Here's Some Data For You!

With so much focus being placed on the importance of data and data driven instruction in today's public schools, I can only hope that the 'powers that be' realize that despite their best efforts there will never exist  any data that will ever show or tell...

how much teachers sacrifice for their students.

the massive amount of time that teachers spend not in celebrating most of their student's wonderful achievements, but in agonizing over the one kid that they were never able to reach.

Nor can a number, score, or statistic ever show how much of a positive impact a teacher has had on a student that...

comes to school each day to enjoy the one meal he or she will likely get for the entire day

only recieves kind words, safety, and love when in that teacher's classroom

is regularly abused at home

has to spend his or her nights making sure their drunk father does not beat up their mom when he gets home

lives in abject poverty

The list could go on and on, but from my perspective what is most important to understand and remember is that within the public school's current obsession with data and data driven instruction is the fact that behind each of those numbers, decimal points, bar graphs, and fancy excel spread sheets is a student and a teacher. A student that could be having the best childhood of anyone on earth, or a student that is experiencing things daily that most of us would not wish on our worst enemy.  Behind those numbers are also teachers...a few of which burned out years ago and could care less, but so many more that passionately sacrifice their time, money, sweat, family, and yes tears to make sure that every single student that steps into their classroom each day walks out a better person than they were before.

What if...

What if...

the very last option for reducing the state's massive debt was to make cuts in an already struggling education system?

North Carolina was not ranked 31st in average public school teacher salaries?

more parents gave a flying rip how the continued budgetary shortfalls are affecting their children's education by forcing the most qualified educators to find employment elsewhere?

all the members of the North Carolina General Assembly took a 20-30% paycut?

each parent in this state was required to spend 2 full weeks per school year in the classroom with the teachers?

each member of the North Carolina General Assembly was required to spend 2 full weeks per school year in the classroom?

the average joe knew how much dedicated educators give of themselves, time, and money in the slightest hope that we can make a difference in at least one kid's life?

teachers were allowed to educate students in the classroom, instead of teaching students only the skills needed to pass an EOG (end of grade) test?

all students cared as much about their learning as teachers do?

all parents cared as much about their child's learning as teachers do?

North Carolina General Assembly members cared as much about the state's children as teachers do?

What if...?
What if...?
What if...?

As a wise old man once told me, "What if the Queen had balls?", you guessed it...she'd be King!

The Bus Stop pt. 3

Before reading part 3 I would suggest you go back and reread part 1 from August 26th and part 2 from September 8th. Enjoy part 3 and be sure to become a follower if you're not already. Part 4 will be here before you know it. :)

Since last week my world has flipped upside down…literally and figuratively. Since last week there is not much I wouldn’t give to return to my once boring, but beautifully predictable life. As I’m rotated upside down in an attempt to use traction to heal my broken back (I was serious about my world literally turning upside down) I cannot help but think how one day I’m a nobody going through life’s daily highs and lows; one day later I’ve become an urban legend. You have undoubtedly read or listened to several different versions of what happened last week at the bus stop. Though I’m sure the people who were there believe in their heart of hearts that what they saw actually happened, I must respectfully ask you to ignore all you’ve read or heard as I’m about to relay what really happened.


Before I begin I must admit that throughout so much of my life I have never been particularly religious, but if there is a higher power I mustn’t go any further without thanking him or her for blessing me with a nurse caring, or perhaps curious enough, to listen and record my story as it truly happened. Another in my long list of injuries obtained from last week’s ‘incident’ is the fact that I’m told I fractured both eye sockets. The terrible swelling has rendered me temporarily blind, but luckily I am still able to speak and hear relatively well during the fleeting moments of consciousness I have had since I arrived.

I never know how long I will be conscious, but once I’m aware enough to do so I call for the nurse. Ideally, the nurse whom I’ve begun to tell the true story of what occurred last week is on duty and has time to transcribe my version of what occurred for however long I’m awake. Unfortunately, the nurse only comes about half the time I call. Other nurses I do not care to speak with float in and out, but I remain quiet. At any rate…enough about how you are able to read this, and onto The Bus Stop as I like to call the incident.

