Taylor the Teacher

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I was just about to write referrals for about 20 students who decided to skip my lunch detention today when the fire alarm went off.  Someone set fire to the school again. I now have extensive experience with lengthy evacuations, so I grabbed all my stuff, and we went outside. 

That was four hours ago.

We can’t go into the school because of the smoke. We can’t go home. Now we’re in all the gym, all of us who are left, anyway. During the evacuation most of the kids just left. Except, of course, for the three or four that were arrested for fighting.

So what we have here in the gym are the non-arsonists, non-fighting, non-school skippers. Oh, and there’s the choir, band, and dance team who just got back from a field trip and weren’t even at the school when the fire was started.

The superintendent won’t let us go home because he doesn’t want to reward arson with a day off school. ~i heard this is the reason. he didn’t speak to me personally~

Still, I’m not sure that playing basketball and text messaging with friends all day in the gym is much of a punishment.

Except to my poor behind. These bleachers are doing hell on my back. And these boys are smelly from shooting hoops for 3 hours.

Good thing the band members brought their drum sticks and mallets.

I am feeling like myself again. Mostly. ~i still really need my adderall~ I’m surprised at how quickly things have improved after the hellacious first week in this new school.

Classes have settled down some, and I’m getting to know more of my students. The classroom, which was a total wreck when I got there, is now organized. I have put up my many, many posters, so it’s more cheerful and inviting. Many students have commented on the improved environment, but a few complain about ANYTHING I do, and are predictably bitching that my posters are “stupid.” I invited them to bring something they’d like to see put up. One girl said she would bring a life-sized poster of herself. We’ll see. If she brings it, I will hang it.

Tomorrow we’re getting all new tables and getting rid of the rickety old desks which are cracked, grafitti’d and wobbly. The classroom will be arranged for project-based learning, and new computers are supposed to follow the tables and chairs. I hope the computers will come quickly. Our school is supposed to be 1:1, but this currently cannot be done because the electrical system isn’t able to handle that many machines. A grant has been secured, and the juice in the building is supposed to be brought up to snuff soon so we can really get going on the computers.

Today we did a lesson on characterization using Tupac’s “Dear Mama” which I’ve done every year that I have taught English. I was reluctant to do it in this school, but I’m glad I did.

One student voiced the reason I was reluctant to do this particular lesson: “What do YOU know about Tupac?” As a white teacher in an all-black school, it’s hard to strike the right balance between finding lessons that are relevant and appearing to be posing, or trying to be something I’m not. In this case, however, I decided to go for it because I’m being something I AM.  I planned and implemented this lesson years ago. Still, I expected at least one person to say something like that. Only that one person did. Most students seemed to enjoy the lesson ~or at least the song~ so I’m glad we went there.

My favorite part of the week has been my interactions with the desk banger that I wrote about here. My co-teacher spoke with him early in the week and pointed out that he really never gave me a chance. He didn’t give me any crap in English yesterday, but he didn’t do any work either. ~i have him in both my 4th and 5th period classes for reading, then english~

Today during reading he did his work. ~as much as anyone did given the computer problems and general chaos~ Then he got onto MySpace, and I was forced to give him a lunch detention as all students had been amply warned about that, and that is the established procedure. He tried to talk me out of it, but with a smile and no angry yelling. I stood firm. He tried to tell me WASN’T on MySpace, but I saw him.

He said, “Man I already got 2 lunch detentions from Mr. S.”

That’s a shame, but it has nothing to do with what happened during reading. He accepted it well, though. On the way into 5th, he said, “Mrs. Scott, do you like me?”

Of course I like him, and told him so. But I thought it was funny that he would ask that since it was HIM who didn’t like ME.

During English he did his work, asked for help, and then offered to pick up the papers from the other students. So I was able to give him 2 tickets for being helpful, in spite of the fact that I’ll be spending lunch with him tomorrow.

So it’s been a pretty good week.

And no fires.

