Fleeting Hope

Let me tell you about DJ.

DJ is definitely one of my kids with a 'street' side to him.  He is a little rough around the edges.  Despite the endearing dimples on either side of his up-to-no-good smirk, his face is riddled with a kind of cold hardness, and his eyes are shadowed with thoughts too heavy for a 14-year-old.  His upper arms are covered in bizarre carvings--ropes of puckered-up scars twining down his biceps.  On his left forearm, a sizeable chunk of flesh is missing.  He says a neighborhood Rottweiler attacked him.  I almost hope that story is true, for fear of how else it could have gotten there.

He likes to pick on other kids.  He makes them take his tray at lunch or give him their pencils and pens.  He'll bow up on other kids when they make any kind of joking comment directed towards him.  Several times I've caught him slapping people on the back of their heads or "booming" them to the ground.  Never without his dimpled smirk.  

For some reason, DJ always has to sit by me at lunch.  I don't know why; it's not like he actually talks to me once he's there.  He'll respond when I make fun of his team (USC) or brag on mine, but other than that, he pretty much eats his lunch in silence.  If for some reason I sit on a different side of the table or down a couple of seats, though, he'll change his seat too.  If someone else is sitting there when he comes to the table, he commands them out of "his" seat.

DJ never comes to class prepared.  Every day I have to provide him with paper and pencil.  The other day, I was in the middle of allocating his daily materials when he jumped up and slapped another kid on the head.  I'd had about all I could take that day.  I slammed down the notebook I had just retrieved from my cabinet and yelled at him.  "I'm in the act of giving you a brand new notebook so you can have one for my class and you get up and do this??! SIT DOWN. DO YOUR WORK.  SAY THANK YOU!!"

"You gon' buy me a backpack too?"

"NO I'm not going to buy you a backpack!!"  My voice dripped with sarcasm.

I forgot about this little exchange until the next day when I was calling roll.  The computer screen was being projected on the wall, so all the kids were watching as I scrolled down the roster.  

"DJ's birthday was yesterday!" they noticed.

"DJ, was it your birthday yesterday??"

I turned to look at him.  His head was down, embarrassed.  The smirk was still there, but it was strained.  "Naw, man," he said, shaking his head.

"Yes it was! It was!" they all laughed.

A stab of guilt.  Why had I snapped on him yesterday? True, he was not doing what he was supposed to.  I had been frustrated with him because he never brings anything to class.  But honestly, if your mom never buys you class materials and you don't even own a backpack to carry them in, how can I really expect you to come prepared? Then to answer him so mockingly when he asked if I would get him what he needed...

It was his birthday, but instead of being excited and telling me first thing (like most of my other students would have), he was embarrassed for people to find out.  Embarrassed, because nobody else made a fuss over him.  I thought about going through my whole birthday day without a single person knowing or caring that it was my birthday.  Not a single card, not a single candle, not a single song.  Not even a single "Happy Birthday!"  I would be a little sad, and I'm a grown woman.  Then again, DJ might be used to it.  Which is even sadder.

Yesterday I pulled DJ aside in between classes.  "DJ," I said, "I'm looking over your work from today--first of all, I'm in shock that you actually did it.  But as I'm going over your answers, I'm noticing that they're all right.  You only finished half of them but they're all right.  A lot of people were having trouble with this today, but you got them all.  So now I want you to tell me why you don't do your work--because I know it's not because you can't."

DJ looked down, shrugging.  "I don't know.  I just don't.  I already know this stuff, I don't need to."

"You already know this stuff?" I asked, doubting.  "What's an index fossil?"

"Um...you know.  It-it's that fossil of an animal that only lived a short time or somethin'"

"Okay...what does the Law of Superposition state?"

"That the oldest rocks, they on the bottom."

Back and forth we went, me asking him questions, he responding to them all correctly.

"What, Ms. M--this like a pop quiz or somethin'?"

I asked him what he did last year in his classes.  He said he failed them put passed all the End of Grade tests.  I asked him how long he'd been performing like this in class, not doing any work.

"A long time."

"DJ, you are obviously very smart.  If I thought you were dumb, I wouldn't be bothering you.  I'd let you sit in the back and sleep all day because it wouldn't matter.  But you're not.  Far from it.  You could have the highest grade in this class.  But you're failing.  In fact, you're failing all of your classes, and that is unacceptable.  Because you are going to leave here next year and you can't make it through high school like this.  You DEFINITELY can't graduate without doing your work.  And DJ, you could really make something of yourself.  You've got what it takes."