Though the city of Savannah is quite car friendly, despite it’s size and population, I have been taking the bus to and from work for the past several years for really no other reason than the fact that it’s cheaper, and other than work I do not really have anywhere to go or anyone to see. Roughly two weeks before the ‘incident’ I arrived at the bus stop as usual on my way to work the early shift as a produce manager at Kroger supermarket. Not a prestigious occupation by any stretch of the imagination but it is an honest living, and one I rather enjoy because it does not allow for a lot of pointless chit-chat with co- workers or customers. The normal cast of characters was at the bus stop that morning two weeks ago…an older one legged housekeeper named Penelope, a middle aged Asian man who works at a family owned shoe repair store in the downtown area, and a variety of day laborers traveling to destinations unknown.

Originally from the Dominican Republic, Penelope has been a staple at this bus stop six out of seven mornings since I began traveling by bus. Throughout the years we have spoken once in awhile, mostly morning pleasantries about the weather, but I learned from her talks with others at the stop that she lost her right leg just below the knee as a child in her home country. Apparently her father accidentally ran over her with a tractor as she was playing tag with her older brother in the sugarcane fields. Thom, the Asian shoe shop man, talks incessantly to anyone that will listen, but I could not begin to tell you anything about him other than what I already have. He became a regular at the stop about a year ago, and I do everything in my power to avoid him. Thom is a man with constant problems, and a constant need to tell people about them. I suppose in his own way he may be a nice man. However, my life, until recently, has been carefully designed to be as problem free as humanly possible, so I have no desire to listen to other’s issues.

I saw him as the bus approached the stop that morning two weeks ago. Several things went through my mind as I watched him sitting at the rear of the bus…is someone playing a joke on me, is it simply a coincidence that someone is dressed in all white wearing a white hat, or am I just seeing things. As quickly as these thoughts went through my mind, I realized that I had never told anyone of the man in white that haunts my dreams. No one could have played this incredibly cruel joke on me, because no one knew about the man in white. My next hope that someone was simply dressed in all white was quickly dashed as I realized that just like in my dreams I could not see the man’s face. That left the final option, and the one I was so reluctant to face, that I was seeing things. I have no family history of dementia, schizophrenia, or hallucinations, so the possibility I was experiencing any of these left me paralyzed with fear.

At the moment as the bus came to a complete stop, I was only vaguely aware of the customers exiting and entering the bus. My entire being was absorbed by the man in white sitting on the back of the bus. So frozen in time was I that not even Penelope could roust me from my trance…”Eliot, the bus is here. Eliot!” In the end her need to be to work on time outweighed her need to make sure the man she barely knew, though he was at the bus stop every morning, got on the bus. That morning I never did get on the bus. I also never took my eyes off the man in white. As the bus slowly pulled away from the stop, the man in white’s head methodically turned to face me and he nodded. Still unable to see his face I watched as the brim of his oversized hat went up and down as he nodded. To this day I can not tell you how long I stood frozen at the bus stop after the bus rolled away. It could have been thirty seconds or three hours. My next conscious moment of awareness occurred as the cab I decided to take to work turned into the Kroger parking lot. All day long I could not get the man in white off my mind. How was it possible that the man in white…the goddamned man in white who had been part of my dreams for as long as I could remember suddenly manifest himself into my waking reality?

Testicles & Poop

Now that I've grabbed your attention from the very intriguing title I will do what I can to keep it. For any new readers I would like to caution you that I live by the philosophy that it is better to laugh than cry. For all my loyal followers I would like to remind you of my philosophy, and beg of you to keep it in mind as you read the following.

Yet another of the most uncomfortable times of my life occurred recently at the local learning center where I work part time.

As I prepared to work with my first student of the day, I also prepared myself mentally for what I knew was coming, as I had worked with the student several times before. The child has Down's Syndrome, and based on my time spent coaching Special Olympics for the past five years, I would describe him as low to medium functioning. The time arrives and in he walks/runs/hobbles over to my table. I know immediately that something is different about the student, because never before has he showed any trouble walking.

I did not have to wait long to find out what was different about the young man of 7 years old. In the past the student has had a very difficult time pronouncing even one syllable words, yet as he arrived at my table he happily announced to me, "I went to the doctor." Though slightly taken aback that an entire sentence had been spoken by him I replied, "Oh yeah...are you okay?" Why I set myself up like this I still wonder, but he instantly and loudly replied while pointing to his crotch in a room full of other students and instructors, "MY TESTICLES!"

