Hater Blockers

I found this picture on my cell phone- a memory of one student's attempt to block "haters."

School is OUT!

I finished the year, told everyone goodbye, and officially "left my job" on Facebook. What could possibly make it more official than that?

I definitely experienced a range of feelings in the hours following those final moments at school-- but they were complicated by other events, like returning the rental car I had for over a month even though my car still isn't fixed, coming home to pack for my upcoming trip to Georgia, and realizing that with the end of the school year comes the end of my Teach for America experience.

Now I have to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life.

But since this blog has been primarily devoted to my life as a teacher (and not a human being), I'll probably keep writing about school-related stuff over the summer. Memories of my kids, thoughts on pedagogy, word-for-word recitations of conversations I've had about education. Scintillating stuff, I'm sure.

And while I'm thinking about it, I really want to share this one particular memory.

Yesterday, I ran into one of my students from last year, who is now in 2nd grade. He always reminds me of our "handshake, hug, or high-five" routine. Each morning, I greeted my students at the door with the question, "handshake, hug, or high-five?" and they chose how they wanted to be greeted. Most of my first-grade babies would enthusiastically respond, "ALL THREE!" and we would proceed to shake hands, hug, and then high-five. This particular student, however, would instead respond, "ALL TWO!" with equal enthusiasm. He didn't like shaking hands-- he just wanted a hug and a high-five. I often thought about explaining to him that the phrase, "all two," didn't make sense. I mean, he wasn't asking for all of the options. And even if there had only been two options, it would be more appropriate to respond with, "both." But I never had the heart. I mean, who would remember the kid who said, "I'd like a hug and a high-five, but not a handshake"? Exactly.

Randomness (with pictures!!)

Just wanted to share some "graphic design" my kids have been working on in the computer lab. . .





And some pictures one of my students took at the farm . . .



Moo . . .



"You guys act like you've never been to a farm before."
"We HAVEN'T been to a farm before! We're city kids."



"Yo, Ms. Jenkins, Mr. Crooke's brother be CUTE! He has those deep dimples!"



And a random, (somewhat) forgotten quote:

"Ms. Jenkins, you need more pizza than that. We're black kids. We're GREEDY."
Note: "Greedy" in this context refers exclusively to food.

last days

For the past few weeks, I've kind of been "done" with school. It's been sort of like living life in a holding pattern-- you've "arrived" at your destination, you can SEE it, but you aren't actually there. You're just hanging out, flying in meaningless circles (triangles?), waiting until someone says, "ok, you can land now." Except in this case, I've been waiting for someone to say, "school is over now."

Except this week, I've sort of broken the tradition position of, "how many more days?" I haven't been teaching anything, or even attempting to teach. I'm done, remember? Instead, we've been playing educational games and cleaning out the room. I'm playing games with my kids, and watching semi-educational movies- you know, the kind that are based on literature we've read or have a good message. I've been spending time with my kids, just talking to them about what they want out of life.

I've also told them that I'm not coming back to our school next year, and have been fielding questions/trying to explain to them that I'm NOT leaving because of them.

But what I'm realizing is that I should have done this a long time ago. I should have spent a lot more time enjoying my kids' company, getting to know them as people and not just students, and listening to the things they really care about. Because basically, my kids are pretty amazing (and hilarious) people.

Today, at the end of the day, I got permission to walk to Barnes and Noble with one of my students. I wanted to take her to Barnes and Noble so I could help her pick out a math workbook to review over the summer. Over coffee (and a Pepsi), she told me that she was thinking last night about all of the times she's yelled at me or not followed directions or been rude or whatever . . . and how amazed she is that I'm still there, trying to help her.

I don't flatter myself by claiming to have changed someone's life, but I really do hope that my perseverance has had some sort of impact next year. Honestly, if one kid pays a little more attention next year and takes her education a little more seriously, this whole year was worth it for me.

And hopefully, in September, I'll remember to listen to my kids and enjoy hanging out with them from the beginning of the year, instead of waiting until June.

If you pay me $2, I'll stay at home!

At the end of school today, one of my students came over. I had given him $1 for "beating me" in a Sudoku competition (I was helping other students, not actually competing, just for the record. Unlike most of the people on that TV show, I AM smarter than a 5th grader, and most 6th graders, too). He put his hands on my shoulder, and said, "Ms. J, if you give me $2, I won't ever come back to school anymore. I'll be absent every day for the rest of the year! I promise!"

