6 posts from 2008

I can't recall where or when I initially heard the following words uttered (although it was undoubtedly during my first week in the program): "Teaching is not just a job; it's a lifestyle". I'm sure at the time I scornfully laughed off the warning, convincing myself that as long as the passion and creativity was imbedded within the teacher, the rest would naturally fall in line. Then August hit, and I forgot to come up for breath. All my conversations outside of school somehow spiraled back to specific children, arguments over whose administrators were more inept, or practices for effective classroom management. Not only were the latter half of Sundays devoted to planning, but lesson ideas started to creep into my dreams (students, parents, and other teachers showed up shortly thereafter). My girlfriend was becoming increasingly less patient with my seemingly same, lame excuse for why we couldn't go out more: "I've got to get some grading done". Teaching honestly was a way of life I couldn't escape. Students who I'd become close with would begin texting me or staying after school to talk to me about their problems, problems which I would take home with me. Even over Christmas and Spring Break, my mind never left my students or my classroom. In some small way, I outgrew this initial obsession with teaching during my second year. As I became more adept at improvising within the classroom, my downtime became more relaxing. As planning became more efficient and my lessons more effective, I was able to get more done during the school day, leaving more and more time for myself. I would even take my girlfriend to the occasional Sunday matinee. I think this adaptation, if that's what you call it, can somehow be defined as "professional growth." A familiarity with the system that inevitably sets in at any setting helped carry me through my second year.

But my growth was more substantial than that. I firmly believed I started Mississippi Teacher Corps completely under-prepared for the experience. Through no fault of Teacher Corps, I simply was not ready for the shift in lifestyle that is necessary when moving from college life into the "real world," no matter what the job title; however, stepping into the profession of teaching, especially in Mississippi, especially in inner-city Jackson, required an almost impossible immediate maturation in almost every aspect of my life. I can proudly say today that I have successfully matured to the level required to be not simply an adequate, but an effective teacher.

It's hard to describe this "growth" without making a check-list of my abilities and achievements: 1) I can keep (most) of a class of twenty-seven seventeen (and the occasional eighteen, nineteen, or twenty) year olds (mostly) entertained and (mostly) on-task for (most of) ninety four minutes; 2) I can put the fear of God into a 6'6, 220 pound, All-Metro power-forward with one look; 3) I can make a class comprised of teenage mothers, abused sons, homeless and vagrant, under-educated, under-estimated, under-appreciated, and over-sensitive kids laugh at my self-deprecating humor or appreciate the originality of their own name. I can continue, but again, I feel that this type of description is not quite accurate for the "growth" I have experienced.

So what caused this change? What were the factors that sparked this change? As I mentioned previously, part of it can be attributed to the simple integration into a community that undeniably accompanies long-time tenure in a location. Students that I have never spoken to before, that I could not even recognize by face, let alone by name, come up to me in the hall and say, "Mr. Pollard, I wanna take you next year. I heard you hard, but you be learning in yo class." I think more of it comes from an internal desire not to accept mediocrity, although because I've been surrounded by it for so long, the desire is slowly eroding. My superiors initiated much of the change. Even though I resented it at the time, the "chewing out" for poor classroom management, too much dead time, and ineffectiveness during my first year by my principal has made me a better teacher. And finally, my students are the most important catalyst for change. Not only their reaction to learning in general (including their reaction to my class, which sadly, is still way too often complete apathy), but their stories for why they react the way they do. I can't help recall a detention session turned PBS special that occurred a few weeks ago. The student (admittedly, one of my favorite) was discussing her poor performance in school as she cleaned my room. The conversation went something like this:

"Mr. Pollard, I know why I be having bad grades." (This student failed me last year for English III and is in jeopardy of failing me for English III and English IV this year.)

"And why is that?"

"Because of my home life."

After we discussed the fact that her grandmother mostly takes care of her 9 month old son while she goes to school and works, she receives no support from her child's father because of the restraining order she has against him from when he beat her, she must constantly try and keep her younger sister out of trouble (which is partially the reason she goes to my school even though she's out of zone, because otherwise she would get in trouble too when her sister gets in fights at the school she attends), she has a poor relationship with her mother who still likes to go out and party, and her grandfather had to come out of retirement to help support her, her sister and her son, she said:

"I know I could do better if I had a good home life."

"You think that effects your school work?"

