Lowered standards? New perspectives? A war veteran's tolerance for traumatic experience?
How else can I explain the matter-of-fact comments that I enter in my book labeled "Student Contact Info", which is really a notebook in which I catalog student (mis)behaviors to justify points docked or earned on their daily process grades. Sometimes I cannot believe what I am writing - what I am willing to accept to get a student to create art. A sample, DM, 4th period, 5/11:
"Used excessive profanity and pulled pants down to expose his behind, but was otherwise on-task and respectful"
Showing posts with label classroom management. Show all posts
Showing posts with label classroom management. Show all posts
Friday, May 11, 2007
Monday, April 30, 2007
"These Things Are Sent To Try Us"
Before school begins, B pulls me aside to ask a "huge, huge favor". Can she take 30 minutes to finish typing a paper that is due the following period, she asks. She was absent on Friday when we started this new unit on color theory and today is Monday. I tell her that I would like to help her but she has to be here for all of the work we are going to do today. Distressed, she says she will "just leave, then, because I have to do this". Why didn't she do it over the weekend, I ask? She says her computer wasn't working. I apologize, but tell her she needs to be here today - I don't want her to fall behind in my class (she is very often absent or late).
She walks out.
I write an administrative referral before the day has even begun.
During the next period, SH ignores the warm-up activity to methodically pick out her hair weaves, leaving them in a pile on the table in front of her. When I (politely) ask her to stop, she reminds me that "it's just hair" and that apparently I have hair, too. When I, in calm and friendly voice, tell her she has to stop grooming herself and instead do her work, she becomes indignant and defensive. "I'm not grooming myself, Mr W! God! Why do you gotta be like that??"
Why do I gotta be like that, I ask myself? For a moment, I try to think if it's alright that there is a pile of hair in front of my student, who is not doing any work. Ultimately, I resolve that it is still not OK, even if it means in deciding so that I'm going to have to continue this absurd conversation.
"This isn't Cosmetology class", I jab. "I know that! Duh!" she parries. After discussing the way she talks to teachers ("I've got to work on that, I know"), she sweeps the hair debris into the trash can and starts to draw.
This was only a quaint warm-up for what would happen in fourth period.
As students filed in after the late bell for fourth period, a crowd began to gather around perennially disengaged SP (an anecdotal aside: she is the only student I've ever had who has not turned in a single project). They were watching - loudly watching - the bootiest of booty-shaking rap videos on a video iPod. One of the more cavalier boys shows me the video on the iPod, certain I will get swept away in its charms. Without giving a customary and admittedly wimpy warning, I confiscate the iPod. Goes straight into a drawer in my locked office.
After getting the class settled, I begin to give a brief introduction to color theory when I am interrupted by JH, who is raising his hand. This class never raises hands, unless there is a joke or a bathroom request.
"What is it, JH?"
He farts.
The rest of the class reacts in the only natural way a room full of teenagers could react. And inside I am cracking up. But I've got to keep it together - I am supposed to be in charge. I stammer through some more requests for order while going over the quickest, most abbreviated intro to color theory ever performed.
JH farts again. SP says I am "boring". Other conversations continue, oblivious to the art class that has stalled out. If pairs of eyes looking at a teacher indicate the number of students paying attention, then I have zero students paying attention.
I conclude the color theory lesson (with a few token, reassuring "I was listening Mr. W"s) and move back to my desk. Out of the corner of my eye, I see an altercation in the corner. It is JH. He is wrestling... no, humping a girl in the corner. It is playful, I hope, and everyone seems to be laughing, but I have actually spoken to him about this at least a half-dozen times ("Sexual harassment, JH! You don't want to mess with that!"). I tell him to gather his things, he is going to CHOICES (a kind of separate setting time-out). He makes big stage tears and cries "boo hoo!" and preens his way to the door.
While I am filling in the CHOICES form, SP has discovered a passion for her confiscated iPod, and is demanding it back immediately. And in no uncertain terms (unless "motherf***in" is an uncertain term). She wants it back right now, and is not going to wait for me to finish what I'm doing.
"SP, you will get it back at the end of the period, now have a seat, please."
"No, this is bulls**t, I want my g**d*** iPod!". She is now opening the drawers of my desk.
"SP, you need to sit down!"
JH continues to mock me with big baby cries, rubbing his eyes that he has to go to CHOICES.
Meanwhile, a student is walking around the class with his pants around his ankles. It is KM. He wants to go to CHOICES, too, to be with JH. He is putting on an act. Other parts of this act will include incredible sailor-like profanity, dancing on the counter, and making himself gag in the sink. I make him suffer through having to stay in art class.
JH is on his way to CHOICES (I will later learn that he never made it there). SP is also out the door. She is cussing me out, saying I need to take control of my "motherf***in class", that my class is "bulls**t", and that she is not coming back. An assessment I understand, but can only feel is ironic coming from the most out-of-control element.
Later, it is revealed that the iPod did not even belong to her. It was borrowed from another student in the class. The day begins - and now ends - with an administrative referral.
"These Things Are Sent To Try Us"
This phrase often runs through my head on days like today. It is the title of a song by the band Clearlake, and actually it is the lilting chorus featuring the title that runs through my head. The song is about romantic dissolution: not my particular problem today, thank goodness, but after a day like today I can share the sentiment that the things we endure must be the product of a curious and mischievous higher power.
There are 27 days left until summer. I count them down now, but there will soon be 180 days until the next summer. And then another 180 days. And another. I must remind myself that the goal is not to get out of this, but to be in it in the best possible way. These things are sent to try us. And it can be won.
Right? ... Right??
Is Target still hiring?
She walks out.
I write an administrative referral before the day has even begun.
During the next period, SH ignores the warm-up activity to methodically pick out her hair weaves, leaving them in a pile on the table in front of her. When I (politely) ask her to stop, she reminds me that "it's just hair" and that apparently I have hair, too. When I, in calm and friendly voice, tell her she has to stop grooming herself and instead do her work, she becomes indignant and defensive. "I'm not grooming myself, Mr W! God! Why do you gotta be like that??"
