School Suck

I’m not writing every day this year, but after two days of school, it’s time to write something. I’ve worked at North High for 18 years and unless my memory is fading, Tommy Hua has been there. Even if he hasn’t been there, in my mind he has, so that’s all that matters here.
I’ve taught his kids, his cousins, his nieces and nephews–I’ve seen a lot of Hua kids over the years.
Tommy is our custodian, and one of the reasons North High can be okay, is that the teachers and custodial staff (and staff, in general) tend to get along. I brought some items to school over the summer, didn’t have a way to check out my keys, so Tommy and I loaded them up on his cart, drove out to my room, and took a few minutes and complained about things people at schools complain about, and unloaded my stuff.
Tommy has this thing he does with me, though, and he’s been doing it for about five years now. Since I am six-foot-ten and he is maybe five-foot-six (on a good day), every time he saw me on campus he would greet me with a “Big T.” Is wasn’t some frat-boy salutation, complete with handshake or high-five–it was just a matter-of-fact “Big T.” The deal he wanted was for me to call him “Little T,” which I didn’t want to do because, well, I’m tall and he’s not.
For the last two years, though, I haven’t cared. He sees me, calls me “Big T,” and I don’t miss a beat in calling him “Little T,” which makes him laugh every time. In turn, I laugh because he gets such a kick out of being “Little T.”
Is that so hard, people? Big T and Little T–working on a campus near you (maybe).
And now, a song written by Satan.

A school year has started for some of my former students today. They’re in college.
A school year started started a week ago, or longer, for students in other districts. But, I’m at home, typing this sentence, still with another week and a day until I have to go back. I’m really happy to see that many students who had little to no skills in high school have kept at it and ended up at pretty good colleges and universities. It’s a reminder that although we should still challenge our students, their performance in our classes might not be indicative of their capabilities. I tend to forget that since I (sometimes) feel that my class is the only one that matters.
Enough of this for now. Mostly here just to see if this all still works, as I may want to post a thing or two this school year.

And just like that, the 2016/2017 school year comes to a close. My room is clean, my keys are turned in, the chromebook cart is somewhere safe, all the emergency folders and inventory have been returned and attained, as have the necessary signatures. Grades, attendance–all there. So, it’s done.
A lot of my trolls and, I’m sure, my detractors, did not understand what I set out to do with this blog in August or September. They are the least of my concern, though they are an audience and have always been recognized as being there, waiting for something that didn’t come. Sorry to disappoint you.
I just wanted to write. I have an MFA in Fiction, something I received 20 years ago, and I wanted to see if there was still that discipline in me to produce writing every school day, and then some. I did. This is my 200th public post, and I only hid one because I didn’t like the misunderstandings it created, and I didn’t want to offend anyone.
It all ends the way it began–with writing. Today, I cleaned out everything and got to see some students (who still don’t get that they have graduated and that school is over). I also got to talk to teachers I normally don’t see because of the workday. I’m sure many teachers think I don’t like them, or care about what I think (for whatever reason), but I’ve written it more than once. For these last 185 days, we were teachers at North High, and if you went about your jobs and did the right things for kids, then you have my respect.
But I loved talking with Coral Taylor after school. She makes me laugh and she’s always doing what’s best for her dance program. I loved giving Jason Mun, our newcomer, a little bit of crap for messing up the dates on the end-of-the-year party. He’s been trying all year in class. He brought Louis Zamperini’s kid to speak at our school. I love messing with Jay Estabrook who, despite what the kids think, is TROUBLE, because he knows he can mess with me. But Jay also tells kids that books are cool, and he’s taking kids to the Amazon, among other things–so he CAN mess with me. I love seeing Anh Nguyen because we are kindred spirits. We’re old, we’ve worked and saved our money, we like to travel, and we see things at school in a similar way.
I wrote. Many things. I could have written more. And I know there’s this closure issue that makes everyone feel a certain way–oh, it’s the last post of the school year so it must mean something. Nope. To give certain things weight over other things is silly.
This blog will change into something else soon. Until it does, the quiet Beatle.https://youtu.be/ebtC3ORg9fU