He nodded his head, not looking at me, but listening.

"So, what I want you to do starting tomorrow is to complete all your work in this class.  I want your grade in this class to reflect what you know--which is a lot.  But in order for that to happen you have to do your work.  And I almost forgot..." I walked to the cabinet and unlocked it.  "I can't believe you didn't tell me the other day was your birthday!"  I took out a backpack from the cabinet.  "Now, no excuses for not having your work--promise?"

DJ grinned--a real grin now--and nodded his head before running out the door.

Today DJ came in and immediately started on his contour map analysis.  He didn't stop until he was through.  He came up to me and put it on my desk. "Here," he said gruffly and returned to his seat.

I just graded it. 100%--the only one of the class.

"So, how are you liking it??"

I got asked that question a lot this weekend while I was in Tuscaloosa.  It's a tough one.  People pretty much expect you to say, "Oh, I love it! The kids are so inspiring, and I really feel like I'm making a difference in the world."  After all, instead of sitting behind a desk all day crunching numbers, I'm influencing young lives and using my gifts to help the underprivileged.  

Riiiight.

What I want to say is, "I hate it.  It's a thankless, miserable job.  I'm terrible at it, and half the kids I teach wouldn't blink if I died in the middle of class. I work my tail off and never see any fruit from it.  If I'm ever going to catch up with all the work that is required to get these kids on track, I will have to forego sleeping entirely."

But no one really wants to hear that.  And I don't really want to say it out loud.  Not to mention most of the time people ask out of cordiality and want the short, simple answer.  So I just think it. 

"It's....hard.  Never boring."  That's my little sound byte.  And I'm sticking to it.

Today, Trevell was making it impossible for me to teach (which he makes his main goal every day).  I ordered him out of the classroom.  

"F***ing bitch.  You bitches are crazy, always gettin on my for something, I f***ing hate this place.  Why don't you go cry to Mrs. D [the dean of students] like you always do."

"OUT!!!" I said.

"Gladly.  On my way.  What, you going to cry? Cry, just like you always do."

"I'm not bothered by petty insults from little boys," I replied.  "I just want you OUT!"

Of course I'm bothered.  Maybe not as much as I would have been at the beginning, but still.  As he left, I noticed my lesson plan folder taped to the door also had 'BITCH' scrawled under my name.  I guess he has some company in his opinions.

If I weren't afraid of quitting, I would have done it weeks ago.  Because the truth is, even though my job is 'exciting' and 'meaningful,' I am jealous of the people who are sitting behind desks crunching numbers all day.  I'm jealous that they get to go home and forget.  They don't have young, conflicted faces haunting them everywhere they go and the uncomfortable knowledge that failing personally is failing others that can't afford to be failed anymore.  I drive past the glittering skyline as the sun  is rising and I envy the receptionists, accountants, and bankers that work there.  I'm not saying their work is easy and void of stress, but it seems so much more appealing than what I do every day.  I guess the grass is always greener...

My heart will mend eventually.

Rashee broke up with me today.

"Ms. M, we done.  We over.  First you go cheatin' on me with Mr. K [whom he saw me talking to at lunch].  Then, I see you over there with L [whom I was talking to in the hall].  I mean, you get AROUND. You two timin' me.  Then you be wilin' trynna make me write all these notes. I ain't DOIN' it no more!"

"Aww," Will said.  "I kinda liked what y'all had going."

I rolled my eyes (but not without a little laugh).  "Somehow I'll get over it."

"Yeah you'd better be gettin' over it 'cause you'll be signing those divorce papers TOMORROW!"

"Oh, so we're married now?"

"Not anymore! You was always my second-string girl anyways. We gettin' a DIVORCE."

"Well, that's fine Rashee but that means you're going to be paying me a monthly sum for 'emotional damage.' You can talk to my lawyer about it.  I'll also need half of everything you own."

"Yeah you forgot you signed that PRE-NUP!!"

You know you're a teacher when...

...you reach in your pocket to put on your chapstick, realizing a little too late that it's a glue stick.  Then, as you're getting ready for bed you find a paperclip in your bra.

You a Duck.

Duck.

That's what the boys call unattractive girls.  "You a duck." I hear them say it all the time.  "The cheerleaders, they all ducks."  "Ooh, you talkin' to that girl Nala? She a duck."

"Shut the duck up!" I finally told them. I explained how that was a sensitive issue for me, how I never wanted to hear my boys talking about girls that way.