Why do I gotta be like that, I ask myself? For a moment, I try to think if it's alright that there is a pile of hair in front of my student, who is not doing any work. Ultimately, I resolve that it is still not OK, even if it means in deciding so that I'm going to have to continue this absurd conversation.
"This isn't Cosmetology class", I jab. "I know that! Duh!" she parries. After discussing the way she talks to teachers ("I've got to work on that, I know"), she sweeps the hair debris into the trash can and starts to draw.
This was only a quaint warm-up for what would happen in fourth period.
As students filed in after the late bell for fourth period, a crowd began to gather around perennially disengaged SP (an anecdotal aside: she is the only student I've ever had who has not turned in a single project). They were watching - loudly watching - the bootiest of booty-shaking rap videos on a video iPod. One of the more cavalier boys shows me the video on the iPod, certain I will get swept away in its charms. Without giving a customary and admittedly wimpy warning, I confiscate the iPod. Goes straight into a drawer in my locked office.
After getting the class settled, I begin to give a brief introduction to color theory when I am interrupted by JH, who is raising his hand. This class never raises hands, unless there is a joke or a bathroom request.
"What is it, JH?"
He farts.
The rest of the class reacts in the only natural way a room full of teenagers could react. And inside I am cracking up. But I've got to keep it together - I am supposed to be in charge. I stammer through some more requests for order while going over the quickest, most abbreviated intro to color theory ever performed.
JH farts again. SP says I am "boring". Other conversations continue, oblivious to the art class that has stalled out. If pairs of eyes looking at a teacher indicate the number of students paying attention, then I have zero students paying attention.
I conclude the color theory lesson (with a few token, reassuring "I was listening Mr. W"s) and move back to my desk. Out of the corner of my eye, I see an altercation in the corner. It is JH. He is wrestling... no, humping a girl in the corner. It is playful, I hope, and everyone seems to be laughing, but I have actually spoken to him about this at least a half-dozen times ("Sexual harassment, JH! You don't want to mess with that!"). I tell him to gather his things, he is going to CHOICES (a kind of separate setting time-out). He makes big stage tears and cries "boo hoo!" and preens his way to the door.
While I am filling in the CHOICES form, SP has discovered a passion for her confiscated iPod, and is demanding it back immediately. And in no uncertain terms (unless "motherf***in" is an uncertain term). She wants it back right now, and is not going to wait for me to finish what I'm doing.
"SP, you will get it back at the end of the period, now have a seat, please."
"No, this is bulls**t, I want my g**d*** iPod!". She is now opening the drawers of my desk.
"SP, you need to sit down!"
JH continues to mock me with big baby cries, rubbing his eyes that he has to go to CHOICES.
Meanwhile, a student is walking around the class with his pants around his ankles. It is KM. He wants to go to CHOICES, too, to be with JH. He is putting on an act. Other parts of this act will include incredible sailor-like profanity, dancing on the counter, and making himself gag in the sink. I make him suffer through having to stay in art class.
JH is on his way to CHOICES (I will later learn that he never made it there). SP is also out the door. She is cussing me out, saying I need to take control of my "motherf***in class", that my class is "bulls**t", and that she is not coming back. An assessment I understand, but can only feel is ironic coming from the most out-of-control element.
Later, it is revealed that the iPod did not even belong to her. It was borrowed from another student in the class. The day begins - and now ends - with an administrative referral.
"These Things Are Sent To Try Us"
This phrase often runs through my head on days like today. It is the title of a song by the band Clearlake, and actually it is the lilting chorus featuring the title that runs through my head. The song is about romantic dissolution: not my particular problem today, thank goodness, but after a day like today I can share the sentiment that the things we endure must be the product of a curious and mischievous higher power.
There are 27 days left until summer. I count them down now, but there will soon be 180 days until the next summer. And then another 180 days. And another. I must remind myself that the goal is not to get out of this, but to be in it in the best possible way. These things are sent to try us. And it can be won.
Right? ... Right??
Is Target still hiring?
Monday, February 12, 2007
A hostile audience
"God! I do NOT want to do this! Art is stupid! God-uh... Why can't I change classes??" So sang B, the day after it became too late to change classes.
One of the things that attracted me to teaching as a career was the fact that it retained some of the most exciting elements of music as a career - creative, social, with a performance aspect - while adding more rewarding and frankly reliable elements - a state paycheck with state benefits, professional opportunities, and oh right, the chance to positively impact the lives of children. I think it is my background in those first elements that has made my career shift relatively smooth and painless. When I was a record store owner, I learned that if we wanted to be able to pay our bills every month, we needed to adapt to the slippery, evasive needs of our clientele. Perhaps more importantly, as a performer I learned how to negotiate a hostile bar crowd who has not come to see you play tonight, and is refusing to pay the $3 cover charge required if they want to continue to drink there. You stock the right records, you play the right covers, you contort yourself but don't sell yourself out. If we were saving a cover of Cheap Trick's "Surrender" for an encore, we'd open with it to appease the scowling bikers and hobos hovering around our girlfriends.
My brother, now a Penn State faculty member, followed a similar career trajectory from bar band to classroom. From tot to teen, I admired the rock star side of him, and was honestly perplexed by his passion for education. I remember him saying, after being asked by a confused little brother who had just inherited his vintage, no-longer-used Gretsch Chet Atkins Tennessean, that teaching was just as satisfying as performing. Standing up in front of a class of students, he assured me, was just as rewarding as standing up in front of an audience at a club.
I didn't believe him.
Now that I'm on the rational side of planning a career in the creative arts, I can understand where he is coming from, and yes, it is just as rewarding. Maybe even more so, because you know it matters. Songs are great, and I love nothing more than being told by a complete stranger that my music affected them on a deep level, but what fills me with happiness now is to see a student discover a love for art, or if I'm lucky, discover that they have a valid, even important voice.