Needless to say I nearly choked to death on my morning coffee that I happened to be sipping at the time. With every eye in the entire room on me now all I could think to say was, "OOOOkay." He would go on to point to his crotch and loudly say "TESTICLES!" a few more times before settling down. The only real positive to come of the situation is that I now knew why he was walking oddly.

For the next 15-20 minutes the young man worked very hard, and I mistakenly thought the worst was over. It was shortly after this wonderful thought crossed my mind that the young man's head snapped up and he announced, "I gotta poop." He was up and hobbling to the restroom before I had even processed what he had just said. As he was gone I sat there grateful for the peace and quiet. I checked the clock while he was gone to find that I unbelievably still had another 20 minutes to go before the end of the instructional hour. It would turn out to be the longest 20 minutes of my life. He returned from the restroom, and within about 10 seconds I realized that something had gone horribly wrong. I'm not sure what the young man's restroom experience was, but what I can state with certainty is that for the next 20 minutes of my life I felt as if I were living and breathing from inside a dirty diaper.

As the hour ended, I quickly got up and went to tell the center's director that I thought the young man had used the bathroom on himself. Her reply, "You can't be serious." to which I said "Sadly, I am." She looked at the student who was strolling bowlegged towards the exit door, looks back at me, and says, "Well you know he had surgery on his testicles 2 days ago." With that comment I clocked out and left the building. I do love teaching!

Patience is a Virtue!

In recent weeks at my part time job at a local learning center I was told that a mother of a young special needs student requested that I be the only instructor to work with her son from now on. I would like to attribute her request to the fact that I'm such a great instructor and that I work well with student's that have special needs, but unfortunately I think I was just a victim of circumstance and luck. The young man is around 7 years old and has Down's Syndrome. He is rather notorious at the learning center for being difficult to deal with, and very few other instructors ever even have the chance to teach this student anything because his behavior is so erratic.

Since I do not typically work with students of his age or course of study (beginning reader) I never had to work with this particular student, but had witnessed the chaos he often created each Saturday morning. Well...it so happens that about a month ago I went into work on a Saturday morning to find that this student had been assigned to my table. Even though I had never been trained in beginner reading instruction I was told that basically the decision makers had decided to see how he would work with me since everyone else had been largely unsuccessful in dealing with him and his behaviors. That's right...I was the LAST option!

As the student entered that Saturday morning all eyes were on my table anxious to witness the disaster that was sure to ensue. Amazingly, the anticipated disaster never occurred. As most educators quickly realize, many students react to and behave differently for different teachers. On this particular day the student was a complete joy. He read books to me, he wrote, he did math, he remained seated, and his overall behavior was impeccably perfect. Everyone, including me, was pleasantly surprised at how well the student did. The information was shared with his mother, and of course she requested that he only work with me from now on. The next two weeks were a repeat performance of his spectacular debut with me...and then yesterday happened.

The first fifteen minutes of the instructional hour began as the others had. The student was well behaved and completed his work, and then came the chaos. The remainder of the hour was mostly a blur of objects being thrown, screaming, and yours truly being made very uncomfortable. I'm still clueless as to what set this kid off, but before I even had time to really react the student had left his seat, walked around the table to where I was seated, opened my cabinet drawer, and began throwing transparencies all over the place. Momentarily I was fixated on the absolute joy expressed in his young face as he gleefully threw the objects, and it left me speechless. I could only watch as he tossed transparencies with overwhelming joy. Soon enough I had regained my composure and was able to get him to stop. Not more than 10 seconds after I had stopped that throwing fit, he seemed to see all the materials on the table that he had been working on for the first time. As you have probably guessed he began throwing all of those things off the front of the table. With the much needed aid of a co-worker we were able to get the student seated again and back to work...at least for a very brief time. Not too long after that I was beraded with a chorus of "NO'S!!" everytime I asked him to complete a task. The volume and intensity of his refusals grew with each of my demands.

Some time around this point I vaguely remember wondering if I would be fired if I just got up, clocked out, and left the building. In the end I decided to stay since there was only about 10 minutes left in the instructional hour, and I figured what can really go wrong in 10 minutes. As it turns out...a lot. Once again with 'ninja like' quickness the student had left his seat and was standing beside me. Trying to make the best of the situation I said something like, "OK...you can stand here if you want, but we have to do some work." To this the student replied, "NOOOO!!" The next thing that happened completely threw me for a loop. The student, while he was already attempting to do this, says to me, "Let me sit in your lap." As anyone who knows me will tell you I'm not the touchy-feely type, and my initial impulse was to pick the kid up and throw him across the room. Instead I finally got my turn to say, "NOOOOOO!!!" Not one to easily take no for an answer the student spent the last 5 minutes of the instructional hour trying unsuccessfully to sit in my lap. I wish I had video footage that I could attach to this blog so everyone could see the 'trying to climb in your lap/me continually moving out of the way' dance that occurred between the two of us. It was a very uncomfortable hour in my life, but my hope is that my loyal readers will get a chuckle from this story. Patience is indeed a virtue!!!

