School Suck

Today was the last late start.
We wrote appreciative thoughts on a hand, talked about our PLC success (but only in our PLC groups), were given next year’s PLC/RTI schedule, and then candy was given to those who make collaboration sweet.
Seven days of school left and I got to write my thoughts down on a paper hand. This is a good thing, though, because I wrote nice things about Jennifer Henrikson, who teaches math next door to me. The only bad thing was that I had to use the hand given me–it should have been the size of Shaq’s hand to display all the wonderful things she does for me and others.
That’s what makes teaching tough for me–I know, I know, I get it. I’m sucky because students want to take classes that I teach. That makes me horrible and I don’t get many props from my peers, you know what I’m saying?
Jen is not me. She is one of the nicest, most giving, honest people I’ve had the pleasure to work with. She is a sounding board for my frustrations, can laugh at herself, and understands the game of teaching. The closet–the one she fills with calories for me and others–is a wonderful thing, but it’s secondary to her character when it comes to the adults and students. I am so happy to have a room next to her because she only complains now and again when I play Black Sabbath at peak volume or scream like Sam Kinison when trying to pull an answer out of my students. She also knows who Black Sabbath and Sam Kinison are, too.
She has taught every math class imaginable, including English when we needed someone to take a section. Always up for anything, she has been nothing but a team player. I think her schedule changed about four or five times this year alone before it got solidified. No big deal because she knows her material and has taught it all before. Oh, she’s also flexible.
I don’t like to write nice things about others, especially because it ties that person to me, which is not a good thing these days. Sorry, Jen, but I waited 172 days to do it.
Here’s the deal–we end our meetings with something called “you make collaboration sweet.” As if our school isn’t divided enough with the haves and have-nots, we get to end with our staff being recognized for “what they do” at school. And, we’re lucky we have run out of late starts because so many teachers have been repeat winners. Is that the way we want our classrooms to run? Should we keep rewarding the same kids over and over while the others who do their jobs get left out?
Jen has never been recognized by administration or peers (because after admin gives one candy out, the recipient picks someone else) in this end of meeting activity. I haven’t either. There’s been a group that has, and a group that hasn’t.
It’s probably nothing. After all, we are a Gold Ribbon school.

Teaching is such a weird gig. Some days, it runs like clockwork. Other days, it’s sucky. Most days, it’s in between, but for no rhyme or reason on any of the days.
Kids were ignoring me today. I can’t blame a few of them, for I was talking about a book they haven’t read, or are going to read. I don’t serve a big purpose when I don’t offer anything–that’s just teaching 101. Totally get it.
Now, there might be some of you out there that thinks the above paragraph is strange. Kids shouldn’t ignore a teacher, you think. No, really, when the class is reading a book and some aren’t, some kids tend to ignore, and talk, and turn their backs. Usually the class snaps things back into a semblance of order, but not today. Oh well. Day 171 and that’s the first time I’ve raised my voice (diction) at a class for their behavior. Ahead of the game, they say.
Four kids, but one apologized. Another laughed. Once again, lucky to get one, they think. Whatever. In teaching, it all has to happen again tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after. I see those kids for seven more days. My guess is that we’ll survive.
One of my regrets at the end of the year is that I’m not like other teachers. Okay, it’s not a regret, but when my students have nothing to say, I don’t want to hear them yakking about the cool things they’ve seen on their phones. It’s the tough rub of English teacher–do you want your kids to read in class, feed them info that they spit back at you, and create an atmosphere that requires docile behavior that asks a question not understood on the latest study sheet that you gave out 20 years ago?
Doubtful.
But the salon of English majors, the Algonquin table of wit and humor, hasn’t happened either. Somewhere in between is the give and take, and I can’t do that. There have been classes where this has happened, where my students and I could talk on numerous topics about books and all things English for an entire period (I see you, former 6th period sophomores in 2013).
One of my best days in teaching–EVER–was when I taught regular old seniors in 2006. I was the same then because I always wanted students to reach their potentials and keep trying. You’d be amazed at what happens when you keep trying. Anyway, the end of the year brought senior projects, where students completed some culminating project that pretty much followed a passion of theirs. It was light years ahead of its time, since all teachers to that now.
That day, my fifth period had the Black Box theater, and our class went over to see what was in store. We even had some other rogue seniors join us for the period, ones that were walking around campus after lunch. First off, one student played the role of MC, and opened the show by introducing himself and rapping for about 15 minutes. He was a very likeable dude, so kids loved it. After his bit, he introduced a band comprised of kids from fifth period. They plugged in and rocked for the whole period, being clever enough to include some of my catch phrases into their music. A whole period of music and fun. It was never out of control, students had a blast, and my faith in humanity was restored. Really, those who missed out, missed out.
Sixth period rolled around after, I went back to my room on a high. I felt like the greatest teacher ever, that I had inspired these kids to go above and beyond. My sixth period reminded me of the reality that is my job. Three students were scheduled to give their presentations, and all three did not and chose to take the F.
Give and take. I laugh at my hubris, as if I had teaching figured out in 2006. It’s 11 years later and I’m still typing. Hilarious.

