Day of the Teacher

Tuesday, May 9, 1995

A memo from Kurtzmann (WITH ADDENDA--OR IS THAT ADDENDUMB?--FROM MOI):

In five short weeks (SIX BY MY COUNT...BUT I GUESS TOP ADMINISTRATORS DON'T COUNT THE PRESENT WEEK, ONLY THE ONES TO COME), (SOME BUT NOT ALL) members of the Class of '95 will celebrate their graduation in a rainbow of colorful ceremonies (AS OPPOSED TO THE RAINBOW OF BLACK AND WHITE CEREMONIES) at each of our campuses. Our graduates will rightfully enjoy the spotlight as families, friends, and the media converge (UH, OKAY... NICE VERB) to congratulate them on their accomplishments and to focus on their bright futures.

Today, the Day of the Teacher (TA DA!), is a time to celebrate the accomplishments of those who guide our young people to the point of graduation (BUT NOT TO ANYTHING LIKE LEARNING OR KNOWLEDGE. WAIT, WE AT C.H.S. DO TAKE THE STUDENTS TO THE KNOWLEDGE LEVEL... WE JUST DON'T TAKE THEM ANY FURTHER INTO BLOOM’S TAXONOMY--AT LEAST NOT ACCORDING TO WASC) year after year, and whose work is to prepare these students to create their bright tomorrows.

The accomplishments of your students are your accomplishments as well (HEY, YOU CAN'T BLAME ME FOR THAT... OH, ACCOMPLISHMENTS, NOT CRIMES. OH, OKAY, I'LL TAKE SOME CREDIT). As teachers, you have given knowledge, presented challenges, and modeled responsible adulthood (AS OPPOSED TO IRRESPONSIBLE ADULTERY... THAT'S A HIGHER LEVEL SKILL, TO BE MODELED ONLY BY ADMINISTRATORS. TOP. ADMINISTRATORS... JEEZ, I SEE RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK ONCE IN A BLUE MOON, AND A LINE FROM THE END STICKS IN MY HEAD FOR DAYS--"WE HAVE TOP MINDS WORKING ON THIS. TOP. MINDS."). In doing this (WHAT? NO COMMA?) you have worked long hours, placing professional responsibilities before personal desires. Your rewards are sometimes elusive, but are timeless (THE MUSIC SWELLS, OR IS THAT KURTZMANN'S HEAD?). They exist in every adult you have taught (WATCH IT... HE'S GONNA BLOW!) who is successful in his/her career, who is a good parent, and who contributes to the community (OF COURSE, WE DON'T COUNT THE LOSERS, SHITTY PARENTS, OR CRIMINALS... GOTTA LOVE A SELECTIVE MEMORY).

You and the important work that you do (CANNED PHRASE ALERT) are recognized and appreciated every day of the year (CANNED PHRASE RED ALERT). On my behalf and that of the Board of trustees, I am happy to tell you so on this Day of the Teacher. (EVERYONE TOGETHER NOW, YADA YADA YA DA!)

uh, Yeah. right. Do my kids know this?

Not second period.

Today is vocabulary turn-in day. The agenda reads:

1) Have VocabList #3 out on your desk, and

Read your novel.

2) VocabQuiz #3.

3) VocabList #4.

4) Shakespeare Intro.

The new class tardy policy (a minute of lunch-time detention for each minute late) has been going all right. I'm averaging two or three tardies a day (down from six or seven); of course, I'm writing more referrals for failure to attend the detentions, but at least the tardies/ disruptions are down. This being said, I take quick preliminary (clipboard) roll at nine, taking down the name of a single tardy at half a minute into class (this was Maria, the authoress of the work example from last week). One tardy, seven absences... not bad... not great, far from it, but not too bad (since fifteen members of the second period class have already accrued five or more absences--and this is only the seventeenth day of the new term--my expectations are not great for this class... bad teacher, bad teacher). Then I circulate through the class to pick up the Vocabulary. Eight students are without the assignment, a few of those do not have the second draft, one has done the work in pencil. All but one student has a novel to read.

I continue to circulate through class, keeping people on task. Eric, he of the beeper incident and the gift "D" at the end of last term, pulls me aside to tell me that he is "concerned" about his grade; he has fallen below the 75% cut-off for a B. Concerned? Not enough to attend class yesterday (but of course he was in his fourth period Special Education Directed Studies class). Not enough to have his vocabulary ready today for turn in. Not enough to have the late work he owes from last week ready for turn-in. Not enough to be reading his novel. He is already down to three points out of five for daily grade points for today (no homework and not on-task). I want to laugh in his face and at his "concern." Instead, I tell him to come and talk with me at lunch or after school.

Another "concerned" student, Sal, who told me of his desire to raise his grade yesterday, is not reading his book; rather he is trying to whisper/mouth messages to Alejandra who is attending for only the third time this term. The level of concern in this class is amazing.

