What a day, what a day. I feel, again, like I did at that ski race back in high school, where I fell on the finish line and had to crawl across. This is miserable. Outside of school, I am having a great time. Really enjoying myself. I had a great weekend spent with good friends, relaxing, eating, having fun. Yesterday, I finally got cleared by the orthropedist to take my knee brace off, which meant I got straight on the motorcycle. I took an hour ride, up to Metcalf and back, and thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful weather. Then, I got back to Leland and had an unexpected yet excellent dinner once again. I am looking forward to another weekend coming up in which I can put in some serious miles on the bike. But most of all, I am looking forward to walking out this door for the last time as a teacher. I'd love to come back and visit, because I love these kids to death, but I am not a good classroom manager, and that kills me. If I could do that, everything else would come easily. Perhaps my administration could have been more supportive, but there are certainly worse administrators out there. At the end of the day, it comes down to me, and I'm just no good at classroom management and therefore, no good at teaching here. I believe I could be a decent, perhaps even a good teacher, in a school that was not so riddled with discipline problems, where a supportive, respectful culture already existed. But this is too much for me. I've worked my ass off these last two years - I'm tired, I'm grumpy and I am sick of being continually disrespected.

There it is, then, that's why I'm leaving. I can't take the daily disrespect and the intense stress of managing a classroom. I'm tried, and I'll keep trying for the next three and a half weeks. But I am ready to go.

The Times says it again...

An article out in the Times today confirms my long-held belief that teaching math using real world examples is not only unhelpful, but counterproductive.


http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/25/science/25math.html?ex=1366862400&en=f77a801028348734&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

Frustration

Me: What should I teach my Algebra I kids tomorrow?
Ruth: What have you taught them?
Me: Nothing.

A Gift

Yesterday, during my second block, I had two parents sit in on my class. Well, actually, I had a parent and a sister. The two students involved had been assigned parent monitoring, because they both cut class and act a fool on a regular basis. TC's mom is great, she's always on him, and has really been helpful to me in dealing with his behaviors. After storming out of my class one day, he came back within minutes, apologized, and gave me his phone like I had asked him to the first time. When I asked him what had brought about the change of heart, he said that his mom had texted him and told him to give me that phone.

Anyway, it was a decent class. Not a great class, certainly. These kids are getting more and more rowdy, and I seem to have less and less control over them. Sometimes, it seems like I have less and less support as well, but I know part of it has to do with the fact that I have less and less energy. Regardless, learning was taking place, but I found myself spending far too much of my time and energy quieting the class. They haven't been doing a good job of listening, and my consequences have more or less evaporated. When T.C.'s mom left at the end of class, I asked her, like I usually ask parents, if she had learned anything. "Sure did," she said, then handed me the book she had been reading during the class. "You need these, Mr. G" she said and I thanked her. As she left, I looked down to find myself holding on to a small book of prayers. There are six weeks left, and I sure do need them.

Credit Recovery

As I read this article in the Times, I remembered hearing some talk about starting up a credit recovery system at our high school. I like Ben's hypothetical situations, so, if you were a principal in a school in the delta, would you institute a credit recovery program at your school?

Coming Home

Four o'clock. Out to duty. Four-fifteen. Back to the classroom for tutoring. Nelson failed my class last semester, but comes to tutoring two or three times a week, to make sure he doesn't fail again. Jameese came because she was tardy to class and I would not let her in. Chloe has been "missing some days" and came to try to get some sort of idea of what we are doing in class. Greg came to try to learn how to solve quadratic equations, so he can retake the test he made a 44 on. I taught Carliza Algebra I last year, and she came by because she was bored, so I gave her some quadratic equations to solve. She brought a friend, who spent half her time helping Carliza with the equations and the other half dancing.

 

Four fifty-seven. Hurry up and clear out so you don't miss the late bus. Nelson, erase the boards and grab that bag for me. Put on your seatbelt. Are you going to Greenville High?

