Overheard: Hitlerism

Me: Now, what was happening in the 1960s that had a profound impact on all of America, including and especially the rural South?

Devon: 9-11?

Me: No, that was less than ten years ago, remember? Something important was happening in the 1960s that you have been learning about since elementary and middle school. [attempt to reactivate a topic that is arguably OVER-taught in the early grades]

Brian: The Civil War?

Me: Well, that happened MUCH earlier, but you are right to be thinking about issues connected to slavery and its long-term ramifications. [attempt to let student save face and hoping to push thoughts in the right direction in spite of the fact that I KNOW the student is not thinking about these issues]

Luis: Hitlerism?

Me: Nope. And that's still not a word. [attempt to remind student that he has used this non-word in multiple situations, none of which was remotely related to World War II or Nazi Germany]

[During a classroom conversation with sophomores in preparation to read Harper Lee's novel To Kill a Mockingbird.]

Yes, I know it's a terribly important piece of literature for multiple historical, cultural, social, and literary reasons. But somehow I get the feeling this class may suck dry what is left of my already anemic enthusiasm for the the novel. It's going to be a war of attrition. Can I chip away at their ignorance, apathy, and general hatred of reading more rapidly than they can drain my resolve to show them why this book is worth their time and effort? I remind myself (as I so often remind them) that I get paid the same no matter what, which means I can surrender at any time--resort to worksheets and SparkNotes and showing of the movie--and no one outside our little disfunctional classroom community will find out or even care.

I do a quick gut check, take a deep breath, and begin. Fake it 'til you make it. That's my motto. We will make it to the end of the novel and find things to love about it. And I will make them embrace one of the novel's important messages--that human love and compassion are powerful and influential forces for good and can defeat hatred and intolerance and violence--and they will learn this...even if I have to beat it into them.

Overheard: Cuban Sandwich

Me: Have you ever had a pressed Cuban sandwich?
Students (all aged 16+): What's that?
Me: Doesn't anyone know what a Cuban sandwich is?
Jose: Is that like lasagna?
Beatriz: No, of course not!
Lynette: What's lasagna?
Beatriz: It's cheese.

[During what should have been a discussion about Nora Ephron's essay, "A Sandwich" about what she claims is the best hot pastrami sandwich in the world and which can be bought at Langer's Delicatessen in Los Angeles.]

Cuban sandwich = lasagna = cheese. As if that weren't enough, other points of clarification that needed to be provided to my students included explaining what a bodega is, what you do at a pawnshop, why one might refer to a famous landmark as a "shrine," and why businesses would charge people to use their bathrooms. Suffice it to say that we only got through the first two paragraphs. So much for lesson planning.

Let's Talk About Text, Baby: Differentiate

Education certainly holds no corner market on empty jargon, but we're no slouches either. Schools--especially those designated as underperforming under NCLB (now Race to the Top) after failing to meet AYP for particular subgroups who did not achieve a proficient score in ELA on the MCAS which the Mass DESE says requires implementation of EPPs or IEPs and early intervention through safety nets via the IST which may or may not support the vision of the ILT, RLC, or the PLCs--well, let's just say we are no strangers to jargon. We typically keep a lot of this useless verbiage circulating among the adults, however, preferring to save our valuable time in front of students teaching vocabulary that matters in real life.

So today when I checked the homework of one of my brightest and most diligent students and found that he had used the word "differentiate" in his writing, my English-teacher heart did a quick pitter-patter as I saw a twenty-dollar word gracing the topic sentence. Pitter-patter quickly became palpitations when I realized he had misused the word. Normally, I wouldn't care. Normally, I would just be thrilled that a sophomore spelled it correctly and used it in a context that was in the general universe of its intended meaning.

