The first day back...
I went in to school on Monday. The first 4 periods were fine. At lunch, I had a beer. I was at this random bar and all they had was Anchor Steam, so I got that. Then I looked at my watch, panicked, and realized I didn't have time to get back to school and finish my beer. So I held it close to my body so it looked like an old-fashioned Coke bottle and galloped back to my school. My 6th grade health class wasn't there, so I joined a couple other teachers in the classroom next door, chatting, cursing, drinking beer. It occurred to me to ask if either of those teachers was supposed to have a class at that time. My colleague said she did but the sixth graders weren't ready yet.
I raced back to my classroom and stowed the beer under my teacher's desk, figuring my file drawer would prevent anyone from seeing it or knocking it over. I scribbled an aim on the board and tried to think of a lesson. The sixth graders filed in. It was my classroom but it wasn't my classroom, if you know what I mean. The kids were quiet and seated and everything seemed fine, until I noticed one boy with his desk so close to the girl in front of him that they were rubbing their bodies together! And wait, I don't know either of these kids! Looking around, I realized that in addition to 30 sixth graders whom I knew, I had another 10 or 12 who had been sent from another school for suspension for bad behavior. And these strangers didn't look friendly.
I told them to separate their desks... I told the whole class to spread out into proper rows, as all the desks were squished together in one part of the room. They resisted. Finally, I got so frustrated with one chubby little boy that I picked up his desk, chair, and the kid himself and bodily moved them. He said, "But you just met me!" and I said something unpleasant but not strictly wrong in response.
I glanced at the clock and realized my lesson - whatever it was - wasn't going to happen. Reaching for delaying tactics, I turned setting up the room into a challenge. Now some of the kids began moving furniture into rows, but they didn't do very well: the room was still cramped. They'd ignored the entire back half of the space. I praised them for their efforts and challenged them to use math to do even better.
Suddenly, in the confusion, I realized that one of the children was 80 years old, her hair white and recently out of rollers: it was the little chubby boy's grandmother, sitting at a student desk, looking bemused. She had been watching me. She was there to witness, first hand, her grandson's behavior. I had a few minutes' anxiety since I had been rude to him, but she turned out to be on my side.
After the kids' second unsuccessful try at setting up the room, I gave up and told them how to do it. The bell rang and the kids raced for the doors (there were several, big metallic double doors that led directly into the schoolyard, where the gate was unlocked and the streets beckoned...). I was losing kids as fast as I could herd them into line.
And then I woke up.
Anxiety dreams just do not go away, ever, do they?
I raced back to my classroom and stowed the beer under my teacher's desk, figuring my file drawer would prevent anyone from seeing it or knocking it over. I scribbled an aim on the board and tried to think of a lesson. The sixth graders filed in. It was my classroom but it wasn't my classroom, if you know what I mean. The kids were quiet and seated and everything seemed fine, until I noticed one boy with his desk so close to the girl in front of him that they were rubbing their bodies together! And wait, I don't know either of these kids! Looking around, I realized that in addition to 30 sixth graders whom I knew, I had another 10 or 12 who had been sent from another school for suspension for bad behavior. And these strangers didn't look friendly.
I told them to separate their desks... I told the whole class to spread out into proper rows, as all the desks were squished together in one part of the room. They resisted. Finally, I got so frustrated with one chubby little boy that I picked up his desk, chair, and the kid himself and bodily moved them. He said, "But you just met me!" and I said something unpleasant but not strictly wrong in response.
I glanced at the clock and realized my lesson - whatever it was - wasn't going to happen. Reaching for delaying tactics, I turned setting up the room into a challenge. Now some of the kids began moving furniture into rows, but they didn't do very well: the room was still cramped. They'd ignored the entire back half of the space. I praised them for their efforts and challenged them to use math to do even better.
Suddenly, in the confusion, I realized that one of the children was 80 years old, her hair white and recently out of rollers: it was the little chubby boy's grandmother, sitting at a student desk, looking bemused. She had been watching me. She was there to witness, first hand, her grandson's behavior. I had a few minutes' anxiety since I had been rude to him, but she turned out to be on my side.
After the kids' second unsuccessful try at setting up the room, I gave up and told them how to do it. The bell rang and the kids raced for the doors (there were several, big metallic double doors that led directly into the schoolyard, where the gate was unlocked and the streets beckoned...). I was losing kids as fast as I could herd them into line.
And then I woke up.
Anxiety dreams just do not go away, ever, do they?
posted by ms. v. at 5:02 PM
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