THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN YOU AND I

There is a girl in my fourth period class, who I will let remain anonymous for the time being. I swear she had a black nose from being punched in the face last week. She said she fell.

That was not the only indicator that things were going badly in her life. She normally does really well in my class, turns in all her work, displays thoughtfulness in her answers. But the last couple of weeks she has missed, let's see here.. Ah! Seven assignments, which puts her grade at a 38.8 percent. The lowest F in the class.

Today I asked her to stop talking (please) and she didn't, so I wrote her name up on the board. (That is called a verbal warning, then a written warning) When she continued to make it impossible for her table group to get stuff done, I asked her to please step outside. She said no. I said, sternly, "Go outside, NOW, please."

"Damn, Mr. V. You're stupid!" She exits.

Now, my first response as a teacher is to report that kind of disrespect to the highest authorities. If any student calls a teacher stupid to their face, they are done. There is no excuse for that sort of behavior.

But listen--

My heart broke for her. It did. My heart broke for her. After a few minutes I went out of the class to talk with her and the first thing I asked her was if she was ok. I asked her if her heart was ok. She knew exactly what I meant and I felt like we were both about to cry.

Folks, some of us grew up never knowing uncertainty and pain. Fear and distrust. Some of us had two parents and home-cooked meals and sack lunches. You remember sack lunches? Well, come to school sometime and observe the socio-economic implications of a student with or without a sack lunch.
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If you do this sort of thing, pray for my students. Pray for the one whose nose is bruised. Pray for the one who has letters on her binder from her father in jail. Pray for the one who buys three cookies for lunch. Pray for the one who cries when I say I will call his mother at home. Pray for the one who sells weed to my other students. Pray for the girl smoking dope before school. Pray for the one who did nothing this weekend.

Pray for the ones who will have to fight, claw, struggle, and push their whole lives to have any semblance of the life that was handed to me the day I was born.

THE ABSENTEES PUT MY MIND AT EASE. YES, PLEASE

Today was an awesome day! Do you know why? Today was an awesome day because my fourth period class was pretty mellow. Do you know why? Today my fourth period class was pretty mellow because SEVEN FREAKIN' STUDENTS WERE ABSENT!

Is that what it comes down to? In order for me to have a functioning class I need to have seven students gone from class? I'll tell you where half of them were.

Two of the missing students were W and A. W sold 20 dollars worth of weed to A. The weed in question was actually yard clippings from the school campus. How ridiculous is that? I actually intercepted a note that W wrote to D explaining the details of the drug deal.

Stupid. Kids.

I also kicked out two other students, K and E. K was insulting E and in response, E took K's paper that had all of his assignments and crumpled it up, just as I was turning to witness the dishonorable act. Boom. Gone to the office. To the principal, in fact. I already had warned E just about three times already during that class period. If I tell you that I will send you to the principal if you act up again, because I am tired of telling you to stay in your seat and stop throwing things at people and please get back in your seat and can you stop talking while I am talking, and where are you going? I don't have a pencil sharpener, please sit down. Sit down in your actual seat. No not that one, no you can't sit next to her I already told you, no. No. No. What? No.

If I tell you I will send you to the principal,
wouldn't you just relax and stop? Wouldn't you?

THE PAINT

"Hey, is that paint on your cheek?" I asked the little seventh grade girl in my fourth period class. She had a streak of pink paint on her left cheek, but it was partially covered by very long bangs combed over the western region of her face.

"Yes," she replied.

"You had blue paint on your neck two days ago! Why do you have paint on you?" I inquired.

"It's called having fun with your Life, Mr. V!" And then she leaves--slams the door, actually--with no further explanation.

What the heck?

THE CONNECTIONS

Not much to report these days, but I want to keep my (few) readers happy, so I will write about two things that have struck my fancy recently.

1. There is a talent show coming up at our school, and the teachers are being encouraged to get involved. I have slightly considered showing off my hackey sack skills or maybe solving the Rubik's Cube in under a minute.

2. Today in class we had discussions that I always dreamed I would have as a teacher--we were talking about patrons in the Renaissance (the Medici's!) and I brought up all the different libraries and theaters in town that are named after philanthropists. Making the connections, you see? And then we talked about how the arts in Florence inspired more artists and raised the bar in terms of artistic standards, kind of like what my friend Brendan has been experiencing in Nashville, Tennessee. The Luria Library in Santa Barbara, named after the "patron" Eli Luria.

Making the connections, you see?

THE TOUGHEST CLASS

My fourth period class is my most recalcitrant. I don't know if I've said it before, but it's worth repeating: Normally a typical class of 30 students will have about one to three rough personalities--the ones who make class hard to get through. I have 12 of those personalities. Even the principal, the assistant principal, and the counselor all agree that my class is ridiculous. They wince when they think about my classroom management dilemmas.

Imagine this: The tiniest seventh grade girl, Mexican with big hoop earrings, always with a dark blue oversized sweater, and a voice that you can hear through the walls of other classrooms. Two days ago, when I about 10 names written on the the board as a warning for bad behavior, and five students were outside in the hall for being disruptive, she shouts out

"You can't handle us, Mr. V!"

Haha, what am I supposed to say to that? I tried to be stern, "Yes, I can!"

"No you can't!"

And I laugh and respond "Well, what am I supposed to do?" This is a legitimate question because I really don't know what I am supposed to do with them.

She proceeds to tell me that I need to yell at them more, like their last teacher. But I hate yelling, I say. I can't do that. She offers to yell at people for me.

They warm my heart. But they make me tired, too.

THE POLLS ARE IN

Monday came and went, no problem. I guess I am good at winging it. I did go to sleep Sunday night at around 3 in the morning, though. Amazingly, I didn't feel a hint of tired until I went to bed Monday night. I slept in my clothes. With the lights on.

But that is not what I am here to write about. Today, unsolicited by myself or anyone else, a student in one of my GATE (Gifted and Talented Education) classes decided to conduct an informal survey during third period. We were having a busy, work-in-groups sort of day, so he was asking people his questions during the in-between moments. And here are the results of his survey:

"Favorite Teacher:

Mr. V: 22
Mr. Croshaw: 0
Mr. ..... : 0
Ms. Robertson: 9
Other: 0"

Not bad, eh?

I'm Mr. V, by the way.

THE RETURN FLIGHT HOME

So I am in Boston for the Spring break. Boston has been awesome, albeit a bit cold. Boston is definitely not Santa Barbara.

The timing of my flight's departures and arrivals was perfect, or so I thought. Leave Sunday evening, get back Sunday afternoon with time to spare for me to plan my next day at school.

Um, I just checked my flight return time and I am arriving at midnight in Los Angeles on Sunday night. I left my textbooks for my seventh grade history classes at home because I thought I would have all of Sunday afternoon to make something up. Unfortunately I probably won't be arriving at home until about 2am. Which will feel like 5am due to the three hour time difference that I've finally gotten used to.

Guess I'll be winging it come Monday morning!