A Fresh Start

Today marked the start of 3rd term. While I could remark on how it's amazing that the school year is more than half over at this point, and how involved and wild these past four-plus months have been, instead I want to talk about one particular opportunity the start of this new term brings me.

I teach SAT Prep, which is a semester-long class. Meaning that the students I've gotten to know over the first two terms of school in that class are no longer in my classroom. Which, on the one hand, sucks, because I've grown fond of them, and have enjoyed our class. And on the other hand, that rocks, because some of them are real pains in the ass, and I'm glad that from now on I only have to deal with them when I pass them in the hallway.

But what is greatest about starting with new students is that I have a chance to make up for the missteps I took with that SAT Prep class the first two terms. Today I had a group of students for the first time. I gave the opening day spiel I gave 6 times in 2 days back in September. This time, though, it was much different.

My nerves weren't present the way they were on Day 1. Having experienced the entirety of the SAT Prep course, I was able to give a far better, far more rooted-in-experience overview of the class rules, and my expectations of them. A lot less wingin' it, as the class rules and expectations I announced in September were based mainly on colleagues' recommendations. This time, having direct experience with what worked, and what didn't, I could choose my words more appropriately.

When playing a video game, it's really nice to know that if you die right away, or the Tetris pieces don't work out for you in the first 30 seconds, you can hit the magical "Reset" button and start again. Of course, life does not mimic that. However, being able to start fresh now, instead of having to wait until September 2008, is a similar feeling. I feel a lot more able to control the direction of the class now than I did in September.
It showed - the way one of my SAT classes went was clearly the result of my lack of force at the start. Without a strong lead right from the start, most any class will go haywire, with students thinking they run the show, and can do whatever they want, sans consequences. Trying to steer a class back under the "easy to control" umbrella after they've experienced freedom to jive with the teacher about South Park, for instance, is pretty damn hard if the initial power scales haven't been tipped in the teacher's direction.

So it's nice to have this opportunity now, without having to wait until September, to get off on the right foot with a new set of students.

Time will tell if the order of this class disintegrates, but I'm very happy with the improvements I've made to my first-day setup of a course.

Stay tuned...

Names

For anyone, it takes some getting used to hearing yourself called by a new name, even if it is your real name. I've been called "Mr. Eyerman" before, most often by phone solicitors who don't know that the only "Mr. Eyerman" I've heard of is my father, but it is has never been commonplace for me.

So when introducing myself to students, it has taken some time to get accustomed to saying, "Hi, I'm Mr. Eyerman," and not anything more informal. Even this week, four and a half months into school, I still used my first name when I introduced myself, only to soon thereafter back-track and say, "Ooh! So I'm not who I said I was. I'm Mr. Eyerman."

One piece of advice a former teacher of mine gave me right before this school year started was to learn my students' names as fast as possible. As that was something which I no one else had suggested to me, it stuck out in my head. I quickly found that the students' whose names I remembered the fastest were the ones who were either discipline issues or teacher's pets. The respectful, quiet ones who just came in and did their work - their names took a lot longer to learn. There was nothing in their personalities (not in the part they showed me) that distinguished one from another. Fortunately, I had them down by the time parent-teacher conferences rolled around.

In addition to my 110 or so students' names, I had to learn faculty members' full names as well. When students asked, "Can you tell me where Mr. Clark's room is?" it was frustrating (and a little embarrassing) to have to shrug and reply, "You got me, kid." And then even more so when the realization comes (of course, well after the kid walked away) that "Mr. Clark" is really the guy I know as Smiley, and his room is 5 feet away.

There's also the joy of the "What the hell do I call this person?" internal debate when referring to fellow teachers. Do I use the first name or the last? Quick, are there kids around? Is it bad to call a fellow teacher by their first name when there are kids within earshot? Will it lower (for better and for worse) the level of "adulthood" we possess in the kids of the eyes? Does it matter in the least?

Of course, there is also the confusion on the kids' faces when I mistakenly say, "Go and ask Maria about it." (pause to let that sink in. Think, Wait, this is longer than the usual "sink in" time. Hmmm... something's amiss...) "Err... I mean, 'Go ask Mrs. Greeks about it.'"

