life of andyman

All right, so I’ve been student teaching for almost 2 weeks now; I confess I really ought to have put something on the site about that before now.

Every workday for almost 2 weeks now, I have lived a strange, surreal life. I set my alarm for the depressingly stereotpyical time of 6 am. I shower, eat a “lite” breakfast, brush my teeth. Then, perhaps the strangest of all, I put on nice pants, a nice shirt, and a tie. Then, I leave at 7 and don’t get home until around 4 p.m.

Yes, it is “a glimpse into the adult world,” as adults never, ever tire of smugly reminding me.

And, an unnerving side-effect has often accompanied it. There have been times where I found myself backsliding into the familiar role of an adult in charge of a classroom of kids. I felt a pressure, for instance, to deny kids permission to go the restroom. To hold in my laughter when they told a good joke during class. To not let them know my first name. These are, after all, things that teachers do.

I chalk it up to nerves and my old A-student impulse to succeed, but in moments it snared me, pulled me down. Now, I’m beginning to find some comfort, familiarity in my being there. SLowly. I try to write passes to restrooms anytime. I intentionally ignore tardy students. I not only laugh at their jokes, but make some of my own, sometimes in red pen, on their papers I’m grading. At the moment, I try to do it inconspicuously. I try to do it when my supervising teacher isn’t really paying close attention.

Which brings me to my supervising teacher. She’s quite nice, but she’s also exactly the kind of teacher you’ve always had and always will have. She teaches often from worksheets, textbooks, and gives quizzes occasionally to make sure you’re actually doing the reading. The one thing I am very grateful for is that she’s extraordinarily helpful to me; she’ll always answer questions, is nearly always in the classroom or nearby should I need her; and is very accomodating in giving either as much freedom or as much cousel as I require at any given moment. I really do appreciate her for that. She’s very nice, really.

There’s just one thing–and don’t get me wrong, I just said I like her–but her quirk is that she almost never stops talking. You may, perhaps, know that when I am discussing business matters, I am very succint and to the point. When I ask, “How many points do you want this homework to be worth?” The answer I am expecting is “15″. But, instead, what I get from my supervising teacher is, “Well, let’s see, what I usually do with this one, ’cause it was a little longer than the other homeworks we’ve been giving, but what I’ve done in previous years is made this one 15. How many questions are there? 30? That’s good, then it’ll be 1/2 a point per question, and I think that’s fair for these kinds of questions, what do you think? 15 is good? Yeah, lets’s do 15, if we did any less they might look at their gradesheets later and feel cheated…etc.” I’m absoultely not exaggerating this phenomenon.

What I cannot imagine, aside from how she can think of all those unnecessary details to speak, is how, just how, can she not see the body language I am relentlessly trying to communicate. First, there is the stark look on my face, a complex mixture of incredulity, confusion, and anger, but mostly despair. And, as she continues speaking, without even a half-second’s pause for me to interject, I start looking out the window, reading the comics on her billboard, checking my watch, nodding profusely in a “yes, I freaking get it, shut up” sort of way, organizing papers, and opening and closing my mouth in vain attempts to talk back.

She talks to herself while she works, grading papers, sending e-mails, organizing papers; constantly is there a mumble leaving her lips so that you never know if you can actually leave or turn your back to mind your own business, becuase you wonder if she intends you to be hearing her. I must tell you, my friend: walk away. It’s your only chance!

So how have the classes been going? I have taught some, observed my supervising teacher some, and sat reading a book for most of the day while basically ignoring everything that was going on around me some. I’ve even given the kids something to do, and then nearly dozed off while they’re working on it. I gotta shake my head, get up and walk around. Falling asleep would be very unprofessional, I think.

The classes are very hot and cold. Sometimes I feel good about it, the kids don’t seem antsy, and I feel like it’s not so bad. Other times me and every student in the room is miserable and wanting to get the lesson over with. I haven’t had a whole lot of control of what I’ve taught so far. For instance, ALL the 10th graders in the whole school are doing mandatory ISTEP preperation lessons becuase they take the test in a few weeks. These lessons are generally mindnumbing. The 11th graders are studying Puritan literature and poetry, and the Puritans, famous for strict discipline, dramatically conservative lifestyles, and obsession over the sins and unforigivable evil of all mankind, are likewise difficult to get excited about.

The one class that I thought would be my stand out favorite has, actually, carried a small problem of its own. You see, I also teach the class that’s responsible for filming and broadcasting the morning announcements to the rest of the school. It is still fun, I don’t deny. But, the problem is, I’m not the one making the stuff. The kids take the cameras out and film stuff, the kids stand in front of the camera and read the news, and, worst of all, since it’s my favorite, the kids do all the editing. And, they do it all generally badly. It can be excruciating for me to stand behind them as they fidget, poke, and fiddle with all the wrong buttons, doing things for forty-five minutes that I could have done in 4-to-5 minutes. I just want to push them aside and say, “Holy shit, just let ME do it!” You don’t have to tell me I shouldn’t be surprised. I obviously understand my role as a facilitator to learning and let me learn at their own pace. I’m merely reporting what’s been in my head.

The plus side is that the studio is set up so that they can actually use “old-timey” records as background music for the news, so I listen to her “Blood, Sweat & Tears” or “Simon and Garfunkle” vinyls to sooth my frustration with their ignorance.

Well, the longer I’m there, the more I’m going to take over, assume the responsibility, and run the class, so I’ll let you know how that goes. Until then, wish me luck. You might also tell me a favorite thing your favorite teacher did and I’ll see if I can’t use it, too. Sincerely,

Andy.

(By the way, sorry there are no pictures this week; my computer went crazy and I can’t do anything with it, so I had to type this on a different one.)