I'm sad. Not for myself, but for my students. I can't believe the kinds of crappy places my kids are living in, the kind of crappy parents they have to deal with.
This week, I decided I needed to serve as a role model for what I want other teachers to do for the freshmen: build a good relationship with the parents. So, each day, I've been calling 2-4 students' homes about anything: absences, good grades, great skills at something, improvement in behavior we'd already talked about, warning about the up-coming project, etc. A sampling of what I learned:
1) Two of my students, who are friends, decided to steal one friend's aunt's car, money, diamond ring, and credit cards to drive across the country. They almost got to the Idaho border before Nevada cops pulled them over. They stayed overnight in a detention hall. The authorities said their parents needed to come out immediately to pick them up or they'd be put in the Nevada juvenile system. Their parents couldn't because of the unexpected expense and the snow. Eventually, they were put on a train, which derailed somewhere outside of Reno. They were put up overnight near Reno and finally got home today to their parents. In the true teen way of seeing the world, neither of them seemed too affected when finally picked up; one girl asked for her make-up case and a pop, the other asked for her CD player.
2) One boy has been physically abused by his dad, so he was stealing his mom's alcohol to get drunk after school and after she went to bed to forget about it. He practices self-mutilation, and has attempted suicide "at least once," he tells me. His mom gives him anything he wants and allows him to skip going to counseling because "I can't make him." She doesn't see family counseling as an option because she doesn't "need that kind of help."
3) One student is currently living with his aunt and uncle and three of his siblings. He has 9 altogether, but they were completely separated when they were taken from their parents, who were using drugs, beating the kids, neglecting them, and not taking them or sending them to school. They were shuffled around the foster care system for 2 years until this student and his 3 siblings were reunited and abother 4 of his sibs are with another aunt. The other two may be put up for adoption, depending on the outcome of the pending trial.
4) One student from last year seeked me out several weeks ago to tell me about her dad. He has been cheating on his mom for years with a co-worker of his. This student thought the woman was nice - since she'd randomly shown up several times when the girl and her dad were out to dinner, and then asked to join said student and dad. (That's sick, using your kids for some kind of legitimacy of a dinner date.) The only reason he brought the situation to the light and confessed now is because his lover is pregnant, presumably with his child, and he wants his wife to support the mom and child, since he doesn't have a job now. The wife is furious, and rightfully so, so she told her daughter what her "scumbag father" did. Since he confessed and made his request, my former student has not had a single conversation with her mom that doesn't involve expletives followed by her dad's name. The student herself is not sure if she still loves her dad, but she definitely feels sorry for him, being in a marriage where he doesn't love her mom anymore.
5) Another student is living with his aunt and several cousins. His mom is out of the picture, his grandma and long-time guardian died last year, and his dad is in jail. Dad was released from jail in October, and my student refused to go back with his dad (who has legal custody), but will not explain to anyone why not. (I hope my imagination is worse than reality.) Aunt began a court battle to keep him, which ended because the dad was locked up again for assaulting a police officer with a deadly weapon.
I only have 78 students, and this is 6 of them. I'm honestly afraid to call the rest. I wish more teachers would call their students' parents when something seems amiss to find out if they can help.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Thursday, March 09, 2006
One episode
I assigned a journey project for my students based on The Odyssey and Joseph Campbell and stuff. One of the episodes the students are writing about it "Sailing from... " Instead of "Sailing from Ithaca," like Odysseus, the freshmen are writing about what their life was like in 8th grade and possibly earlier. I wrote one for myself as an example. This is probably more than you want to know about me, but all completely true.
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Leaving St. Bernadette’s
When I was in 5th grade, this boy named Peter came to my school from another school in the area. He and his sister were kind of funny-looking: pale, with dark circles under their eyes, and wearing perfectly-pressed plain clothes. But I sat with Peter in my classes a lot, since we were tracked at the same levels in math and English. He had a good sense of humor and a cute way of smiling, and I totally had a crush on him.
Since we walked home in the same direction and had to wait for the busses to leave, we got to know each other and became good friends. By Valentine’s Day of 6th grade, I had to tell him I had a crush on him. So I left him a secret admirer note with cut-out letters before President’s Day weekend. I figured, since we talked a lot on the way home from school, he’d tell me about it and ask me if I knew who liked him. The whole next week, I waited for him to say something, but he never did. Eventually, I sent him another one, in case he didn’t get the first one, but he didn’t say anything. Over the next two years, I put other ones in places for him – about one a semester – but he still never said anything.
Right before the 8th grade dance at the end of the school year, I gave him a note after play practice that told him I was his long-time secret admirer. The next day, I dreaded history class; Peter and I sat at the same island, right across from each other, and neither of the people that shared our island were at school that day. We spent the entire class talking about my feelings for him and how he couldn’t reciprocate because his mom wouldn’t let him date until he was 16. But he promised me a song at the dance, and we remained friends over the summer. We even kept in touch through our teen church group in high school, planning several retreats together. Eventually, we grew apart, though. Sometimes I miss him, but I mostly miss my memory of what he was. I don’t know much about who he is now.
I made some assumptions about my relationship with Peter, like that he’d confide in me about girls or that he’d be able to date, because that’s what I’d do. It took me a long time to figure out that even though we were in the same classes and had some of the same friends and interests, we were different people who treat situations differently. When I eventually got to know his little sister – and she became one of my closest friends as I was losing his friendship – I realized that even she, who had the same parents and upbringing as Peter did, treated things differently. At some point, of course, I knew that, but it was much more obvious in this case. I wish to this day that I had either told Peter early on about my crush or never said anything at all. I wonder how things would have turned out if I’d behaved differently. (Did I mention he married a woman last year named Debbie?)