That's why I take B's comments as a challenge, and one that I'm ready to win.
The project was Hand Drawings, wherein students practice and apply skills for drawing from life and observation - accurate shading and detail are preferred. Though seemingly simple, it is exactly the kind of project that causes a student like B to shut down. Drawing the human body, especially something as complex as the hand, requires a fair amount of skill and, because of the familiarity of the subject, leaves little room for error. Everyone is familiar with what their hand looks like (it's not like the back of their hand, it IS the back of their hand!), so for a student who feels like she can't draw, it is like being asked to speak Russian or breathe underwater. Most often, a student who doesn't understand will reject the project by either shutting down or becoming defiant. B was feeling defiant.
"Let's take it one step at a time. Now, how do you begin drawing hands?" I say. I had shown them some techniques whereby the artist simplifies an object into geometric shapes.
"I don't care, it's stupid!". She is looking away from me. But I'm still there.
"Well, can I see what you've done so far?"
"I didn't do anything. It's not good, I'm not an artist. God, can't I change classes? Can't I take Creative Writing or music instead?"
She has drawn something, in fact, and I move it closer. She is still looking away, and is very poor at hiding her annoyance with me.
It is a rudimentary mitten-shape hand - the first step in the process of observational drawing through geometric reduction. There are still three steps to go: contour lines for the shape of the fingers and hand, details in the wrinkles and lines, and finally shading.
"OK, well this is actually a good start," I encourage.
"No it's not, it's dumb. God."
"Look, you've only just started. Right, it's not beautiful now - I wouldn't buy this and put it in a frame and hang it on the wall - but you're on the right track. You just have to keep going."
She is looking at the drawing now, not looking away. She is quiet.
"It's like cooking. Do you cook? Well let's say you're making a soup. You melted some butter in a pan, cut up some onions, and then you push the pan away saying, 'I can't make soup'. Well you haven't made soup yet! You're only getting started! Wait til you make the soup and taste it, then you can decide if you can make soup or not. OK?"
She is still looking at the drawing. She has picked up her pencil, and is kind of tickling the paper with her pencil. I move away and keep my distance for the remainder of class, but I keep my eye on her. She will work on her drawing for the rest of period.
At the end of class, she comes up to me with a finished drawing of a hand like her own, holding a pencil. It is crude and simple, but she is beaming.
"Look, what do you think?" she gushes. I praise enthusiastically, it is the freaking Mona Lisa. I give her a verbal pat on the back, saying that I always knew she could do it.
She takes the drawing with her, and will come back periodically throughout the day to show me her progress on the drawing. A little detail added to the knuckles. A change in design to a baby hand holding a rattle, and oh yes, how do you draw a rattle? Some color, some shadow. How do you get the right skin tone?
She hasn't asked to drop my class since.
One of the things that attracted me to teaching as a career was the fact that it retained some of the most exciting elements of music as a career - creative, social, with a performance aspect - while adding more rewarding and frankly reliable elements - a state paycheck with state benefits, professional opportunities, and oh right, the chance to positively impact the lives of children. I think it is my background in those first elements that has made my career shift relatively smooth and painless. When I was a record store owner, I learned that if we wanted to be able to pay our bills every month, we needed to adapt to the slippery, evasive needs of our clientele. Perhaps more importantly, as a performer I learned how to negotiate a hostile bar crowd who has not come to see you play tonight, and is refusing to pay the $3 cover charge required if they want to continue to drink there. You stock the right records, you play the right covers, you contort yourself but don't sell yourself out. If we were saving a cover of Cheap Trick's "Surrender" for an encore, we'd open with it to appease the scowling bikers and hobos hovering around our girlfriends.
My brother, now a Penn State faculty member, followed a similar career trajectory from bar band to classroom. From tot to teen, I admired the rock star side of him, and was honestly perplexed by his passion for education. I remember him saying, after being asked by a confused little brother who had just inherited his vintage, no-longer-used Gretsch Chet Atkins Tennessean, that teaching was just as satisfying as performing. Standing up in front of a class of students, he assured me, was just as rewarding as standing up in front of an audience at a club.
I didn't believe him.
Now that I'm on the rational side of planning a career in the creative arts, I can understand where he is coming from, and yes, it is just as rewarding. Maybe even more so, because you know it matters. Songs are great, and I love nothing more than being told by a complete stranger that my music affected them on a deep level, but what fills me with happiness now is to see a student discover a love for art, or if I'm lucky, discover that they have a valid, even important voice.
That's why I take B's comments as a challenge, and one that I'm ready to win.
The project was Hand Drawings, wherein students practice and apply skills for drawing from life and observation - accurate shading and detail are preferred. Though seemingly simple, it is exactly the kind of project that causes a student like B to shut down. Drawing the human body, especially something as complex as the hand, requires a fair amount of skill and, because of the familiarity of the subject, leaves little room for error. Everyone is familiar with what their hand looks like (it's not like the back of their hand, it IS the back of their hand!), so for a student who feels like she can't draw, it is like being asked to speak Russian or breathe underwater. Most often, a student who doesn't understand will reject the project by either shutting down or becoming defiant. B was feeling defiant.
"Let's take it one step at a time. Now, how do you begin drawing hands?" I say. I had shown them some techniques whereby the artist simplifies an object into geometric shapes.
"I don't care, it's stupid!". She is looking away from me. But I'm still there.
"Well, can I see what you've done so far?"
"I didn't do anything. It's not good, I'm not an artist. God, can't I change classes? Can't I take Creative Writing or music instead?"
She has drawn something, in fact, and I move it closer. She is still looking away, and is very poor at hiding her annoyance with me.
It is a rudimentary mitten-shape hand - the first step in the process of observational drawing through geometric reduction. There are still three steps to go: contour lines for the shape of the fingers and hand, details in the wrinkles and lines, and finally shading.
"OK, well this is actually a good start," I encourage.
