Adam is back from suspension. I wrote about Adam before here
Adam had five good years and then Alvin got on his nerves. So he punched him. But first he put on a pair of gloves, because Adam doesn't like to touch other people. And then he knocked Alvin out cold.
Which landed Adam in jail and then at the suspension site. But he returned last week and today I caught him in the hall and asked him how his court date went.
Adam explained the details, he can't get in trouble, he can't talk to Alvin and if he does all that he the record will be sealed when he graduates. I said I was glad it went well.
And then Adam thanked me, and touched my forearm. Not quite a hug but a huge step for someone who can't stand touching or being touched.
Isiah and Miri are finished crying over the Regent Exam failures. The principal assigned them to another teacher for services. I guess I failed too.
They were hanging in my room seventh period anyway. Isiah told me I was the brightest teacher in the school. I don't know why, apparently not the opinion shared by the principal.
Louis finally got an appointment with the vocational office.
Juliss ended up actually passing the social studies exam, with a 55 (special ed students get a 10 point safety net). I suggested she also make an appointment with the vocational office, but the principal was horrified. In her second year as a senior she has barely passed three exams within the safety net range and only has two to go. The principal explained to her she could pass the remaining two and have a real diploma and go to college.
How can I argue that?
New semester starts tomorrow. i got assigned sixth grade social studies.
PS: i was determined to learn how to link to a previous post. It took me 16 tries- but I think I finally figured it out. Why give up after failing the English Regents three times?
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Sunrise, Sunset
Here's the thing about this time of year. When I leave home in the morning -it's dark out. And when I return it's dark. Daylight happens while I'm stuck inside.
Yesterday was the last day of the first semester. My back hurt. It was cold. I took the closer bus and when I changed for the second one, Elio was sitting at the very back. Elio is from the community of students who immigrated here from English speaking countries in the Caribbean and Central America. The ones who show all the features of an ESL student, weak educational background, lack of vocabulary that matches school success and then general appearance of being adrift in a school system which deems them ineligible for any special services since they are Native English speakers. Yet Elio is dedicated to success.
We wrote memoirs in the beginning of the semester and Elio after several redirections wrote about the time he was a hero because he caught a mouse and removed it from his baby sister's room. And the story ended with his father coming home and saying he was proud of him.
Like me, Elio shlepps across the borough on two buses, to get to school on time. And what's his reward?
I wobbled to the back of the bus, sat down next to him and went over the math test before the sun rose.
Elio didn't complain, he was happy for the help. He got the highest score on the math test. He makes his father proud.
Today the January Regents week began. The "raise the bar" set of exams that stands between our high school seniors and a high school diploma. The school custodian, was the only one left on the floor as I locked up the Regents at 6:30. He pointed out that when he graduated high school passing the Regents was optional. I have no idea if he could pass algebra or write a persuasive essay. I know he earns his paycheck. I know we really need him.
But since the custodian graduated, NCLB has "raised the bar", we expect everyone to be college material and I stood in the classroom and watched the sun set as my struggling seniors sat and wrote and wrote and wrote.
Ralf, Isiah, Miri, Louis and his brother filled the essay books with everything they knew or thought they knew about Of Mice and Men, Macbeth and The Bluest Eye. Six hours they stayed in that room. Did they pass?
Maybe
Maybe not.
But they make me proud.
Yesterday was the last day of the first semester. My back hurt. It was cold. I took the closer bus and when I changed for the second one, Elio was sitting at the very back. Elio is from the community of students who immigrated here from English speaking countries in the Caribbean and Central America. The ones who show all the features of an ESL student, weak educational background, lack of vocabulary that matches school success and then general appearance of being adrift in a school system which deems them ineligible for any special services since they are Native English speakers. Yet Elio is dedicated to success.
We wrote memoirs in the beginning of the semester and Elio after several redirections wrote about the time he was a hero because he caught a mouse and removed it from his baby sister's room. And the story ended with his father coming home and saying he was proud of him.
Like me, Elio shlepps across the borough on two buses, to get to school on time. And what's his reward?
I wobbled to the back of the bus, sat down next to him and went over the math test before the sun rose.
Elio didn't complain, he was happy for the help. He got the highest score on the math test. He makes his father proud.