Maybe I need to stop being so transparent about my frustration that ALL of my students are still showing up (I only had TWO kids absent today-- better attendance than yesterday or Friday).

I do enjoy spending time with them, it just gets so loud with all of those kids in my room!

We're all professionals, right?

My classroom phone rang at 10:45 this morning. "__________'s mom is here to see you. She says you'll wait until you bring your class down for lunch."

So after I dropped my kids off for lunch, I went to the front desk. After taking care of a few details, I walked over to the student's mother. She was standing with his aunt and an administrator.

As I began to greet then, I was met with the administrator's hand in my face-- think "talk to the hand, 'cause the face ain't listening," circa 1992-- and (I swear, this is word for word) "You need to stay out of our conversation, Ms. Jenkins."

To which I replied, "I'm sorry, I received a call from the front desk saying that _____'s mother was here to see me."

I was then told that it was inappropriate to have a conversation with a parent in the middle of the hallway, even though she had been having a conversation (the one I was supposed to stay out of) with the same parents in the hallway only moments before. So I took them upstairs, to my room, where we had a very pleasant conversation about how _____ is very smart, but plays too much and is behind academically because of it.

Apparently, they received a letter yesterday saying he wasn't allowed to come back to our school next year. I don't know anything about that. Seriously. I guess that was another conversation I needed to stay out of.

Last days of school

So I have a confession to make-- on Friday, June 13, with 5 days of school left, I asked my students a very simple and yet unprofessional question: "Who needs to give me a hug goodbye because this is their last day of school?"

I expected at least 5 kids to inform me that yes, it was their last day of school. It's customary for most students (or at least half) to simply skip the last week of the school year. And yet all 15 of the students present that day (I guess I DID have 4 students absent) informed me that they didn't need to say goodbye yet-- they planned to be at school each and every day during that last week.

Part of me was really disappointed; that means more kids to babysit/entertain during the final days of the school year. It also means we need more structure and I have less class time to spend cleaning out my closet and boxing up books to take home.

But another part of me cherishes these last few days, the few moments I have left with these 19 students I have had the privilege of teaching for these 183 days.

And now. . . Friday's highlights.

I threw a surprise party for my students on Friday afternoon-- I pulled two students out of their music class to help me set everything up. We walked to my car first, to retrieve the chips, cookies, plates, cups, and napkins I had hidden there. When we got to the car, one of my students immediately jumped into the backseat, saying, "I want to see what it feels like in Ms. Jenkins' car! This jawn (see urbandictionary.com) be bangin'!"

As we carried everything back to the room, these two rather rambunctious young men began eagerly (and voluntarily) cleaning the classroom, setting everything up. While they worked, we also talked. One of them suggested I play an elaborate practical joke on the class-- he decided it would be hilarious if I taught 7th grade the following year, and chose to have all of the same students in my class. On the first day of school, I would tell them that they had all been retained and would be in my 6th grade class again. They also discussed which of my students would cry first/loudest.

I took that as an opportunity to tell these young men that I will not be returning to our school next year. I was worried that they would a) be excited or b) think I was leaving because of them. Instead, the other student responded in this way, "Why are you leaving, Ms. Jenkins? I bet you're leaving because you'll make more money. You don't need that money. I bet those other kids will drive you crazy. You'll be coming back here, begging us to let you be our teacher again."

They then began to talk to me about what I had meant to them as a teacher, and ways that I had impacted them ("No other teacher really, you know, worked with me like that," etc.).

They also started talking about how they live a block away from each other, and hang out together, and get in lots of trouble. They go to the movies together, too, and apparently almost always get kicked out of the theater. I responded simply, "And that's why I don't go to that theater."

When the other kids came back, I made them stand silently in the hallway for a few extra minutes, convincing them that they were in trouble. When they came into the classroom, music was playing, they could smell the pizza, and I had written, "Congratulations, 205 A! Average reading level in September: 5.12. Average reading level in June: 7.2."

As excited as they were about the party, I think they were more excited about the growth in their reading levels. I few kids said, "So that's two years- that means we met our goal!" Another kid said, "I'm surprised- I can't believe these kids actually learned something!" Then we had a party . . . an hour of eating and talking and dancing and laughing. An hour of remembering why I love my kids and being in the classroom.

Late night phone calls

Last night, I was sitting at home, reading and getting ready for bed, when I heard my phone ring. I thought it might be friends, encouraging me to change my mind and meet them at a bar somewhere. I also thought about getting up to answer it, but decided it wasn't worth the effort.