"I know it does. Every day I be having to deal with this stuff. That's why I missed school last week, 'cause I took my grandma to the hospital."

"No one else could have taken her?"

"Nope. I'm the only one she can depend on."

"Well I think you're probably right. I know you're smart enough to make good grades."

"I know too. I sho use to be an Honor student. I hadn't made honor roll since 9^th grade."

"Well at least you recognize the problem. And you know that when your son gets old enough to go to school, you need to do everything you can so that he doesn't have the same type of home life."

"Oh, I know that! He's gonna get everything he needs."

It was almost like a veiled cry for help. If she could express the words, I could almost hear her saying, "No one in my life is going to teach me responsibility. No one in my life is going to teach me leadership. No one in my life is going to teach me organization and dedication and commitment unless someone at this school does it." That's been the biggest factor for change in me. To paraphrase the words of an MTC alum, "These kids don't need to know what a gerund is; they don't need to know why Macbeth is a tragic hero. They need to know responsibility, organization, dedication, and that if they work and try hard enough, there's a better life for them out there." I don't keep up with writing assignments and detentions and test grades simply to make my class easier. There's a greater objective behind all of that. So many of these students need to learn that in the real world, there are consequences and there are rewards for your actions. If you keep trying, keep working, don't explode when you're angry, express gratitude when you're grateful, then the opportunities exist for you to make your life and your children's lives better. That's what motivates me to be a better teacher.

I'm so ready for the end of school I can't stand it.  I'm becoming a worse teacher because of it.  I've stopped writing lesson plans (I still prepare for my lessons, just on scratch paper).  I've become a worse disciplinarian because I don't want to stay after school and hold detention.  I do very little work outside of school (which means I have to be super-efficient during school).  But despite all these negatives, I'm also starting to do some reflection on my two years.  I feel like if there's one thing I did well, it was being available for my students.  I know so much about their personal lives because I've taken time to ask questions, drive them home, and speak with their parents.  I'm going to miss being an open ear to so many of them. 
I'm also dreading that conversation when I tell my students I'm leaving.  The majority of them won't care I'm sure.  I'll be just another teacher who didn't have the conviction to stick it out -- another teacher they feel they drove off (and they're partially right).  But several of them will be sad and disappointed I'm sure.  And so will I.  I've been going over the words in my head, and I've been debating whether to tell them the real reasons why I'm leaving or to sugarcoat it.  I feel like they deserve the truth, but I'm not sure they could fully comprehend it. 
Two events coming up that I'm also looking forward to, I guess in part as a way to say goodbye: prom and graduation.  Last year's prom sucked because we were the only suckers who actually showed up at the time the invitation said, thus sitting there by ourselves for 1 1/2 hours before we finally called it quits just as everyone was showing up.  And graduation as the culmination.  There are only a few seniors who I feel very close to.  I'm afraid I'll get emotional, but I do want them to know that I'll carry their memories with me.  I'm a little scared to think about them out in the real world.  But I guess (just like the parent most of them don't have) I'll have to let them go.

I think the two biggest keys to being a principal (one of which my own principal possesses a wealth, the other of which he is sorely missing) are communication skills and brutal honesty.  I realize that those two may seem contradictory, given that generally when one is being brutally honest, he is not necessarily choosing his words carefully.  However, I see them as operating in two separate spheres. 

      In order to be an effective principal, you simply must delegate authority and power.  There is no way you alone can run everything that goes on within the school smoothly.  Therefore, you must make it abundantly clear to your subordinates what and, almost more importantly, how they are responsible for.  I think my principal is pretty clear in what he is asking for most of the time, but he is not nearly specific enough in how he wants it executed.  For example, I know that students are not allowed to come back up the hallway in the morning once they go down to their homeroom; that has been stressed on numerous occasions.  However, I do not know what to do if someone is caught coming back up, because they have obviously already slipped by undetected, but may be returning to their original homeroom or even to the office.  Am I supposed to send them back to a room where they are not scheduled to be?  This lack of communication causes more headaches among the faculty at my school than is necessary.

      I also think that communication skills go both ways.  Not only must you, as an effective principal, disseminate your knowledge and instructions, but you must be willing to receive feedback from those who are following your orders.  You must admit fallacy and be willing to tweak or modify your plans when something is obviously not working.  However, if you are not willing to take advice or suggestions from the people who are on the front lines and know best, it seems you are destined to repeat and expound the same problems again.

