Uhh... so when do I get to teach?

I feel like all of JPS, and my school particularly, is so concerned with external appearances that they've forgotten (or either don't care, which is a scary thought in itself) what an effective classroom should really look like. Exams start this week. I was told, along with all the other teachers, that our final exams had to be in at the beginning of the week. Proud of myself for actually being a little ahead of the game, I turned in the two exams I was giving on time. That afternoon, I was called into my department head's classroom and told that one of my exams had to be changed. Actually, I was told, "Can you make this one look more like this one?" I replied, a little confused, "What's the difference?" My coach continued, "Well, look. The is exam is typed and nice and neat. This exam has the numbering written on it in sharpee marker. And look how some of the questions are a little crooked." I stared at her dumbfounded. "Are you serious?" I stammered. "You want me to retype the entire exam, 87 questions and answers, because some of the questions are 'a little crooked'?" She explained, "Yes, see it's not professional. If someone from the district came in and saw this test, they would say it wouldn't look professional and think that it wasn't a good test." I laughed. I had too. What else can you do? I guess I should explain that the vast majority of the questions on this exam were taken from previous tests/books, so we had placed them on a sheet and photocopied the sheet. So question one on our final exam, for example, may have been question twelve in the book or test it came from; therefore, it was necessary that we rewrite the new numbers in sharpee (I say we because I work with a very competent teacher who teaches the same subject -- she was as appalled as I was). So I wasted a good 45 minutes of my night last night retyping the damn test. Even though I already had a perfectly good one. Why does anyone even give a shit? Why can't they look at the questions and say, "Wow, those will really make the kids think?"
We had two departmental meetings within 5 school days that were the exact same meeting. The exact same agenda, handouts, words, everything. Why? Because we were having a "learning walk" (new buzz word down here) in the next few days, and they wanted everyone's word wall to be eye level in black ink, agenda on the board, all the same subject teachers teaching the same thing, all wearing the same clothes, all saying the same thing, all becoming more and more like the robots they wish they could create. The best part? The fucking learning walk never even took place.
When will someone come in and actually listen to my lesson? When will people stop telling my desks are too crowded, my handwriting is too messy, my lesson plans are in the wrong format, my work displayed doesn't have a rubric, and start fucking paying attention to what and how I teach?

End of Semester Reflections

I came into this school year too naive, too proud, and too stubborn to listen to what other, older, wiser teachers tried to tell me. I tried to be the kids' friend. I admit it. I was stressed and anxious, and I wanted them to like me. I try to be funny. And I am. I know how to turn on the charm. But I know it gets me in trouble lots of time. I never really established the classroom as an environment where learning was serious and took priority over everything else. I mean, we learned. And we were serious. But the learning was always interspersed (and I thought amplified) by my sense of humor. I think that's an asset for me, but at times I turn it into a detriment. I still do it too. When things aren't going well (not behaviorally, but when kids are becoming bored), I rely on something funny to try and break the ice, and I think that unconsciously the kids see me as their older, whiter brother sometimes instead of their teacher.

I get so frustrated because I care so much. R.G., whom I blogged about earlier and whom I took to Ole Miss, got suspended again today. And won't be there Monday. He has so much potential. He's so smart, so funny, so likeable. He just has too much pride. As I told him, he needs to learn to brush the haters off, and stop trying to defend every trivial insult. I'm so unhappy sometimes because I care. Because I want to do what I need to do to become the better teacher. But I know that's going to require a lot more of a commitment on my part.

At some point, it's on the kids. I can offer after school tutorial, make up work, extra credit, tap you every time you go to sleep, show movies and play audio in addition to reading the text, call home, and talk to you individually. But at some point, the onus comes off of me and is placed squarely on your shoulders. I know it probably sounds like I'm making excuses, but I get so damn sick and tired of spoon-feeding kids the bare minimum required to pass. And I'm pissed that I let the 8 percent I'm referring to affect my entire outlook.

I can't wait for Jazz Band. I know when I get involved in extracurricular activities, it's going to be even more stressful because I'll have less time and more responsibility, but I crave more one on one time with these kids without the accountability of teaching them something. I know I've already lost some chops because I haven't touched the saxophone in 5 months, but I still think I can show enough to impress them.

I'll leave with this final thought. I was speaking to a teacher the other day who extended an analogy our principal always makes. He loves to compare our institution to a football team, claiming that championships aren't won during the playoff games, but during the two-a-day practices in the 100 degree August heat. Well my colleague modified the analogy, claiming that we're being asked to field a team, most of whom don't like football, some of whom don't show up to practice for various reasons, and the majority that are metaphorically playing on crutches. I think that's what makes it so rewarding and so remarkable. Sure, you fumble a lot, your center steps on the quarterback's feet, and your wide receivers run the wrong route. But occasionally, the line blocks well, the hand off is clean, and your running back stretches the few extra inches for the first down. That's when it's amazing to be doing the things I'm doing.