Month: September 2023

Good and Bad

Today was supposed to be our first day of Inquiry Based Learning. It was going to be new for both me (I’ve never gone all-in on this) and the students in my Grade 9 sheltered English course. The idea came up last week: I suggested that since there were five students, maybe we should do things differently. After all, waiting for five people with five very different learning profiles to do the same thing at the same time sounded silly.

Everyone agreed. And then…

Two of the five students weren’t in class today, *and* a new student joined our class. I’ve only been teaching this particular group for two weeks, but I can already tell that many of the students come to the class with a giant “NO”. No, they are not planning to read. No, they are not going to move closer to the front. No, they are not interested in putting their phone away. No, they will not write anything. NO. Just NO.

Today was no different. The three students who have been in the class for a while warily watched the newbie, letting his presence shape their participation. I knew better than to plow ahead, but I nevertheless gamely tried to lead a discussion about what we might be interested in learning. One student didn’t speak; another stuck to one-word high-school-approved topics: cars, games, computers. The new student refused. We weren’t making much progress.

Somehow (don’t ask me – I just teach here) our conversation morphed into what these young people like and don’t like about school. Sensing potential, I grabbed a whiteboard marker and starting recording their ideas. Soon, even Mr. No was contributing. I think I won him over when another student started to say something, then backed away from it, saying, “Nah, I’ll just get in trouble.”

“I doubt it,” I replied. “Unless you were planning to curse directly at me, in which case, yeah, I’d be mad.”

Once he had shared his (honestly, not very controversial) opinion that teachers were a lot of the bad about school – and didn’t get in trouble – we were on our way. Soon, the board was full of their observations, and they were sharing stories that went with them. Almost every student had, at some point in their schooling, been *very* disruptive – overturned tables, broken windows, one caused their whole school to be “secured”- and it was almost always because they felt unheard, unseen, or not respected. They were pushed beyond their own limits and they didn’t have another way to respond. Some are still unhappy about things that happened years ago. All of them wish things had been different.

As the end of class approached, I shared that I found their ideas powerful. I said that I thought that other teachers, too, might benefit from knowing about these things. After all, I said, not every teacher knows that sometimes they need to help *less*. We all looked at the board for a quiet moment. Then, carefully, I wondered if perhaps our first project – maybe just for a few days – could be to create a sheet of things teachers could do to be less annoying (not likely to be our final title) and share it with the teachers in our school.

I wish I could say they said “YES” but the truth is that they are reserving judgment. We’d used up their quota of focus for the day, so we have to wait until tomorrow for any decision – and who knows who might be in class tomorrow. Still, I’m beginning to believe that with this class, anything could happen.

Here’s what they have to say:

GoodBad
Learning new thingsHomework
Gym – get my energy out & play gamesThe Office (includes being sent to the office
AND “office people” who don’t listen)
Having fun (includes making teachers mad)People who won’t listen
Making my own decisionsAnnoying teachers:
talking to me for no reason,
telling me what to do,
making me focus when I really can’t focus anymore,
trying to help me when I want to do it on my own.
Using phones

Hot hot hot

“Hot! Hot! Hot! Is it hot enough for you?” The Great Gatsby, Chapter 7

This year, school opened during a heat wave. Teachers were instructed via memo to “drink plenty of fluids” and “wear lightweight and loose clothing.” We got helpful recommendations like, “Where possible, open the windows first ting in the morning and close them mid-morning as it starts to get hot outside” and “Keep the blinds/curtains closed during the day.” Reader, these things did not help.

On Wednesday, I greeted my grade 9 class in the sweltering semi-dark of my sauna-classroom. Outside, the air was already sticky with humidity, so I decided not to open the two small windows, instead making sure the blinds were closed. (In one case, this meant unclipping the binder clips that hold the broken blinds up when necessary.) I didn’t turn on the fluorescent overhead lights; we couldn’t afford any extra heat.

Students swam through the air into the classroom, and slid into their seats. I tried for an opening “seating challenge” (it’s a game, I swear) but by second period, when I met my first class, we were already struggling to think. My carefully planned opening activities quickly fell by the wayside in favour of melting slowly into our desks. Students asked each other not how to get to the nearest washroom but which water fountain offered the coldest water. “None of them,” sighed one student. “All the cold’s already used up.”

I stood in front of the students, sweating. During my first class, I sweat through my underclothes and then through the top of my (lightweight, loose) dress. I gathered what I could of my short hair and pulled it into a ridiculously tiny ponytail, just to get it off my neck. Sweat trickled down my back.

While the actual temperature (32C or 90F) was not completely shocking for Ottawa, the “feels like” temperature (up to 42C or 107F) was. Just across the river, in Quebec, the beginning of the school year was delayed. In Ontario, school started as planned.

Now, if you live in South Carolina – where I grew up – you may be unimpressed by these temperatures, so let me add that we have no air conditioning in our building. If you live in California – where I attended 3rd and 4th grade – you may *still* be unimpressed, so let me also add that we do not have fans in our classrooms.