So, really, it wasn't the misuse that disheartened me, if I'm being honest. It was the particular way he misused it that made my temporal lobe absolutely throb. He had written, "Discipline and abuse must differentiate depending on the situation." Okay, yeah, he's in the ballpark. And when I explained how to use the word correctly, he understood immediately. But in the back of my head, I was remembering how just two days earlier, I had heard a seasoned teacher say something quite similar in one of our [insert acronym] meetings. "The math and science skills will have to differentiate for this to work," he had said, without the least stumble of hesitation. I shuddered with the memory and then did something I usually wouldn't. I said to the kid, "Have you heard this word used a lot lately?" to which he replied, "Yeah." And I said, "Me too. Just be aware that this word is being thrown around a lot, and most people don't know how to use it correctly. Even teachers." And he said, "Uh-huh," and gave me a little grin, and added, "Now that you've explained it, I realize I don't think anyone is saying it right."

"I don't think anyone is saying it right"? Kid, you have no idea how right you are.

So, what does it mean to differentiate? I'll let you pull out your favorite dictionary to get a layperson's definition. But if you want to know what it means within the jargon-rich context of a school like mine, you'll have to ask someone who doesn't work here.

Overheard: The Shotgun

"I hope I have a daughter so I have a good reason to buy a shotgun."

From a 14-year-old freshman who was asked to write in his notebook about how many kids he hopes to have one day and why. Brilliant.

Conversations I'm Tired of Having: The Mobius Strip

Me: Where's your notebook?
Joe Student: I don't have it.
Me: Where is it?
Joe: I don't have it.
Me: I know you don't have it. I'm asking where it is.
Joe: I didn't bring it.
Me: Yes, obviously. Why not?
Joe: Because.
Me: Because is not an answer. WHY didn't you bring it?
Joe: (shoulder shrug plus eye roll)
Me: You don't know?
Joe: Gawhd! Just forget it!
Me: I would just like to know why it is you didn't bring your notebook. Do you have a pencil?
Joe: No.
Me: Why not?
Joe: Forgot it.
Me: But how did you make it through five classes today without anything to write on or write with? Am I the first teacher to ask you to do some work today?
Joe: Man, why do you have to make such a big deal out of EVERYTHING? Just quit talking and go teach.

At this point, I consider my options. Smacking the kid across the mouth with the back of my hand would be the most immediately satisfying action, but carries with it the very slight risk of being fired and/or arrested for assault. I say "very slight" because obviously I would do it when no one else is looking and lie about it afterward. I realize, too, that I might leave a red handprint on his smug mug and I have failed to plan for this inevitable and all-too-frequent moment by leaving all my oranges and socks and home. A quick mental scan of my other options is rudely interrupted by Jiminy Cricket (well, my conscience is actually a talking cockroach named Vincent who now insists on being called Vinny-C since he started watching "Jersey Shore," but this is a story for another time). The point is, I am jarred into reality by a wad of paper flying through my peripheral vision and I remember that I am a teacher, and I value my job and my reputation, and (sigh) I like my kids. Even this one. Yeah, he's a brat. But maybe when he's no longer 15 and wearing his pants down under his butt crack he could turn out alright. And I want to be part of the solution instead of part of the problem. He's here; I might as well give him something to do. So I walk over to my desk, pull out a pencil and sheet of paper, shove my ego into the bottom drawer next to the three-hole punch, and walk back to my unprepared, would-be, could-be, young scholar . I place the items on his desk, force a smile, and say, "Okay, let's get started."

How does it end? Does he thank me and get to work? Or fly out of the room in a flurry of righteous indignation while cursing a blue streak? Or roll his eyes and sit in motionless defiance for the rest of the class? Well, that depends. It depends on something. And when I figure out what that "something" is, I will write a book about working with urban adolescents to overcome their task avoidance and self-defeating behaviors. I expect that will make me rich or famous or both. And even though I'll be rolling in the dough, I will keep teaching, because it's a labor of love for me. But I'll tell you this: Joe Smartmouth had better watch his tone, because with my high-paying speaking gigs and the royalty checks from my book coming in, I will be able to afford a VERY good lawyer.