Then as I let the class roll on silent sustained reading (since they will need to finish their novels to do the next major writing assignment that I will unveil next week), I transfer the roll onto the roll sheet and the computerized scantron form. Just as I'm getting ready to start the quiz, in walks Andrew, twelve minutes late. When he sits, I walk over and quietly whisper to him that he owes me twelve minutes at lunch. He mutters something sounding affirmative.

Nine-fifteenish, I bring the class to a stop in their reading, and I have them take out a sheet of notebook paper and a blue or black ink pen, and put everything else aside. I direct them to put a proper heading in the upper, right-hand corner of the sheet and title it, "VocabQuiz #3". I review the instructions for the quiz: I will reveal to them six of this week's ten words; they are to choose five of the six; for each of the five they select, they are to write a complete sentence, correctly using the word; they need to make sure the sentence is complete, beginning with a capital letter, ending with proper punctuation, and containing enough information so that any reader can tell that the student knows how to use the word correctly (this is my canned spiel, almost verbatim). I reveal to them the words, to groans and sighs from the class. Not a good sign. I remind them that they are to turn the quizes over and read their novels when finished with the quiz; I wish them good luck. It sounds like they are going to need it.

It takes ten minutes for the class to finish the quiz. I begin to pick up the quizes while the last students are finishing up. These I put aside. Once everyone is done, I allow for a few more minutes of reading. This is settling time, decompressing from the quiz .

Then I have them take out another blank sheet of notebook paper, on to which they will copy next week's vocabulary words. This takes nearly twenty minutes, as I discuss the meaning of the words, and take questions on usage (after giving examples). I remind the students that since this week is a short one (THANK GOD!), they need to have the rough draft sentences finished by the beginning of class tomorrow so that tomorrow will be the self-edit. We go through another round of questions and discussion on word usage. This done, I have the students record VocabList and Quiz #4 on their Assignment/Grade Sheets.

This is the perfect opportunity to discuss grades, so I do. I have them look at their A/G sheet. I point out the individual grades posted on the bulletin board. I point out the number of students who owe Academic Detention tomorrow because of missing work (the list of students on the board contains those students who do NOT owe detention... it was a much shorter list... and it saved me writer's cramp). I point out the class grades on the white board: 6 A's, 6 B's, and 21 Fails. Damn, the class seems to say together, chorally. Finally, a response. I look over the class. At least, it seems, I have their attention (Well, not everyone. Andrew is trying to sneak a peak at a magazine casually placed in his binder. Sal is still mouthing/talking to Alejandra. Eric is trying to do the same to Vanessa. These I note on the clipboard--boom, there goes another point--and as I continue to prowl the room as I talk, I make a point of circulating by the offenders, stopping their negative behavior with my proximity, like a cop on the beat).

I then bring out what I consider to be the Big Gun. I read from the Progress Report that I will be sending home with each student next Monday. It discusses the philosophy of the class, and it has check-off boxes for every assignment we will have done up to next Monday, boxes that will be checked for every assignment the student is missing. I also cover the behavior/attendance section of the progress report. Although John, Mr. Junior-High Maturity, is rolling his eyes, most students are actually leaning in, listening, thinking about all this. Good. After all of this has sunk in, we move on to a little Shakespearean introduction.

Yesterday, we had discussed what we wanted to see in our entertainment in 1995. Sex. Violence. Comedy. And I introduced the shocking thesis that this is what people want all the time. And I put "1595" on the board. And I introduced the plotlines of some of Shakespeare's works. The students saw the connection. I went on to talk about the Elizabethan theatre, trying to bring it to life with sensual imagery (the sights, sounds, and smells... especially the smells). I talked about Shakespeare's popularity in his own time and in ours, challenging the students to find a Sunday Times "Calendar" section that did not have a listing for a Shakespeare play running in the Los Angeles area. Then, of course, we came to the question of language. And I discontinued the discussion until today.

Today, I begin with some chronological facts of the Bard's life, transitioning into a recap of words: the 27,000 that Shakespeare used in his plays, the 1,700 he invented, the 2,700 his audience had in their working vocabulary... and then the 1,500 the present-day U.S. college grad has in his working vocabulary and the 1000 the present-day SoCal high school student has in his. This number-crunching tends to help show the students why Shakespeare can seem so difficult at first. Then I make a seemingly weird right turn and talk about how that language is used to create a sonnet. I quickly go over everything: lines, syllables, rhyme, octave, sestet, even the Elizabethan concept of beauty. And this is when it becomes fun.

I have the students read Sonnet 130 ("My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun..."). We take it line by line, the students laughing at the poet's seeming "bagging" on his love. Then when the final turnaround hits in the last two lines, they see again how this really is a love poem. And I've shown them how easy Shakespeare can be, how fun (they laughed, didn't they?). It goes well, even in period two.

However, as I'm wrapping up the intro and moving into twelve minutes of open work (work deadlines approaching), I notice Eric passing another note to Brenda. I have her hand it over, taking Brenda down to four points for the day, and Eric down to one. I set the class loose to work, open work, as long as they use their time efficiently. Most get right to work.

