Sometimes...

Yeah.  This about sums it up.
 

Read this now. Thank me later.

Do you subscribe to Mental Floss Magazine?

You certainly ought to.  

Mental Floss is jam-packed with witty articles, amazing facts, trivia, and other cool stuff--and its name it totally rad.  It's a haven for your inner geek.

This gem of knowledge showed up in my Facebook newsfeed the other day.

Go on, read it.  You know you want to.

http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/archives/102722 

An Innocent Bystander Feels The Wrath and Lives To Tell The Tale (Reflection #3)

I wondered how long I would have to wait for this moment.

Yep, that moment.

That moment where all is going swimmingly until one student simply says one statement too many. 

The moment where your CT becomes so outraged over a student’s back-talking, a student’s not-so-polite comment, a student’s unnecessary chatter while the teacher is giving instruction, a student’s fill-in-the-blank random verbal contribution to classroom dynamic.

That moment the proverbial sh*t hits the proverbial classroom fan.

For me, that moment was yesterday.

Please indulge me and encourage me, for this occurrence left me a little shaken.  And I am not easily shaken. 

The students, Mr. Walker, and myself had long been enthralled in a discussion regarding the day’s journaling theme: “Which of the seven deadly sins is your favorite and why?”  I was so intrigued at this perpetual tenacity with which the students chimed in: “Gluttony!  Eating is so much fun!”  “I like lust!” (class giggles, as expected).  “Wrath’s my favorite, because you can think of evil ways to get back at people who piss you off.”  Hey, it worked for Dante…  The students were almost giddy in their responses, and Mr. Walker agreed with some students and gave his own light-hearted view: “Mmmmmm.  Gluttony by far.  I suppose wrath has some fun potential, too…”  The discussion was quick-witted, propelled by differing opinions, and honestly, a great way to begin class.  After the discussion, Mr. Walker began explaining to the class their in-class assignment for the day—a writing prompt carousel (great idea for an ELA classroom!  Curious?  See me for details!).  There was no reason whatsoever to suspect that Mr. Walker’s mood would shift so abruptly, no hint of the impending tongue-lashing anguish.

I must stop for a second and explain something.  I participate in an AP class.  They are phenomenally brilliant kids; sometimes I think they’re smarter than I am.  Which is scary.  And intimidating.  And I might lose sleep over planning a lesson that will cater to their smartness.  Anyway.  Phenomenal brilliance aside, sometimes these students lack impulse control.  And by sometimes, I mean…frequently.  Mr. Walker has lightly scolded them on multiple occasions, admonishing that it is not necessary to say every little thing that pops into their brains.  And it’s true; these advanced minds are quick to reach a conclusion about e v e r y t h i n g, and more often than not, many of the students say something that isn’t exactly on-topic or appropriate.  And then this spontaneous verbal output becomes a conduit for other ridiculously off-topic conversations. (Think: starting with the seven deadly sins, ending with a debate about whether or not Santa would be eligible for Medicare in multiple countries.  Yes.  That.  Far.  Off.  Topic.)  And as amazing as it is to witness the students’ minds at the peak of mental aerobics, as a teacher I know that this does not lead to a productive day’s work.  

That being said, as Mr. Walker was explaining the directions and objective for the writing prompt carousel, it happened.  One student—I don’t know who—quipped something about the writing prompt activity.  I did not even hear what was said.  But I do know it was not rude, it was not back-talk, and it was actually relevant to the activity.  Nevertheless, this student had interrupted Mr. Walker.  I thought nothing of this, as it had happened many times before.  Then, I became aware of an eerie silence permeating the classroom.  Uncomfortable.  TOO uncomfortable.  Oh frick.  I looked over at Mr. Walker.  In about .008 seconds, I deduced that he had had it.  I waited for the floodgates to open.  And then it happened.

“REALLY PEOPLE?!?!?!  IS IT POSSIBLE FOR ME TO HAVE ONE FREAKING CLASS AND GIVE ONE FREAKING SET OF INSTRUCTIONS WITHOUT ONE FREAKING PERSON FREAKING INTERRUPTING ME ONE FREAKING TIME?!?!” 