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When I was in 5th grade, this boy named Peter came to my school from another school in the area. He and his sister were kind of funny-looking: pale, with dark circles under their eyes, and wearing perfectly-pressed plain clothes. But I sat with Peter in my classes a lot, since we were tracked at the same levels in math and English. He had a good sense of humor and a cute way of smiling, and I totally had a crush on him.
Since we walked home in the same direction and had to wait for the busses to leave, we got to know each other and became good friends. By Valentine’s Day of 6th grade, I had to tell him I had a crush on him. So I left him a secret admirer note with cut-out letters before President’s Day weekend. I figured, since we talked a lot on the way home from school, he’d tell me about it and ask me if I knew who liked him. The whole next week, I waited for him to say something, but he never did. Eventually, I sent him another one, in case he didn’t get the first one, but he didn’t say anything. Over the next two years, I put other ones in places for him – about one a semester – but he still never said anything.
Right before the 8th grade dance at the end of the school year, I gave him a note after play practice that told him I was his long-time secret admirer. The next day, I dreaded history class; Peter and I sat at the same island, right across from each other, and neither of the people that shared our island were at school that day. We spent the entire class talking about my feelings for him and how he couldn’t reciprocate because his mom wouldn’t let him date until he was 16. But he promised me a song at the dance, and we remained friends over the summer. We even kept in touch through our teen church group in high school, planning several retreats together. Eventually, we grew apart, though. Sometimes I miss him, but I mostly miss my memory of what he was. I don’t know much about who he is now.
I made some assumptions about my relationship with Peter, like that he’d confide in me about girls or that he’d be able to date, because that’s what I’d do. It took me a long time to figure out that even though we were in the same classes and had some of the same friends and interests, we were different people who treat situations differently. When I eventually got to know his little sister – and she became one of my closest friends as I was losing his friendship – I realized that even she, who had the same parents and upbringing as Peter did, treated things differently. At some point, of course, I knew that, but it was much more obvious in this case. I wish to this day that I had either told Peter early on about my crush or never said anything at all. I wonder how things would have turned out if I’d behaved differently. (Did I mention he married a woman last year named Debbie?)
Manifesto? No!
So, I just went over to donnagirl's blog and saw this entry. Man, that's beautiful. It reminds me of Emily, which I know Donna would be very pleased by.
I'm a writer, but not like Emily or Donna. I like writing, and I'm occasionally moved to write. But I'm not an educated writer, so I really don't know how to make myself write. I don't think I could stop writing - I'd still write in my head, like Emily - but I don't ever think it's good enough to put on paper (or the internet) for all to read. I honestly don't think I have anything grand and important to say. If anything, I write to help me remember things (like blogging and journaling in our scrapbook). I supposed I'm very much the type that lives in the past, and I'm reflective about it.
I do try to learn lessons from my writing, though. I tend to naturally work toward a conclusion sentence. I daresay I'm pretty good at concluding sentences, actually. So when I write, I try to keep writing until I get to a conclusion, at which I can stop.
But, I also stop writing when I'm not feeling good. I suppose there are many writers who do that. If I'm feeling stressed or my mind is cluttered, I don't want to put my thoughts out there. I don't want people to know that I'm like that. I don't want to portray that about myself.
I would like, at some point, to be able to boil my thoughts down to a few lines or a paragraph every day, which is what PHC does. Sometimes, I think of something while I'm driving to school or walking around the grocery store, but I never remember it when I get home. And I think of writing as a reward for other things getting done (the laundry, the dishes, my grading, my lesson planning) rather than an imperative. Since I'm about as lazy as some of my students are, I rarely get the chance to "reward" myself that way.
So, I don't have a manifesto about writing. I would like to some time, and maybe I'll share it here for all the world to see. Until then, I'll continue to chip away at my writing time and my writing skills and my writing insecurities. Perhaps you'll still be around when I get to a manifesto. Hope to hear from you then.
I'm a writer, but not like Emily or Donna. I like writing, and I'm occasionally moved to write. But I'm not an educated writer, so I really don't know how to make myself write. I don't think I could stop writing - I'd still write in my head, like Emily - but I don't ever think it's good enough to put on paper (or the internet) for all to read. I honestly don't think I have anything grand and important to say. If anything, I write to help me remember things (like blogging and journaling in our scrapbook). I supposed I'm very much the type that lives in the past, and I'm reflective about it.
I do try to learn lessons from my writing, though. I tend to naturally work toward a conclusion sentence. I daresay I'm pretty good at concluding sentences, actually. So when I write, I try to keep writing until I get to a conclusion, at which I can stop.
But, I also stop writing when I'm not feeling good. I suppose there are many writers who do that. If I'm feeling stressed or my mind is cluttered, I don't want to put my thoughts out there. I don't want people to know that I'm like that. I don't want to portray that about myself.
I would like, at some point, to be able to boil my thoughts down to a few lines or a paragraph every day, which is what PHC does. Sometimes, I think of something while I'm driving to school or walking around the grocery store, but I never remember it when I get home. And I think of writing as a reward for other things getting done (the laundry, the dishes, my grading, my lesson planning) rather than an imperative. Since I'm about as lazy as some of my students are, I rarely get the chance to "reward" myself that way.
So, I don't have a manifesto about writing. I would like to some time, and maybe I'll share it here for all the world to see. Until then, I'll continue to chip away at my writing time and my writing skills and my writing insecurities. Perhaps you'll still be around when I get to a manifesto. Hope to hear from you then.
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