As time passes, I have to take a point or two away from students who figured taking a break would be worth the loss of a point. And Eric is across the room to talk to Vanessa. I see him carrying a note back to his desk. I wait for him to arrive back at his desk and open the note (this way I know that he's wasting time, and not merely picking up something to read for later). I walk over and ask him to hand it over. Since this is the second note this period, I don't feel the need to tell him what he is doing is incorrect, off-task, or just fucking stoopid. He ignores me.

"Eric, what are you supposed to be doing?"

"I'm going to do it right now." Still looking at the note.

I know that I'm supposed to pick my battles. Some battles you fight, some you toss away. Fuck that. Take no prisoners today. Plus, I can feel the students watching this. "Eric, hand over the note."

"I'm doing what I'm supposed to..." right. Still looking at the note. Now folding it up, putting it away. This is insolence--refusal to obey teacher directive.

But I want to make sure. "You're refusing to hand me the note, right?"

"I’m getting to work." The note is away, but no work is out.

"Hold that thought..." I begin to move toward my desk and the friendly stack of referrals. "And you can take it to (GumpDumb) Kennedy." Like he'll do anything about it.

While I'm filling out the referral, Eric does NOT stay in his seat, but flits about the room (I would say, like the fucking retard he is, but that would not only be technically and politically incorrect, but also not in keeping with how I usually describe his immature, asinine behavior), knowing that he's going to the office anyway, so why does he have to obey any rules.

The referral filled out, I call him outside, hand him the referral. He stares at it. "I still don't see why I'm getting this."

retard. "Really? Try reading the check mark next to 'Insolent.' You failed to follow directions."

"I don't see how I'm failing your class." Nice move, change of subject. Like an idiot, I fall for it.

"You don't? How about missing assignments?"

"I'm only like missing two."

"Plus today's vocabulary. And--"

He interrupts me. "But that was after I was failing. I was failing on Monday."

Tactical error. "Yeah, well, for a guy who's so 'concerned' about his grade, you sure have a weird way of showing it. Truant from my class yesterday."

"Truant?"

"You weren't in class. Yet you were here for fourth period... No readmit today. No excuse. That's truant."

"But I was sick."

"You might be able to feed that kind of B.S. story to other teachers, but not to me, Eric. If you were sick yesterday morning, you would have had a note when you came to school yesterday, and you'd have the readmit today. You don't."

"I still don't know why I'm failing."

My year-long fatigue must be getting to me; I go with the direction shift again. "How about this?" I show him the grade sheet on my clipboard. I point to assignments. "Quiz one: fail. CultLit one: barely passing. DOL one: fail. Weekly grade: barely passing. No Vocab two. Quiz two: fail. No CultLit two. DOL two: barely passing. Weekly grade: fail. You still don't know why you're failing?"

"I don't see how I can fail the daily grade... I'm here in class. It's pretty stupid, you failing me if I'm here."

"Eric, I couldn't give a rat's behind what you think. You're failing daily grades because you're not doing the job."

"I'm doing the work."

"That's B.S.. You didn't have the vocabulary a single day last week. You are rarely reading. You're either brushing your hair or trying to talk." He tries to break in. No way. "Remember the discussion we had right here about a week and a half ago. Don't give me any B.S. line. I told you then that when you're busted, admit to it and go on. Don't take the wuss's way out and blame somebody else. Today, you're down to one daily grade point." Again, he leans like he wants to break in; I cut him off with a raised finger. "No assignment, one point gone. Not reading during SSR, another point gone. Passing the note to Brenda during the Shakespeare intro, that's three gone. Not working, then not giving up the note when directed to, that's four. Don't try to tell me you're doing the job in class. You're not. That is why you are failing."

He started to turn as if he was going to the office. But I will have the last word.

"And you can tell Anderson the free ride is over." He looks at me questioningly. "The 'D' last term was a gift. No more gifts. You'll have to earn your way back to a passing grade. And right now, you aren't showing me anything. Hit it on down to Kennedy. And you won't be readmitted back into class until that referral is signed by him."

Eric has turned and gone. Little shit.

Adrenaline pumping, I go back into class for the last two minutes. I call for late and old work, and I am deluged, mostly with teacher-edits of Writer's Workshop pieces. And it is dead quiet in class. To bring this class to silence, I must look like a madman. The class ends.

Lunch: Andrew doesn't show. The referral goes in during fourth.

Fourth: I run into Anderson. He tries to extenuate (but thankfully not excuse) Eric's shit parade. It's "always something with Eric," according to Dave. Seems they had a weekly bitch session in class, and Eric's weekly rant was on me. Some of the others in his class, older students, many of whom I've had, told him he blew it. Dave says this may have an effect. I nod, but say little more. He can tell I've had it with Eric, or at least I hope he can. I end the conversation by walking off. I've had it with Anderson, too. I know it's not his fault, but he doesn't seem to be doing anything (and here, right now at the keyboard, is where I realize I'm being too hard to Dave. If Eric wants to be the man, he better started acting like one. HE needs to get the job done, not have others make excuses for him).

When I leave Dave, I go to the lounge. In my box, I find the memo from Kurtzmann. What a fucking joke.

Happy Day of the Teacher.