My Battleground
I lost today. I conceded. The kids won.
The day starts fine--Period 1 conference, Period 3 angels. And I believe that whatever crap caffeinated, high sugar lunch my Period 5 students eat leads to my downfall as their teacher, followed by a swift kill by Period 7.
Period 5 comes at me ignorantly lead by Carlos, the fo-ne-tik speller with his constantly raised hand and voice that informs me he has a question, when actually it's an irrelevant comment. Stop calling on him, then he'll come back with a focused, well thought-out question.
There's Amando, the funny kid who can throw a teacher off by one of his comments. He's the one with the jokes that the teacher doesn't want to laugh at, otherwise he'll only be encouraged. It doesn't help that he uses the same smartass remarks that I've used in class with excellent precision.
Luis L. charges with his smug smile, his Spanish wisecracks, all to impress his girlfriend and other ladies in class.
Jorge uses the get-dumb technique, wondering what it was that he did, denial being his concealed weapon.
Cynthia whips out her mirror, checking her camouflage, stares at Luis, and then claims to have no clue what page number to turn to. Her mouth comes in one form, automatic. She is usually prepared, equipped with a ready-made apology.
Jennifer, bats her eyes, pretends to be cute and innocent, constantly calls me over for help to attack from a different front, using muttered Spanish and some word that rhymes with "wa-po." Only the expertly trained female college aide is allowed near her.
Hector, a collaborator of Amando's, unleashes his timing, a delayed version of that of his friend, leaving disruption in his wake.
Mario, the kid who claims he doesn't "need no ESL English," has the armor of a disconnected phone number at his parent's.
There are five others who mindlessly follow their leaders, all fighting their true enemy--Mr. Montoya's patience.
The 90 minute block period moves slowly, me getting halfway through my lesson. One casualty, Mario. Cause: referral to the V.P. One incapaciation, Cynthia. Cause: threat of parent phone call. One severely wounded, Carlos. Cause: sitting idly in the hallway.
The bell rings, the period done, patience tattered and torn, tolerance armor dented, worn.
Then comes Period 7.
The day starts fine--Period 1 conference, Period 3 angels. And I believe that whatever crap caffeinated, high sugar lunch my Period 5 students eat leads to my downfall as their teacher, followed by a swift kill by Period 7.
Period 5 comes at me ignorantly lead by Carlos, the fo-ne-tik speller with his constantly raised hand and voice that informs me he has a question, when actually it's an irrelevant comment. Stop calling on him, then he'll come back with a focused, well thought-out question.
There's Amando, the funny kid who can throw a teacher off by one of his comments. He's the one with the jokes that the teacher doesn't want to laugh at, otherwise he'll only be encouraged. It doesn't help that he uses the same smartass remarks that I've used in class with excellent precision.
Luis L. charges with his smug smile, his Spanish wisecracks, all to impress his girlfriend and other ladies in class.
Jorge uses the get-dumb technique, wondering what it was that he did, denial being his concealed weapon.
Cynthia whips out her mirror, checking her camouflage, stares at Luis, and then claims to have no clue what page number to turn to. Her mouth comes in one form, automatic. She is usually prepared, equipped with a ready-made apology.
Jennifer, bats her eyes, pretends to be cute and innocent, constantly calls me over for help to attack from a different front, using muttered Spanish and some word that rhymes with "wa-po." Only the expertly trained female college aide is allowed near her.
Hector, a collaborator of Amando's, unleashes his timing, a delayed version of that of his friend, leaving disruption in his wake.
Mario, the kid who claims he doesn't "need no ESL English," has the armor of a disconnected phone number at his parent's.
There are five others who mindlessly follow their leaders, all fighting their true enemy--Mr. Montoya's patience.
The 90 minute block period moves slowly, me getting halfway through my lesson. One casualty, Mario. Cause: referral to the V.P. One incapaciation, Cynthia. Cause: threat of parent phone call. One severely wounded, Carlos. Cause: sitting idly in the hallway.
The bell rings, the period done, patience tattered and torn, tolerance armor dented, worn.
Then comes Period 7.
posted by matty at 10:24 PM
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