Ah, that last class. Yesterday Ms. R the 6th grade AP detained them after school. Imagine Snoop from The Wire but about two feet taller and ruggedly beautiful, like a wood carving come to life with cornrows. She don't play. I would never fuck with her. She told them "You cannot return to this building until I speak to your parents tomorrow." Some of these kids had already had parent conferences.
So today again when they came in I had two social worker interns. Within five minutes I had three office referrals written and one picture dictionary out my second floor window. All my furniture was moved around and papers and books were on the floor. Someone stole my grade book. Pride was pulling a girl along the floor by her pony tail. I wrote him a referral to the office and he pulled his typical "Oh my God. You always pickin' on me!"
"You never take responsibility for what you do young man. I am not dealing with you any more."
Then Fate jumped up again shouting "I'm gonna bring my father up in here and he will beat your asses." Office referral #2. Then Mr. W the long-term sub knocked on my door. Mr. W is an imposing African-American man who stands about six foot six. Next to him was Mopey, one of the six severely emotionally disturbed kids in my last class. Mr. W and I spent a lot of time in the trenches at the Book last year, striding into 8th grade melees like Legolas and Gimli into a swarm of Orcs. We have rooms next to each other now.
"You know what Mopey done?" Mr. W asked me. "He asked me if I could carry his bag up here and then he cussed me out."
"Mopey, you tell Mr. W you are sorry or I am calling your house."
"Tell him give me my damn stuff."
"You apologize and he will give you your stuff."
"Tell him give me my stuff."
"You have ten seconds." I counted down and Mopey just stared at the floor. "Ok, I'm calling your house and Mr. W will keep your stuff in his room until you grow up."
Mr. W looked in my room at the chaos. "Don't tell me the guy who man-handled 8-23 last year can't handle 20 little blue shirt punks!"
"I saw you had to call the police in twice today Mr. W. We'll see who can't handle their shit!"
"It takes special people Mr. G to do what we do."
"Yeah--crazy people."
Mopey was sitting in my chair when I returned. "Get out my chair Mopey, or you going to the office like Fate and Pride." He didn't move, so I wrote him a referral. The poor intern social worker who helped yesterday served today to escort youngsters down to the office one at a time. This is how it is going to be in that class until they break it up and get these kids appropriate services. Again Mr. H sat at a table and worked with the six or seven who can sit still for fifteen minutes at a time, while the rest of us chased the others around the room.
On an up note, I broke up my first eight grade fight of the year. Mr. T, one of the Filipino teachers, had a commotion in his room. I entered to find two young men charging each other. I got between them and one reached around me to sock the other on the nose. At that point the burly hall monitor and one of the police officers came in and handled business.
The one who socked the other got arrested. His younger brother is in my homeroom and first period class.
A big thanks for the response on Donors Choose. You humble me, and my kids will be so happy!
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Hell yeah
The Move Like Seamus String Trio Side Project is playing Friday at Mick O'Shea's. Join Drew, Kristen, and some other guy if you want to hear pop covers and Celtic folk tunes and bash-yer-mouth pub songs played with a unique combination of finesse and raw power.
Or join us if you just like a Guinness now and again.
Or join us if you just like a Guinness now and again.
Cha-Ching
For those who know me and my name and my school I have a project up at Donors Choose. I can't link or give specifics because the donations are supposed to be anonymous and I'm not supposed to tell locations, etc. But if you want to help it would be appreciated. Let's just say the project has something to do with a classroom library for sixth grade. In a struggling inner city school. You know where.
Update: OK, nobody is able to find the it, so subtlety be damned!
Update: OK, nobody is able to find the it, so subtlety be damned!
Day 12
The Class From Hell--I love them so. After repeated complaints from faculty and the social worker experience with them Monday and six fist fights involving students in that group the administrators called an emergency assembly yesterday and gave the entire sixth grade a dressing-down. I loathe this tactic. If one particular crew are responsible for 94% of the troubles in the grade, get that crew nailed down--don't lecture everyone. But I'm not in charge. I hoped it would help.
Today my first two classes were wonderful darlings again. They are terrified of me and they like me at the same time. I approach my Verbal Warning list with a piece of chalk in those classes and you can hear the mice sifting through dust in the walls. They always come to my room asking if they can come to my class instead of going to art or music (not gym, though).
