Things I love about third period

1. They know I mean business when I don’t want to hear anything else about the fight Joseph got into in the hallway. And when I tell them how upset I am over Joseph’s suspension, they know it and start to check each other when the subject comes up again. “Hey man, she doesn’t wanna hear that.”

2. Shecoriey (who started out the year with a dirty mouth and an inability to keep her mouth shut) calls out, “Y’all cuss too much!” “Y’all too loud!” This is the one class that actually attempts to curb their cussing in my classroom.

3. Their investment in my SAT “Word of the Day.” The class likes to see who can come up with the most sentences using the vocabulary word. Dernard comes in every day (including the days he doesn’t have me) to ask me what the word of the day is and use it in a sentence that exhibits his knowledge of the definition of the word. Do they do it for the jolly rancher I give them for it? Most likely. Are they learning new words and retaining them? Yes. Dernard used 2 of them correctly in his essay. WIN.

4. They break out into song when Al Green’s “Love and Happiness” starts playing.

5. They break out into dance when I play anything by Michael Jackson.

6. …Yet they know when it’s time to sit down and do work.

7. …And they actually do the work.

Made it through October!

Happy November!

So obviously, I haven't been doing such a great job maintaining my blog. What have I been doing instead?

1. Teaching 151 tenth-graders.
2. Dealing with the emotional issues of 151 tenth-graders, ranging from pregnancies, breakups, and fights.
3. Grading the papers, quizzes, and work of 151 tenth-graders.
4. Trainings and professional developments.

In other words, Ms. Chen has no life.

Even though I am super excited for Thanksgiving to come, and then Christmas, the quick passing of time has also gotten me super stressed. There is a graph they showed us at the before we started teaching:


Yep, I seem to be just right on schedule. Deep in the pit of disillusionment.

Between the fights, suspensions, and wasted learning time, our big goals seem harder and harder to attain. Looking at my data, my students are nowhere close to 80% mastery of concepts. We took benchmark tests a couple of weeks ago that I judged to be rather simple. What was the class average?

About 62%.

While my first response was to chalk it up to general unwillingness to try and the students not taking it seriously (come one, 4% of my kids put "E" as an answer for the multiple choice test..."E" wasn't even listed as an answer option!), I can't help but remember that academic impact model we learned about at institute.

Teacher actions directly influence student actions.

As a teacher, where am I failing them? How can I invest them? Why are they not learning?

Sometimes, I just don't know what to say...

"Hey, Miss, do you play sports?"
"No. Focus on your work, please."
"Because I was just gonna say, you have big calves for such a small person."

Student A: Miss, I have a question. Is it true that people evolved from monkeys?
Me: Yes, but I need you to focus-
Student B: NO THEY DIDN'T. God created people.

Student: Miss Chen, I'm going to get a tattoo.
Me: G, please go sit down and work on your paragraph.
Student: Miss Chen, how about I'll get your name right here on my arm?

Adding fuel to the fire

It’s more than just tiredness in her eyes. It’s weariness – weariness of the system that has so far seemed to fail her son.

Yet there is a glimmer of hope in Ms. B.’s face as I sit across from her and Eric as we discuss his dyslexia.

First of all, I would have had no idea Evan was dyslexic if he hadn’t come up to me after class at the beginning of the year to tell me. I had no access to his case file. Ms. B. tells me that all the teachers she has attempted to get in touch with have not responded to her calls, including the one who is designated to help those with learning disabilities and is supposed to be working with Evan.

I tell her I’m willing to do whatever it takes on my part to help Evan. Seeing the teacher whose room we’re borrowing leave, Ms. B. throws me a surreptitious thumbs-up.

“I hope you stay,” she tells me. “You’re the first teacher I’ve been able to talk to. And I even knew about you before you called because Evan has been talking about you at home. He enjoys your class.”

In the next twenty minutes or so, Ms. B. and Eric tell me about his difficulty in being back at Roosevelt – no specialized help for his learning disabilities, sleepless nights of worry, and the difficulties of arranging his therapy sessions with his class schedule.

“But I’m gonna try to schedule them around your class, Ms. Chen. Because I know you will help him.”

She tells me about how teachers threatened to fail him, despite hearing an explanation of Evan’s learning disabilities and the lack of help given to him by the school. So they transferred to a school 20 miles away in order for him to get adequate accommodations.

But they decided to make the move back to Roosevelt so that he could attend the same school as his sister, be with his friends, and play football. But he has been struggling.

As Ms. B. describes to me the difficulties in trying to get specialized tutoring given the single-parent income their family relies on, the anger starts to build. Anger and frustration that has already been sparked by the eye-opening situations at Roosevelt. Hearing about these struggles only fans an ever growing fire.