There are a lot of kids who like to drop the "Mr." when they call me. Just about every time someone does, there's the thought battle of: Do I need to correct the kid and tell him to call me Mr.? Was he being disrespectful by just calling me "Eyerman?" Again, does this matter in the least?

Although I've grown accustomed to the moniker, I still occasionally find it very odd to be called by my teacher name. As I grow more comfortable in this role, the more I relax (naturally) and the more sincere I am with the students. And when those heart-to-heart moments happen, it is odd to be called "Mr. Eyerman," because at those times, I don't feel like a teacher instructing a student, more like one person helping another.

"It's only cheating if you get caught..."

In October, I was grading a set of tests when I noticed two students had the exact same answer. Nothing too special about that, except the answer was wrong. Nothing too out of the ordinary about that either, except that the exact same error each student made was remarkably obscure.
My "teacher radar" (as my colleagues later called it) was up and running, and so the next day after class, I called up the two students in question for a little chat.
"OK guys, I'm going to ask you something. And your honesty in this matter will carry a lot of weight." (pause for effect) "Did you guys cheat on the test?"
Both of them: "No."
"Well, here's why I ask," I said, whipping out the tests. "That's pretty strange that the two of you made this same, rather obscure, error. So are you sure?"
The girl: "No."
The guy: "No." (pause) "Wellll....sometimes my eyes wander."
In my own head: "WTF does that mean?"
"So what, exactly, does that mean?" (nice job, inner censor)
Then he goes on some long excuseplanation about how he's under a lot of pressure from his folks to do well, and sob-story-this and sob-story-that. He eventually gets around to asking what the consequences are.
I said, "Well, I really don't know. There are many ways this can play out. The worst outcome for you would be that I'll call home, report this to the principal, and it'll go on your official record. Which will entail you, the principal, myself and your parents all sitting down and discussing this." At this point, he nearly peed on the floor. "So right now, I don't know. I'll have to think about it."
He's a good kid, and I certainly recognized the value in having him live with fear in order to keep him on the straight-and-narrow from that point on.
After letting him sweat it out for a day, I told him that I was going to give him an F on the test, and I made sure he recognized just how generous I was being. He knows I'm all over him now, as I've given him good stare-downs during the tests since. So that's worked out well.

Before that instance, I was under the impression that the students doing poorly, or those in lower-level classes, would be more likely to copy off another student. But that's not the case at all. The lower-level kids tend to either not give a rat's ass about their grade, so cheating is most certainly not worth the effort, or they have a lot more pride in their work - "I studied hard. I want to earn this. My work is my work." It's the upper-level kids, the honors kids, who tend to cheat more. They, as the eye-wanderer exemplified, are often under a lot of pressure - both from their folks and self-inflicted - to do well. Of course there is no always-true rule, but generally speaking, that's what I've found to be true.

Coming to Terms

Probably the most unexpected part of my first week was coming face-to-face with my high school self. Within the first three days of school I noticed that I reacted to the same groups of students as a teacher that I did when I was a student: the over-testosteroned football players, the know-it-all bookworms, the party-goers, the artsy-fartsy kids, the kids from rough backgrounds. I found my inner self cringing, flinching, resenting, fearing, or looking down on those groups just as I did when I was 16.

Of course it was easy to rationalize that I was no longer a high school student, that my last day of high school was over 10 years ago, and that I have had worlds of experience and growth since then. More importantly, I realized that if I expect to lead a classroom, or have any success as a leader of teenagers, I need to get over any personal issues I may have with each of those groups. If I were to let those issues remain inside me, they would grow, and would eventually cause real (likely irrevocable) damage to my teaching career. This was one snowball I absolutely needed to stop rolling down the mountain before it was even formed.

It's natural to draw on what experiences one has when entering a new environment. Being in a high school again, no matter how long it had been since I was last in that environment, and regardless of the new role I was in, I found myself mentally and emotionally brought back to that age.