      Brutal honesty is something I still struggle with.  Even after two years of teaching (and admittedly, my backbone has strengthened somewhat considerably), I still have a problem telling people, whether they are students, peers, or administrators, exactly what they need to hear.  I’m too much of a softy, and often my language is misinterpreted or not taken nearly as seriously as it should be.  This could definitely be a problem as a principal. Can you imagine the different responses of a student when giving the following commands: “Son, tuck your shirt in now” vs. “Excuse me sir, but do you realize your shirt is untucked?”  I generally fall into the latter category.  I recognize it, but there is still something genetically coded in my personality that fights against coming across as a jerk, even when that is completely necessary.  And being a jerk is okay (to some extent) as a principal.  As my principal so often reminds us, he has “no friends in this business.”

      But I also believe that brutal honesty extends beyond the relationships with students.  When addressing statistics, changes in school culture, discipline problems, or teacher apathy and incompetence, brutal honesty must be the only policy.  Otherwise, you risk another month, semester, or even year of mediocrity.

I write this blog with some resentment.  Since my last blog, my feelings have not wavered towards school.  It's hard to continually retype the same sentiments over and over, but whenever I sit down to try and write, this is all that comes out.  I count down the days.  I cannot wait until graduation.  When I am there, I try to be as level-headed as possible in dealing with students' misbehavior.  I try not to let anything affect me: the unfathomable amount of absenteeism this semester, the apathy of the students, the unwillingness of the administration to help, etc.  But it's all still slowly eating at me. 
The good news, although it's not school related at all, is that I have found a few job possibilities for next year.  Many of them allow me to still give back to the community, offer freedom outside the classroom, and seem like positions with opportunity for advancement.  However, I feel like I am under-qualified for many of them.  Also, I'm nervous about taking a position of leadership.  Despite the fact that my leadership skills have grown infinitely since I began teaching (and despite Dr. Mullins's class on Ed. Leadership), I still don't feel like I am good at spearheading things on my own.  I'm much more of the type of personality that wants to be told what the objective is and then gets to work.  Witness my attempts to set a meeting date and agenda for an organization to which I was elected president.  The meetings traditionally have been held in January.  Here it is almost March, and the meeting has not been set.  (Although, in my defense, the people I am working with are not the most cooperative or the most punctual in their replies.)
Anyway, as the school year starts to wind down, I'm slowly beginning to reflect on my two years in the program.  There are so many opportunities for real good to be done here, if only we had more power (more knowledgeable people in positions of leadership I guess).  I'm excited about being on-board in Oxford for July because I feel like there's so much I can pass on to incoming first years.  I'll have to try and temper my desire to bombard them with ideas for lessons and strategies for management all within the first days, but I do think one of the best ways to improve the educational system in this state is through organizations like this one and through an open-mindedness that allows teachers to both give and receive information genuinely and selflessly.  When I think about the wealth of information and talent in my class alone, it's mind-boggling.  But how much of it will go to waste after this year?

One of my favorite students is a student that I've only just had for this year.  "Q" is so inspiring to me partially because of his situation last year.  He takes me for English III and English IV and has the highest grade in both classes.  But he is classified as a 10th grader.  One day last semester, I asked "Q" about the situation, knowing that he was way too smart to have tried and failed English III.  He explained to me that during last school year he was suspended quite often for fighting.  It was actually severe enough, he said, that some of the students' parents pressed charges and the police issued a warrant for his arrest.  If he came to school, he would go to jail.  So he simply stopped coming.  He failed every class.  Now this would still mean he would normally be on track to be a junior, which means going into last year he was already behind (see: failed) some classes as well.  In talking to other teachers that had him briefly last year, it seems as if he was extremely aggresive and angry with the world. 

Had he and other teachers I trust not told me this, I would not have believed it.  Every single day (I see him for a full hour and half each day since he is enrolled in two English classes) he is attentive.  He works well with others.  He asks questions when he doesn't understand (and I mean astute, thought-provoking questions).  He writes maturely, with passion and precision.  He's creative.  But at the same time he's humble.  He works well with others.  His thirst for learning is genuine and not simply to earn the grade.  He's respectful and obedient, but doesn't blindly conform to authority.  He has a sense of moral direction, stepping into a fight (knowing he would get into trouble) to stop a male he didn't know from hitting a female he didn't know. 