Today the January Regents week began. The "raise the bar" set of exams that stands between our high school seniors and a high school diploma. The school custodian, was the only one left on the floor as I locked up the Regents at 6:30. He pointed out that when he graduated high school passing the Regents was optional. I have no idea if he could pass algebra or write a persuasive essay. I know he earns his paycheck. I know we really need him.
But since the custodian graduated, NCLB has "raised the bar", we expect everyone to be college material and I stood in the classroom and watched the sun set as my struggling seniors sat and wrote and wrote and wrote.
Ralf, Isiah, Miri, Louis and his brother filled the essay books with everything they knew or thought they knew about Of Mice and Men, Macbeth and The Bluest Eye. Six hours they stayed in that room. Did they pass?
Maybe
Maybe not.
But they make me proud.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Hallway Hell
The assistant principal's mentor was here this week. Another one of those open secret's; we are not supposed to know the administrator's have mentors. It's like farting, I suppose, when you bump into them, you politely pretend it really didn't happen.
I bumped into Mr.Mentor, waiting outside Ms. AP's office. I turned my attention to the trouble makers making trouble in the hallway ten minutes after the period started, and urged them to go to class.
Aria responded to my request in her usual fashion, something that had to do with her opinion that it was unfathomable, inappropriate and entirely unnecessary for me to consider interfering with her decision to malinger. However, she said that much more concisely than I just wrote it.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Mr. Mentor shaking his head and rolling his eyes as I opened the door and the verbal abuse got redirected to the classroom teacher who questioned Aria's lateness. I shut the door and continued on my way.
A half hour later I again passed Mr. Mentor in the hallway this time in deep discussion with his mentoree about the state of a bulletin board.
Later that day, the highly effective teacher who posted the bulletin board, found me to complain about the email he received about the bulletin board. Apparently it had been deemed not rigorous enough, and not sufficiently displaying student work.
A note here about highly effective teachers. The term and the process of teacher evaluations have been much in the news this week. Apparently the teacher's union,the governor and mayor as well as every newspaper in NY have has something to say about it. But whether you believe being highly effective is reflective of student's scores on standardized tests, or elements checked off a framework, the above teacher would meet the criteria of highly effective.
The teacher was upset.
Our hallways are a mess.
And its not the bulletin boards that are making our life hell.
What should the teacher do? he asked.
I gave him my best advice.
Politely ignore it.
I bumped into Mr.Mentor, waiting outside Ms. AP's office. I turned my attention to the trouble makers making trouble in the hallway ten minutes after the period started, and urged them to go to class.
Aria responded to my request in her usual fashion, something that had to do with her opinion that it was unfathomable, inappropriate and entirely unnecessary for me to consider interfering with her decision to malinger. However, she said that much more concisely than I just wrote it.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Mr. Mentor shaking his head and rolling his eyes as I opened the door and the verbal abuse got redirected to the classroom teacher who questioned Aria's lateness. I shut the door and continued on my way.
A half hour later I again passed Mr. Mentor in the hallway this time in deep discussion with his mentoree about the state of a bulletin board.
Later that day, the highly effective teacher who posted the bulletin board, found me to complain about the email he received about the bulletin board. Apparently it had been deemed not rigorous enough, and not sufficiently displaying student work.
A note here about highly effective teachers. The term and the process of teacher evaluations have been much in the news this week. Apparently the teacher's union,the governor and mayor as well as every newspaper in NY have has something to say about it. But whether you believe being highly effective is reflective of student's scores on standardized tests, or elements checked off a framework, the above teacher would meet the criteria of highly effective.
The teacher was upset.
Our hallways are a mess.
And its not the bulletin boards that are making our life hell.
What should the teacher do? he asked.
I gave him my best advice.
Politely ignore it.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
New Year's Beads
"Mr. Jones is in the building," the public address announced.
Intruder alert- move all students inside classrooms and lock the doors. The Mr. Jones thing, is the secret code.
"Must be a fight downstairs, that's why the want us on lock down," the eighth grader I urged out of the hallway told me.
I didn't say we are very good at keeping secrets.
Chere and her friend were down by our resource room in the high school corridor. There was absolutely no reason for two seventh graders to be in the high school corridor. There was no time to get their lost behinds back to the middle school, so I told them to go in (which to my absolute amazement they did without one single word of profanity or her signature booty dance which makes Chere the poster child for crazy in the seventh grade group that daily puts the special back into special ed.)
