What Had Happened Was

In an effort not to spout a fountain of negativity, I will relay ten positive events from the week past:

I. can accurately identify the Gothic and Rococo periods. In fact, whenever she says, “Rococo,” she does a little shimmy/shake.
I. Told me today that the court tried to make her go to anger management, but that she told them that she would prefer to stay angry. Later, after I taught her how to embroider, she looked up and said with surprise, “man, this embroider shit be good for my nerves!”
All my students scored above an 80 percent on their Spanish quiz. Four out of the five scored above 96 percent. My Spanish class kicks ass.
R. was not expelled.
C. put an entire bag of batting on his head and fashioned a mustache. He told us he was the “Polyester Pimp.”
I ran 34 miles and swam 3000 meters.
When I woke up each morning, I could see sunlight.
I got to run with Joshua for 28 out of the 34 miles, and Oscar ran all 34 with me.
Tonight, I ate dinner with Joshua, Mitra, and Claire at Sukho Thai. We had a delicious meal of Panang, Pad Thai, and Pineapple Curry.
It was a four day week.

Story #1:

Last year, D. Followed me around everywhere. Technically, he didn’t even have one class with me, but somehow he managed to come to about three of my classes a day. D. Loves art. And while most of the time he’s causing people hell and destroying the classroom environment, when he’s making art he’s quiet. He’s focused. He loves it.

D. is not the most talented artist, but he was the most willing to try. He was always kind to me, and I honestly enjoyed his presence. One day, he even jokingly told me that he “was a wasted talent” before I discovered him, and that I shouldn’t worry because someday he was going to come back and get me “out this place.”

On the last day of school, I cried when D. left. I know how D. is. I know that he’s going to get into trouble. I know that he’s physically abusive to members of his family, and I know that he has a hot temper, and I don’t know if he can control it. I know he uses, and I know the other kids say he’s “a real thug, a real n. out on the street.”

So when he left, I knew I’d probably never see him again, and I knew that there was no way I could change the trajectory of his life, but it made me sad because I like him. I like him, and I want him to make the right choices, and I love that he loves art.

I did see D. again. He’s been in my fourth block art class all semester, and he’s been difficult. He’s been rude to me, and there’s been days when he’s refused to do anything. He’s taken advantage of my patience, and he’s tried to manipulate me. I know this, and he knows that I know. He also knows that I care about him, and he still loves art.

Two Fridays ago, D. came to school “full” and hit one of our behavioral specialists in the mouth with an umbrella. He ran away, and when I saw him today, he was about to go in for a hearing. I told him to come and find me before he left, and he said he would.

When he came to my door, he told me that they were placing him back at S. Alternative School, and he started to cry. He said, “you cared about me so much, and I fucked up. I fucked up big time. I’m going to miss you so much.”

I rubbed his back and told him he was getting a second chance. I hope he takes it.

Story #2:

K. came back after 45 days in “big boy” prison. After a day of zero productivity, I placed him in a time chair, and explained, “this is my favorite class, K., and no one is going to come in here and ruin that. This class is the reason I come to work, and you’re not going to take that away from me. We’re a family, and there is no badness here. We work hard, and we learn Spanish. So you’re going to sit here in time out and do your work alone until you can show me that you belong in the family.”

Well, the other kids thought this was pretty funny, so whenever K. tried to speak to them, they said, “man, be quiet! You’re not part of the family!”

Now, this may sound extremely neglectful, but it is actually my single greatest achievement in terms of class management. K. was not harmed, and in fact he did more work in the next hour than he had done in the three weeks of class he had with me before his incarceration. He was definitely in on the joke, and he was not hurt.

The achievement is this: my students told each other to be quiet! They identified each other as part of a learning family! They want to learn Spanish!



In other news:

The kids drove me bat-shit crazy this week. In my happy place, I’ve quit and I’m snowshoeing in my expansive backyard or plucking succulent gords off the vine in my garden far, far, far… Away from here.

Some days I hate my students. I hate that I can’t trust them. I hate that they don’t want to learn. I hate that they’re lazy. I hate that they’re mean. I hate that teaching them is like pulling teeth. In fact most days, the many things that I hate are so loud and demanding that it’s hard to hear the good stuff.

For the past few days, I wrote nothing because I felt like there was nothing good to say (so don’t say anything at all). But now that I’ve forced myself to list the good things, I feel better because I didn’t make them up. They happened. It was good. Or not. But it DID happen.