"No it's not, it's dumb. God."
"Look, you've only just started. Right, it's not beautiful now - I wouldn't buy this and put it in a frame and hang it on the wall - but you're on the right track. You just have to keep going."
She is looking at the drawing now, not looking away. She is quiet.
"It's like cooking. Do you cook? Well let's say you're making a soup. You melted some butter in a pan, cut up some onions, and then you push the pan away saying, 'I can't make soup'. Well you haven't made soup yet! You're only getting started! Wait til you make the soup and taste it, then you can decide if you can make soup or not. OK?"
She is still looking at the drawing. She has picked up her pencil, and is kind of tickling the paper with her pencil. I move away and keep my distance for the remainder of class, but I keep my eye on her. She will work on her drawing for the rest of period.
At the end of class, she comes up to me with a finished drawing of a hand like her own, holding a pencil. It is crude and simple, but she is beaming.
"Look, what do you think?" she gushes. I praise enthusiastically, it is the freaking Mona Lisa. I give her a verbal pat on the back, saying that I always knew she could do it.
She takes the drawing with her, and will come back periodically throughout the day to show me her progress on the drawing. A little detail added to the knuckles. A change in design to a baby hand holding a rattle, and oh yes, how do you draw a rattle? Some color, some shadow. How do you get the right skin tone?
She hasn't asked to drop my class since.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
First days of the new semester
My particular high school runs on a 4x4 block schedule, in which year-long courses are condensed into one semester via 90-minute blocks - four in one semester, and a different four the next semester. Basically, this means that at semester change, teachers are looking at a completely different school. Today is Day 2 of the new spring semester.
There are a few challenges I am facing in the transition to the new semester, but they are challenges that every art teacher will face on the first days. They are not unique to art, by the way, but are common mostly among process-oriented electives (music, foods, theater, team sports, etc.) because these are considered "non-academic" courses by guidance counselors and administration. Let's put aside the fact that a basic art curriculum will cover all eras of human history through its art, will teach science and physics in the making of art, and will ask students to critically analyze themes, abstract concepts and symbols across time-periods, media and even art forms - the argument for the academic nature of art is very important to me, but one that is inappropriate for this reflection. Regardless, the new semester challenges stem from this point of view that art is non-academic, and therefore a repository for the dispossessed.
Guidance counselors often need to fill holes in a student's schedule. Theoretically, students will see a list of available elective courses, and will choose the course that interests them the most. Very often, this never happens and students are placed somewhere against their will. English-language learners and what NC calls "exceptional children" are very frequently placed in art classes. For this, your average art teacher is a master of differentiation: modeling techniques to non-English speakers, and assisting EC students through modified lessons. This is all part of the job, and honestly what makes me feel like I am actually teaching, instead of guiding or even just talking. These students are placed in art because they are more likely to be successful here than in other "academic" courses, but also because they are keeping them away from all-important EOC (end of course) classes which contribute to the schools achievement numbers. Understandable - a student from Ecuador should learn to speak English before he is tested on poetry. But there are other students who do not fit into the above categories who are placed in art without their consent. These are the students who sigh as they walk in, throw their books down and flop into their seat, immediately putting their hood up and head down.
There is a tension between students who have chosen to be in the class and those who did not. Approximately one-third of the students say they took an art class because they thought it would be fun or interesting, another third admit that it sounded easy, and the final third claim that they are in art because, simply, guidance put them there. This will always be a fact of life to an intro-level art class. The way it manifests is a push and pull between two forces: the force of engagement/curiosity and the force of disengagement/entropy. Today, I did a quick visual scan of the students while giving my brief lecture, and in each class there were mixed results, but tipping towards the first force. About half of the students were actively listening, responding, while the balance looked down at the table. Each class had only one or two students who belonged to the latter group: heads down, no pencil in sight. These students would later plead for a pass to guidance in order to transfer out. I am happy to accommodate this request. In one case, another student in the middle group (easy grade) saw my willingness to write a pass to guidance and asked for one herself. When asked why, she said that she "did this all before in middle school". I coaxed her back in with the promise of new and exciting art, but this served to highlight the importance of catching and engaging those students in the middle so they don't drift into the "dark side".
On the whole, I am happy with my new students - I think I am winning the fight against entropy. Most of my students show either full engagement or mild curiosity, or at least a basic, quiet respect. Only a few actively reject the class, but they're rejecting what they think they know about art, or what they resent about school - not me. I can only name one out-and-out joker, the kind I will probably be calling home about and giving detention to. You can always tell who these students are because you learn their names right away.
After two days, I am encouraged and hopeful, but a little lonely for the last group. My friend and colleague H expressed something similar in her blog, which I will use here because the sentiment fits nicely:
"There was an odd feeling inside me today, an empty-ish feeling. I think it because I am so used to coming into a room full of kids whom I love and know and who love and know me back. I miss my kids! But there was also a lot of excitement—for new chances, for better teaching, for meeting so many new, fresh, and fun students."
Now off to guidance with the rest of you lot!
There are a few challenges I am facing in the transition to the new semester, but they are challenges that every art teacher will face on the first days. They are not unique to art, by the way, but are common mostly among process-oriented electives (music, foods, theater, team sports, etc.) because these are considered "non-academic" courses by guidance counselors and administration. Let's put aside the fact that a basic art curriculum will cover all eras of human history through its art, will teach science and physics in the making of art, and will ask students to critically analyze themes, abstract concepts and symbols across time-periods, media and even art forms - the argument for the academic nature of art is very important to me, but one that is inappropriate for this reflection. Regardless, the new semester challenges stem from this point of view that art is non-academic, and therefore a repository for the dispossessed.