Fortunately, it didn't take that long for me to get over myself, and come to terms with the gaping difference between the 2007 and the 1995 versions of me. It is very apparent, halfway into the school year, that I am able to reach out to all different groups of student, which I am very proud of.

But it added a depth of experience to all my teachers and what they very likely went through when they first entered that arena. I'm glad I'm past that, and although I still find I struggle at times to define myself as a teacher, a role model, and an adviser (and all those other roles I previously mentioned), I am happy to report that I am able to react evenly to all my students. It's been quite an internal (and sometimes, external) battle, and this is just the beginning of my education.

Snow Day

Under just about any circumstances, I despise being woken up by my phone ringing. Ending a peaceful slumber by the piercing and jarring noise of the telephone is often worse than waking to an alarm clock. Alarm clocks are usually within arm's length, and they have the magical Snooze button. The cell phone - which I keep in another room overnight - keeps on ringing until it kicks over to voicemail. And if I ever do get up to answer the phone, which requires getting my sluggish - and irritated - self up out of bed, and over to the other room, there's a chance it won't be important. If somehow I deem it important enough to pick up, I have to find the two or three brain cells which are functioning and find a way to make coherent sentences. So clearly, waking up to a ringing phone is not high on my list of favorites.

But not today.

When I woke up and realized my phone was ringing, I jumped out of bed, praying to get to it before it went to voicemail. I can't remember when I last moved that fast at 5:15 in the morning. And there it was - the caller ID reading my school. Putting the phone to my ear, my excitement increased when I recognized that I would not have to use any of my semi-conscious brain cells. There were three possible reasons for the phone call: a 60-minute delayed opening, a 90-minute delayed opening, or an all-out school closure. Which one was it going to be?
The recorded message of the principal of my school began. It took him seemingly hours to introduce himself. When at long last, he did announce that there was no school today, I was in such a state of disbelief, I let the message repeat itself so I could hear it again. I haven't heard sweeter words than that in a long time.

Just a couple weeks ago in December, we received 10 inches of snow, but school was still open (though we did have a 90-minute delayed opening, which I found out about after I was halfway on my way to work). I have heard stories about the north's "bring it on" response to snow, and how just about nothing closes unless it's 25 below and there is at least a foot on the ground.
Having lived as far north as Jersey (when living in America), I've gotten used to much wussier reactions to snow. Particularly (and laughingly so) in DC, where school was once canceled for Monday on Sunday night due to the threat of 3 inches of the white stuff, when there was not one flake already on the ground. As it turned out, it didn't start snowing until 3pm the following day, and at that, we only got a whopping total of 2 inches. (That night I saw people take full advantage of the onslaught of snow, cross-country skiing on my block.)

So as the disbelief settled, the excitement grew. So much so, it was pretty difficult to fall back asleep, thinking of all I was suddenly able to do today. Time will tell if I manage to get out of my robe and accomplish anything today, but for now, having yesterday finished all my "have to"s for the week, I am reveling in the stupidity of television and the fullness of my refrigerator.

Let it snow!

"I'm just kidding!"

This week was one that will stick out in my mind when I look back on my first year of teaching.

By Tuesday lunch I had thrown three kids out of my class. There was a fire alarm - interrupting a test I was giving - in the rain. Another student cut my class because he "wasn't prepared for the test" I gave. Yet another student told me "I don't go to this school" when I asked him why he was in the hallway and not at class.

Two of the kids I threw out of class stemmed from related incidents. I confiscated the cell phone of one kid, Smelly (no he doesn't really smell bad, but that's what I'm gonna call him here), because I caught him a second time sending text messages in class. A short while later, his classmate, Woody, decided it would be a good idea to sneak behind me after writing something on the board and take Smelly's phone and return it to him.

Upon seeing Smelly with his phone, and immediately realizing how he got it back, I sent Woody down to the office, over his protests that, "I was just kidding!" After Woody left, Smelly persisted with "That was stupid. He was just joking. Of course I was gonna give it back to you." After Smelly continued to go on about the stupidity of my decisions, he was sent down to join his classmate.