Geez- and I tell Louis to keep his sentences short and simple.
For a brief moment the halls were deafeningly silent.
Then Mr. Jones left the building, the announcement said. And the AP said unlock the doors and let 'em out.
So the doors opened and within seconds we were a stream of adolescent humanity again.
And as the stream flowed by I caught a glimpse of shiny New Year necklaces. Just like the kind I got in the casino New Year's Eve. Just like the kind I hung up in the room since who needed more junk in my house.
"You take my necklaces?" I asked Chere and her friend when I caught up with them.
"Ms ESL teacher told us you said we could have them," she said
Wow -Ms. ESL and I must have some telepathic communication cause I was on one side of the door and she on the other door during the intruder alert and everyone knows the two way radios don't really work in the hs corridor.
My sister thought I should have made them give them back, or at least ask for them.
She's right of course.
But sometimes a string of New Years beads just isn't worth the morality lesson on January 13th.
Intruder alert- move all students inside classrooms and lock the doors. The Mr. Jones thing, is the secret code.
"Must be a fight downstairs, that's why the want us on lock down," the eighth grader I urged out of the hallway told me.
I didn't say we are very good at keeping secrets.
Chere and her friend were down by our resource room in the high school corridor. There was absolutely no reason for two seventh graders to be in the high school corridor. There was no time to get their lost behinds back to the middle school, so I told them to go in (which to my absolute amazement they did without one single word of profanity or her signature booty dance which makes Chere the poster child for crazy in the seventh grade group that daily puts the special back into special ed.)
Geez- and I tell Louis to keep his sentences short and simple.
For a brief moment the halls were deafeningly silent.
Then Mr. Jones left the building, the announcement said. And the AP said unlock the doors and let 'em out.
So the doors opened and within seconds we were a stream of adolescent humanity again.
And as the stream flowed by I caught a glimpse of shiny New Year necklaces. Just like the kind I got in the casino New Year's Eve. Just like the kind I hung up in the room since who needed more junk in my house.
"You take my necklaces?" I asked Chere and her friend when I caught up with them.
"Ms ESL teacher told us you said we could have them," she said
Wow -Ms. ESL and I must have some telepathic communication cause I was on one side of the door and she on the other door during the intruder alert and everyone knows the two way radios don't really work in the hs corridor.
My sister thought I should have made them give them back, or at least ask for them.
She's right of course.
But sometimes a string of New Years beads just isn't worth the morality lesson on January 13th.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Negatron Fairies
I dropped my computer.
I ran from Resource Room where four seniors worked on four different Regents (The negatron fairy keeps whispering in my ear, they're not going to pass, give it up Teacherfish, they're not going to pass.)
I swat the negatron fairy away like a pesky mosquito.
The principal says; Failure is not an option.
The Harvard professors say a good teacher is the difference between suceeding in life and not succeeding, getting a good job or bad one, becoming a teen mother or staving off teen pregnancy
NYTimes story on study
And the four worked diligently on Regents they know almost none of the material- despite taking the courses over and over
Except for Ralf- he sat with me and the testing coordinator and gave advice about how we should proceed in organizing the exams. (In a universe far, far away- the old administrator considered us support staff and we had an office and time to work on this kind of activity- but now we have been put into our place as regular teachers- so we work on schedules with students in the room)
For the record I offered Ralf my job numerous times, but he declined, like a typical administrator- he gives advice on something he has no idea how to do.
But we made a skeleton schedule,we will work on it over the week, with lots of other advice, from those more qualified on paper than Ralf, but equally unuseful.
And then the bell rang- I hustled over to the room across the hall where, the teacher keeps a projector locked up because, someday her Smartboard might not work properly,
wait for her to finish with her students cause she doesn't like to be interrupted, get the projector, explain to the principal on the fly how tomorrow I will get to the report the district office wants by Monday that they emailed to her but she doesn't know what it means and forgot that she scheduled me for all teaching periods, since in her words, teachers teach. run through the hallway of the school downstairs because I think it's a short cut and forgot they dismiss at this time, interrupt two students taking love jabs and each other, to open the stairwell door since my hand were full and collapse into the sixth grade classroom.
I am very careful with the projector.
So I drop the computer.
And the video won't load up.