Today was the last day of school with students. 180 days ago it started; now it has ended. And, I’ll just have to assume that students think that this isn’t the end of the year because it sure didn’t feel like it. Yeah, some yearbooks were shoved in my face and students seemed to want me to write something thrilling in them. Sure, students cheered a little at the end of the day because that marked the finality of it all.
But, there was no sense of urgency. Students acted like they had weeks or months left to get done what they hadn’t done for a year. I should not have to tell a kid that all he has to do is get up and give a speech or else he won’t pass. It shouldn’t come down to that, but for some it does. The constant reminder–you have to pull some kids across the finish line. In the old days, I would have let that kid fail, but it’s a few points, a few percentage points, and one assignment. It does come down to one little thing in life, too.
I am also constantly reminded that I have a son, one that I often forsake for this job. He’s 13. School comes easy for him. If he had seen his father in action today, I don’t know what he would have thought. If he had seen what his father sometimes puts ahead of him–I know I balance it out in other ways, but it’s tough to justify sometimes.
The constant reminder is failure. At our end-of-the-year luncheon today, a student who I had last year, and who will be in my class next year, was bold enough to tell me that of all the books I assigned last year, this student read none of them. Great. Thanks for telling me. Does this mean we have to read in class next year? because I don’t do that.
But the other constant reminder is what a hero I am to the loser. And by loser, I mean that only in the highest sense, for I use the term with some reverence. The loser lunch crew is back, which is awesome to have kids who don’t want to be elsewhere hang out in my room. I’ve also received emails and tweets and shout-outs from those kids who just didn’t fit in high school, who didn’t have the best time of it. I’ve learned so much from them and am happy that I was a sounding board, someone they could cry in front of, and a teacher that moved them forward long after I was their classroom teacher. Not everyone is a cool kid; not everyone fits. High school can be so unforgiving. The fact that kids can come to me–some that aren’t even mine–is a constant reminder that no matter the previous paragraphs of frustration, that I’m doing something right.
Back to the boy. I have to thank the previous 180 school days for making me a better father. Each day my priorities change. The things I have seen make we want to throw a ball around, or go shoot some hoops, or hit some tennis balls with my boy.
But not yet–I still have to get my grades and end-of-year stuff done. Tomorrow maybe.https://youtu.be/-eEfAGzgv18

Tonight is graduation night. Here are the givens–
1. It will be hot. We will initially be herded into the gym–almost 500 SaxonStrong–and all the breathing and moving around will raised the temperature by at least 10 degrees. Parts of my body only sweat on this night.
2. Students still won’t get it. This night totally doesn’t feel like one where graduation will happen, so it will be a little surreal in that gym. There’s only two outcomes–kids will either be crazy and do the wave and be very vocal OR it will be a tomb in there. My money is on tomb.
3. Kids will ask about their grades. Really.
4. Stars will shine bright on us, literally. Each year, we find the perfect seating arrangements so that the setting sun can hit as many people right in the face. I bring dark glasses.
5. Someone will fall. It’s tricky going from the track onto the football field. Watch your step, girls–it’s usually those heels that cause the most damage.

North High’s graduation is pretty great otherwise. It’s a small city that ends up being in attendance, and it’s a big deal for parents to see their kids graduate. I didn’t think it was a big deal when I graduated, but my parents certainly did. North High’s graduates are showered with attention and buried under leis of the flower and candy varieties.

The other given happened in class today. My honors students had their speaking final–identify an audience and tell them what they need to hear. One minute. And don’t even start on me with that final. Anyone who’s had me knows that there were three tests (book, short story, and cumulative) before today.
Students have a hard time speaking. There they are, up in front of the crowd of students, and if they TRY and don’t do well, then they will have failed. Better to act like you haven’t prepared, to only go for 30 seconds, and to end with “and, yeah.” Tough. I want students to speak and write like humans, and they need more practice, but trying is hard. And preparing.
Not going to be solved in a day. What will be solved in a day is this year. Thanks to today, I already have a new gameplan.

