Emergent Things

Yesterday, for the first time in my admittedly young career, I assigned an in-class timed writing as a whole-class punishment. The group has been problematic year-round, struggling both academically and behaviorally. With me being passive in nature, this proved initially problematic, though, as time has passed, I have strengthened my approach.

I took yesterday off work to celebrate my wife’s birthday. The last time this group -- we’ll call them Group X -- was left with a sub, the report was negative. I’ve never liked negative sub reports, as I feel that they show someone that I’m not as competent as I should be. So, the day before I took off, I told the class that they would have to complete a timed essay should I receive a negative report again.

What I received was the most negative report I have ever read. Initially, I thought the punishing essay would bring me peace. After all, I was being consistent with what I had told them, and some small part of me thought -- and still does -- that experience would forever change their behavior in my class. When students began filing in today, though, all asking if they would have to write an essay, my response of “yes” was harder to swallow each time. It wasn’t until one student came in -- a positive student, by all means -- and asked the same question that the gravity of what I had decided on settled.

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Mr. Shaw, but that is really unfair,” she said.

She was right. It was unfair. The sub had even told me that this student, this exceptional young lady, had been spectacular. Yet, here she was, being punished simply for being a part of Group X.

When they began their essays (they did this silently and, for the most part, without protest), I watched and struggled with what I had decided. Group X is largely repeaters and struggling learners. For the most part, I feel that a good number of them act out because English is not their strong suit, and, despite my efforts, I have yet to find something that clicks. It wasn’t even the “good” kids that made me feel guilty, either. It was these struggling kids, too. What lesson was I teaching them? The assignment was content- and skill-relevant, but it wasn’t the best way to go about anything.

Yet, there they sat, all thirty of them, writing away. No protest. Just compliance.

Is compliance what this gig is about, though? Does engagement matter if it is the result of submission? These things bugged me as I watched them write, and I couldn’t settle my thoughts.

So, I took out a stack of post-its and a pen, and I started writing. First, I wrote two notes, one to each of the students my sub had said did exceptional jobs. I wrote that I noticed their efforts, and that they’ve been fantastic year-round, and, that while it was unfortunate what I had assigned to them, I recognized and appreciated how they work and encouraged them to keep it up. I delivered these to both of them. One smiled and put it in her folder. The other -- the one who had sparked these thoughts -- crumpled it up and put it in her pocket. That was fair, I suppose.

Then, and perhaps more importantly, I wrote more notes, these ones to those who had been a thorn in my side for so many weeks but had now decided to comply. To this kids, I wrote that I recognized their efforts today, that I was excited to read their essays, and that I was proud of them and what they had accomplished. There were a few too many of them for me to notice how they all reacted, but one kid raised his hand and handed me the note back. I look at it quizzically, at which point he flipped it over. He had written “Thanks!” with a smiley face. I told him “you’re welcome,” then handed it back for him to keep.

Another kid raised his hand and asked for tape. I was hesitant at first, but he had finished his essay, so I figured there was no harm. I handed it to him and walked away, and when I returned, I noticed he had taped it to his chest. When I saw him at the end of the day, it was still there.

One of the things that keeps me in this profession is the almost consistent ability to repair situations. While I am still torn on my decision to assign that essay, and some kids will hold a grudge against me because of it, it gave some of them the opportunity to shine and be proud, and it gave me the opportunity to sit back, reflect, and recognize them for what they had achieved. And for me, that made the day worthwhile.

Last week, I decided that I am a first year teacher again. Not that I am a veteran teacher or anything, but I had a realization both humbling and enlightening that reminded me of how cyclical this whole teaching gig is.

Since Day 1, I’ve been a tenth grade teacher. I’ve dabbled in ninth grade, albeit collaboratively, but I’ve always had tenth graders. However, when I started at my current school, my principal asked, “Do you feel that you can teacher ninth grade?”

Of course I can teach ninth grade, I thought. They’re only one year younger.

One year is a big difference, I've since learned.

Ironically, when I graduated college, I opted out of receiving a license to teach middle school because I always told myself that if I were at a point where I was willing to teach middle school, I should probably find another career. Last week, however, I realized that my freshmen are closer to being middle school students than they are to being in the tenth grade.This realization unsettled me. I’ve always found middle school students to be too whiny and self-centered, qualities my freshmen share. I initially figured that if I set my tenth grade bar for them, they would have to reach it. Instead, I was met with hostility and disengagement – direct disrespect, heads on tables, plunging grades, etc. It wasn’t until I completely my school's quarterly self-assessment and took an honest look at my grade book and my own practice that I realized that I was wrong, and that I had set an unrealistic expectation.

So, I changed. And, as a teacher, I've found that it's hard to change. We have our ways and like to stick by them, but at some point, we have to realize that it isn't about our comfort as much as it is about what is doing what is best for kids. I refuse to admit that I was entirely at fault, but I noticed that I was frustrated with them because I expected them to act like tenth grade students. And, well, they’re not, so of course they didn’t. It reminded me of a conversation I had  had with my former instructional coach when I was looped to English 11 during my third year of teaching. She reminded me that a new grade level requires new instructional techniques. In this case, it required more rigorous discussion and high expectations. So, I obliged.

And now, nine weeks into my second first year, I’m obliging again.