Guidance counselors often need to fill holes in a student's schedule. Theoretically, students will see a list of available elective courses, and will choose the course that interests them the most. Very often, this never happens and students are placed somewhere against their will. English-language learners and what NC calls "exceptional children" are very frequently placed in art classes. For this, your average art teacher is a master of differentiation: modeling techniques to non-English speakers, and assisting EC students through modified lessons. This is all part of the job, and honestly what makes me feel like I am actually teaching, instead of guiding or even just talking. These students are placed in art because they are more likely to be successful here than in other "academic" courses, but also because they are keeping them away from all-important EOC (end of course) classes which contribute to the schools achievement numbers. Understandable - a student from Ecuador should learn to speak English before he is tested on poetry. But there are other students who do not fit into the above categories who are placed in art without their consent. These are the students who sigh as they walk in, throw their books down and flop into their seat, immediately putting their hood up and head down.
There is a tension between students who have chosen to be in the class and those who did not. Approximately one-third of the students say they took an art class because they thought it would be fun or interesting, another third admit that it sounded easy, and the final third claim that they are in art because, simply, guidance put them there. This will always be a fact of life to an intro-level art class. The way it manifests is a push and pull between two forces: the force of engagement/curiosity and the force of disengagement/entropy. Today, I did a quick visual scan of the students while giving my brief lecture, and in each class there were mixed results, but tipping towards the first force. About half of the students were actively listening, responding, while the balance looked down at the table. Each class had only one or two students who belonged to the latter group: heads down, no pencil in sight. These students would later plead for a pass to guidance in order to transfer out. I am happy to accommodate this request. In one case, another student in the middle group (easy grade) saw my willingness to write a pass to guidance and asked for one herself. When asked why, she said that she "did this all before in middle school". I coaxed her back in with the promise of new and exciting art, but this served to highlight the importance of catching and engaging those students in the middle so they don't drift into the "dark side".
On the whole, I am happy with my new students - I think I am winning the fight against entropy. Most of my students show either full engagement or mild curiosity, or at least a basic, quiet respect. Only a few actively reject the class, but they're rejecting what they think they know about art, or what they resent about school - not me. I can only name one out-and-out joker, the kind I will probably be calling home about and giving detention to. You can always tell who these students are because you learn their names right away.
After two days, I am encouraged and hopeful, but a little lonely for the last group. My friend and colleague H expressed something similar in her blog, which I will use here because the sentiment fits nicely:
"There was an odd feeling inside me today, an empty-ish feeling. I think it because I am so used to coming into a room full of kids whom I love and know and who love and know me back. I miss my kids! But there was also a lot of excitement—for new chances, for better teaching, for meeting so many new, fresh, and fun students."
Now off to guidance with the rest of you lot!
Thursday, January 18, 2007
3rd period, home stretch
Some miscellaneous notes from last week with 3rd period, my most challenging class:
Class began with a disorganized ramble through the sketchbook review, prolonged by the half-dozen late comers. Was to end at 11, then 11:05. Finally, at 11:15, I said we have to move on.
T slept thru the sketchbook review with a hood over her head. I asked T to wake up and take the hood off, to which C thought she found another example of my blatant injustice. "You let (so-and-so) wear her hood all day yesterday, you better NOT be telling her to take her's off, I can't believe you Mr W".
T continued to sleep. When I woke her up and asked her to get started on her work, she blew up at me: "No! I'm not doing it! Go away! Stop talking! Leave me alone! Go!" (Imagine this in a sing-songy high-pitched whine). I imediately called her in my office, and to my surprise she came in right away. I started saying something about how this sketchbook review is the project we are working on, and it's an important part of her grade, and before I could get to the part about the importance of being respectful in her conversations with me, she broke down crying. Dumbstruck, I stammered something about how we all have a bad day now and then, but just did not know what to say (I think I managed a mumbled "Do you want to talk about it?") Did her boyfirend dump her? Did she get a paper-cut? Does her father beat her? Did she just find out she's pregnant? What other horrible calamity might she be afflicted with that I am grossly unequipped to address? I let her sit back down. She slept for the rest of the class.
Tried to get everyone's attention to make announcements about remaining schedule: turn in finished projects, finish unfinished ones (printmaking, research project poster), then start the optional 2-day project, Copper Embossing
The mention of a new project was met with an uproar. Granted, there are only 2 days left, but it is a 2 day project, is optional, and is actually somewhat fun. I heard micellaneous unfavorable grumbles about me, and others said they plan to sleep on the last day. Got many requests for a movie. Got firmly rebuked when I mentioned that this wasn't going to happen.
Rest of the class was actually fine, with all students working on miscelanneous projects and some not working at all (T, S, and M who planned to sleep the last day), but at least being quiet about it. Regardless, the projects they turn in will be just as half-assed as they were yesterday.
Halfway through class and still no work begun by S. Approached her about it, and asked her what she was working on. With headphones on, she replies, "Huh?" I ask her to take the headphones off. I ask her again. She says she didn't get the paper for Copper Embossing (it is right in front of her), and I move it an inch closer. She asks what she is supposed to do. Others around her chuckle at this, because I have just finished giving my instruction. I start again from the very beginning, anyway, talking about the copper and the sculpting tools. She interrupts: "Don't try to play me like I'm stupid!"
Class began with a disorganized ramble through the sketchbook review, prolonged by the half-dozen late comers. Was to end at 11, then 11:05. Finally, at 11:15, I said we have to move on.
T slept thru the sketchbook review with a hood over her head. I asked T to wake up and take the hood off, to which C thought she found another example of my blatant injustice. "You let (so-and-so) wear her hood all day yesterday, you better NOT be telling her to take her's off, I can't believe you Mr W".
T continued to sleep. When I woke her up and asked her to get started on her work, she blew up at me: "No! I'm not doing it! Go away! Stop talking! Leave me alone! Go!" (Imagine this in a sing-songy high-pitched whine). I imediately called her in my office, and to my surprise she came in right away. I started saying something about how this sketchbook review is the project we are working on, and it's an important part of her grade, and before I could get to the part about the importance of being respectful in her conversations with me, she broke down crying. Dumbstruck, I stammered something about how we all have a bad day now and then, but just did not know what to say (I think I managed a mumbled "Do you want to talk about it?") Did her boyfirend dump her? Did she get a paper-cut? Does her father beat her? Did she just find out she's pregnant? What other horrible calamity might she be afflicted with that I am grossly unequipped to address? I let her sit back down. She slept for the rest of the class.