Five fifteen. I drop Nelson off in front of Greenville High, and as I pull in, I see Nate. Just the guy I was looking for. What are you doing for next year? Your mom says you're still thinking about the military. If you go in there and get yourself shot, when you get back here, I'm going to shoot you again. Nate and I walk over to the baseball game. I've got a calculator and a few scraps of paper in my pocket, and we work out a few ACT-type algebra problems before the game starts. It's the ACT that has Nate thinking about the military – he made a 14 the first time he took it and is convinced he won't get into college anywhere. So we work out some problems and watch the baseball game for a little while.

Six eighteen. Nate, you said you had to be at church at six-thirty, so you better get going. I say goodbye to the rest of the students at the game and head over to the middle school track meet, where I can see a group of my boys helping out with the meet. Boone, with a 10 foot pole-vault pole in one hand, comes over and starts giving me a hard time my crutches. JT chimes in – I told you you better get your weight up coach. And Alvin informs me that I am too old to be playing. Ant tells me that he never got his letter jacket. Chopper comes striding across the field. I hear you've been staying out of trouble lately, Chop. Yeah know, he says. Who told you that? Ms. Morrison. I thought so. I don't know what was wrong with me in the fall. I wanted to throw discus too, but I was too late. I see lil' Ced, one of the middle school kids who came out for soccer. I chide him for quitting after two games. Three games, three games coach. And you said I wasn't gonna play much anyway. Alright Ced. You and your friend here should come out to Solomon. We play out there Tuesdays and Thursdays at five-thirty, and Sundays at four. Bring your friends. Chopper puts his hand on my shoulder. Coach, I need a favor. What's that? Take me to the house. Alright Chop, let's go.

 

Six forty-one. Heading back to the truck, I run into one of the twins. Hey Twin. Ka'Shield, right? What are you running? The 1600, 3200, 800, and 4X100. Winning them all? Yeah. Putting up scholarship times? In the 2-mile.

Six forty-nine. I see Javon, another of my middle school recruits who didn't last the season. His brother Darryl, one of our best players, is graduating this year. Javon, you staying out of trouble? Yeah coach, well, I got a referral the other day. He shuffles through his papers but is unable to produce it. You going to come out and play with us at Solomon? Tuesdays and Thursdays at 5:30, Sundays at 4:00? I'll try to get out there coach. Hey, can you give me a ride to the house? Yeah Javon. We moved, we stay up by Uncle Ben's now, up there on Broadway. Alright, well, you get in the back. Chopper in the front. We can't leave until you put the seatbelts on.

 

Seven sixteen. Alright Javon. Tell your mom I said hello. As I pull out of the apartment complex, I realize I'm hungry. Heading back down to the highway, I head back towards Leland. Popeyes. No, I can't eat that. Subway's not so bad for you. As I look up across the counter there is a glimmer of recognition. Hey Mr. Hogues. Mr who? I mean, Mr, uh, Mr. Galla… Gallagher. How are you? Good. How's the baby? He's alright. He must be about 10 months now, right? Yeah, how'd you know? Because you were due right after graduation last year. Oh yeah. What you getting? Italian, I guess, on wheat. I leave feeling incredibly guilty, because I can't for the life of me remember her name.

Seven twenty-three. I walk out of Subway, feeling guilty that I can't, for the life of me, remember that student's name. Coach, you eatin' healthy, ain't you? I turn and spy Ant peering out at me from the back seat of an Oldsmobile. You weren't serious about your letter jacket, were you Ant? No, I been had mine coach. Alright.

Seven twenty-seven. Three blocks from the Subway, I see someone running out to the edge of the highway. I shrill female voice cries – Hey Matt, where you going? I slow down as he races towards the road – Hey Coach. Matt, I haven't seen you out at Solomon. Come out on Sunday. The light turns green and I slowly roll away. Four o'clock, I shout, holding up four fingers. Aight coach. I watch in the rearview mirror as he scampers back to the shrill female voice, and can imagine the explanation "that was my coach."

Seven-forty: Pull in to the house in Leland. Change out of the teaching clothes, get a brownie and the jug of orange juice to go with the Italian sub. I look through the computer, searching for the student's name. I can only find her last name, Lawrence, on an old grade sheet. The bells ring eight. I start to blog. The roommates come home, and I break out the subway. Finish the jug of orange juice. The bells ring nine. I'm tired.