The student who told me he was not a student at the school (and then shortly thereafter changed his story to "I'm getting paid to pick up trash from the hallway," and then again changed his story to "I'm going to the bathroom" and then proceeded to walk away from me as I was talking to him), also fell back on the "I was just kidding!" excuse. Said to the tone of "Why are you all bent out of shape? Geeeeez!" I'm not exactly sure why the students chose that explanation.

I tried, with each "kidding" student individually, to explain that their actions and comments were most certainly not jokes. My guess is that theirs was a defensive move: "Maybe, if the teacher thinks it was just a joke, I won't get in trouble." But for the teacher to say, "Oh, you were just joking? In that case don't worry about it," would set a really lousy precedent as an authority.

In different ways, each of the three students was trying to gain a step of power over me. Each was trying to say, "I'm the one who runs things here. What you say / think / ask is second to me." They see a young teacher and think, "Oh, he's my pal. He's cool, he won't get me in trouble." Not so fast there, slick.

Yet what's amusing to me is that as big as they puff themselves up, it's remarkable how much the threat of a phone call to their parents will yank them back in line. The biggest ego of the three, the "I don't go to this school" student, maintained that he didn't care if I called home, and that even if I did, nothing would come of it. But talking with other teachers who know him well, that's probably the worst outcome for him - me informing his dad of his son's disrespect. Before I had the opportunity to call home, the student approached me and agreed to stay after for detention, saying he just wanted "to get it over and done with." Code for "if you call my folks, I'll be paying for this for a while."
The other two were given opportunities to speak to their folks before I called home. Neither did, and both phone calls were made. And wouldn't you know? There was absolutely no problem in that class the two other times since then.

Nicely, this week ended on a high note. I was walking down the hallway with Hoppie, a fellow teacher who's part of the completely school-inappropriate lunch crew. She was wearing her Casual Day outfit of a Patriots jersey. Knowing my loyalties to the 4-12 J-E-T-S from New York (Jersey), she joked that I'm a bad person because I'm rooting for the Pats to lose this weekend. She picked up a caulking gun lying on the ground and pointed it at me (there's a lot of construction going on in the school) and I said (not intending to be the least bit dirty), "Watch out what you do with that caulk." Immediately and independently, our impure minds changed the pronunciation of "caulk" and we ended up doubled over in laughter.

If there were any students around, I would have told them "You see? Now that's how you joke!"

"Teacher"

Something which hit me in the first day or two of my teaching life was just how broad the term "teacher" really is. The number of roles and intricately nuanced positions a "teacher" has to take is pretty astounding. Certainly teachers are far more than just lecturers, trying to pass on some curriculum to their students.

In addition to lecturers (which, incidentally, is most certainly not the majority of what I do), teachers are judges, motivators, parents, advisers, testers, leaders, role models, psychologists (both individual and group), lie detectors, entertainers, guides, and politicians (see: interacting with parents).
Teachers need to know when to smack a kid down hard, and when to be soft and give a little. We need to be able to talk to a kid like they're 2 (answering the "Wait, what page are we on?" question for the 8th time) and also like we expect them to be 25. We need to be able to be outstandingly blunt at times, and remarkably indirect at others.
We must know when to let things slide and when to make an issue. My students often think their teachers are oblivious because they don't react to certain comments, gestures or references. While sure, there can be a generation gap between some of the younger students and some of the older teachers, you'd be hard-pressed to find a seasoned teacher who was unaware that a comment was offensive or inappropriate. But the reason that seasoned teacher doesn't make an issue out of said comment is not because he or she didn't hear it or get it, but rather that he or she recognizes that it's not worth it to make a deal out of it.

I firmly believe that anyone with a few years under their belt as a teacher deserves an honorary degree in psychology.

The First Day

3:00 AM.   Wake up. Involuntarily. Peer over at alarm clock, set for 4:45. Am I really going to be a teacher? What the hell am I doing? Certainly not the last time I would ask myself the latter question. OK, take some deep breaths. Go back to sleep. I need to be well-rested for the first day.

4:45 AM.   Alarm goes off. This induces the odd thought combination of Thank god! and Holy shit! Naturally, not a wink of sleep occurred between initially waking up and when the alarm sounded.