Today they learned why. We are studying the geologic time scale (yes, again), so I asked them to bring in pictures of themselves as babies and children.  During their warm-up, they were to write about how they/things had changed since then.  As a little plug to get their attention, I put a couple of my own on a powerpoint.  Included in the presentation (called "The Evolution of Ms. M") was the worst picture ever taken of me.  Which is saying a lot.  It was at the peak of my awkward era--6th grade.  

Picture if you will a girl of slight frame--71 pounds to be exact.  Her hair is ashen blond and cropped just above her ear lobe--only an inch or so difference below her choppy bangs: essentially, a glorified bowl gut.  Her smile is radiant, if not full of metal, and her skin is colorless except for the liberal smattering of freckles across her nose.  The early-nineties style plaid dress that she chose for picture day is reminiscent of a Christmas tree skirt.  This IS the girl that is constantly at the butt of middle-school boys' jokes.

If I had ever thought my classroom was noisy before this, I was dead wrong.  The second I clicked over to that picture, the noise erupted into wails of laughter that echoed down the hall and alarmed Mr. Anderson enough to come in and check on us.  Kids were literally falling out of their desks.  Looking over my shoulder at the poor girl projected behind me, I had to join them.

"Ms. M--you UGLY! You was a DUCK!"

"Ms. M I wouldn'ta made fun of you, I'da just felt real sorry for you and probably not talked to you at all."

"Well, you come a long way, Ms. M."

After they had calmed down, I continued with my lesson. Ralph (the 6'2" trouble-maker) felt the need to talk over me the entire time, and I had to stop on several occasions to chastise him. Finally, I was nearing my conclusion:

"The earth is constantly changing, just like you.  Think back to my 6th grade picture.  Would you have recognized me? ("No.") Do I still look the same? Everyone shouted "NO!" in unison except for Ralph:

"YES. You STILL ugly!"

Without turning from the board I unthinkingly shot back, "Whatever. Your DAD thinks I'm cute!"

The class laughed almost as hard as when I showed the picture. Inappropriate? Probably. Satisfying? Most definitely.

 The more days go by, the more I realize how badly I suck at this.  So many people have tried to convince me otherwise:

"K, I find that hard to believe. I'm sure you're GREAT at it!!"

"I'm sure you're just hard on yourself.  You are probably WONDERFUL."

You're wrong. I'm not saying these things so that I can get my ego stroked, I'm saying them because they are true. Hopefully they won't be true for the whole year, but they most certainly are now. Pray that I will begin to focus on the positive and that I will learn to enjoy this job and these kids instead of hating my life Monday through Friday. Pray that the Lord will equip me to do this job well so that these kids get what they need.

I'm going to Tuscaloosa this weekend! Not before getting my ass kicked by a bunch of 8th graders for another five days though!  

There's Always Somethin'

My mornings lately have been less than ideal.  First, there was the speeding ticket.  The next morning, my car wouldn't start.  I got that fixed in time to drive to work this morning and get in a wreck.

Ok, not a bad wreck.  But a wreck bad enough for Mrs. Sally Dickins of Greenville, SC to file an insurance claim that will leave me with a sizable deductable, I'm sure.  

The funny thing is, I've fantasized about having a wreck on the way to school several mornings. Please don't take this the wrong way.  I'm not suicidal (yet).  I just like to act out in my head all the little scenarios that might prevent me from stepping over RMS's threshold and committing my day to chaos and anxiety.  A little stream-of-consciousness to illustrate (just for you, Mrs. Hawkins):