The oxygen was sucked from the room.  I couldn’t breathe.  I couldn’t think.  I couldn’t move.  And I sure as hell couldn’t look at Mr. Walker.

We’ve all been students, and we’ve all been yelled at.  Getting yelled at sucks.  I don’t care how old you are.  But this outburst was especially intense, because Mr. Walker likes to compound his loud admonishments with moments of deafening silence—extra-long moments of deafening, soul-crushing silence.  It’s the kind of silence that made me want to run from the classroom into the solace of the girls’ restroom—a place Mr. Walker couldn’t go.  I can appreciate silence for its, well, silent quality, but I was so uncomfortable I thought I might cry.  Now, don’t get me wrong; I was in no way guilty of anything, and I knew it.  Yet that palpable shred of comfort was nowhere to be found.  I was consumed by awkwardness and guilt.  (And trust me, so were the students; I’ve never seen such seriousness on their faces.)  This entire time, I was seated among them.  I might as well as have been one of them.

I needed relief.  A sweet respite from the suffocating silence.  I need noise.

Little did I know, my salvation was drawing nigh.

Just as Mr. Walker began the sequel to his angry verbal eruption, the fire alarm went off.

Seriously, I could not have scripted this better, people.

In one collective exhaling, the students and I breathed a beautiful sigh of relief.  We were free.  Well, at least for the next five minutes as we meander outside and proceed to the obligatory 100-feet mark from the building.  As we were walking sprinting from the classroom, Mr. Walker asserted, “Yeeeaah.  This is probably a faaaaantastic time to be leaving my classroom.”  Apparently, he needed to calm down too. 

Upon re-entering the classroom, everyone—including Mr. Walker—seemed refocused and much, much more pleasant.  He finished describing the task at hand, and the students listened.  No one said a word. 

This whole incident left me thinking: How will I address being interrupted in my classroom?  Will I react the same way every time, regardless of my mood?  How can my students and I come to an agreement that we will not interrupt one another and will respect each other’s opinions?  How will I keep from totally losing it on my “bad days?”  (Feel free to share your thoughts.)

When I left for the day and walked to my car, I realized how nauseated I was.  I think it was by sheer force of will that I didn’t bolt from my seat or vomit in front of everyone during the interrogation.  Vomit rarely improves any situation, I have concluded. 

Genre Reflection #1

            While entering the field of pre-student teaching (and eventually student teaching) is exciting and wonderful, I posit there are many pitfalls to avoid stumbling haphazardly into.  This is by no means an all-inclusive list, yet because I’ve been doing this for several weeks now, I shall consider myself an expert.  I present to you, my enthralled audience, the top five pre-student teaching academic entanglements you should make a concerted effort to avoid. 

Number One: On your first day of pre-student teaching, you have a job to do.  Your goal is to make the best impression you possibly can.  You must smile, shakes hands, nod when your CT explains the going-ons of his classroom, and explain to him that you are excited to be there and you look forward to teaching your unit.  Therefore, never, under any circumstances, should you indulge in a spinach omelet for breakfast and then not check your teeth prior to meeting your CT.  Just take my word for it.

Number Two: Because you are a teacher now (Yay!) you must acknowledge your feet.  You must recognize that if you are kind to your feet, they will be kind to you.  Those three-inch stilettos were super cute at the shoe store, and you thought you would be okay wearing them the first three days you participated in your CT’s classroom.  Boy, were you ever wrong.  Trust me, there’s no use explaining your predicament to anyone; the blisters and awkward limping are a sufficient enough explanation. 

Number Three:  Your very first day of pre-student teaching, ask where the restroom is.  Memorize that location.  Trust me.  When that bell rings, the halls will swarm with students and a cacophony of teenage chatter, causing you, the still-nervous pre-student teacher, to lose all mental function related to restroom locale.  That is not the most opportune time to forget in which direction the restroom is.  Oh.  And you’re not Superman; thinking you can hold it will only cause you more grief.  Probably right in the middle of a lesson.