Get up, shower, get dressed. Feeling awfully like a girl, I try to pick out the most appropriate shirt out of my collection. One that says, "Yes, I'm a teacher," but also one that doesn't pinhole me into "traditional, boring teacher" status. Here's to overthinking a (in retrospect) trivial part of my day.

Head out at about 5:15 to drive down to school to meet my mentor, JT, for a pre-school breakfast and (hopefully) nerve-calming pep-talk. A quick note on the mentoring program. For the first two years of my career at this school, JT will be my mentor, which means he is a confidential resource for me, there to answer any sort of question and generally act as a guide until I get my feet under me at the school.

5:30 AM.   Quite poetically, there is an absolutely gorgeous sunrise I get to witness during the drive in.

6:00 AM.   JT and his buddy (a teacher in a different district) join me for some breakfast. Nerves have removed all of our appetites. This is JT's 8th school year teaching, and his friend's 4th. Yet they claim they get nerves at the start of the first day too. I manage to squeeze down half a bagel with cream cheese. And I opt for coffee. Why I chose a cup of joe, I'm not quite sure. I've never been a coffee drinker - saving it only for pulling all-nighters in college and the occasional "I really need a caffeine kick in the butt." Certainly I was in no need of a jolt that day.

7:00 AM.   Arrive at school. I get there and ask JT, "OK, so now what do I do?" Basically just walk around and wait for the 7:30 bell. My department chair asks if I would like her to join my first class to help smooth over the inevitable bumps. I decline, reasoning that it'd be better to establish myself as the leader of the classroom than having to lean on her.

7:30 AM.   The bell rings. Of the 24 students in front of me, there isn't one smile. My nerves are in check. I can feel the anxiety, but it's far from overwhelming. For the moment. I begin my spiel welcoming them back to school and introducing myself.

7:32 AM.   Interrupted by the principal on the PA system asking all teachers to hold off starting class and to help lost students find their way from the hallways to their respective classrooms. I sigh, and exit the room to the hallway, meeting other teachers. They ask about my nerves. This pause in the action allows my nerves to ... I wouldn't say "settle", per se... more like the exact opposite. What the hell did I get myself into?

7:35 AM.   Return to class, and the daily announcements begin with the Pledge of Allegiance. Having been out of the country for two years, and out of public school since 1992, I feel awfully odd hearing the PoA. Not sure how comfortable I feel pledging along. But do I need to? Is it appropriate for me to do that? Is it wrong for me to just stand here silently? What kind of example am I setting? are the kinds of unanswerable questions which run through my head in a matter of seconds.

8:23 AM.   First period ends. Phew. Now I gotta go through that again.

8:27 AM.   Repeat the spiel from Period 1, with some slight modifications to my intro. Make the same jokes (hey, stick with what works): when trying to kill some time, ask the students what they did over the summer, and tell them their answers must be school-appropriate, not (changing voice into high school jock mimickery), "Dude, I got wasted everyday and it was awwwesome." That one got chuckles in each class.

9:19 AM.   Period 3 begins. My department chair walks in and introduces one student, let's call him Kieth, in particular. He looks - as most of them do - completely disinterested in school. Turns out Kieth is the school's star athlete, and a major head-case, with a penchant for giving a hard time to inexperienced male teachers (all this I find out afterwards).

9:34 AM.   Kieth stands up and starts to walk around. I approach him and ask him where he's going. He states he wants to sit somewhere else. I say, "No, stay there." Not that I really care where he sits, but I recognize that it's not a good idea to have a student think he can call the shots. I think. Am I sure this is what I should do? Nope. But gotta stick with this course of action now anyway...
"Why?"
"I'm asking you to sit down in your seat, please."
I see the thought process in his head: How far do I want to push it now? Am I going to listen or continue to do what I want? He chooses the former option, and says, "Fine, whatever. You're the teacher."
My heart is racing a thousand beats a minute.
"Thank you."
And I return to my introductory spiel. I wonder if the other students have any idea how hard and fast my heart is beating. (Still, to this day, I have no clue.)