(In a semi-related twist of fate, I received a note on my board today which read, "hi mister Shaw." It was signed "ur fav student." While the grammar was atrocious, I can't help but feel it's a sign that I'm moving in the right direction with them.)

Last week, two students came up to me after class and asked why I don’t tell stories or jokes. They also mentioned that I hardly smile. While taken back by the oddity of the question (if there is such thing as odd questions when you spend your days with high school students), what struck me the most was that at my old school, I always told stories and jokes. It was a way of engaging students, connecting with them, and supplementing the curriculum.

It wasn’t until I was asked about this that I realized that I had accomplished what I set out to do when I left my teaching job three months ago. Because my old school was my first full-time teaching job, I was far more casual than I knew I was supposed to be, so I told these stories, gave insights into my life and personality, and ultimately connected with my students on a deeper level than I ever anticipated. It wasn’t until I had matured as a teacher that I realized that I had probably let them know too much about myself. When I switched schools, I decided to not make this mistake again.

My casual attitude wasn’t limited to my personality or instruction, either. In my old school, I wore rugged flannel shirts and tattered khakis, let my beard grow to my chest, and let my hair grow past my shoulders. Since beginning my new placement, I wear a tie every day, spend time fixing my hair and keeping it trimmed, and keep an overall eye on my appearance. There are slip-ups, but they are far subtler than in my past experience.

As odd as it sometimes makes me feel, these changes in my appearance have catalyzed the change in my attitude. Because I dress like a professional, I act like a professional. My students sit in rows, I stand by my door to enforce tardies seven times a day, I complete a thorough dress code check at the beginning of every period, and I call parents on a regular basis to address misbehaviors. While this may be best practice, I was negligent about it at my old school and have since decided to be better.

I oftentimes wonder if, instead, I don’t want to be that teacher because that’s the teacher I was for my old students, and I don’t want to connect with my current students as I did with my past ones. After all, it was my connection with my students that kept me from pursuing my life in Louisville for as long as I did.

Regardless the cause or consequence, I find myself a far different Mr. Shaw than I was one year ago. Even as I type this, I realize that I require my current students to call me Mr. Shaw as opposed to just Shaw. And, whether or not this works out for me, it reminds me of one of the many things that sets my craft apart from others: the ability to decide who you want to be on a year-by-year basis. For whatever reason, I don’t yet want to be myself at my new school. Despite this, however, I am certain of one thing.

I am a teacher.

I suppose it's only appropriate that I take the time to explain the title. As an English teacher, it probably isn't entirely appropriate that I title my blog with nonsensical words, and although "emergent" has a number of pages on Wikipedia ranging from albums to plants, mine has an altogether different meaning.

During my second year as a yearbook adviser, I took a day off work to tend to my cat, who was suffering from depression and anxiety (yes, the vet told me this) and needed his anti-depressant filled. I had other things to do that day, too, but the cat was top priority. So, I woke up early and went to the pharmacy to get his prescription filled. Upon arriving, I decided to check my school email on my phone. To my surprise, my account had been flooded with emails from yearbook staff members with questions about photos, copy, deadlines -- all sorts of yearbook stuff. And, to address these, I found a corner in the store and sat so that I could respond to each email. And sat I did.

Once I finished, I filled my cat's prescription and left. While driving home, I checked my email again to make sure everything had been settled. And, much to my dismay, one new email subject read:

                             EMERGENT! PLEASE ANSWER IMMEDIATELY

I didn't know what "emergent" meant, but I figured it was some sort of combination of "emergency" and "urgent," so I hurriedly braked and pulled over my car, sweating, heart racing, to read the email, thinking that one of my editors had snapped and hit a staff member or something (not really...my editors were always pretty awesome).

The email had been sent to the entire faculty asking for club rosters. Not quite EMERGENT, but important nonetheless. The staff member and I spoke about this the next day, and, if I remember correctly, she was both humored and proud that her subject line succeeded in grabbing one's attention.

As the year wound down and I announced my decision to leave, I forgot about that day and other EMERGENT things. It wasn't until the last day of school, when I had said my good-byes and received a fair number of awkward hugs from students who didn't know how to say good-bye, that my yearbook editor-in-chief presented me with what is probably the coolest notebook I've ever received. I was so captured by it (it was decorated in 90's comic book clippings -- my favorite) that I didn't even notice the letter inside until she had left. And, in her letter, she reminded me of that day, my cat, and my EMERGENT life as a yearbook adviser.

I read that letter a lot. And, while I can't pin the reason I teach to one thing in particular, I can say that the EMERGENT moments have a great deal to do with it. And so, again, I've decided to write them here.

When I started teaching four years ago, I found that I had a lot to say but not enough understanding to say it well. Since then, I've gotten married to another teacher, worked in a couple different schools with a lot of different people, and even taken on a few leadership roles.

Having recently started my newest endeavor in a new state, I find myself returning to the idea that I have things to say about teaching, albeit this time with a little experience. See, while I've taught in two different schools, two and a half of those years four years were spent at one school. I know this isn't a great deal of time to work at a school, but I developed as a teacher at that school, having been hired on as an aide and eventually promoted to English & Journalism Teacher. Since moving on from that experience, I've realized that I had a lot of worthwhile experiences that I never took the time to write down. And, well, I don't want to make that mistake again.

So, here I am, hoping to have more worthwhile experiences and a place to record them.