Did I get everything at Harris Teeter for our density column lab? Got the syrup, vinegar, and food coloring--oh gosh did I remember to feed Buckley before I left? Food col--this is a terrible idea.  The day will end and I'll be stuck cleaning up syrup from every surface.  They'll get into the food coloring and dye everything blue and someone will without a doubt drink the apple cider vinegar on a dare...maybe I should change the lab...school starts in fifty minutes.  Too late.  Fifty minutes.  Fifty minutes 'til my day starts. I wish the drive were longer...7:05?I'm never going to get the lab set up before 8:15! I wish the drive were shorter...Did I save the power point to my jump drive? Shoot! I forgot to print out my lesson plan to turn into Mr. E...so much for getting on his good side early on...Ok if I didn't save it to my jump drive I'll just put everything on the dry erase board and make do.  Am I really talking about the lithosphere today? I didn't even know what that was until last night and I'm supposed to be teaching it? If the kids ask me any question outside of the paragraph I read, then I'm just going to have to tell them I have no clue.  Or make something up. Oh! I did feed Buckley because I noticed there was only a little left in the bag--should've gotten some more at Harris Teeter...poor lonely Buckley...who am I kidding?! Poor me! He's probably still asleep.  I wish I were still asleep. I wonder what would happen if I accidentally ran into that telephone pole? It would probably mess up my car pretty bad.  I'd have to get it towed.  That would definitely rule school out for the day.  But then I'd have to pay for it to get fixed...A tornado would be better.  Not one bad enough to kill me.  Just, you know, mangle me bad enough to put me in the hospital for at least a few days.  Insurance would probably cover everything. Yeah, tornado would probably be best.  That or the swine flu.  That way, I could miss school and people wouldn't even be mad at me! In fact, they'd feel sorry for me!  They'd bring me soup! Surely the swine flu isn't that hard to contract when you work at a middle school...at least I have options...

As I was complaining to my mom that not only do I have a stressful and all-consuming job, but also an increasingly difficult life outside of work (what with money worries and licensing requirements and residency claiming...), she told me something I sort of already knew but definitely didn't want to hear: Welcome to the rest of your adult life.

Shoot.

Today at school was no better, no worse.  All my classes are now mixed up and switched around, as we had to take on new students to relieve another team and even out our numbers in the process.  The result is that I have all the same boys, but in different mixtures.  Plus seven girls in 3rd block.  I can't really tell yet, but I think this is how the rest of the year might look:

1st block: awesome.

2nd block: not so great.

3rd block: horrendous.

4th block: bad, but might have potential.

It should be interesting to watch the class with the girls.  I'm glad I have a little more estrogen in the room now, but I can already tell those boys are going to spend most of the class trying to get the girls' attention.

My assistant principal came in and observed me 4th block.  Luckily, he came in right when the whole class was screaming at each other to "SHUT UP!!!"  He basically couldn't have chosen a worse moment (whatever. yes he could've.).  He probably thinks I'm incapable.  He's probably right. We have formal observations coming up.  That means that the administration come in and basically grades us.  If we're not where they want us to be, we get put on an improvement plan.  Or fired. 

I've got to stop being Negative Nancy.  Here's the funny of the day.  My kids have recently pointed out that the angrier I get, the more southern my voice becomes.

"Chill out, brah! She gettin' dat ALABAMA accent!"

"Ms. M, you know that when you get mad you get dat ALABAMA accent on!"

"Brah! She at like ninety five percent Alabama voice! You playin' too much! She fixin' to get all ALABAMA on yo ass!"

Apparently, my being passionate and southern have something to do with one another. Although I never considered myself much of either before coming here...

Shades of Gray

Today in our "moment of silence" I prayed for my kids.  I prayed that I would love them for that 75 minutes they were with me--no matter how impatient I got.  I prayed for patience with them, compassion for them, and kindness towards them.  

And you know what? Today I actually had a good day.  I'm not saying that every day I pray that prayer I'm not going to have issues or get frustrated, but it definitely changed my attitude before I even began teaching.  Which needed to take place since on the way to work I got a $145 ticket.  Yeah, that happened.

Today we learned about plate tectonics. To start out, I had them crack the chocolate layer of a Milky Way and maneuver the candy bar to mimic convergent, divergent, and transform boundaries.  Before I passed the candy out, I told them about my morning and how they were essentially eating $200 chocolate; if I hadn't gone to the grocery store before work I wouldn't have gotten a ticket.  They were amazed that white people got pulled over too.

The best thing about it was I think they actually learned something.  Other than how to piss off a "country" girl. 

Far be it from me to go a day without getting myself into some sort of a mess, though.  At least this one was funny.  As I was explaining convection currents, I made the analogy of a hair dryer blasting hot air upwards to split the plates apart.  To illustrate my point more clearly, I actually drew a hair dryer on the board with air shooting out of it.  First of all, that was a dumb analogy in the first place (but again, I'm an English major, not a science person).  Secondly, and unfortunately for me, the hair dryer looked more like a penis than anything else--a fact I realized as I grandly finished the last stroke of my "air current."  I could not control the class for a solid five minutes.  And to tell the truth, I couldn't really blame them.  I was having to turn my face to the board to keep from laughing right along with them.  My maturity level has dropped since I've graduated from college.

Let me back up.