I mean, we can bring in our own. Here’s what that (not very helpful) memo we get every year tells us: “Portable fans may be employed to help manage the heat. Any portable fans brought from home by staff must be CSA-approved and must be guarded properly and reviewed by the principal/ vice principal/ manager prior to use in classrooms or offices. It is the responsibility of the owner/ staff to clean, and maintain the portable fan.”

We have very, very few fans in our school. At lunchtime, teachers gathered in our office, taking turns near the lone fan. We didn’t talk much. My – blessedly cold – salad and cold water provided short-lived relief. The memo told us that we should find the cool areas in the school, but our air-conditioned conference room had been in use for a meeting all morning, and the library (lightly air-conditioned) could only really accommodate one class at a time. There was no respite.

Then it was time to teach again. The classroom was even hotter than it had been in the morning. My dress was visibly wet before the class was half over. I wiped sweat off of my forehead before it dripped into my eyes. The students draped languidly over their desks. One student briefly considered misbehaving, but when I plopped down next to him to offer help, he reconsidered, too hot to protest.

I dripped my way through inventorying Chromebooks in a closet with another teacher, trying to prepare them for students to use. We drained our water bottles more than once, sweating out every drop we took in. Finally, the final bell rang and students seeped out of the school, exhausted.

Teachers, too, left for the day. Then, we did it again on Thursday. That afternoon I tried to take the dog for a walk after school. Partway around the block, I realized I was actually overheated. Andre came to walk us home, and I – like many other teachers, it turns out – immersed myself in a cool bath. Heat exhaustion. I went to bed early and slept hard.

On Friday, the rain came and the weather finally broke. Week one was done.

First-day jitters

We’ve added a third person to our little carpool, and we pick her up today for the first time. Because it’s the first day of school, she is waiting for us in front of the elementary school where she has just dropped off her children. The day promises to be extremely hot, and she’s already pulling her dress away from her chest as she slips into the car.

“How’d it go?” I ask, and she reports that the kids are happily on their way into school with their new teachers. I think back to when I dropped my own children off at this same school, their sweaty hands clinging to mine when they were little and, later, those same hands raised in a quick goodbye as the child they were attached to dashed off to meet up with friends. Today, teenagers, neither child ‘fessed up to any nerves, but I know they were there – the first day of school is always a bit jittery.

Now, the car is full of chatter. One teacher is starting her third year of teaching and her second semester at GHS. Our new companion has been teaching longer, but she’s new to the school. Me? I’m the veteran – I’m pretty sure this is my 26th first day as a teacher, and it’s my third year at this school. We’re all a little sweaty – and I doubt it’s just the heat. As the A/C finally kicks in, we settle back and admit to our own nerves. Who slept last night? Who feels prepared? Does any teacher ever sleep well the night before the first day? Fully prepared for the moment the students walk in? We don’t think so.

The school building is already jumpy with students when we arrive, nearly an hour before the first bell. In the lobby, nervous teens check printed lists taped to the display case, trying to find their first period teacher. I overhear the same conversations I remember from my own first days as a student: “Who do you have?” “Do you know where room 2045 is?” “Wait? Are we in the same class?” I remember that edgy excitement.

As I walk away from the buzz of the main area towards the classrooms, a few of the students I taught last year tumble to a halt and say hello. One eyes the books I’m carrying. “Are those new?” she asks hopefully. I tell her yes, and show her that I’ve also got a new set of her favourite series from last year. “Oh!” she is excited, then suddenly she bites her lip. “Would it be ok if I borrow one of the ones I’ve already read?” By the time I say yes, the first in the series is in her hands, a shield against this nebulous new year.

Finally, I arrive at my classroom and open my door. I’m straightening up when a head pops in: “Miss, you have my brother!” True, but not this period. I walk them – the brother now stealing shy glances at me- to where they need to be. Back in the lobby, I find anxious parents, trying to understand the chaos in front of them. One family speaks French, and their relief is almost tangible when I respond. Yes, yes, their child is in the right place. Yes, I can help. I’m surrounded by languages I don’t know, too, as students greet each other in delight.

By now, I’ve forgotten my nerves, but the school is still fizzing with energy. A young woman I know from a club I sponsor rushes up to me. “Are you teaching Grade 12 English?” I am not. “But… I need you for Shakespeare.” I have no idea what she’s talking about. “I can’t do it, I just can’t,” she continues,”and I know you can help.” I assure her that her teacher can, in fact, teach Shakespeare well and that if she is still struggling she can come to me. Then I realize she has English second semester. I manage to hold back a laugh as I send her off to her first semester classes.

I smile at students I recognize, notice how they’ve grown and new hairstyles. I ask about summers and check timetables. Soon enough, most people have found their way to where they need to be, and I am again in the classroom. I don’t have students right now – it’s orientation for grade 9 students – but I can feel the energy pulsing through the walls.

That energy simmers and pops throughout the day. Students and staff move about the school, trying to find our places, trying to discover who we are this year, in this space, with these people. We won’t figure it all out today – heck, we might not all figure it out this year – but most of us will sleep better tonight than we did last night. For now, though, the truth is that many of us here are just a little jittery.