Evaluation

Thursday, June 15, 1995

Today, though technically not the last day of school, was really the last day of classes for me and my Nines. The last two days of the school year are final exam schedule days. Today was periods one and two; tomorrow is three and four (thus, with seniors gone and fourth period prep, I’m home free).

I put Thank-You cards in both Aimee’s and Mary’s boxes. This year they’ve been my psyche’s saviors. They’ve been my confidantes. So I confided in them again, intimating my possible leave of absence strategy. When I saw Aimee later, she told me that if I leave, she’ll transfer. I could only tell her to hang tight... I could be back after a year... I had ended my card to her by saying, "If I don’t return in September, keep fighting the good fight until I do." I reminded her of my closing, and she squinted to keep her eyes clear, then smiled, then let me have it:

"And who the fuck do you think you are, King Arthur? And where’s your Avalon?"

I could only smile. No mushiness between us. And I headed to class, where I gave the Nines one last opportunity for points; any student who put together a perfectly organized binder could earn fifty extra credit points. This could make the difference between grades for a handful of students in each class. Some students for whom it would make no difference (because their grade was locked in, not close enough to the next higher grade) turned in binders, while some students who could have benefited failed to do so. Meanwhile, the class watched the ending of Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet, dumbfounded by his changes (Paris and Lady Montague live, Friar John makes it out of Verona). And at each classes’ end, I had them put together anonymous evaluations of the class.

I do this every so often, not every year, but enough to keep in touch with what I’m doing in the class. Today, I did it almost as an end-o-career thing. I had the students rate from 1-to-5: A) How much they learned, B) The teacher’s knowledge, C) The teacher’s willingness to help, and D) Their enjoyment of the class. They then had to answer the following: E) What was the best thing about the class? F) What do you wish the teacher had done differently? and G) What do you wish you had done differently?

The results were fairly good, almost surprising. Rating A averaged around four-and-a-half, B five, C (and here I sweated a little) four/four-and-a-half, and D between three-and-a-half and four. I say I sweated C a little because I feared what I always considered was the bane of the Burn-Out, that aloofness that tells kids not to bother approaching HIM... he won’t help. But that wasn’t the case; the case was actually that most never wanted help in the first place (which would explain the grades, but more on that later). The short answers were interesting. For at least one-fourth of the class (and I think closer to one-third), Romeo and Juliet was the thing they liked best; this makes me feel good... I still have It. Most students wouldn’t have me change a thing (boy, do they have a lot to learn), though a handful complained about the pace of the class (too fast), and two actually complained that I was too easy (tell that to the 3H’s, kiddos). As for what they would do differently, hindsight is 20/20 but rarely transferable to the future: most would do their work, or turn it in, or attend academic detention.

This is not to say that said students attended A.D. or even passed. Their grades tell that tale.

First period: six A’s, nine B’s, two C’s, and four Fails (if you don’t count the three students who never did check in to class). Of those four fails, all of them had at least seven absences (one-sixth of the forty-three day term) and were missing more than a dozen assignments apiece. Period two: seven A’s, five B’s, four C’s, and sixteen Fails. Of the sixteen, twelve had ten or more absences, and eight of those had twenty or more absences. No fail had less than ten missing assignments. Pathetic.

My feeling, looking back on all this, is a mixture. I keep wondering if I could have done anything different. The kids certainly couldn’t come up with an answer (but then again, that is not their job). I’m always questioning if I could have done more. Maybe I could have, but what? And at what cost? To family. To mental stability. To my already fragile morale (I don’t think I could have taken trying even harder than I did, and then not see every kid pass). I’m not sure it’s a rationalization, but I keep telling myself that I did all a reasonable person could or would do. But I know it’s not enough.

When I left campus, Aimee, Bob, and the Crew were proposing the appeal to Kurtzmann, and I was running into a former student on my way out the gate. Brian Daniels--one of my first Honors kids from PeeVee, son to Cindy, and a future teacher--came up to me and shook my hand.

He actually said, "Thank you." Cindy beamed, proud of her boy and the career choice he’s made.

"Change the world," I told him. "That’s what’s needed." And I looked at Cindy. "Shake ‘em up."

"Just like you," they both said almost simultaneously.

It felt good. Almost too good. So before I got all soft and runny inside, I laughed out loud. I told them of the Video Open Letters to Grey, Duncan, and Kurtzmann, and my prediction that either they will see the light or it will be another Court Martial of Billy Mitchell. Either way, it will be the end of the status quo, or the end of me. I laughed again.

I looked at Bruce. Almost my age when I started teaching. For two days in a row now, I’ve seen the future. And it looks all right.

But I keep asking myself: Where’s my place?