Tried to get everyone's attention to make announcements about remaining schedule: turn in finished projects, finish unfinished ones (printmaking, research project poster), then start the optional 2-day project, Copper Embossing
The mention of a new project was met with an uproar. Granted, there are only 2 days left, but it is a 2 day project, is optional, and is actually somewhat fun. I heard micellaneous unfavorable grumbles about me, and others said they plan to sleep on the last day. Got many requests for a movie. Got firmly rebuked when I mentioned that this wasn't going to happen.
Rest of the class was actually fine, with all students working on miscelanneous projects and some not working at all (T, S, and M who planned to sleep the last day), but at least being quiet about it. Regardless, the projects they turn in will be just as half-assed as they were yesterday.
Halfway through class and still no work begun by S. Approached her about it, and asked her what she was working on. With headphones on, she replies, "Huh?" I ask her to take the headphones off. I ask her again. She says she didn't get the paper for Copper Embossing (it is right in front of her), and I move it an inch closer. She asks what she is supposed to do. Others around her chuckle at this, because I have just finished giving my instruction. I start again from the very beginning, anyway, talking about the copper and the sculpting tools. She interrupts: "Don't try to play me like I'm stupid!"
Monday, January 8, 2007
"Oh right, Cubism!"
The last post came on a Wednesday - a dark, doom-laden Wednesday - but because of the winter break was more like a souped-up Monday. I left that day hoping that things would get better on my return, but fearing that they wouldn't - fearing that I had created a delusional acceptance of a bad, hopeless situation.
I was wrong, of course. Thursday came and went without event. Friday, even better. In fact, my third period charmers were at their most well-behaved, and closest to intrinsically motivated they have ever been. They listened patinetly throughout my announcements, responded with interest to posted due dates, and began work on projects right away. To my delight, students seemed concerned about their due or overdue projects, and took efforts to turn in things that had long been forgotten. I was handed a half-dozen Cubist paintings and a stack of linoleum prints - and I've never been happier to grade things. And to my further delight (and surprise), students who were completely caught up on their projects asked to do another one! A student asked for another linoleum block so he could make another print - a fairly complicated and challenging project. Another student asked for one more canvas panel so he could paint whatever he wanted. Canvas panels ain't cheap, but I wanted to shower him with beautiful, virginal, pristine, expensive canvas panels.
Who are these kids? What did I do differently? Where were they Wednesday?
Is it just that today isn't the first day back from break? Is it that Wednesday was such a nightmare that these other calm days seem heavenly by comparison? Or is it a complete and total crap shoot? I hope that it is something I did, or something I set in place that is finally manifesting itself, though I know it is more likely the crap shoot.
I was wrong, of course. Thursday came and went without event. Friday, even better. In fact, my third period charmers were at their most well-behaved, and closest to intrinsically motivated they have ever been. They listened patinetly throughout my announcements, responded with interest to posted due dates, and began work on projects right away. To my delight, students seemed concerned about their due or overdue projects, and took efforts to turn in things that had long been forgotten. I was handed a half-dozen Cubist paintings and a stack of linoleum prints - and I've never been happier to grade things. And to my further delight (and surprise), students who were completely caught up on their projects asked to do another one! A student asked for another linoleum block so he could make another print - a fairly complicated and challenging project. Another student asked for one more canvas panel so he could paint whatever he wanted. Canvas panels ain't cheap, but I wanted to shower him with beautiful, virginal, pristine, expensive canvas panels.
Who are these kids? What did I do differently? Where were they Wednesday?
Is it just that today isn't the first day back from break? Is it that Wednesday was such a nightmare that these other calm days seem heavenly by comparison? Or is it a complete and total crap shoot? I hope that it is something I did, or something I set in place that is finally manifesting itself, though I know it is more likely the crap shoot.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
"What is Cubism?"
A student walks in the door before the bell and leaves. He will return 10 minutes into class.
At the bell, I welcome everyone back from break and describe the daily bellwork activity: a comic strip-style sketch about how you spent your winter break. I am addressing 50% of the students who are supposed to be there. Of those, 1 is listening.
Students begin to trickle in.
Two perennially late students arrive 5 minutes into class and do not sign the Tardy Log (with which they are quite well acquainted). They ignore my requests to do so. One sits down and immediately puts headphones on, while the other circulates the room in search of batteries.
I describe the bellwork activity again. This time 2 students are listening. One of them is the same student who listened the first time. She is already done with the bellwork and is waiting to start the next activity. Her name is R, and she is my most patient student.
The first student is back now. He has joined the battery-seeking student, named A (who everyone agrees is a bit of a goofball), and is talking about portable video games. He ignores my requests for him to return to his seat. When he eventually does – on his own terms, of course – he will begin playing the video game he was just talking about. He will ignore my requests to put it away. He will wear a hood and sunglasses. He will ignore my requests to take them off. He will sometimes acknowledge my request with a preening, sarcastic “Yes, Massah!” which he does today. He will also occasionally inform me that I am one of his favorite teachers. His name is W. He will follow this script every day.
The students are chattering through the first 15 minutes of class. Some of them have begun the bellwork. Approximately one-third will never touch a pencil.
When I identify a lull in the chatter, I ask for everyone’s attention and describe the expectations for the day. Students should turn in their Cubist paintings first. The Cubist paintings are due on Friday, and it is today Wednesday. Next, students should continue working on the printmaking project. The printmaking project will conclude on Friday. After that, if anyone is finished, students should finish glazing unfinished bust sculptures. Uncharacteristically, students remain quiet throughout most of my two-and-a-half minute address.