Last week was the worst week I've had by far.  I'll skip the day-to-day drudgery and get directly to Thursday--the day I'll likely remember forever as the day I realized I didn't know what the hell I was signing up for when I accepted this job.  Third block came in, rowdy as always.  I spent 75% of my instructional time explaining how to go to the bathroom (in a line, quietly, in the restroom six at a time, no loitering in other classrooms' doors, no pushing, shoving, wandering, etc.).  I did this because we've tried to go several times, only to have our bathroom privileges taken away for the rest of the week because they can't do it.  Well today I was determined that they would go and that they would do it correctly.  After I wasted 10 minutes lining them up, I let them out of the door to watch them scatter and run, laughing, pushing, and shoving all the while.  They weren't in the bathroom for two minutes when Ms. D came out of her room.

"Ms. M, I'm sorry.  But every time your boys go to the bathroom, they beat on the wall adjacent to my room and we can't get anything done."

Before the words were completely out of her mouth, I was standing beside the boys at the urinals.  "IN MY CLASS. NOW."

After I got them back in their seats, I unleashed my wrath.  A solid month of pent up frustration.  I don't remember much of what I said except for something along the lines of "No wonder you're failing if you can't even go to the bathroom without me holding your hand blahblah I feel more like a babysitter than a teacher in this block blahblah."

When the bell rang, I walked the first half of the line out into the hallway, where I remained until the last of the class was out.  Then I walked into my room and saw it.  I saw the binders from my other classes that had been knocked onto the floor, papers ripped out.  I saw the trash can that had been overturned.  My eyes followed the paper ball trail to the lab sinks, which had all been turned on and were splattering the textbooks.  As I walked towards my desk, I noticed that all the tests I had just graded had been ripped up and scattered.  

All my anger had been purged minutes before.  This was a different emotion; frustration, helplessness, and hurt mixed with pure exhaustion.  

"Don't ever cry in front of your students.  In their culture, it is a sign of weakness; a sign that you can be walked all over.  They see you cry and they know what gets to you.  They WILL use it." 

I've heard this repeated over and over, and I began to say it to myself. "Lock it up, Ms. M."  I couldn't.  I stood at the door, back to 4th block students (who were looking around in shock and slowly picking up the mess) and started sobbing. Uncontrollably.  The more I tried to hold it in, the faster the tears flowed.  

"How can I continue to do this? Why am I working so hard for a group of people who hate me so much? What am I doing differently than anyone else to have this happen? What do I do now?" The thing is, I've been in difficult situations before.  The difference is that in the past, I've at least had some inkling of what to do to make it better or to get out of it.  

Not now.  I have no clue what I'm supposed to do, and no one else does either.  It's not something that anyone has an easy answer to, or else they'd have shared it with me a long time ago.

Ms. F appeared at my door, concern on her face.  "Who did this?"  

"I-I-I d-don't knowww!" 

"Go into my room.  Sit at my desk."  Ms. F gathered my students and ushered them into her classroom.  Now 40 pairs of eyes looked at me as I pathetically hiccuped in the corner. Ms. F walked in and calmly delivered a sermon on how teachers were people just like them--people with emotions.  She explained that I wasn't a weak person, I was just a person who cared about them--evidenced by the fact I hadn't jumped ship after something like that.  She then told my class that they'd be eating with hers while I "collected my thoughts." 

"You know," she told me when we were back in my room.  "RMS is a tough place, even if you're not a first year teacher.  Keep your chin up.  You'll get up tomorrow and be stronger for this.  Just know: when you're through here, you'll be able to teach anyone.  And I mean anyone."

I knew she was right, sort of.  But that didn't stop me from spending my entire "collecting my thoughts" time sitting in the corner, hugging my knees, and crying noisily.

I also knew this was going to be hard.  I just don't think I knew what "hard" meant yet.  I haven't ever really had it "hard." I've been blessed with blue skies and smooth sails for most of my life.  It's easy to trust God during those times.  It's also easy to forget your need for Him then, too.  I've seldom been more keenly aware of my depravity than these days.  Even though I'm supposedly doing this job to serve those in need, most of my thoughts concerning my job are self-centered.  I can't do what I need to do with these students on a day-t0-day basis.  Nor can I find it in myself to love these kids who've grown up trying to protect themselves by acting completely unlovable.  

Thank you so much for all of you who've already told me you are praying for me and for my kids.  Know that you are a powerful part of this, right alongside me.

"You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect."