A Year of Middle School Madness
Huddle begins at 8:08 and I'm rustling through a stack of crumpled papers to find who hasn't completed his work. I scramble as an onslaught of 6th and 7th grade boys rush through my door. Like a swat team, they descend upon me with cracking voices, Axe cologne varietals, and Taki stained fingernails. I pull in a long, deep breath and yell:
"TAKE A SEAT. STAND UP. WHATEVER YOU WANT TO DO. BUT BE QUIET!!
The noise simmers to a low boil. My blood vessels constrict back to their normal state. It takes five minutes just to get them to calm down to a level of comprehension. I repeat myself four or five times every fifteen minutes on average. The sheer will it takes to convince these little buggers to do work is astonishing. I'm certain now that God is "returning the favor" for all those years of gritting my teeth at my own mother. I was her "strong willed" child as she so graciously puts it.
In January, I asked myself, "why are you doing this kind of work?" The kind of work that offers little payback in dollars and cents. The kind of work that grays young heads of hair. In this career field, there is no glamour, no fame, no status, rarely a thank you. Sometimes it hardly feels like a career - garnering little respect or notice except the ever-so-popular response, "I don't know how you do it!" People don't really want to know the details behind what educators do every day; they are just glad someone else is doing it.
Education is a business - you're trying to sell something that people don't want to buy. Education is also a place where individuals get to stand up to the "lions of injustice" and fight. It is a place where compassion meets tough love. People not only get second chances, but sometimes ten or twenty. I have the special privilege of working with kids from all over the globe. Kids whose first language isn't English and whose homes look very different from mine. I love that. I also work with students whose lives are deeply tragic. I deal with neglect, abuse, and violence on a weekly if not daily basis.
Imagine with me for a minute a kid whose mom works at a chicken factory from 6:00 pm to 6:00 am. and whose dad was deported back to Panama because of an expired visa. This family of eight lives in a two-bedroom apartment with one window and a concrete parking lot to play in. Despite the crap this kid wades through every day, he comes to school and makes A's and B's. I watch him wrestle every day with what he was born into. It's like watching a kid with asthma try and catch his breath. Will it make or break him? It's my job to give him the tools and hail ten Mary's that he makes it out alive.
What we are obligated to give is opportunity. This is the beauty of being an American citizen. What we were given freely comes with an honor and a duty to give back. I come home in tears some days because the odds are so stacked against some people that it hurts to be near them. Most days though, I am proud of what we offer to the disenfranchised. It's a broken system, but show me a system that isn't? Do we have the courage to get in there, get our hands dirty, and be a part of transforming the stuff that doesn't work? That's what I'm most interested in.
As this year comes to a close, I am happy. My students may still have D's and C's, but I think they've finally picked up on the importance of trying something new. My year started off with the kids that have the worst behavior in the school (gangs, drugs, truancy, etc.). It wasn't about changing their bad behavior, it was about getting them interested in something bigger than themselves. It's about getting them to take meaningful risks, instead of unhealthy ones. What have I gotten out of it? I'm learning to take risks too. This job involves a lot of failure and loss. But when a kid wins, it lights the sky on fire and I'm in awe.
"TAKE A SEAT. STAND UP. WHATEVER YOU WANT TO DO. BUT BE QUIET!!
The noise simmers to a low boil. My blood vessels constrict back to their normal state. It takes five minutes just to get them to calm down to a level of comprehension. I repeat myself four or five times every fifteen minutes on average. The sheer will it takes to convince these little buggers to do work is astonishing. I'm certain now that God is "returning the favor" for all those years of gritting my teeth at my own mother. I was her "strong willed" child as she so graciously puts it.
In January, I asked myself, "why are you doing this kind of work?" The kind of work that offers little payback in dollars and cents. The kind of work that grays young heads of hair. In this career field, there is no glamour, no fame, no status, rarely a thank you. Sometimes it hardly feels like a career - garnering little respect or notice except the ever-so-popular response, "I don't know how you do it!" People don't really want to know the details behind what educators do every day; they are just glad someone else is doing it.
Education is a business - you're trying to sell something that people don't want to buy. Education is also a place where individuals get to stand up to the "lions of injustice" and fight. It is a place where compassion meets tough love. People not only get second chances, but sometimes ten or twenty. I have the special privilege of working with kids from all over the globe. Kids whose first language isn't English and whose homes look very different from mine. I love that. I also work with students whose lives are deeply tragic. I deal with neglect, abuse, and violence on a weekly if not daily basis.
Imagine with me for a minute a kid whose mom works at a chicken factory from 6:00 pm to 6:00 am. and whose dad was deported back to Panama because of an expired visa. This family of eight lives in a two-bedroom apartment with one window and a concrete parking lot to play in. Despite the crap this kid wades through every day, he comes to school and makes A's and B's. I watch him wrestle every day with what he was born into. It's like watching a kid with asthma try and catch his breath. Will it make or break him? It's my job to give him the tools and hail ten Mary's that he makes it out alive.
What we are obligated to give is opportunity. This is the beauty of being an American citizen. What we were given freely comes with an honor and a duty to give back. I come home in tears some days because the odds are so stacked against some people that it hurts to be near them. Most days though, I am proud of what we offer to the disenfranchised. It's a broken system, but show me a system that isn't? Do we have the courage to get in there, get our hands dirty, and be a part of transforming the stuff that doesn't work? That's what I'm most interested in.
As this year comes to a close, I am happy. My students may still have D's and C's, but I think they've finally picked up on the importance of trying something new. My year started off with the kids that have the worst behavior in the school (gangs, drugs, truancy, etc.). It wasn't about changing their bad behavior, it was about getting them interested in something bigger than themselves. It's about getting them to take meaningful risks, instead of unhealthy ones. What have I gotten out of it? I'm learning to take risks too. This job involves a lot of failure and loss. But when a kid wins, it lights the sky on fire and I'm in awe.
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