This morning, I checked my phone and was surprised to note that the phone call was from an unidentified Philadelphia number. I give my cell phone number to my students' parents, but I rarely hear from them on weekends, and even more rarely still after 11pm. Anxiously, I checked the voicemail, ready to hear a screaming parent complaining about something I had either said, done, not said, or not done. I mean, if you're going to call a teacher at 11:14pm, it must be a big deal.

Instead, I heard one of my students, obviously in tears. "Ms. Jenkins, this is ________. Can I please retake my test so I won't have to go to summer school? I'll try my best. I promise. Please don't make me go to summer school. Call me back on my cell phone. The number is xxx-xxx-xxxx."

I have two thoughts on this:

1. Stop yelling at other students during class. This will make teachers more willing to help you.

2. This child, to his credit, does ALL of his assignments. He turns in all of his homework. He reads at home every single night. And yet he still reads below grade level. As much as we hate labeling students "special ed," sometimes they DO need special services. And our school should provide them without (necessarily) requiring that kids attend summer school).

What the school needs

An anecdote from another teacher:

Our school librarian (a black woman without a college degree) has figured everything out! To fix our school, she thinks we need to fire our assistant principal (who is a black woman). In her place, we need to hire a white man. Then, we will have two different administrative points of view-- the black point of view and the white point of view.

She is serious about this proposal.

My kids think they're SO smart

A teacher-friend came to visit my classroom today. I would like to say it's because he wanted to see me, but I know it's really because he wanted to print something (I have one of the only computers in the school networked to the copy machine). His entrance was met with excited whispers and an audible "ooohh" from several of my students.

"Ms. Jenkins always be flirting with him!"

To which he responded, leaning toward me, "Hi, honey," before asking if he could use the computer.

As he walked across the room, a group of giggling, gawking young men continued making mildly inappropriate but mostly just interested comments. "Jealous," he retorted, before proceeding to pull up the documents that needed to be printed.

After he left, one of my students informed me that she had asked him if he liked me. "He said, 'I don't want to say too much 'cause I might get somebody in trouble,'" she told me.

Another student responded, "Ms. Jenkins, we know y'all two go together. Why don't you just tell us?"

Then I overheard, from another table, "But she flirts with Mr. Crooke, too. I wonder if he knows." (And then, putting me back in my place, "Mr. Crooke do NOT like her.")

You're right. You got me. I'm dating a gay man whose boyfriend is more fabulous than I could ever hope to be. Congratulations, 12 year olds, you have figured my life out.

Ms. Jenkins, please come to the front desk

First thing this morning. Before the announcements had even come on. So I walked downstairs, worried that I had somehow offended a parent or administrator or co-worker and was about to be rudely and publicly chastised (it's happened before).

Instead, I'm told that my car has been hit. Fabulous. Made more fabulous because, oh wait, I'm STILL driving a rental car.

The car is mostly fine; someone rear-ended the car parked behind mine, bumping it into the rear bumper. If it had been my car, I would have said, "no big deal- forget it ever happened." But because it's NOT my car, I had to make a series of phone calls to the police, the insurance company, and Enterprise. Super fun times.

I mostly feel bad for the woman who hit the cars. It's really embarassing to cause an accident, and more embarassing still to hit a parked car. And to add insult to injury, she hit TWO parked cars belonging to teachers at her son's school. Talk about a rough morning.

Are you serious?

I took my kids to the library this morning, for our library prep. It was pretty typical. They sat "like pretzels" (it's not politically correct to say Indian style) on the carpet. She gave them a long lecture about good behavior and getting into high schools and being respectful. Then she talked about how other teachers' students are respectful to them, and told my students that they should be respectful to me. This sounds like it might be helpful, but she was really just reminding me and my students that she thinks I am completely incompetent and have horrible management.

Then she noticed that one of my female students was leaning on another female student. She told her to get up (which I think was appropriate). Then she said, "stop doing that gay stuff. You look like you're gay."

A moment later, she apologized. "I'm not trying to say YOU are gay, but what you were doing LOOKED gay."

How is homophobia an appropriate or acceptable value to be teaching in a public school??

I felt like I should have SAID something; I HAVE talked to my students about homophobia in the classroom, and several of them shot me, "uh oh- Ms. Jenkins isn't going to like this," glances. But I sat there silently, waiting for her to stop talking. Because the bottom line is, I'm only working here for 14 more days. I'm not going to rock the boat now.