This documentary is about New Orleans public schools. I haven’t seen the whole thing, and I can only find this promo. Still, it’s telling.

Watch it.

~by the way, anyone know where i can see this online?~

My mother called me yesterday to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving. She asked me, “How is school?”

“What school? That place isn’t EVEN a school,” I said.

I know I’m supposed to be all Mary Poppins, but this is unbelievable. The bluebirds that usually follow along behind me and lift up my dress, singing sweetly to me as flowers bloom where I’ve walked were scared away by the fires.

Arson three times in one week? Three kids arrested before my eyes? Students who throw things at me and conspire to make me quit before I’ve even had a chance to teach them anything? A parent yelling at me in the hallway in the middle of class while an administrator and a cop look on?

I used to work in the safety department of a couple of different plants. On a construction site, budgetary concerns are preeminent, but when someone was seriously hurt they would shut the whole thing down for a day or so to concentrate on safety. This allows time for workers to rest, for safety techs to evaluate, re-tool and re-think.

I can’t believe these schools are allowed to go on like this. This proves to me something I’ve always believed:

Very few people really care what is happening in public schools.

This is so sad.

This morning in first period a student waved me into the hallway, like he wanted to speak to me. As soon as I rounded the door frame, his mother was bitching me out. At least three other adults stood by, including a cop and an administrator, while this woman jumped all over me in front of her kid, within earshot of my class.

I don’t even remember what I said. She absolutely should not have been allowed up to the third floor to call me out of my class to chew me out. If she wants to talk to me, she needs to schedule an appointment. Period.

I was upset, and left the class with my co-teacher for a few minutes. Had to get away for a minute. When I came back, I spoke to another teacher about this. I don’t think she’s an official leader of any sort, but she is a leader, nonetheless.

She told me the chain of command had been broken downstairs and that this woman should not have been allowed into the school, and that this woman gives all the teachers a hard time. Nobody likes to deal with her. The most important thing she said, the thing that helped me get it together was, “You’ve got good kids in there.” She said it several times. “You’ve got good kids in there.” True.

This mother was angry because her son had been given suspension over an incident that happened in my reading class the day before. This is a remedial reading class of 8th and 9^th graders, and they are rowdy. Yesterday was my first day to work with them alone, without my co-teacher.

My co-teacher and I had agreed that he would stick around in the hallway for a few minutes until we were sure I had it under control. If anyone gave me a problem, they would go see him in the hallway. Once they were out in the hallway, the disciplinary action taken wasn’t my decision. I was busy teaching.

Although this student’s disobedience was by no means limited to this particular request, what ended up on the referral was that he was banging on the desk.

Here’s what happened. Many of the students were playing drum beats on their desks and couldn’t seem to settle down, so I said, “Go ahead and bang on the desk now, get it all out of your system, because when we start reading I don’t want to hear that anymore.”  This is something I’ve done many, many times and have never had a problem with it.

So they made a little rhythm, and one student even danced to the rhythm. Good. Get it out.

Then it was time to stop. I asked them to stop. Everyone else stopped. I asked this student a couple more times to stop and he still didn’t. I sent him to the hallway. The results of the hallway happenings were not my doing. They gave him out of school suspension. This seemed like a bit much to me, but I don’t know these kids yet.

The student negotiated down to in-school suspension with the assistant principal, but his mother still jumped down my back. By her way of telling it her son got in trouble for doing what I asked him to do. She repeatedly said that I should get in-school suspension. The administrator said he would give me in-school suspension ~sarcastically, although i think the sarcasm was lost on her~

Later that day, he was back in my class, and nearly constantly harassing me whenever I was in earshot. “When are you going to quit?” he said.

So, that was how my first week ended.

Before first period: came early to try & get some boxes into the classroom from the car. Saw a student on crutches on the way in. I asked him what happened.

“I got shot,” he said.

Inside, a couple of colleagues told me about a fight at a school sporting event the night before where 11 of our students ended up hospitalized. The conversation drifted to guns, and I mentioned that I don’t have one and never will.

“I’ll ask you again after Thanksgiving,” one of the men said.

First period: I asked the students to tear their journal entries OUT OF THEIR JOURNALS. I may as well have asked them to tear their teeth out of their mouths. But, “WE DON’T TAKE PAPERS OUT OF OUR JOURNALS,” they said in unison. Change is hard.

Then, there was a fire. Not an “oh my gosh, we had an accident” fire, but a malicious, deliberate, asshole thing someone did. It was out before the alarm went off, and we didn’t evacuate.

Second period: planning. Someone read me a power point for an hour, and I left not understanding any of it. What I vaguely did get was that I’m supposed to fill out complicated paperwork forms so we can classify academic and behavioral problems into “tiers.” ~less than impressed with this power point and the paperwork it represents since it was sandwiched between two fires~

Third period: another fire. This time we evacuated and spent the entire period outside. At least 2 students were arrested. Since the athletic field is too close to the building for a safe evacuation, the students have to go out into the neighborhood. It was mayhem.

Fourth period: had to go to the district office to get my laptop. I have yet to get a roster of students. The laptop gave me access to the roster, theoretically, but I haven’t had a chance to print one out.

Fifth period: pretty good class.

After school: faculty meeting to discuss the arson situation. ~this is four and a half hours of meetings in two days~

7:30 pm: time for bed.  ~after i read 9 chapters of “a lesson before dying,” so i can catch up with the students~

Today was my first day as a teacher again.

I’m so tired. I told my husband, “I can’t believe I used to do this every day.” We laughed together about poor pitiful Taylor, who had to *gasp* go to work again.

Of course I’m glad. After we moved here, I worked for about a week before we evacuated from Gustav. Then we were gone for a week. Then we had to re-un-pack our stuff and decide ~again~ where things went since we weren’t there long enough to remember what we had decided the first time.

Then I worked about 6 more weeks, but the storm had essentially slowed business to a halt. Then I was laid off.

That sucked, mostly.

Being unemployed sucked, but being out of that shop was a blessing. Working with people ~??~ who SERIOUSLY believe they’re not human was just a bit much for me. So much for my little unconventional streak.

Getting hired in this district was ridiculous. It took three and a half weeks. I won’t even tell you how lost I got looking for all the places I had to go. ~none of the streets or buildings are labeled in this town. none of the ones i need, anyway~ I had to get fingerprinted, background checked, & piss tested. I had to take a test to prove I can do 8th grade math. I had to wait, and wait, and wait, and wait for about a dozen signatures on a form just to START all this ~a process that took me to the prison complex downtown, among other horrors~ THEN fill out about a ream of paperwork.

After all that, I waited for more than an hour while they located the original form the principal had sent to the district office ~a request for hire~ TWO WEEKS before that.

Today I actually went to school.

There’s plenty to say ~the two hour meeting that made me want to claw my face off~ about the school, but this one thing sticks out:

THEY THANKED ME.

They were glad to see me. The principal personally thanked me twice. So did a couple of assistant principals. And other colleagues came by to see if I needed anything, to offer help & support, and THANKED ME FOR COMING.

Even a twitter bud thanked me for teaching. ~a non-teacher, even~

I was weirded out by this.

Then I realized, just a few minutes ago, that what is weird is that nobody ever thanked me before.

Far be it from me to speak deeply about New Orleans ~as a non katrina surviving newcomer with naive starry-eyed ideas about what this city is who will never understand and is probably about to be raped any day~  or the French Quarter.

So I’ll say something of questionable wisdom instead, to wit:

New Orleans is unspeakable. I hope I can live here a long time. She’s beautiful and wise, and comfortable and flirty, and sexy as hell, but New Orleans isn’t a whore. ~but she doesn’t mind if you think she is~

She gives it up hard. New Orleans really is amazing. But it is much harder to live here than anywhere I’ve lived before. Still, I’m on the roof in my pajamas listening to music & dancing two hours after spending my last dollar to roll my tired ass back to this city after fleeing Gustav.

And I am happy to be here.

And I had to go inside to put on more clothes because I was cold. Our apartment is surprisingly cool. ~which really kills my plans for running a brothel of exhibitionists around the city. we’d cater to voyeurs, of course~

And I’m happy that when we got here it felt like home. ~for a while up in arkansas i was afraid it wouldn’t. only four weeks here and then gone for a week. that was three different states/homes in six weeks~

I’m pretty sure that H.I. McDonnough Nicholas Cage can see me from somewhere in that mansion of his. He’s so close that I could probably hit the widow’s walk of his house with a pebble if I tried.  But why? It’s surprisingly boring to look at Nicholas Cage’s rooftop. ~i’ll be discovered soon~

Daily life is so different from just a few weeks ago. I can’t list the things that are different ~although i love lists, and tried like hell to make one~ but I’ll offer these as representative examples: shutters AND windows, sharing a back porch with a neighbor, airflow management, walking to the grocery store, discerning the difference between river boat horns and train horns, washing dishes by hand, washing CLOTHES by hand, $20 daiquiris, parking tickets, tarot card readers, carrying every blessed purchase up and/or down 59 steps and consequently being much more selective and short-term about the foods we buy, seven keys to get into my house, prostitutes of every stripe, sushi in jackson square, cops on every corner, and movie stars being pulled along in wrecked up cars by camera crews, ghosts and people who see ghosts.

Just off the top of my head.

Oh, and spending a week in Little Rock, Arkansas with some friends because we had to leave heave out of our apartment late at night. We did this so we wouldn’t die hacking our way out of the rooftop. Our mayor advised those who stayed to have their axes handy. I don’t even have a chain saw or a jack hammer, much less an ax, so we decided to leave.

We went to Baton Rouge, but that wasn’t far enough. Before we left, we had time to corrupt my friend’s 5–year-old son and his equally impressionable friend by leaving a tiny single-serve bottle of Tangeray in the outside fridge at 2 in the morning and and leaving it until 8 in the morning when we woke up. ~~why in the hell do kids wake up so early?~ I had to explain to my friend her son drank my gin. Then she had to explain it to another mother. Each child took a sip, then they poured it out.

So that was impressive.

Then we spent a really fun time in Arkansas, ate like kings, and came home.

And I’m singing on the rooftop.

School started yesterday at my old school, and I miss my students horribly. I don’t miss the school, the admin, or any of the other bullshit. But the kids MAKE the job.  

Still, I look out of my window and this is what I see:

I’m happy and having fun. I have a job in a little shop I love on Bourbon, and I walk everywhere. ~i know i’ve lost some inches, if not pounds. due in part to the fact that there are 59 steps leading up to our apartment, which stays surprisingly cool & mosquito free, considering it’s new orleans in august. the people who built this house are absolute geniuses~

I don’t know if Taylor the Teacher will continue to exist or not. ~if anyone wants to buy it, make me an offer~

But I am starting new blogs as soon as Cox Communications sees fit to bless me with Internet. ~apparently installing cable in the french quarter is too much for them. third try has come & gone~ When they’re up and going, I’ll post links here for anyone that’s interested.

But I still wish I was seeing Nicole, Kaelie and Nick every day like I used to.

Yesterday, the hibiscus was looking especially fine.

One thing I’m thrilled about is the back patio in our new place. When I lived in Baton Rouge my oppressively controlling ex husband made me get rid of all my plants before the move to Greenville. Since then, I’ve divorced and re-married the man I should have married back in the mid-90s.

But we’ve had too much shade to really plant anything.

This summer, I’ve been starting some plants for my NOLA patio.

We also want to grow some useful stuff, like catnip for the kitty, ~so maybe he won’t eat my other plants~ scallions and peppers. What’s good to grow and eat in August?