I conclude my speech, and I ask if they have any questions. The only questions that are asked are “What is Cubism?” and “What is a bust sculpture?” I remind them that Cubism was the painting project they spent two weeks working on, and that a bust sculpture is the ceramic head that took them three weeks to make. I thank them for their attention, and let them know they can get started, reminding them to start with Cubism, then printmaking, then bust sculpture.
No one gets up.
I try to make a goofy joke, something like, “Gee, don’t everyone get up at once!”
Students continue to chatter or sit idly. R gets up and collects her things, apparently wishing she didn’t have to be the first.
I walk around the room and one by one ask students to get out their work.
They begin to do so. Some grumble.
I will be asked to re-explain the printmaking process to 2 students, who sit side by side. The second one, C, will not listen to me explain it to her friend, T, who is seated right beside her. C will ask all of the same questions asked by T. C will make the same mistakes as T. C will get annoyed with me, and say things like “What you trying to make me do?” and “You better watch your mouth” as I show her how to dispense ink from a tube. She will ask me to get each supply for her – the paper, the brayer, the ink, the cutting tool, the newspaper – and will protest when I remind her that she is capable of getting it herself. She will use each supply incorrectly. She will say that I have it in for her when I try to show her again how to use it. She will say that I am making her mess up on purpose. C is 19 and she has a child.
Someone comes to the door, bearing food – someone I don’t know – and asks to see C. I tell this person that C is in class right now and is busy. She says she has to talk to C for a minute. I tell her that C will be done at 12:16, and can join her then. This girl gets annoyed with me and asks why she can’t see C right now. I ask where she is supposed to be. She says lunch. I tell her to return to lunch, C is in class, and C will be able to join her at 12:16. I close the door as this girl continues to ask to talk to C.
I notice that some students are working, but many are working on each other’s projects. Students who are behind on their work have convinced others to do their work for them. I remind them to do their own work, and I make a goofy joke about having to give this student a grade instead. The students return their work to its rightful owner. One of these owners is J. He is constantly asking other people to do his work for him. He is also constantly asking me to get his supplies for him – a pencil, a piece of paper, his sketchbook, the printmaking supplies – and when I remind him that he is capable he will say “But you’re right there!” I am never right there.
I duck into my office, and when I return one of my students has opened the door to the outside – not the door to the hallway, the door to the outside – and has allowed another student to enter, bearing food. I do not know this student. I tell my student not to open doors for people, and I stop this student to ask him his name and why is going through my room. He tells me his name and said that all the other doors were locked (he is allowed to go through the front door, if he is a senior). I write down this student’s name, send him to the cafeteria, and tell him that I won’t write him up, but he cannot enter the building through my room and disrupt my class again. He is apologetic and nervous. (Later in the day, this student will return to my room and apologize again. This will make me feel like a heel.)
When I return to the classroom, J is sitting on the table watching another girl glaze his bust sculpture for him. I approach him by saying his name, but he ignores me. I say his name 5 more times, each one at a firm but conversational volume level. He continues to ignore me. I say “OK” and walk to my desk, where I keep my CHOICES (in-school suspension referrals). He says “wait, wait, wait” and says he was listening. I call him over to my desk and tell him if he continues to ignore me and not do his work that I will send him and his bust sculpture to CHOICES. He agrees to return to his seat and do his work.
Some students bring up completed work, and I grade a few cubist paintings and a bust sculpture.
I never get to make my rounds. I sometimes make 10 rounds a day, helping students, asking questions of them, answering their questions.
J asks for a bathroom pass at about 30 minutes before the bell. I grant him one. He will not return.
W also asks for a bathroom pass. He has used all of his passes for the semester. He convinces me it is an emergency. I cave, and grant him one. I always cave to W for a reason that I have yet to determine. He does return, though. Perhaps it’s because I am his favorite teacher?
It is the first day back from Christmas break.
This day was a typical day in the life of my third period class, which is perhaps why it seemed so intolerable. I am used to being ignored, whined at, complained to, talked over, ignored a bit more, even made fun of a little. These things are just part of the landscape at my particular high school, and I don’t take any offense at it. It’s just disheartening that it was still there. After recuperating for nearly two weeks, I had recharged my inner battery and found some physical and mental energy to return to this routine. I began to feel better. Better in myself and better about myself. And I think somewhere along the line I got confused, thinking I had something to feel better about.
But this was a particularly bad day, I must remind myself. One almost completely free of any teaching. One completely consumed with the things they told us new teachers we’d really be doing – things like classroom management, and well, classroom management. And that’s fair. After all, it was the first day back from a two week vacation. It becomes troubling, though, when these recurring issues prevent me from doing what I am trying to do: teach them about art. It is hard for me to teach them what I need to teach them. It is impossible for me to teach them what I want to teach them.
And it is becoming clear that several of these students are going to fail my class, and in all of these cases, it is because these students are not turning in their work. It is only irritating to me that they don’t listen to instructions or due dates, but it is dangerous for them. My challenge with this class is to identify what I am doing wrong on my end to engage them, and how I can address the ways they are acting out on their end.
But for now, I will just remind myself: It is the first day back from Christmas break.
At the bell, I welcome everyone back from break and describe the daily bellwork activity: a comic strip-style sketch about how you spent your winter break. I am addressing 50% of the students who are supposed to be there. Of those, 1 is listening.
Students begin to trickle in.
Two perennially late students arrive 5 minutes into class and do not sign the Tardy Log (with which they are quite well acquainted). They ignore my requests to do so. One sits down and immediately puts headphones on, while the other circulates the room in search of batteries.
I describe the bellwork activity again. This time 2 students are listening. One of them is the same student who listened the first time. She is already done with the bellwork and is waiting to start the next activity. Her name is R, and she is my most patient student.
The first student is back now. He has joined the battery-seeking student, named A (who everyone agrees is a bit of a goofball), and is talking about portable video games. He ignores my requests for him to return to his seat. When he eventually does – on his own terms, of course – he will begin playing the video game he was just talking about. He will ignore my requests to put it away. He will wear a hood and sunglasses. He will ignore my requests to take them off. He will sometimes acknowledge my request with a preening, sarcastic “Yes, Massah!” which he does today. He will also occasionally inform me that I am one of his favorite teachers. His name is W. He will follow this script every day.
