Reason #1 Why Student Teaching Sucks

The high school I did my student teaching at had recently experienced tragedy and embarrassment at the hands of a student-teacher.  A year or so before I arrived, a male student-teacher had taken a student out somewhere for sex.  Drinking was involved and the student was killed when the student-teacher got into a car accident.  As a result, this school became extremely particular about who was working with their students.  Just to work their for free, I had to undergo an extensive interview.  I also had to promise not to have a job so as to give a full commitment to being a teacher.   I agreed.

Student teaching, as far as I can tell, is about the only unpaid internship that still exists.  As an administrator, I (usually) love having the free labor on hand.  It really sucks to go through it though.

When I agreed to the terms put forth, I had, I think, eight dollars plus some loose change.  When they told me I couldn't get a side job, I was initially pleased.  My excuse not to work had arrived!  The problem I discovered after I believe, if I recall correctly, one day, was that I still liked drinking beer.  The people who traditionally had this beer (bar tenders, liquor store owners, my buddy Frank) typically did not give it away for free.  That eight bucks wasn't going to go very far.

Never in my life have I had zero dollars other than when I student taught.  I don't even remember how I paid for gas.  My parents lent me money from time to time (my father recorded everything I borrowed during that time, from a stamp to a twenty dollar bill, in a 'little black book' that he took great joy in waving in my face).  I charged some stuff.  I drank Busch Light.

Mind you I didn't need a lot of money to get by.  All college kids are poor.  I survived on about 50 bucks a week in college happily, but there's a big difference between fifty and zero.

I was at home one night grading papers (translation- watching television) when I got a call from a market research company.  Every now and then they'd call me up and have me come in and taste some product Taco Bell was considering or answer questions about my chocolate buying habits.  It would take about an hour and they'd give you twenty to thirty bucks for your time.  Their timing couldn't have been better.

When they call, they go through all sorts of routine statements when you tell them you are interested ("HELL YES I'M INTERESTED!).  I wasn't really paying attention as I was already day dreaming about what I might do this weekend and how I wouldn't have to give my father the satisfaction of another entry in his book.  Then the woman on the other end of the phone said the most gorgeous thing to me that's ever been uttered.

"We'd like to invite you to come in to participate in a test sampling beer."  I peed a little in my pants out of joy.  But it got better.

After going through a few more procedural things to ensure I was 21, she informed me that this study ran in the evenings over the course of the next two weeks.  I would need to be available all 10 nights.  At the end of the study, I would be paid $250.

I've never won the lottery, but now I know what those people feel like when they check their tickets and realize they'll never need to work again.  This market company was going to pay me to do what I was going to be doing anyway!  They weren't just going to pay me- they were going to pay me 250 dollars!  I don't think I'd ever seen 250 dollars in the same place.  Did I even need a teaching job?  I was getting 250 dollars! $250!!!

"Again, to qualify for the study you need to be available every night of the study.  Is that going to be a problem?"

Of course it wasn't going to be a problem.  I left school by 4:00 every day, didn't coach, and of course, didn't have a second job.  "I'm good to go...err... um, I actually am realizing I have one minor conflict."  It hit me.  I had parent/teacher conferences one night over the two week window.  My cooperating teacher was a real prick and would no way let me out (not to mention, I needed to be there).

I begged.  I told them my sob story.  I promised to drink extra, come on weekends, anything...  It was no use.  I wasn't a candidate.  I needed a fucking drink.

I will forever have bad memories of student teaching & parent/teacher conferences, as well as general bitterness towards our profession due to the loss of my own opportunity to paid to drink beer (ok, perhaps I'm being a touch dramatic).  In the end, I went out the and got a weekend job for the remainder of my student teaching.  Screw em'.

Adventures In Background Checks

If I could take one thing that I do as a school administrator and do it all day long, it would be interviewing night custodians.  We had a hard time keeping one a few years back so I had the good fortune to interview 50-75 candidates throughout one particular school year along side the district's head of building and grounds- Mike.

As I said in a piece I wrote on a lunch lady, there is no qualification (other than being alive) to get a job as a custodian.  However, while finding lunch ladies is a real pain, we receive tons of applications for custodial positions.  It's a good job for someone without a college degree.  They are full time jobs, receive full benefits, and the work isn't back breaking.

When you're sifting through applications and resumes, throw out everything you look for when hiring teachers or even support staff.  Most of these people don't have college degrees and some may not even have a diploma.  Most have resumes that are almost impossible to follow, and the candidates usually show up in jeans & T-shirt, versus a suit & tie.  Basically, it's impossible to know what's going to walk through the door.