The question is, where can I find that water to extinguish it?

You make me wanna shout (throw your hands up)

As I walked down the hallway during my prep period, all I could hear was shouting. Teachers shouting at the kids to be quiet, to do their work, shouting that “y’all are getting on my nerves.”

One teacher tells me that yelling is the only thing these kids know. I don’t doubt that whatsoever.

In my class, I do not yell at the children. #1) It takes too much energy on my part and #2) I believe that these children need to learn to deal with consequences other than referrals, suspensions, and an adult’s yelling. Instead of shouting for them to be quiet, I raise my hand. They are then supposed to raise their hands and stop talking. So far, it’s been relatively successful.

On Friday, my students took a diagnostic test. My 3rd period was giving me a massive headache. They kept talking, even though I set very clear expectations that I needed the room to silent. A kept turning to talk to a girl behind him, then asking to go to the bathroom, etc. These kids just would not listen to anything I said. When they finally went to lunch, I called my mom, telling her I was about to go crazy, that these kids would not listen to me, even when I kept going through my consequences list.

After lunch, they returned to finish their test. One of the hall monitors brought in A. The entire time, I heard the coach tell him to watch out, he’s already got one referral under his belt.

Coach drags A into the room.

“This boy givin’ you trouble, Ms. Chen?”
“Well…we’re working on it,” I reply.
“If you need anything, you tell me, all right? You sure you don’t want me to take care of anything?”
“I’ll let you know if I do; thanks, Coach.”

Coach then steps into the room, where A has now turned back to the girl behind him to flirt some more.

“Boy! I’m telling you!” Coach barks. “You better watch it, or you’re going to end up in jail! And not even juvy, because you’re too old!” A stops talking.

He then points at some other kids in the class that are socializing. “You too! Now y’all better shut up and do what you’re told!”

After he leaves, the class has most definitely quieted down.

I am positively seething. I have no idea how to handle this.

“Ok, everyone needs to finish their diagnostics,” I say feebly as the bell rings. The rest of the 30 minutes are pretty much silent.

Before they turn in their tests, I raise my hand for attention.

“I’m going to be straight up with y’all about two things. One, I am very disappointed in you.” I give them a quick lecture about talking, and how they need to follow direction and be mature. “Two, I will be completely honest about something – I did not appreciate how Coach came in and spoke to you guys like that. You guys do not deserve to be spoken to like that. You may have noticed that my way of disciplining and getting attention is a little different than what the other teachers do. That is because I believe that you all are mature adults, and therefore you deserve to be treated like an adult – but you need to prove to me that you are mature, and that you can handle that type of treatment. I am here so you can learn – I am not here to yell at you, to discipline you – I am here to teach you. I want to treat you all with the respect you deserve, but you need to give me reason to do so.”

A finally makes eye contact with me.

Horrible day...but this is what keeps me going.

I asked my students to write an identity poem, modeled after George Lyon's "Where I'm From." Here are some of the fantastic ones.

"Where I'm From" by J.B.
I am from Mexico,
From the proud and rough land.
I am from the people who never give up,
And from the people who work hard everyday.
(proud, hardworking, each one proud and happy
Of the country and where they came from.)
I am from the strong and green land,
Where the air smells sweet and makes your
Soul fly freely all through out the sky.

I’m from the sweet tasting corm, and the hot spicy tamales.
I’m from the playful and troublemaking kids,
From the traditional and beautiful songs of a
Wonderful land from which I came from.

I’m from Chihuahua and from the beautiful,
Colorful tradition, and from the land that
Keeps you warn and feeling happy.
I’m from the land, from which the great hills,
And mountains are made.
I’m from the great land that is Mexico,
The land that I will never forget, and the land
From which I get my strength from,
The land that burns deep into my soul, and the land…
From which I came from.

"Untitled" by D.G.
I am from the
Quiet during the day
And noisy at night
I am from no one carries change
But everyone carries a light.
I am from sand on my shoes
From the park down the street.
I am from sizzlin’ links, baked chicken
And other types of meat.
I’m from “boys get up it’s 7 o’clock”
And getting dressed, and wearing socks.
I’m from block parties every Sunday
From school since 8:30, where
There’s all work and no play.
I’m from chillin at the kiest
And walking t’Ds and having a feast.
I’mf rom sneaking out real late
And waking up the same.
I’mf rom leaving red bird skate
And going home playing the game.
I’m from bumpy streets so
You really can’t drift.
But most of all I’m from Oakcliff.