The students are chattering through the first 15 minutes of class. Some of them have begun the bellwork. Approximately one-third will never touch a pencil.
When I identify a lull in the chatter, I ask for everyone’s attention and describe the expectations for the day. Students should turn in their Cubist paintings first. The Cubist paintings are due on Friday, and it is today Wednesday. Next, students should continue working on the printmaking project. The printmaking project will conclude on Friday. After that, if anyone is finished, students should finish glazing unfinished bust sculptures. Uncharacteristically, students remain quiet throughout most of my two-and-a-half minute address.
I conclude my speech, and I ask if they have any questions. The only questions that are asked are “What is Cubism?” and “What is a bust sculpture?” I remind them that Cubism was the painting project they spent two weeks working on, and that a bust sculpture is the ceramic head that took them three weeks to make. I thank them for their attention, and let them know they can get started, reminding them to start with Cubism, then printmaking, then bust sculpture.
No one gets up.
I try to make a goofy joke, something like, “Gee, don’t everyone get up at once!”
Students continue to chatter or sit idly. R gets up and collects her things, apparently wishing she didn’t have to be the first.
I walk around the room and one by one ask students to get out their work.
They begin to do so. Some grumble.
I will be asked to re-explain the printmaking process to 2 students, who sit side by side. The second one, C, will not listen to me explain it to her friend, T, who is seated right beside her. C will ask all of the same questions asked by T. C will make the same mistakes as T. C will get annoyed with me, and say things like “What you trying to make me do?” and “You better watch your mouth” as I show her how to dispense ink from a tube. She will ask me to get each supply for her – the paper, the brayer, the ink, the cutting tool, the newspaper – and will protest when I remind her that she is capable of getting it herself. She will use each supply incorrectly. She will say that I have it in for her when I try to show her again how to use it. She will say that I am making her mess up on purpose. C is 19 and she has a child.
Someone comes to the door, bearing food – someone I don’t know – and asks to see C. I tell this person that C is in class right now and is busy. She says she has to talk to C for a minute. I tell her that C will be done at 12:16, and can join her then. This girl gets annoyed with me and asks why she can’t see C right now. I ask where she is supposed to be. She says lunch. I tell her to return to lunch, C is in class, and C will be able to join her at 12:16. I close the door as this girl continues to ask to talk to C.
I notice that some students are working, but many are working on each other’s projects. Students who are behind on their work have convinced others to do their work for them. I remind them to do their own work, and I make a goofy joke about having to give this student a grade instead. The students return their work to its rightful owner. One of these owners is J. He is constantly asking other people to do his work for him. He is also constantly asking me to get his supplies for him – a pencil, a piece of paper, his sketchbook, the printmaking supplies – and when I remind him that he is capable he will say “But you’re right there!” I am never right there.
I duck into my office, and when I return one of my students has opened the door to the outside – not the door to the hallway, the door to the outside – and has allowed another student to enter, bearing food. I do not know this student. I tell my student not to open doors for people, and I stop this student to ask him his name and why is going through my room. He tells me his name and said that all the other doors were locked (he is allowed to go through the front door, if he is a senior). I write down this student’s name, send him to the cafeteria, and tell him that I won’t write him up, but he cannot enter the building through my room and disrupt my class again. He is apologetic and nervous. (Later in the day, this student will return to my room and apologize again. This will make me feel like a heel.)
When I return to the classroom, J is sitting on the table watching another girl glaze his bust sculpture for him. I approach him by saying his name, but he ignores me. I say his name 5 more times, each one at a firm but conversational volume level. He continues to ignore me. I say “OK” and walk to my desk, where I keep my CHOICES (in-school suspension referrals). He says “wait, wait, wait” and says he was listening. I call him over to my desk and tell him if he continues to ignore me and not do his work that I will send him and his bust sculpture to CHOICES. He agrees to return to his seat and do his work.
Some students bring up completed work, and I grade a few cubist paintings and a bust sculpture.
I never get to make my rounds. I sometimes make 10 rounds a day, helping students, asking questions of them, answering their questions.
J asks for a bathroom pass at about 30 minutes before the bell. I grant him one. He will not return.
W also asks for a bathroom pass. He has used all of his passes for the semester. He convinces me it is an emergency. I cave, and grant him one. I always cave to W for a reason that I have yet to determine. He does return, though. Perhaps it’s because I am his favorite teacher?
It is the first day back from Christmas break.
This day was a typical day in the life of my third period class, which is perhaps why it seemed so intolerable. I am used to being ignored, whined at, complained to, talked over, ignored a bit more, even made fun of a little. These things are just part of the landscape at my particular high school, and I don’t take any offense at it. It’s just disheartening that it was still there. After recuperating for nearly two weeks, I had recharged my inner battery and found some physical and mental energy to return to this routine. I began to feel better. Better in myself and better about myself. And I think somewhere along the line I got confused, thinking I had something to feel better about.
But this was a particularly bad day, I must remind myself. One almost completely free of any teaching. One completely consumed with the things they told us new teachers we’d really be doing – things like classroom management, and well, classroom management. And that’s fair. After all, it was the first day back from a two week vacation. It becomes troubling, though, when these recurring issues prevent me from doing what I am trying to do: teach them about art. It is hard for me to teach them what I need to teach them. It is impossible for me to teach them what I want to teach them.
And it is becoming clear that several of these students are going to fail my class, and in all of these cases, it is because these students are not turning in their work. It is only irritating to me that they don’t listen to instructions or due dates, but it is dangerous for them. My challenge with this class is to identify what I am doing wrong on my end to engage them, and how I can address the ways they are acting out on their end.
But for now, I will just remind myself: It is the first day back from Christmas break.
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