Monday finally brings the magic number of nine. Single digits will be left of this school year. It always goes by so fast. Just seems like yesterday that my students were calling me Mr. Stover, and not turning their backs on me, and so on. The good old days.
I get to this time of year and I can’t breathe through my nose. My body still hurts in places where it will not hurt in 10 days. My mind swims with people and ideas about school, at home and in bed. This usually goes away in 10 days, but it’s never been as bad as this year. I don’t believe in medication, but when schedules and programs aren’t resolved with single digits left, I may need to seek it. Yeah, I know. You would have thought, after 18 years at the same school, that I could deal better. When things aren’t resolved, it’s tough.
I always grade myself at the end of the year, too. I don’t think I’ve ever given myself a good grade, despite my stellar attendance. I am pleased what I was able to do with APN (seniors) this year. They are nice kids and I wish them the best. My sophomores (honors) are the same as any year. They’re still young. My regular sophomores teach me something daily. Most of the things they teach me are about myself, about our school, and not necessarily about them. They don’t understand school yet, and I wish I could have done a better job in helping them navigate it.
I wish for a lot of things. I always think that I could solve every education problem really easily and, in theory, I could. But theory usually addresses the past–stock pickers and sports bettors never lose money in the past–and the present always brings change. This year, some of the changes threw me for a loop. My usual zigs did not meet the changing zags.
But it is all the past. Nine days is the present. https://youtu.be/DGFvlnCq-ts

Ah, what a time to be alive.
Senior projects started today, something that APN has been doing since 2002 as a culminating, year-ending, passion-having event. I forget what the standard was before we started this, but now pretty much all the classes do something similar. Some call it a TED talk, but it’s not really one. It’s something at the end of the year where we don’t have to grade a paper. And I don’t mean that in a snarky way–it’s also nice to see kids get up in front of class and showcase their talents.
There was a presentation on therapy dogs, insects, and t-shirt making and marketing. Fun. Kids got to see a video of dogs. They got to be way too close to insects. There were t-shirts. Pretty cool.
The best one, which is not to diminish the others, was the ridiculousness of insects. I guess our student and his dad do this often–they collect bugs, put them in showcases, or just have them around as pets. Some students were mortified, which was cute. Others were fascinated, and moved closer to the action. The kid started off by showing us silk worms. Yawn! How scary is that? However, it was a quick transition to the Madagascar hissing cockroach. It didn’t hiss, but he put in on his hand, as did that creepy old Mrs. Hart. Hey, when you’ve been teaching for as long as we have, what horror can a hissing cockroach be? The whipping scorpion was a nice touch, too.
We’re such losers. Well, at least I am, because I say every year how I want to get students up and doing things, yet time gets away from me and we end up doing something else. So, I’ll put it in writing right now–next year I have to get my students up and speaking and doing things more and more and more. Perhaps the reason they are not invested in what I’m teaching is that they don’t have to do it themselves–we always end up doing it for them.
What will tomorrow bring for projects? I don’t know, which is what keeps me coming back.

I like to remind myself of things. That’s one reason why I’ve posted something on this blog every single teaching day (and then some). Because when you sometimes forget where you are and what you’re doing, you lose focus on the prize. Today was my reminder, and it’s rarely pretty.
I like giving tests. They frustrate students, make them think like they haven’t in years, and are a good indicator of whether kids know something. Since the school year is winding down, and we’ll be left with only senior projects to end the year, I gave my time-tested, tried-and-true four-year cumulative English final. Yep, 56 questions, students’ four years of English. All of the answers being short answer. No true/false or matching–do you know it or don’t you?
Before you call me maniacal or evil, consider the questions. There are 10 from freshman year, 11 from sophomore year, 13 from junior year, and 22 from their senior year, the one I just got done teaching them. I don’t expect them to get a perfect score–far from it, because some of the questions I ask are on books they may not have read, depending on their teachers.
Highest score this year? 38. Lowest score? 3. Average score? 14. Here are some sample questions, in case you thought they might have been hard.
What’s the father’s name in To Kill a Mockingbird? Who wrote that book?
Who wrote the Odyssey?
Romeo comes from what family?
What nationality are the boys in Lord of the Flies? What’s Piggy’s ailment? What is the Lord of the Flies, literally?
In 1984, who is always watching you and loves you?
Who kills Gatsby? Who’s the golf cheat? What event did Wolfsheim fix?
Getting an idea of the questions here? Yeah, some were harder, but there were 56 of them and some students didn’t do so well. As a matter of fact, and data, there were 14 students out of 50 that scored under 10.
Here is the constant reminder–IT DOESN’T MATTER. Do you think your kids are walking around with a wealth of memory about what they’ve been taught? Well, they’re not.
The constant reminder is the way you treat them. That’s what they remember. Older and wiser teachers always tried to remind young teachers of this when I started at North High. I have to admit that I thought of them as filthy hippies–I still respected what they did in the classroom, but good luck with that philosophy, Sugar Magnolia.
Fast forward to my test today. Guess who the filthy hippie is now?

Since many sophomores at our school have been assigned Unbroken, we had a speaker at school today. Luke Zamperini spoke for his dad Louis, and the rest of the Zamperini family, to the sophomore class. They got an hour and a half of him in the gym, complete with a documentary video, a monologue about his father, and a question and answer at the end.
Kids were good. They applauded at the cutest times. They would ask him a question like “Do you have any children?” and they would applaud when he said yes. Weird. He said he was married to his wife for 34 years and they applauded and gave an “aaahhhh.” I know, right?
Luke Zamperini was in his early 60’s, had a nice demeanor, talked about Jesus a bit much, but, if you’ve read Unforgiven, it’s to be understood. And maybe he does this type of speaking all the time, but he came off as a regular guy, which is what I think people took from Louis. I think many people like the book so much just because they somehow feel they resonate with Louis–either as the misfit, the guy that overcame adversity, or the one who forgives. But, man, the dude overcame a little more adversity than most of us.
Jason Mun is a new dude on campus. He teaches English, coaches wrestling. I taught his sister years ago. She married someone who I think I taught, too (where is my pineapple bread, Will Kwan?). I guess he ran into Luke Zamperini, asked him to speak to our school, and made it happen. Just like that.
Sometimes that’s the way it works, people. Which is why you need to learn how to speak. If Jason did not know how to speak, I would have had to teach the last hour and a half of the day. THANKS, man.https://youtu.be/hAzIzmfzN_Q

We sit and wait, teachers do. We wonder if things can get worse. They can. We don’t want to say anything because then we’ll be labeled as complainers, as people who can’t hack it. And, we wait for Superman.
I didn’t know this was an actual term in the Great Depression. Things were so bad in the United States that the savior we created was Superman, a figure so great that he would save us from our problems. It is a nice thought, but I’m looking more on the lines of the plural here, and not just one guy who gets a little woozy once around Kryptonite.
Waiting for Superman was a documentary released in 2010. I remember the title well because one of the local high schools took one of their student-free days to take teachers to see it. I haven’t seen it. I don’t need to because I live it daily. Although, I only live it in the suburbs. I have subbed in Paramount, Downey, ABC, Long Beach, and Los Alamitos school districts. I have taught in Long Beach, Anaheim Union, and Torrance districts. But I haven’t seen it all, I suppose.
There’s a lot of positive talk at our school, in our district, and in social media regarding our new principal, who will start on July 1st. He will be my ninth principal in nineteen years, but new folks always give teachers and students and parents something to look forward to. I don’t know him, personally, but I am happy that my good students like him and my bad students don’t.
I get it–changing a culture is not easy, but we’re talking about a brand here. SaxonStrong is a great, catchy brand. It can happen. Good students want it. Most teachers want it. But one big sticker that says SaxonStrong that sits outside the copy room is the only one I’ve seen. We all want to have a school that kids look forward to attending, and one where parents, faculty, and staff are proud to be associated with.
Look, up in the air!

Today, North High had its annual Chalk Walk, which leads up to our Celebration of the Arts. First off, the art teachers are great and supportive of students. Some of the kids have less-than-stellar talents when it comes to art, but that doesn’t matter. The teachers find something good about the effort and build from there. Yeah, it’s not an essay or writing or a math equation, but there’s something to be said about finding success and building on it.
I wish I had taken a bunch of pictures of what the students produce. The themes don’t really matter, but there was one this year, as there always is–What A Wonderful World. I write that they don’t really matter because once the piece is done, you can justify about any way you want. But, the reason I wish I had taken a bunch of pictures is that students produce really good things. Mind you, these are the bulky pieces of colored chalk you had as a kid, on a beautiful concrete canvas (part of our campus quad, complete with circles of old gum), and some of the art produced is of a high quality.
Hence, a Chalk Walk, outside the library, around the K-Wing, and into the quad that stretches toward the administration building. It’s cool.
When I taught Creative Writing, I had a bunch of good kids and a bunch of kids who were there to make up English credit. However, some of my better writers, when they actually put pen to paper, were the kids who were making up credit. They were creative because they didn’t care about the grade, but about what they wanted to write. I put out a magazine every year with art from North High kids and was always amazed at the wide range of talents kids have. Those mags had students from every type of level in every grade. When I come across one here and there, I’m always reminded of what kids are capable of when given a chance and a canvas.
And I’m not going anywhere with this. Former students will be happy to know that this tradition still continues. The Barnards are always there, Delgado, Russell, encouraging kids, being positive, but letting their students create their yearly, tangible product that not only represents our school’s art program, but the shared efforts of all involved. The adults are the reason it goes so smoothly, but the kids–hundreds of them–are the stars of this day.
Diego Rivera would be proud of this day. Congratulations to everyone. Let’s do it on all our white walls next time. https://youtu.be/yfYZFS7JvT0