But the last class of the day? Wow! The social worker intern who helped me in there Monday fled back to her superiors with reports of the crisis in that class, and they sent me TWO interns today. Again I had a good laugh talking to the new one ahead of time.
Things started smoothly. I told the class I was proud of how they entered my room, and that every one had done the right thing for the first time all year. I showed them a video about hurricanes, we answered some questions, and then we read an article about hurricanes. Then Fate jumped up and started threating other students, and Hubris and Pride strolled in late. Mopey started rolling around in my desk chair, and Whiny kept whing "Mr. G can you wipe my nose/tie my shoe/fix my pencil/copy this down." The two social workers and Mr. H fanned out into the chaos as I tried to bring the class under control. Two fights erupted and in another corner Pride had his hand up a girl's shirt. By banging on the board with my fists and using my timer and the Phone Call Home board I got everyone in their seats and quiet. I read them "Rikki Tikki Tavi" and showed them a video of a mongoose killing a snake. Then they were writing in their journals about Rikki when three more fights erupted and all was lost, social workers or no. The school police officer happened to walk by and she was so astonished that we held the class after school and the administrator told them that none of them were allowed back in the building until their parents came up and spoke to all the teachers.
Tomorrow Mr. H is getting the poor souls who want to learn--they are leaving that class and going with him to his room where they will be able to do their classwork without jerks fucking with them. He will teach them from my syllabus. I am taking the jerks and we are going no-nonsense now. They will sit where I tell them and they will do their work or they will be sent to another school. That's the way it goes from here on out. I still love them but 60% of the kids in that room need a one-on-one assistant and I don't have ANY. I don't have a special educator and more than half these kids have IEPs for emotional disturbance or learning disabilities--and I have them for 90 minutes straight, a tough haul for ANY sixth grader. All the sixth grade teachers face this group every day.
No more. The social workers have seen it and now the word has spread up to the state level, so the slow in-house bureacracy is now moving or it will face state interference. Thank goodness. These kids need help. I can't keep them safe right now.
Today my first two classes were wonderful darlings again. They are terrified of me and they like me at the same time. I approach my Verbal Warning list with a piece of chalk in those classes and you can hear the mice sifting through dust in the walls. They always come to my room asking if they can come to my class instead of going to art or music (not gym, though).
But the last class of the day? Wow! The social worker intern who helped me in there Monday fled back to her superiors with reports of the crisis in that class, and they sent me TWO interns today. Again I had a good laugh talking to the new one ahead of time.
Things started smoothly. I told the class I was proud of how they entered my room, and that every one had done the right thing for the first time all year. I showed them a video about hurricanes, we answered some questions, and then we read an article about hurricanes. Then Fate jumped up and started threating other students, and Hubris and Pride strolled in late. Mopey started rolling around in my desk chair, and Whiny kept whing "Mr. G can you wipe my nose/tie my shoe/fix my pencil/copy this down." The two social workers and Mr. H fanned out into the chaos as I tried to bring the class under control. Two fights erupted and in another corner Pride had his hand up a girl's shirt. By banging on the board with my fists and using my timer and the Phone Call Home board I got everyone in their seats and quiet. I read them "Rikki Tikki Tavi" and showed them a video of a mongoose killing a snake. Then they were writing in their journals about Rikki when three more fights erupted and all was lost, social workers or no. The school police officer happened to walk by and she was so astonished that we held the class after school and the administrator told them that none of them were allowed back in the building until their parents came up and spoke to all the teachers.
Tomorrow Mr. H is getting the poor souls who want to learn--they are leaving that class and going with him to his room where they will be able to do their classwork without jerks fucking with them. He will teach them from my syllabus. I am taking the jerks and we are going no-nonsense now. They will sit where I tell them and they will do their work or they will be sent to another school. That's the way it goes from here on out. I still love them but 60% of the kids in that room need a one-on-one assistant and I don't have ANY. I don't have a special educator and more than half these kids have IEPs for emotional disturbance or learning disabilities--and I have them for 90 minutes straight, a tough haul for ANY sixth grader. All the sixth grade teachers face this group every day.
No more. The social workers have seen it and now the word has spread up to the state level, so the slow in-house bureacracy is now moving or it will face state interference. Thank goodness. These kids need help. I can't keep them safe right now.