"Where I'm From" by Y.S.
I am from Shreveport
From loud music and boring summers
I am from the crowds on the boardwalk
(The smell of crawfish, budan, and gumbo)
I am from casinos and loud talking
The smell of cigarettes or cigars
As if I was there today.

I from my grandma’s home-made
Corn bread, pork chops, and green beans
I am from the smart kids the quiet kids
And the true gangstas
I am from “Gurl stop hitting that boy” and
“Yar come here.”

I am from Dallas, TX
Hot summers and cold winters
With prostitutes sitting on the corner
I am like a fly on the wall
I sit there, observe and move along.

I’m my room is a journal
In it I keep my thoughts
A log of personal memories and dreams
I couldn’t let go of.
I am from the moments
Rise before I shine
Like a star without a light.

Halfway through my first week...

Today was a day of small successes and big realizations. I think it has finally hit me how much work there is to do here. When I was chatting with another TFAer last night about my mess of a school, he told me, “You’re in the show. That’s what TFA is about.”

I guess I am in the show. And it’s a show that I’m only starting to get the gist of.

I provide 100% of my own supplies. The school has given me absolutely nothing. Each time I inquire about copy paper, the supply closet is “locked” or the office manager is gone, or they “will get some up there soon.” This morning I ended up bringing my own meager stash of paper into the copy room. I ran into a math teacher there. He was carrying a brand new ream of paper.
“Mr. O! Where did you get that paper from?”
He gave me a Look.
“Oh…you brought it yourself, didn’t you?” He nodded.

Ok, so that’s the way things are going to work.

Today we were finally on regular (block) scheduling. I had an amazing day teaching my raising-of-the-hand/quiet-down procedure. I have these kids quieting down without my even having to speak. I also implemented a class rewards system, finally giving my rowdy 3rd period a reason to quiet down. I also think I made a good choice investing the students so much during my first day talks.

Although my extremely chatty and rowdy 3rd period dampened my glee after period 1, I was still feeling pretty positive about my control as the instructional leader of my classroom.

Then 4th period comes. This woman (who I have only seen a couple of times) comes into my classroom, does not explain why she is here or who she is, but sits down. My class is already overcrowded because 7 extra students have shown up. I assume she’s there to work with my sheltered learners.

Pretty much, she spends the entire class barking orders at the children, repeating all my directions, not even giving them a chance to do it before she calls, “Boy, do your work!” She has the most mincing, clipped voice I have ever heard.

At one point, I realized I ran out of syllabi, so I went to get some more out of the binder. She barks at from across the room, with absolutely no mark of politeness, “You got more of those sheets? Those kids don’t got any.”

And yes, I am supposed to be teaching these kids how to treat others respectfully and speak academically. I have spent at least 40 minutes stressing to them that they are capable of achieving, that they are not dumb, that I will accept no excuses because I know they are smart. But when this woman comes into my room, with a demeaning tone (intentional or not), treating my kids like they are incapable of anything (and I am almost fairly certain I could have handled the behavioral problems – they were no less rowdy than my rowdy 3rd period)…what’s a TFAer to do?

And I have kids in the teacher’s lounge, who explain (when I gently remind them that the vending machines are for teachers only) that they are getting a drink for their teacher. I see kids coming into the teacher’s lounge to pick up/heat lunches for their teachers. I overheard a teacher who complimented a pregnant student’s weight gain, saying it was “happy fat.”

I’m sorry, but when is having a child at age 16 happy? Maybe it’s just me.

Needless to say, my spirits were pretty dampened at the end of the day. Yet there was one gem of a moment today that I drew hope from.

D walks into my 3rd period class with this sort of aloof look. I mentally mark him with a caution sign – possible trouble. But as I stress the fact that I believe that they are smart despite what others may say, that I am only there for them and for no other reason, I can see his eyes watching me. He gets drawn in.

He is the first one to come back from lunch.

“Hey D, welcome back.”
“Hi, Miss Chen.”
I’m setting up for class. We chat a little bit – he tells me that he plays the tuba and is in band. There is a brief pause.
“Miss, I can’t write.”
I look up.
“D, I do not believe that. Remember, there is no can’t. No excuses, remember?”
He thinks and clarifies himself.
“Ok, I mean I can write, but I’m not good at it.”
“D, it’s ok. We’re going to work on that. I will help you. That’s what I’m here for.”
He sits down.
“Yeah, Miss Chen, I really want to down on my writing this year.”
“Ok, D, we’re going to work on it.”

I have asked them to write an identity poem with some sensory imagery. D raises his hand for me to read his paper. He has the scrawl of a five year-old. He writes about growing up in the ghetto, like most of my students did. The spelling is horrendous and I can only imagine what his diagnostic will look like.

But he has the want. And for now, that is all I need.