Parents. And for me as of late, the traditional two-parent household isn't raising my students. I kind of hate that word, because there's almost a negative connotation with that. I probably should go to preferred. I prefer my kids to have a man and a woman--biased, again--raising them. Why? It's too much to do this job alone. My mom is my best example. I was most likely going to provide my best attitude and leadership and focus in school when BOTH my parents were on the same page, both placing a foot in my ass when I didn't listen. My mom sometimes did this alone (and yes, sometimes a couple can be together but alone, I get this too) and it was tough for her I'm sure. I was expected to help with my younger sister and to help around the house. Grandma's are okay, but sometimes they, in their effort to show steadfast love to their grandchildren, basically throw their own children's parenting skills under the bus. I know sometimes my grandmother did not approve of how I was raised because she never really told me I did anything wrong even when it was fairly clear I was taking advantage of my situation. I see this at school too. Grandparents stick their noses in their daughter's business. They want their grandbaby held back when they are struggling. They pick them up early on Friday to spoil the grandbaby. They call the teacher and tell them that their child isn't raising them right. It's either too loving or not loving. Grandparents shouldn't be raising our next generation of kids--there's just too much judgement and not enough energy.
Teacher Efficacy. We start the year 100 percent goal oriented. We smile and shake hands during those team meetings in August. No one complains during lunch and we take time to catch up with our friends who we haven't seen in months. Something happens during the year, however. The world takes over. The lack of leadership takes over. Our trust gets blunted from phone calls that aren't returned or homeworks left at home (I can't wait to share my homework and attendance totals this year with all of you!), or papers left unsigned. When a parent tells you to just "call the cops" for an intervention, you tend to fall back on what the world wants you to believe--that their isn't any hope for our future. Cynicism takes over, because, in essence, cynicism is the absence of hope.
My efficacy got the better of me today. I get emotional. I hear a "I don't care" and I tee off. How dare you say that when I do x amount of work to baby just a passing grade from you? I take your basketball trash-can shots, the bathroom break during instructions, the drawing of dragons and muscle-bound superheroes during spelling tests, your absenteeism and your morning moods. You want to see what being a kid in ANOTHER room is like? Oh, baby, it's on. You get my point? That's another constant--my emotions. I take them with me. I've been in trouble for them and I love that God has given me this spirit that is relentlessly stubborn.
But the biggest variable every year, for me anyway, is the kids. Every year, they are new. I keep class sets from every year but my inaugural group (I found out yesterday one of my first trouble kids was in jail recently). They hang on my wall and they remind me of those distinct and unique variables. Many of them look alike (funny about resemblances) and sometimes they are even cousins. I forget some names and I remember others. I wonder where some of them are (some are on facebook!) and sigh about the futures I didn't get to witness.
You see, being me means I wont be at someone's graduation, sitting alongside their mom and cheering as they walk the stage. I probably will never know who marries and who becomes a doctor. I probably wont get a letter in the mail about how great they've turned out. But I do know how I treated just about every one of them. Despite my best intentions, I had my favorites, and worse, I wrote some of them off. Just who is excelling now who I thought would never amount to anything?
So my emotions do get the best of me. But guess what I'm going to do tomorrow? I'm going to sit down with that kid and tell him that I'm so mad that I will never see him grow into a young man. I wont know the feeling of seeing him married, with kids, living on his own and making his mother proud. I love you enough to tell you that I'm selfish. I work hard at school just to give you away on the weekends. And since I wont grow up to see how your life finishes, you're going to do me a solid and "care" for just one more day.
How's that for a conference?
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