Number Four:  Know your stuff.  Because you are actually responsible for helping to mold the future generations, you must take the time to plan overplan.  You entered the teaching field by choice.  And yes, it’s going to require a lot of hard work, time, and dedication.  Take copious notes in your methods class and put real effort into your lesson planning.  Again, know your stuff—because screwing up the definitions of ‘allegory’ and ‘allusion’ repeatedly in a single class period will not help your students.  It will, however, make you look like a fool.  This is bad.  Know.  Your.  Stuff. 

Number Five: The old adage is true: You only get one chance to make a first impression.  Remember, pre-student teaching is, essentially, a job interview.  You must appear confident, professional and coherent.  Being given the opportunity to participate, assist, and teach in an actual classroom can be the single greatest asset to a pre-service teacher.  But you must facilitate that.  Believe in yourself.  You chose this path.  You want to teach.  You can do this!

Blog post #2: Adventures in rapport, unit planning, and freaking out.

My semester in *Mr. Walker’s classroom is off to a fantastic start!

I know all of the students by their faces, and most of them by their names—pretty good memorization for less than three weeks’ worth of effort, if I do say so myself!  Mr. Walker and I are establishing a great rapport with one another.  I do not hesitate to ask him questions, either directly or in an email, and he is very prompt in his responses, which I appreciate.  This open line of communication is essential for us to maintain a professional, productive relationship—one that will ultimately benefit the students. 

Several exciting things are happening in my classroom.  First and foremost, the students are asking me questions AND they are willing to let me help them and participate/give feedback in their group projects.  I feel totally at ease walking amongst them during individual or group work, and I feel free—but not necessarily obligated—to give constructive criticism.  A few days ago, one student asked me, “Mrs. Leighton, are you a “hero” or a “villain” person?” (To clarify, Mr. Walker had just led a discussion on heroes versus villains, who usually wins, who should win, why it’s okay to sometimes cheer for the villain, etc.  Deep stuff.)  I explained that usually, I am a “hero” person, in that I believe good will eventually triumph over evil.  However, I did offer that sometimes, villains in literature appeal enormously to our pathos, which makes us sympathize with them—Cyclops in The Odyssey, anyone?  Naturally, my answers to this student’s inquiry led several students to challenge my (and one another’s) thinking.  Persuasive points were made for both cases, and in the end everyone decided to agree to disagree.  I loved this interaction—and for more than just its teacher-student dialogue.  This conversation generated differing viewpoints and allowed the students to consider stances other than their own.  I could almost see their minds’ gears shifting.  Brilliant.

Another (quasi) milestone has been reached!  Mr. Walker and I have decided on a topic for my teaching unit.  I will be planning a five-day unit based on the political grit in Shakespeare’s Richard II.  (It’s okay to be jealous.)  Mr. Walker explained to me that since this class is AP, the curriculum has been set and approved by the College Board.  Material taught in this class cannot deviate from the syllabus.  No problem, right?  Ahem.  At first, I panicked.  Oh crap…haven’t read Richard II…I’ve got to get a copy of it….oh crap….which copy will he be using?...politics?...I hate politics….I haven’t read Richard II…character development is my forte…oh crap!  I.  Have.  Not.  Read.  Richard II!!!!!  Once I quit freaking out, my pulse and blood pressure returned to their normal measurements of 180 bpm and 150/120…wait.  Hmmm?  You mean a pre-student teacher’s pulse and blood pressure shouldn’t be that high?   But I digress.  While I admit I am a bit overwhelmed with planning a unit over literature I’m not familiar with, I am excited nonetheless!  This opportunity will allow me to explore new ground, both personally and professionally.  Many high school students graduate without ever having read and studied the remarkable facets of Shakespeare’s works.  Yet my AP students are quite familiar with him, and for this I am grateful.  I am ready to plan a unit that is exciting, intriguing, and challenging—and I am looking forward to the feedback I will receive! 

Mrs. Leighton now presents her fun classroom tidbit of the week:  A student informed me that I could refer to him as “B-Rizzle.”  I politely declined, jesting that “…this is an English classroom and slang names and ‘hip’ lingo should be considered ridonkulous…”  And then I realized what a huge nerd I am.  Oh well.  C'est la vie.

*Names, heart rate, and blood pressure have been changed :p