And I make Bailey cry because I yell at the class.
Cause I was teaching in that class and then I wasn't and now I am again.
Bailey doesn't do well with change. Living in multiple foster homes will do that to you.
This has been a complaining post.
The negatron fairy must be back.
I need chocolate! I hear it wards off negatron fairies.
I ran from Resource Room where four seniors worked on four different Regents (The negatron fairy keeps whispering in my ear, they're not going to pass, give it up Teacherfish, they're not going to pass.)
I swat the negatron fairy away like a pesky mosquito.
The principal says; Failure is not an option.
The Harvard professors say a good teacher is the difference between suceeding in life and not succeeding, getting a good job or bad one, becoming a teen mother or staving off teen pregnancy
NYTimes story on study
And the four worked diligently on Regents they know almost none of the material- despite taking the courses over and over
Except for Ralf- he sat with me and the testing coordinator and gave advice about how we should proceed in organizing the exams. (In a universe far, far away- the old administrator considered us support staff and we had an office and time to work on this kind of activity- but now we have been put into our place as regular teachers- so we work on schedules with students in the room)
For the record I offered Ralf my job numerous times, but he declined, like a typical administrator- he gives advice on something he has no idea how to do.
But we made a skeleton schedule,we will work on it over the week, with lots of other advice, from those more qualified on paper than Ralf, but equally unuseful.
And then the bell rang- I hustled over to the room across the hall where, the teacher keeps a projector locked up because, someday her Smartboard might not work properly,
wait for her to finish with her students cause she doesn't like to be interrupted, get the projector, explain to the principal on the fly how tomorrow I will get to the report the district office wants by Monday that they emailed to her but she doesn't know what it means and forgot that she scheduled me for all teaching periods, since in her words, teachers teach. run through the hallway of the school downstairs because I think it's a short cut and forgot they dismiss at this time, interrupt two students taking love jabs and each other, to open the stairwell door since my hand were full and collapse into the sixth grade classroom.
I am very careful with the projector.
So I drop the computer.
And the video won't load up.
And I make Bailey cry because I yell at the class.
Cause I was teaching in that class and then I wasn't and now I am again.
Bailey doesn't do well with change. Living in multiple foster homes will do that to you.
This has been a complaining post.
The negatron fairy must be back.
I need chocolate! I hear it wards off negatron fairies.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Sick day and aggravation
Home sick today. Had a weekend of sneezing and wheezing and generally feeling like I was a germ manufacturing and distribution center all rolled up into one unit and the school might be better off if I actually used one of my 140 stored up sick days.
So I did.
I watched the morning news show. Found out white girls and skinny doctors can do double dutch. I'm not going to share that. Better everyone thinks my inability to do any physical activity that involves rhytmic intervals of lapses of gravity is due to pigmentation and not lack of coordination.
Then I thought I could do a small project for school on my couch while no one was around to interrupt me.
Sorting through the testing accommodations of 100 IEP students is not a small project. It took all day and three calls to the school secretary, the last of which consisted of her informing me that she needed to schedule a formal observation for me.
I have not been observed formally since 1993. (It's true I checked- I was looking for a form that said I went through some vaccination training, which I didn't find- but gave me a short "this is your educational life- tour of my career)
So I got aggravated.
And called the teacher who has a parallel job.
Who was out sick- because apparently my germ spreading capacity started last Friday.
Tomorrow back to school and pre-observation conference.
Pass the Nyquil.
So I did.
I watched the morning news show. Found out white girls and skinny doctors can do double dutch. I'm not going to share that. Better everyone thinks my inability to do any physical activity that involves rhytmic intervals of lapses of gravity is due to pigmentation and not lack of coordination.
Then I thought I could do a small project for school on my couch while no one was around to interrupt me.
Sorting through the testing accommodations of 100 IEP students is not a small project. It took all day and three calls to the school secretary, the last of which consisted of her informing me that she needed to schedule a formal observation for me.
I have not been observed formally since 1993. (It's true I checked- I was looking for a form that said I went through some vaccination training, which I didn't find- but gave me a short "this is your educational life- tour of my career)
So I got aggravated.
And called the teacher who has a parallel job.
Who was out sick- because apparently my germ spreading capacity started last Friday.
Tomorrow back to school and pre-observation conference.
Pass the Nyquil.
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