It has come! After weeks of discussion, planning, toiling, worrying, and general disarray, I stood up and began teaching the class. What am I teaching them?
We are reading a modern novel. John Steinbeck’s Of Mice And Men.
Our first day of notes was over the era of the novel, published in 1937 during the great depression, it depicts in play-like terms the events surrounding the now immortal friendship of George and Lennie as they work bucking Barley in the Salina’s Valley of California.
BUT WAIT! I’ve already done this!
One of the things I love about this placement is the substitutes who I sometimes find in place of my indispensible Mrs. T. Before beginning this exercise and teaching this unit on OMAM, I’ve already “driven” and managed to keep the kids somewhat engaged.
I’m falling in to the natural rhythm of the class, and Last week, very nearly ended up staying through the passing period following the hour I normally observe to take up Media with a group of AP Seniors who thought I was their substitute for the day.
Taking on a cooperative Job in the afternoons and observing in the mornings, I am already getting the feel of working full days with familiar students, engaging in banter about their lives outside of class, tracking their progress, through the semester, hearing about and encouraging their own personal writing projects… For the first time I am actually beginning to feel capable of smiling and leading as opposed to shrinking behind my CT and crying.
As September has given way to October, I found myself at Parent Teacher Conferences last week, attending out of a since of curiosity. I met students from other hours and their parents. It was an enlightening experience and I am so pleased to report that Parents are not as scary as their children have led me to believe.
I’m learning names (I’ve got everyone down except the two quiet girls, you know those ones that are really very brilliant on paper but never seem to speak up in class). I’ve even walked with one or two students down the hall and through the building to their next class, talking about the health and wellness of extended family, uncles in the hospital, grandfathers just getting out.
And I’ve gotten used the group of talkers in class who never seem to understand that “pair up” does not mean “get into groups of five.” They finish their assignments I think, none of them copying off the others.
My CT trusts me enough sometimes to leave me alone with the class. I’ve rigged her computer so I can hook up my blackberry and play music. Bob Dylan seems to work well for focusing, mellow music. I find I’ve gotten good at bartering.
“Mr. Smith, can I play my music?”
“If you show me a finished assignment and we’ll see.”
Kids are asking me for passed days assignments, knowing I won’t glower at them.
Kids are asking me how to spell things and I’m more than happy to spell words or fetch a dictionary and “hook ‘em up.”
So now, each day, taking out the slender novels and passing them around, I ask them if they want to popcorn read or pair up. We have an astounding reader in the class and most of the students like the way he does the voices of George, Lennie, Candy, Curly, and Slim.
I honestly think they’re having fun and that is making my job seem fun in the class. I don’t feel stressed or scared, but at the end of the days I find I am feeling tired.
I seldom sit during class, walking circuits, keeping busy, making eye-contact… I’m not even aware of the fact that I haven’t set down until I finally do and my whole body just sags with the heaving of a big sigh. “I worked today,” I seem to say a lot to myself before taking of my socks and shoes and hanging up my slacks, exchanging them for jeans and sneakers.
I look forward to tomorrow. We’re getting into chapter three and I’m passing out some essay questions. Next week there will be in-service, and that might break off finishing the novel if I can’t hurry them through it by next Wednesday.
Something about these reflections seems a touch random. It is as if trying to remember things in order of occurrence has become difficult when looking back. My brain is too forward-thinking and it makes relating the past much more confusing and difficult.
I guess I’m just tired at the end of the day, but it’s a good kind of tired—the kind that’s pleased to sit back and type a bit before switching it up and putting on my writing cap. I’ve got a new play I’m working on in the back of my head while life is all school, work, and family up front. It’s amazing to find I’ve become a multi-tasker somewhere in the past few months.
Anyway, I’ve rambled and roamed my way through this reflection. I’ve got drafts of my next Genre Reflection to type up and a test to edit before the weekend.
I’ll finish with a question I was asked today after being left to teach a Geometry class with a substitute at my Coop job. They were a goofy bunch, throwing dried spaghetti, some of which I’m still finding in the pockets of my brand new jacket. The sub and I said our goodbyes at the end of the hours as they stampeded through the door and out into the world post 3:10 PM.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” She joked.
“I’ve worked with worse,” I said, cleaning up the wads of paper and finding a binder some student forgot.
I’m not even a Student Teacher yet and I’m already capable of smiling when I talk about the third tier Algebra class from hell.
“Those kids are just goofy,” I said. Sometimes you get angry or violent kids who throw punches instead of spaghetti, or fake a body checks to see if you’ll flinch. I’ve had those kids in class and to my chagrin I’m still here, still working on this degree, and still imagining a classroom of my own with posters from my favorite movies and a big ironic sign over my desk, hopefully disguising my “push-over” nature by declaring me, in bib bold letters a “COLD-HEARTED BASTARD.”
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