Toward the end of each interview Mike would explain to the candidates if they got the job they would have to be finger printed and have a criminal background check done.  "Any problems there?" Every candidate automatically says no to this.   Except for John Rogers.

John was bizarre and wasn't going to get the job long before we go to the end of the interview.  When Mike asked him about the criminal background check, John instantly shook his head and said no.  Then he paused as if he suddenly remembered something.

"Ahh, you know what?  There might be a felony in there."  John mentioned this as if this wasn't a relevant detail.  I was stunned.  I figured Mike would basically end the interview as there was no possible way we would be hiring someone with a felony on their record to work at an elementary school.  But he didn't.

"What'd you do?" Mike asked.

"Criminal trespassing of an automobile." said John.

Mike squinted a little and looked hard at John.  "Did you steal a car?"

"No no no," said John shaking his head and chuckling a bit.  "Nothing like that.  Did you know if you're in someone's car and you like, get in an argument and they call the police, you can be arrested for that?"

Mike just starred at him. "Dude, did you steal a car?"

"No, no.  I had just moved to the county, and you know how they like to make an example out of new residents around here."

"I've never heard that," said Mike. "If you stole a car I wish you'd just tell me."  I couldn't understand why he was pressing this since we certainly weren't hiring this guy.  Regardless, I was barely holding it together.  We all say silently looking at each other for about 20 seconds.

"Oh!" said John as if suddenly remembering something he'd been meaning to tell us.  "There may be a few misdemeanors in there too.  Stole some shit when I was younger!  You know, typical kid stuff!"

We'll be in touch.

Natural Consequences Are A Beautiful Thing

Michael Grady was one of nine siblings.  He was the second oldest and we wound up having all nine of the Grady kids.  All nine were special education.  They were constantly in trouble and frequently in fist fights.  Mom wasn't allowed on school property anymore and had a mouth that would have made Richard Pryor blush.

Michael was frequently late for class.  Not for any legitimate reason, simply because he was talking.  After so many tardies, a student had to stay after school for detention which  Michael hated.  So when the halls were about empty and it dawned on Michael that the bell was about to ring, he would tear off for wherever he was supposed to be.  Of course, running in the hall was against school rules.

Every teacher had lectured Michael about running in the hallway, but he could care less.  With the volume of time he was in the Dean's Office for other stuff, the staff knew the dean wasn't going to spend any time on his hallway running.  All we could do was lecture him, maybe make him go back and walk, but in the end he knew no one was going to do any thing and had an arrogant way of letting you know which made you want to punch the SOB in the head.  

One day a couple of us who were coming on to our plan watch Michael tear ass by us.  Before we could yell for his to slow down, he tripped and went sailing across the hall landing flat on his face.  He paused a couple seconds, the bell rang, and Michael got up crying. 

This kid was in fist fights once a week and had seven older siblings.  It was hard to fathom that he was crying because he tripped, and he certainly didn't care about getting in trouble for being late.  As he stood their weeping, he started fumbling under his sweatshirt and pulled out a (now busted) Discman (this was a hot item for kids at the time, and also against school rules to have).

We all busted into hysterical laughter.  "Sorry Mike, but we've told you about running in the halls!"  

Laughing was certainly a touch cruel given that his family didn't have much money and this was likely a really important object to him.  On the other hand, teachers rarely get to see the real shits get their come upins.  We enjoyed the moment!  Remember kids, walk while your in the halls because you might trip!    

James Westfall & Doctor Kenneth Noisewater

I met Emil for the first time when he was the administrator of the alternative school in our district.  He came around to meet with all the middle school teams.  He walked in wearing a yellow tank top and a pair of athletic shorts.  I thought perhaps he was the head of the teacher's intermural volleyball club, but of course, that club doesn't exist (if it did, a yellow tank top would be a nice choice).  When he opened with, "I'm gonna forget your names anyway, so I'll skip introductions" I was fairly certain he was an asshole.  He was.  His thing that day was that if any teacher used his program as a threat to students, they'd have to answer to him (was that a threat?).  Of course, we didn't really know who 'he' was because he didn't introduce himself.  Anyway.

A year or two later, Emil got demoted into a teaching position in our building.  Like many who receive demotions, he took the approach of acting like a perpetual two year old.  He did the absolute minimum required to keep his job and was disruptive as possible in doing so.  No area was Emil more recalcitrant than his professional appearance.