I got to teach three greats today.
We finished the movie of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest which, sadly, will be the only interpretation that some of my students saw some of. It’s to be expected, though. Phones and late work and homework from other classes are tough competition. Too bad kids never met Ken Kesey–I did!–because they might have understood why it was, and is, a big deal.
We’re in the process of reading Fahrenheit 451. It’s not hard literature, and it certainly follows the themes of many books we’ve read so far this year. It’s Ray Bradbury, a fellow Angelino, in one of his seminal moments. Plus, I might be able to find the Francois Truffaut movie version that has Julie Christie playing different female roles (she pretty much just changes wigs).
I finished the day with “Harrison Bergeron,” by Kurt Vonnegut. I’m bummed that I didn’t read Cat’s Cradle with my sophomore honors kids, but each year it gets a little tougher for them to understand, or read, or both.
Bradbury finishes last here in my list of literary heroes. Kesey and Vonnegut, though from different circles (or are they really?) are two of my favorites. Despite Vonnegut’s cynicism, he is much like me in his disdain for people because he is surrounded by them. He still loves them, as do I, but when so many surround you, sometimes the good folks get lost among the bad. As for Kesey, he just wanted to wake people up. And Bradbury, he certainly doesn’t need me to state his greatness. He has plenty of works that people will remember forever.
This is what I get to do during my days. I get to talk about great literature, explore great ideas, and banter about the ideas of authors I never got to meet (except Kesey). It’s like a salon every single day, where all my students come prepared and we laugh, discuss, eat cucumber sandwiches, and wonder when our seat at the table will come, or be up. The halcyon days. The greats are looking down (or up) at me as students and I relive it all.
Okay, I was being sarcastic about that last part–the well-oiled salon machine. I’m sorry/not sorry. I’m not going to apologize for loving teaching and talking about great literature and trying to pass that along to today’s youth. I will apologize for failing daily.
What’s the matter with people? I can talk to you about sports, food, travel, pets, spouses, movies, music–a myriad of circles that I can fit in. When it comes to books, though, especially the ones I teach (don’t pull out the semantics of that word), the audience is minimal. I don’t want to throw other teachers under the bus either, as most of them are busy trying to do the same thing I’m trying to do every day–get through it, have the kids learn some stuff, remember the big ideas for another day.
Kesey, Vonnegut, and Bradbury are all dead (though my copy of F 451 still has the author alive because of the age of our books). I would tweet at them if they were still alive, as I do with several other authors and artists. It’s not stalking–it’s an electronic salon. Who knew that Joyce Carol Oates was a huge cat lover? She is, and she posts some great things. Who knew that Bret Easton Elllis . . . gosh, I follow him?
Someone come by and talk to me about Orwell. Someone come by and we’ll talk about what Vonnegut would be doing online. Someone come by and tell me how bad a choice Jack Nicholson was to play R.P. McMurphy, because the character should be bigger and happier.
If no one comes by, I’ll just have to keep typing to myself. Myself to myself, with apologies (not really) to Debora Iyall and Romeo Void. 415!

Were the tides amiss today? Were the planets not aligned correctly? Was it because the sun didn’t come out all day? Was it a mass nutritional deficiency? Exhaustion? Affluenza? Did the gods just decide that today would be “that” day?
I’ve been teaching since the mid-80’s, either as a sub, or full-time at high schools. I’ve had good days and bad days. I’m sure, if I looked at today from a historical perspective, there would have been many other days to rival it. But, man, after all these years of going through the dance, you think you have it down pretty well–until you don’t.
Thank goodness that today is now the past, and, overall, it wasn’t even that bad. That’s the beauty of teaching and the awesomeness of the past–one repeats the next day while the other doesn’t exist.
The only thing I will take from today is that I don’t where it became acceptable to be so unacceptable. I might as well have enjoyed lunch with Golding all day (or maybe tea, since it was all day) and had him just say, “See,” or “Look at that,” or “I called that one.” You did, Bill. You nailed it.
All the usual suspects won today. Best of three starts tomorrow, though.