There are some things that you can’t take back. You make a comment, the words are flying around in the air–hard to take back. You can say “just kidding” if people took offense, but you did just say it, so there’s that.
You also can’t take back things you put in writing. You can’t say you didn’t mean what you wrote because you put it in writing, looked at it (you did look at it, didn’t you) and then hit SEND. The black and white world doesn’t show facial expressions, and tall old men aren’t big on emojis, so sometimes a reader could misconstrue what was intended.
I hear, and I really have heard this now from more than one person, that many people are waiting to take our school back. When administration comes and goes, it always offers a little bit of hope–something to look forward to, if you will. And by “many people,” I have heard that MANY people want things to change on campus. I’ve heard this.
It reminds me of the Make America Great Again movement. Oh, calm down. It reminds me of that movement because people have asked when America was so great. And that’s the deal with schools–what makes them so great? What are the programs and classes and activities and clubs and sports and students and teachers and everything else that contribute to the zeitgeist of it all?
What makes people excited about a school?
My wife and I moved into the Redondo Union High School District because we wanted Anton (the boy!) to have a little excitement (fun?) in school. Redondo is very impressive from the road–it almost looks like a college. But these are the classes they offer for English credit that aren’t the same-old–Multi-Cultural Literature, Speech and Argument Through American Literature, Noir Literature of Los Angeles/Literature of the 1980’s, Creative and College Writing, RULA: Understanding Culture Through Literature and Design, Film Criticism and Theory, Expository Reading and Writing, Literature of Self and Society. They have the greatest hits, too–9th through 12th with honors and AP.
I teach where the only different English classes are APN (offered only to Seniors) and Online English for juniors and seniors.
Alright people, for I hear there are many of you out there–let’s get it back. I’m tall enough where I don’t need a soapbox. Want fun and excitement? Create it. Let the people who fear change get run over by it. Power to the people. Mic drop.https://youtu.be/OdbrVRc2l5U

Seniors in high school don’t get this last week. They just don’t. They were pretty much done last Thursday, but they still think there is some different form of school going on. There isn’t.
Today, Monday, their last Monday in high school, they got to sit in classes, sign yearbooks, have a little potluck (you are so welcome for the burritos–man, those suckers were good), and hang out with each other in a classroom for the last time.
Tomorrow, they practice walking in graduation. Wednesday they graduate. That night is grad night at the bowling alley. They pick up diplomas on Friday and then they’re done. It goes that quickly, and they think they have all this time for this and that, but it just ends.

.
But it isn’t something you can just turn off, is it? 13 years of schooling and it’s done like that. Bells ring, and instead of me being there to sign some more yearbooks, I have to go teach a sophomore class.
Years ago, Gillian Hart and I used to do a final newsletter for kids. Hello, closure. Okay, she did the whole newsletter and I added a final note for them. I found one that I gave out in 2013. It goes a little something like this–
Students, and others, and you—
This time of year is frustrating. As always, I feel that I’ve failed, that nothing was accomplished, and that you are soon turned out to a cruel world that will crush you as quickly as I type this note. So consider this my last lesson to you.
Understand yourself, for you have been yourself since birth. The labels that others have placed upon you meant something at one point or another, but those all go away when you leave high school. Understand yourself, because others are going to try to point you in directions you don’t want to go. This is not that “follow your passion” quest—some of you haven’t found that passion yet, so it’s pretty hard to follow nothing. Keep at it, though, and something might come your way.
Understand the world around you. You can poo-poo my Camus, but he was trying to help you choose your own existence. Kesey was trying to help you, too, Chief, for most of you are waiting for your RPM to snap you out of your slumbers. You don’t have to shoot an Arab or drop acid, but you need to understand that one man’s ceiling is another man’s floor.
Most importantly, understand that people are full of crap. People are not better than you, smarter than you, better looking than you, richer than you, or any other aspect upon which society places value. These people will try to hold you down, to take your spot in line, and to confuse you by contrasting their brilliance against yours. THEY’RE FULL OF CRAP. Move past them and don’t judge your successes and failures against theirs.
If I could, I would reach through this paper and pull you into a place where we could understand one another better and tilt our heads back and laugh at the ridiculousness of what we’ve just been through. I would pull you to a place that doesn’t really care what you do, or what car you drive, or who said what to whom about so-and-so. We would hang out, turn our cell phones off, eat ambrosia and drink nectar, and howl at the moon just like those in our collective unconscious.
But I only have words for you, and, for that, I’m sorry.

