the treats, part excitement for the deliciousness that awaited him, and what I’d like to believe was part pride for his achievement.


As the year went on, I continued to push Bobby as I learned more about his home life. He lives in the projects with his mother and has an older brother who is an honor roll student at the high school. I loved calling home to tell his mother how great he was doing in class, because I knew how many negative phone calls she had received in the past. Bobby was a fighter, and he had already found himself in several scuffles this year. But as he began to grow in the classroom, his delinquencies declined. Other teachers noticed a change and commented on his progress, and I was beaming. He truly felt like my baby, and I knew that pouring into this kid was so worth all the hard work and energy it took.


Fast forward to this spring, when a fight took place right after dismissal at the bus ramp. My heart sank when I heard Bobby’s name on everyone’s lips, and I immediately ran to the office to find him. I knew, in that instant, that he was slipping away. That this was the beginning of the end of all that we had worked for, together and separately. I held back tears as I calmly told him how disappointed I was, and watched him stare at me with what I thought were remorseful eyes. I left that office feeling scared and sad for him. This won’t be the last time Bobby’s pride and confidence will get in the way; if only he knew how high the price to pay will be.


Things went downhill from there. Bobby came back from his suspension five days behind everyone else, and his desire to fight or talk about fighting outweighed his desire to work. We weren’t completely back to square one, but we had certainly taken many steps backwards. I started walking him to the bus after school everyday to ensure that he didn’t cause any problems, trying to convince him to take care of his business in the streets rather than at school. I tried with all I had to prepare him in those final weeks before the EOG, but I was starting to worry. It felt like he had given up, and there was nothing more I could do.


During EOG week, he assured me that he was going to pass, and I had high hopes for him despite the last few weeks in the classroom. High hopes that those few months of glory that we had would be enough to get him through the standardized tests. I spent much of the testing periods waking him up from his naps, though, and my hopes soon began to fade.


EOG scores came back the next week, and his was the first name I checked. To my complete and utter dismay, Bobby failed both of his EOGs. But what was most heartbreaking was that he was only one point from passing his math EOG. He was so close. If only he had given me just two more good weeks. It might have been enough to get him over that hump, to show the state that Bobby is worth fighting for, that he was going to write his own future.


Instead, I’ll spend this Monday holed up in the assistant principal’s office, poring over a stack of files of students who have been suggested for retention. In that pile is a folder filled with incomplete work samples from Bobby’s first and last weeks in my class, documentation of all his instances of misbehavior, and his failing scores. And in that folder is a paper that requests that Bobby be retained in the 7th grade, with my signature at the bottom. There is no evidence in that folder of our glory days, when Bobby was on his “A-game”, as I call it in my class. No one remembers anything but the Bobby they see now, the same one that refused to sit in his desk on the first day of school and didn’t turn any work in for weeks. I tear up even thinking about it.


I have mixed feelings about this business. On the one hand, I want Bobby to learn his lesson. I want him to see that he cannot get away with behavior, and I want him to realize that it takes so much more to be a successful student—because he has so much more to give. And to be honest, I think that if I have him for one more year I may be able to really transform him. On the other hand, I am fuming. There are plenty of other 7th graders that are not nearly as bright as Bobby that are getting passed on simply because they “try hard”, they have extenuating circumstances (medical issues), or are too old to remain in the 7th grade. I am fuming because I know they are using Bobby as an example, and you never want to see someone you care about put on the spot. And lastly, my heart is breaking because I know that statistically speaking, Bobby’s chances of making it to his high school graduation would dropped significantly.


Bobby has no idea how much his life is about to change if our request for his retention is approved.


This, my friends, is the achievement gap. A product of his environment, a slave to his circumstances, Bobby may never truly know freedom, all because of this vicious cycle. My heart breaks for him, and all of the kids who are facing similar fates.


There is a silver lining to this story. I think Bobby has finally realized that all my nagging came straight from the heart, and was only meant to encourage success. Check out his response to my end-of-year survey on Thursday:


"Ms.Hiltunen is a very good teacher and pushes everyone to do their best in her class she want stop until you do your best and work at your full patential she loves to see you suceed."


I'm praying that despite what may happen in these next few days, that somehow Bobby will still succeed.