I've run into this issue in several places I've been.  The teacher's contract did not contain specific language regarding professional dress.  It read merely that teachers were expected to maintain a professional appearance.  This essentially left the definition of 'professional' up to each individual teacher.  Often times, teachers would make very liberal interpretations of this wording.  

My stance has always been that teachers should be formally dressed every day, and that jeans have no business in the work place.  Sorry, but "Casual Fridays" must be the dumbest idea ever generated.  The very idea admits a reduction of standards.  The thought that our profession would lower itself 20% of the time is bothersome.  This awesome clip from Curb Your Enthusiasm highlights one of the many problems with Casual Fridays.

With Emil, a pair of jeans would have been a major upgrade.

Emil routinely dressed like when I first met him: shorts, T-shirts, sandals, perhaps no sleeves, poor facial grooming, etc.  The school we taught at has a small circular theater where faculty meetings were held.  During a half in-service, Emil showed up in the theater wearing a tank top and a pair of short mesh athletic shorts.  He picked his seat and threw his feet up on the seat in front of him.  For the next two hours, the majority of the staff got an unobstructed look at Emil's balls.  No one said anything to him. Oh, he's a commando guy if you were wondering.

Of course, everyone bitched to the principal.  There wasn't much he could as Emil boldly declared when it was brought to his attention that he believed he was dressed professionally.  The principal asked myself and several other teachers if they would write anonymous letters to the superintendent complaining, which I did.  I do believe was called in, but as a veteran teacher of 20+ years and a former administrator, he knew they had no where to go with this.  In fact, it thrilled him to be causing such a ruckus.

My staff generally honors my request to not where jeans to school (including my awesome support staff who by contract are allowed to wear jeans).  When one decides to to break the unwritten rule, I let it go because I always stop and remember that it could be a lot worse!

Twisting The Night Away

I taught in a school with a fairly high teacher turnover rate.  The results of constant new faces is that people stop bothering to get to know each other unless they work directly with each other.  In a junior high setting where I was, there are lots of people you really don't work directly with.

I was on an academic team with a first year teacher named Joan.  Joan was a sweet girl.  She was quiet, single, didn't go for beers on Fridays, and generally kept to herself.  Basically, she was the perfect target.

As Christmas approached, the staff organized a 'Secret Santa' exchange.  You pulled a name and were supposed to buy that person a gift in the 10-15 dollar range and give it to them sometime during the last week of school.  On the final day before break, everyone would reveal who gave who gifts.  I pulled Joan.

Each staff member listed a few things on the sheet they might like in that range (side note- I always listed the same thing- BEER; I'm easy...).  Joan's read as follows:

Borders Gift Cards

Board Games (Sorry, Twister, etc.)

The week of the gift exchange.  Joan was pretty excited.  Everyday during our plan period, she would run down to the office to check her mailbox to see if her gift had arrived. On Wednesday, it did.  

Joan entered the classroom we were meeting in with a big smile on her face and a small package.  She opened the card and read it to herself.  As she sat reading, her face slowly became very red.  When she finished reading she put the card down and said, put her hands over her mouth and said, "Oh my gosh" out loud several times.  The rest of us on the team inquired what was wrong.

"I didn't mean it that way!  Oh my gosh.  I feel so naughty!  Oh my gosh!"

She handed the card to the teacher to her left, Beth, who knew what I was up to. It read:

Dearest Joan,

I find it highly inappropriate for a single young lady to be tangling herself up with random men on a Twister board.  So since you like to read, here's a book you obviously need spend more time reading.

Regards,

Rosemary

As Beth sat reading the card out loud to the rest of us, Joan had unwrapped a copy of The Bible.  Joan sat there, visibly upset, pleading her case that her request was misinterpreted.  "I don't even know who this woman is! (we had no Rosemary in the building, but when people don't talk, it's easy to create human beings out of thin air).  

Beth tried to comfort Joan, but acknowledged this was inappropriate on Rosemary's part.  "Well, that does sound like her.  Regardless, you need to talk to the principal about this Joan."

That sent her, particularly as a first year teacher, into a whole new level of panic.  "But I didn't mean it this way!"

Eventually we convinced Joan the right thing to do was to go talk to the principal and she left for his office.  The rooms all had phones in that building.  I picked it up and called the principal in his office.  

"Dude- Joan's coming down to talk to you.  Play along with whatever she brings in."

"(Sigh) What are you up to now?"

"JUST DO IT!"