That was 2013. Nothing has really changed. Students said I made them a little weepy with some of the things I wrote in their yearbooks, but I was just being honest. I have met some of the nicest, most honest people through teaching my students, and it’s always a privilege to live vicariously through them after they graduate and go on to great things.
It’s the daily 180 that makes them think I can’t speak to them like I do, or write to them in a way that shows that I understand them and am impressed. I’m spoiled in that sense, as is Gillian Hart, for we know. We know the deal.
Alright, enough for today. As Iggy Pop said, when I saw him naked on stage, “Play the music.”

For the last months, I have worked on getting APN up and running for 2018. It looks like everything is a go at this point. There were times when I questioned my sanity, dreamed of grade point averages and satisfactory marks, and wondered what on Earth I was doing. I was a petulant child, a genius, King Solomon, and the town fool–sometimes all at once. But I got it done and maybe now I can grade all the papers that got pushed aside for the last two days.
And, don’t think I don’t know how to write. That was the old “hook.” You may not like my sentence structure, or some subjects, but I used the first person too many times early for a reason–not many things get done at school without some compromise, without some time and effort, and without some others to help. I create lesson plans, quizzes, tests, and I’m up there alone in front of my students. Don’t make me go John Donne, though. Too late.
No man is an island. Holy Mackerel, the time and effort that OTHERS put in to make APN happen for next year is something I never saw coming, expected, or will forget. I will not mention the people publicly here, but they know, because they went above and beyond the call of just being a colleague in these recent days.
That’s my PLC moment for this year, and I owe a lot of people for it. Some of the people aren’t going to see my payback coming, others might think I have a hidden agenda. Really? Me? A hidden agenda? I haven’t missed a day of school or a day-of-school post here–you got me confused with some other guy if you think I’m hiding something.
Professional Learning Community. If some impartial observer had seen what went down for the last three days, they would have seen highs and lows, give and take, compromise, a wide range of emotions, but forward movement. That last thing is never bad.
I will sleep like the dead tonight!

My boy has learned a valuable lesson about his father lately. No matter how many tasks that I have to get done, I get them done. There are due dates, and no matter what I have going, I can sit down for over five hours and input data that I have already provided on another document. Four hours, five hours? Doesn’t really matter because it will end someday. But it’s almost nine and I’ve been at it.
Sometimes, you have to do things you don’t like. But, like it says on my board at school, you have to own your rock. Whatever job you have before you, make it your own.
And now the students come to see me. These are students who are done with school. That’s right–if I have any seniors, they are technically done with their schooling. Tomorrow is baccalaureate practice and yearbooks and senior slideshow, then next week they get signed out and practice for walking at graduation. I always feel bad at this time of year because they don’t get it–it’s over. It ended today when students finished their senior projects.
Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be done with some of them. My sympathy level is at an all-time low after what I accomplished over the last two days. More work than some ever do.
But that’s what I want my son to see. He doesn’t have to put work first like his father does, but he does have to meet deadlines. That’s what got me to my lofty status in life. See you on my yacht, old sport.

Making an APN list is not an easy task.
I gained a new respect for my colleagues and bosses today, though, because they gave up a ton of their time for me, Gillian, and APN. I didn’t agree, and still don’t, with some of their points and criteria, but, at some point, there is that moment where you have to make a decision and stand by it. And I KNOW that some of my points probably sounded completely ridiculous, too, but the three hours after school says a lot. I am actually hopeful that the numbers–and we talked NUMBERS today–have worked themselves out and we can move forward.
But, oh my goodness, I am gassed. Yeah, it’s 8:30 at night and I’m usually done with writing by 3;30. Not today.
My students whined today because I gave them work. If they only knew what went on with the adults today, they might want to step up their grit game.
We’ll see about tomorrow. I’m going to slip into a teacher coma right now.