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.