A very nervous Joan inched into the principal's office and asked if she could talk to him for a minute.  He invited her in and offered her a seat.  She handed him the card and the principal quietly read it to himself.  

"Well.  Are you promiscuous Joan?"

The principal eventually agreed to speak to Rosemary and sent Joan back our way.  When she returned, a $30 dollar gift card to Border's was sitting on her desk.  She was a remarkable sport about the gag (though I don't think she thought it was as funny as the rest of us did).  Sure, it was a little cruel.  But it was also a little awesome... :) 

Can I Borrow A Pencil?

Morris was a likable kid and a lousy student.  The latter part was a double problem for me because I was also his basketball coach.  Since he was always goofing off and rarely paying attention, coupled with the fact that I had to stay on him if I had any hope of him being eligible, Morris got the famed front-center chair in the classroom.

Afros were popular among the school's African-American students at this time.  The kids liked to wear hair picks stuck into their hair, but this was prohibited by the dress code.   However, many of the students also would keep their pencil sticking halfway into their Afro.  I'm not sure if this was for style, convenience, or both.

This didn't really matter for Morris since he rarely, if ever, had a writing utensil.  Most days he would ask to borrow a pencil before he'd even verified that he didn't have one.  I didn't let students go back to their lockers during class time, so a loaner was usually the outcome.

One Monday, Morris grabbed his front and center seat and predictably asked to borrow a pencil.  As I looked down to give him the standard teacher lecture about coming to class prepared, I noticed something.

"Morris, you have four pencils in your hair dude."

They were not sticking out for easy access, rather completely embedded in his hair.  Morris legitimately seemed to be unaware of their existence, making me shudder thinking how long they had been there.

Guess how many of those four pencils he had when he returned Tuesday?  :)  

Plumbing & How To Improve Independent Reading

Arturo was a 3rd grade kid who was impossible not to love even though he worked his hardest to piss you off.  He looked almost like a snowman: perfectly round body and a perfectly round head.  His million dollar smile is going to wind up getting him out of a lot jams in his life (and won't hurt with the girls...).   For as cute and charming as Arturo could be, he was stubborn as a mule, and a lazy student.  If he wasn't in the mood to work, he sat, crossed his arms, and did not move.  We never figured out a way to get him out of his funks, but did figure out that calling home only got him beat.  Arturo was only with us a couple years before his family moved along (he was in a at least four schools by 5th grade, but it'll be the schools fault when he doesn't pass a standardized test... but I digress), but he provided a nice bank of tales his time.  Below are my two, somewhat related, favorites.

We had a little boy named Brendan back when Arturo was here.  Brendan was a 1st grader when Arturo was in 3rd grade, and the poor little guy was a mess.  Among challenges we had with Brendan was that he would regularly crap in the urinal.  Brendan's father was no doubt embarrassed by the nature of the problem and the fact that he kept doing it.  He had a litany of excuses why his son was doing it, and wanted him to clean it up in the future.  As much as my custodian hated cleaning up messes like this, I am generally opposed to having children clean as punishment.  Further, I was not sure why the kid was doing it.  Eventually though, we had to tell Brendan that if he kept it up, there'd be consequences.

Sure enough, a few days later we discover a healthy dump in the urinal and call Brendan down to the office.  He's hysterical that he didn't do it.  Given that he's never denied it in the past, we give him the (temporary) benefit of the doubt (could there honestly be two knuckleheads frosting the urinal cakes?).  Sure enough, after spending several hours of instructional leadership questioning kids about who might be shitting in urinals, we find the culprit: Arturo.  He knew he was in trouble.  He knew we were going to have to call his foster mom who was likely going to hit him.  He just couldn't resist.  He thought crapping in the urinal was hysterical and knew we'd blame Brendan (who's antics were known).  I yelled at him for a while, typical principal BS ("This is VERY disappointing), before sending him on his way. As soon as my office door was closed, I cracked up laughing.

Of course, after this incident, I had to ask Arturo's teacher to keep a closer eye on when he used the bathroom.  Every now and then, I'd check in with the teacher as to how he was doing and whether any problems had a arisen.

"Everything's been fine, but he's been going to the bathroom quite a bit lately.  He says he's had diarrhea (Arturo was the kind of kid who'd just bluntly tell you that)."  Shortly there after, Arturo was granted permission to use the bathroom when he was caught sneaking back into the classroom several minutes later to get a book.  "I can't poop without something to read!"  What 10 year old says that?!

Despite never taking a book home, Arturo finished the year with the highest independent reading scores in the third grade.  :)