When is Enough Enough?

As anyone in the education business knows teachers in today's schools are called upon to be all things to all students, but at what point is enough enough? I would assume that most people that choose this profession do so primarily because they want to make some sort of difference in the lives of our students, but when is enough enough? I completely understand that teaching at the middle school level brings with it all sorts of unique challenges not faced by educators teaching K-5 or high school, but how many times do you tell a student to correct the errors of their ways, how many opportunities do you provide them to do the right thing, and how much of yourself do you give to this occupation and your students before you say enough is enough?

How is it possible that our society has helped to create students so screwed up that the teachers care more about our their futures than they do? I, along with so many of my colleagues, give so much of ourselves each and everyday to our students simply because as educators we care about every single student that enters our classroom. The unfortunate, and terribly tragic, other side of this story is that we teach some students that could care less about themselves, their future, or anything else of substance. As educators we can easily blame parents, some of which should not even be allowed to raise a guinea pig, much less a human being. We could easily blame a pop culture and society that places more value on the ability to dunk a basketball or run fast, than it does on simply being able to read. The bottom line is that we could blame people and circumstances forever, and it still will not change the fact that some of our students JUST DO NOT CARE!

This forces me to put in writing what I have been asking myself for several weeks now...

If I have students that do not care about themselves, their future, their education, anything of substance, or even care about the fact that I care about those things for them then what the hell am I doing in the classroom? It certainly isn't for the large checks I receive each month (Enter: heavy sarcasm), nor is it the copious amounts of free time afforded to me by this line of employment (Enter: laugh out loud sarcasm). I entered this profession to make a positive impact in the lives of my students, and to help them to not make the same mistakes I made at their age. For some I have had success, but the little dirty secret that no ones talks about with teaching is this...most educators, even if they have had a positive impact on one million students, will be driven to the brink of insanity by the one they could never reach.

Enough may very well be enough for this guy!

Dear Parents...

This blog was originally intended to be about the lack of respect many students exhibit in today's classrooms and in many ways it still is, but after recent events I have decided instead to write a letter to all the parents of those students we try so hard to educate every day.

If you're a parent who has raised a wonderfully well behaved, respectful, studious student that cares about his or her education I, along with every other educator across the world, thanks you from the bottom of our teaching hearts. There is no need for you to read any further, unless you're interested in how other parents are raising their children.
The rest of this letter is for every parent that may believe, however misguided, that they are doing a wonderful job raising their precious child and/or for those parents that are completely and utterly clueless as to how to raise a child to be a productive member of a civilized society.

When your child has been attending a middle school that has had the same uniform policy for 3 years, and you still send them to school looking like Stevie Wonder dressed them you're not helping your child.

When a teacher calls a parent we know is unemployed after 2:00 in the afternoon, and we wake you up, you're not helping your child.

When a teacher repeatedly requests a parent conference throughout the entire 9 weeks and is ignored until their precious child comes home with an F DELUXE REPORT CARD ROYALE W/CHEESE...you're not helping your child.

When you actually do decide to show up to a parent/teacher conference and walk in wearing house slippers and a robe, you're not helping your child.

If your precious child could care less whether we call you or not to discuss their bad behavior, you have failed as a parent.

If your child has been raised to not understand how to follow simple directions and rules this is a direct reflection of you. In this case you are once again not helping your child, and have in fact failed as a parent.

If your precious child has been told every single day to either stop talking, stop chewing gum, listen, ...etc, then it boils down to one of three things. 1) Your precious child is in fact a blazing idiot that will not function well in life and will end up being supported by children of parents who knew how to raise them correctly 2) Your precious child is a blazing idiot to stupid to understand things a dog can easily comprehend 3) Your precious child takes after you!

If anything in this letter has offended you take a guess as to what type of parent you are. If this letter has amused and delighted you then you're an awesome parent.