Monday, September 08, 2008
netflixed
Dag, yo! This little guy would fit right in at Booker T.!
A lovely film. Good double feature potential with The Enigma of Kasper Hauser.
Day 10
And now the Book reverts to form!
Whilst escorting my 2nd period class to lunch there was a bloody fist fight between two girls from my first period class in the hall. I had to manhandle kids to get them apart and to get the crowd control going.
A social worker stopped in my room while I was eating lunch. "Hi, I'm a trainee social worker and I have been assigned here as an intern. I have seen 8th graders all morning and would like to observe your 6th graders last period."
I laughed a morbid laugh, then: "You can certainly observe that class. Get ready though, they are off the chain."
She said "6th graders are too cute to be off the chain."
Ha. As the class came in young Fate had words with young Hubris. Fate is explosively violent and anytime someone gives her the least cause she will bang them in the eye piece. Hubris is a jackass wannabe gangbanger with an externalized locus of control. Any time he gets busted for doing something foolish it's somebody else's fault. The started pushing, I got between them. They cooled off. The social worker helpfully took Fate aside and spoke to her. An eighth grader and a student from my second period class came into my room and started fussing. I commanded them to leave, and the eighth grader said "fuck you get out my face." I called security, who never came, and then I looked up to see the social worker in the midst of a melee. I called for security again and started peeling onion layers of blue uniformed youngins apart. Fate was shouting "my father come up in here and kick your fucking asses bitch for touching my stuff." She unleashed a sidewinder kick of remarkable violence. Fortunately she missed her target and kicked me in the gut (thank goodness for that inversion table and inverted crunches!). This gave me sufficient cause to involve an administrator. Hubris shouted "bitch my fatha carry hard iron. You bring your fatha up in here he be full of holes!"
We got the situation calm again. Mr. H my hapless co-teacher took Hubris for a walk to the office and the social worker took the other. When they returned an 8th grade melee opened up in the hall and my students immediately swarmed toward the door. Uh-huh. I put out my left arm and swept 18 youngsters back and slammed the door. D-man said "Dag, you strong." I said "I told you not to play in here. Get in your seats."
The social worker was very helpful. I'd warned her this class needed a lot of support, and hopefully she takes word of that back to the powers that be. I have many parent conferences coming up for that group, but have my doubts based on phone conversations that this will be at all helpful. I think several of these kids run their own homes.
Already many faculty are starting to call out sick, and some of the subs are leaving mid-shift. A bit of last year starting to creep in. Here we go. Someone threw a fruit cup at me in the hall, and peaches splashed along the corridor. I was lucky not to get drenched in Dole syrup.
Whilst escorting my 2nd period class to lunch there was a bloody fist fight between two girls from my first period class in the hall. I had to manhandle kids to get them apart and to get the crowd control going.
A social worker stopped in my room while I was eating lunch. "Hi, I'm a trainee social worker and I have been assigned here as an intern. I have seen 8th graders all morning and would like to observe your 6th graders last period."
I laughed a morbid laugh, then: "You can certainly observe that class. Get ready though, they are off the chain."
She said "6th graders are too cute to be off the chain."
Ha. As the class came in young Fate had words with young Hubris. Fate is explosively violent and anytime someone gives her the least cause she will bang them in the eye piece. Hubris is a jackass wannabe gangbanger with an externalized locus of control. Any time he gets busted for doing something foolish it's somebody else's fault. The started pushing, I got between them. They cooled off. The social worker helpfully took Fate aside and spoke to her. An eighth grader and a student from my second period class came into my room and started fussing. I commanded them to leave, and the eighth grader said "fuck you get out my face." I called security, who never came, and then I looked up to see the social worker in the midst of a melee. I called for security again and started peeling onion layers of blue uniformed youngins apart. Fate was shouting "my father come up in here and kick your fucking asses bitch for touching my stuff." She unleashed a sidewinder kick of remarkable violence. Fortunately she missed her target and kicked me in the gut (thank goodness for that inversion table and inverted crunches!). This gave me sufficient cause to involve an administrator. Hubris shouted "bitch my fatha carry hard iron. You bring your fatha up in here he be full of holes!"