I teach his best friend, who he affectionately calls "PegLeg."  PegLeg is not nearly as capable as "Q", but he tries hard.  I'm convinced he has some form of an attention disorder.  They are in different classes, but "Q" goes over to PegLeg's house to wake him up for school everyday.  He double checks with him to make sure he gets the homework for the classes they have together.  "Q" is very much the leader in the relationship, but he won't allow PegLeg to acknowledge it. 

At one point early in the year, I noticed "Q" was reading Tupac's book of poems, "The Rose That Grew From Concrete."  I explained that we were going to do the title poem in a few weeks, and he got excited.  When the day came, it seemed he knew everything I was going to say before I said it.  He told me he wanted to add a rose to his collection of tattoos because of the poem.  A week or two later, "Q" and PegLeg came by to check their grades and during the course of the conversation they explained to me they were trying to come to school forty straight days in a row.  I told them it was an admirable idea, and I would support them by giving them something if they made it.  From that point on, "Q" started to count the days down every day he came into my class.  With about 7 days left, PegLeg got suspended.  Because of me.  He dropped the F-Bomb in class, I wrote him up, and he got 3 days.  "Q" made it.  I bought him the "Tupac: Resurrection" Book that came out recently and gave it too him with an inscription in the front about how he was the type of student that made teachers want to continue teaching.  He said he took it home that night and read the whole thing.

Apparently at some point I had told "Q" to come tell me when he received his ACT score.  I wanted to see what my best student did.  I forgot I had told him this, but he came by last week and not only told me, but showed me his score.  He made a 21 (sadly, one of the highest in the school).  His reading comprehension score was in the 76th percentile (pretty miraculous, considering his background), but his math and science scores were in the 40th percentiles.  I congratulated him, but he wasn't satisfied.  That day, he checked out an ACT book from the library to start studying.  His goal is a 25.  (Just to compare, I run off 3 ACT questions to do with my homeroom every single day.  I go over the answers with them and offer them extra credit.  This is an Honors class of juniors.  I give them 20 minutes to do 3 questions, and they bitch and complain more than any class I have.)

I'm going to miss "Q."  He doesn't have enough credits to graduate this year, even if he passes all his classes (which he will, with A's and B's), but I'm sure he'll be successful in life.

So I'm sure those of you who read my blog regularly (which is probably none of you) have realized that I haven't blogged for while.  I don't think since October.  While I could come up with a multitude of excuses, I'd have to say it's most likely because I have nothing to say.  Things are decent.  For the most part, the kids do what I say.  For the most part, the kids learn the material.  For the most part, the kids are bored or upset that they actually have to do work.  For the most part, I create good lessons.  For the most part, I am respectful and helpful to my students.  For the most part, I'm not enjoying my job.  I think more and more about what I could be doing with my free time.  I'm spending less time outside of school on school work.  I'm becoming progressively more frustrated with the apathy and sheer laziness of my students.  So why haven't I blogged about this?  Because I feel like this is nothing new.  It's been this way for a while. 

At the beginning of the school year,these were the reasons I was so confident and excited about the prospect of changing to a "functional" school district where work ethic is instilled, my students have some sort of background knowledge and exposure to the world, and discipline problems are minimal.  But as the weeks evolved, I realized that while this aspect of my job drains my enthusiasm, there are elements essential to teaching that I detest just as much, if not more.  For example, I HATE that this job never leaves my mind.  Especially after being around family and friends over the holidays that do not have to bring "work" home with them, I realized what a luxury it is.  And no matter where I teach, I'm always going to be worrying about what and how to teach the next day, week, or semester; when I'm going to get the 45 essays I have graded; if I'll be able to turn in my copies on time so that I can give my students the handouts they need; etc., etc.  Also, I LOATHE the bureaucratical crap that comes with my job.  I have to justify, get a form signed for, and analyze the shit out of every move I make.  This will not cease at another school because I will still teach in the public school system (I somehow feel that teaching at a private school is selling out).  These and other aspects of teaching are something that I cannot reconcile, and are the main reason why I'm almost positive I will not be returning to the profession next year.

I love the relationships I've formed.  Which is why I really want to get into some form of public service next year.  I've said from the moment I started this job that it would be the best in the world if I got to hang out with the kids and not be responsible for teaching them when they don't want to be taught. I want to see if there's someway I can find that outlet.  If there's an organization out there that lets you work with students who want to be there, who want to improve themselves, and are not afraid of a little hard work, then I would love to do it.