10:11 AM.   Period 4. By now, having given my introduction 3 times, gone through my expectations for the class 3 times, asked students what they did over the summer 3 times, did my "wasted" mimickery 3 times, explained that I lived in Japan for the past year 3 times, proved it my speaking Japanese 3 times, my comfort level is back down to only slightly elevated (Homeland Security color code yellow).
I ask my fourth period class about their previous math teachers. Ask them what things made them - in their eyes - good math teachers or poor ones. One smart ass replies, "Oh, I really liked Ms. Soandso."
"Oh yea? Why?"
"Well, for one thing, she was really hot."
Still feeling a bit amped, I reply, "Oh well, I'm sorry I don't have that same effect on you." I paused. "Or maybe I do, and, y'know, that's cool too."
A fleeting thought crosses my mind wondering where the line of "appropriate" conversation is, and whether I just crossed it. Oh well, too late now. Just gotta keep on chuggin.

10:59 AM.   Lunch time. This break allows me a moment to catch my breath. Once I have caught it, and my adrenaline stops pumping furiously, I have a conversation with the principal. He asks how my first day is going. Clearly my facial expression and sigh prompt him to say, "You know, it's been my opinion for a long time that first-year teachers should have to work one day, then get a week off so they can recuperate before going back into the classroom." Amen.

11:25 AM.   I'm eating with JT and some other teachers and quickly realize that all of my teachers - no matter what face they put on in front of us students - say some seriously school-inappropriate things behind closed doors.
Exhibit A: One woman, who is in her mid-50s, is talking about how the sprinkler system set up outside has occasionally, throughout the morning, sprayed her in the face through the window. Another (also in her 50s) asks, "Wow, so it's the first day of school, and you're already getting wet?"
It's all downhill from there.

1:20 PM.   After another uneventful introduction to my 6th period class, my day is over. I have last period off, so I head back to my desk and crash. Emotionally, I am completely fried. I walk around the halls a bit, and a veteran teacher semi-rhetorically asks me, "So, are you coming back tomorrow?" I gasp. Wait, you mean I have to do this again??? Realizing that I have no real options, I smile and reply. "Yep!" Seriously though, what the hell did I get myself into?

2:00 PM.   The end-of-the-day bell rings, and the students file out. After a bit, I speak with JT and ask, "So what the hell am I supposed to do tomorrow?" (Clearly, I'm very prepared.) We walk through my lesson plans for each of my classes, and I eventually file out of school, completely exhausted, at 3:00.

4:10 PM.   Arrive home.

4:15 PM.   On my couch, unconscious. Dead to the world. A freight train could have come through my front door and I would have stayed asleep.

7:30 PM.   Make some dinner. All the while, repeating to myself, What the hell did I get myself into?

9:30 PM.   Out cold. No trouble sleeping this night. (Though I still wake up the next morning an hour before my alarm is to go off. I reason that I'll consider myself accustomed to the job once I wake up to the alarm and curse it, saying, "It's time to get up already??" That took a couple weeks.)

1 day down, 179 to go.

Welcome

After numerous requests from many loyal readers of the Prague Blog and the Tetsu no Otoko no Buroggu, I am hereby beginning my third entry in blogspace.

I am a first-year high school mathematics teacher in Massachusetts. Out of privacy concerns, I am obliged to omit some details from my posts. I don't want my tech-savvy students Googling themselves, or their teachers, and finding this space. Nevertheless, I intend to provide some insight into what goes on behind the scenes at a high school, from a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed first-year teacher.

Admittedly, I am starting this blog a bit late. Naturally, the school year started in September, and there is much to post on from the events of the past four months. I hope to get to the stories and epiphanies which stick out from that time, but if they were any indication, I won't be short on material to post. Life is stranger than fiction.

In the first four months, I have seen students go to rehab, parents ask me to change their child's grade, students ask me the unanswerable, "So are we going to do anything difficult today? It's Monday, and so therefore we shouldn't do anything hard. OK?", to an in-school blowjob (between students) and the wild fallout that ensued.

Yes, you can't make this shit up.

I hope you enjoy.