We got the situation calm again. Mr. H my hapless co-teacher took Hubris for a walk to the office and the social worker took the other. When they returned an 8th grade melee opened up in the hall and my students immediately swarmed toward the door. Uh-huh. I put out my left arm and swept 18 youngsters back and slammed the door. D-man said "Dag, you strong." I said "I told you not to play in here. Get in your seats."
The social worker was very helpful. I'd warned her this class needed a lot of support, and hopefully she takes word of that back to the powers that be. I have many parent conferences coming up for that group, but have my doubts based on phone conversations that this will be at all helpful. I think several of these kids run their own homes.
Already many faculty are starting to call out sick, and some of the subs are leaving mid-shift. A bit of last year starting to creep in. Here we go. Someone threw a fruit cup at me in the hall, and peaches splashed along the corridor. I was lucky not to get drenched in Dole syrup.
Sunday, September 07, 2008
the hood
So the remnants of Hanna blew through yesterday. We had some high winds and steady rain but the storm wasn't as bothersome as predicted (the breathless media coverage resulted in runs on local groceries, which of course is the intent of breathless coverage). We had invites from a couple friends to hang out and play boardgames, but the mother-in-law was here so we were socially stuck. I made lasagna and we were settling in to watch movies when the phone rang: the house next to door to Julio--the one we almost bought 18 months ago--was foreclosed upon months back and has been vacant since. Well, not really. During the storm the front door blew open. The latch had been forced. Julio called the cops and they did a walk-through. Apparently people had been sleeping in the basement and in the living room. Whoever was squatting there was pretty respectful. They didn't steal the fixtures or pipes or radiators, they didn't steal the gigantic ornate mirror or vandalize anything. There were bags of cast-off clothing and candles and bedding here and there, and some peanut butter and a tray of 9 mm bullets. The police advised Julio to "secure" the house. If one of the candles started a fire it could be a catastrophe.
So I went up there and helped cover the windows and doors with plywood. We felt bad locking someone who had no home out of a house that had no residents, but I gathered up as much of their belongings as I could and put them in bags out front by the stoop so they could at least retrieve their clothes.
I felt the whole time that I knew who was living there. I saw some things that reminded me of someone I know who lives on the margins, and even his scented oil pachouli odor permeated the house. But I'm not sure. I hope he's ok.
Someone--perhaps the previous owner--had left pages of rants about discipline and overcoming cancer. "Cancer results when cells forget what they are. They revert to their original protean mission, to reproduce like mad. With discipline we can bring our body back to health and remind cells of their true function." This went on for pages and pages. I thought about taking it for my found literary object box, but left it behind. I wanted to take as little as possible from someone who has next to nothing; especially when next to nothing includes a 9 mm weapon of some kind.
So I went up there and helped cover the windows and doors with plywood. We felt bad locking someone who had no home out of a house that had no residents, but I gathered up as much of their belongings as I could and put them in bags out front by the stoop so they could at least retrieve their clothes.
I felt the whole time that I knew who was living there. I saw some things that reminded me of someone I know who lives on the margins, and even his scented oil pachouli odor permeated the house. But I'm not sure. I hope he's ok.
Someone--perhaps the previous owner--had left pages of rants about discipline and overcoming cancer. "Cancer results when cells forget what they are. They revert to their original protean mission, to reproduce like mad. With discipline we can bring our body back to health and remind cells of their true function." This went on for pages and pages. I thought about taking it for my found literary object box, but left it behind. I wanted to take as little as possible from someone who has next to nothing; especially when next to nothing includes a 9 mm weapon of some kind.
Friday, September 05, 2008
Day 9
I have many delightful readers and writers in my classes this year. I tell these sixth graders that they write and read at a much higher level than my eighth graders last year. It's true. Today's warm-up asked them to use one of our new vocabulary words in a sentence. If they choose they could use all three in a sentence for extra credit. One of my students wrote:
The previous 5th grade class had a majority of truants, the better student emerged from the shadows and put a stop to the bad behavior.
She scored some extra points. She's awesome. In her homework she wrote about her high self-esteem and her Islamic faith. I wrote her name on the board in Arabic and she corrected my spelling.
Another adorable little scamp wrote for his warmup:
When I walked pass the flowers they flourished.
They probably did!
It is almost 6pm on Friday and I have my Monday lesson planned and most of my grading done. About three hours more this weekend and I'll be totally caught up and planned through Wednesday. Whew. I think I'm getting my feet under me.
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