Thursday, April 28, 2016

Saturation over Sprinkles

As a teacher, you know you’re doing the right thing when your students hate you. And this week, they hate me.


This is not always the case. Former students who I’ve spoken to over the years, the ones I always thought hated me, didn’t really. I was always happy to see them. A few years back I had some real tough girls. They weren't like fighters, but the looks they would give me said volumes of the relationships I had with them. When their personal drama escalated amongst themselves, I intervened, and a times I acted like an angry dad who had enough. Wasn’t always the best course of action. When I expressed to one mom that I thought her daughter hated me, the mom replied, “She probably does.”


This year is a bit different. Like in those years, I’ve built in a system of rewards and incentives to keep the kids motivated. Sometimes it's been from prizes (mainly food--and don’t get me started on healthy snacks, that’s for some health nut blog and this isn’t it), sometimes it's from school store. The kids earn classroom money from their jobs, their homework and reading logs, their Dojo points (it’s a class management system that keeps the points they earn) and their weekly attendance. They get paychecks, have an account and keep up with their balances. There are rewards and bonuses for certain accomplishments and fines too.


My other big incentive are my yearly CHAMP awards. CHAMP is an acronym for my classroom procedures and it goes like this:
C is for Conversation--what level of noise do I allow in the room? A Level 0 is silence, a Level 1 is a whisper and so on. Lots of teachers use the “level” system.
H is for Help--when can I get help and who can help me?
A is for Activity--are we doing group work or independent work?
M is for Movement--Is this an assignment where i can freely roam or do i need to be in a certain area?
P is for Participation--What are the expectations? Is this a group project where we each have a job? Should I be ready when my teacher calls on me?
For the most part, the system works fairly well. Like any good management system it’s in how you use it. We have a second level CHAMP incentive we start after Winter Break. Now the acronym stands for this:
C is for Character--what is integrity? How strong is my word? What are my choices when no one is looking?
H is for Hard-Working--Do I quit when the assignment gets difficult? Am I trying my best?
A is for Actions--This component is more home driven. What healthy lifestyle choices can I make to ensure success? Do I help at home? Do I volunteer in the community?
M is for Motivated--We talk a lot about growth mindset here. It gets pretty involved and really tries to unpack how we approach our work, abilities and talents. We talk about intrinsic and extrinsic motivators. What happens when a teacher doesn’t give you a point or a treat for doing well? What happens at home when we don’t get an allowance?
P is for Perserverance--How do we handle daily drama? How do we handle adversity?


By the end of February we honor those CHAMP students with these shirts. 

On Fridays we all wear them. And these kids get certain incentives--school store discounts, water fountain stops when we’re in the hallways (you’d be surprised how powerful this is), extra recess and when the school has mass punishments (like when the entire lunchroom gets minutes taken off at recess for example, which happens here too much), the CHAMPS get to play.


Well the students who aren’t CHAMPS continue to try and reach that incentive because every two weeks or so we have a t-shirt ceremony. The group nominates individuals and along with my recommendation helps make those decisions. I’ve never had to take a shirt away and almost always they’ve done me and the school proud with their choices. This year is no exception, but the ones who haven’t made it yet have turned bitter. Their attitude has gotten worse, it seems, and their excuses more blatantly obnoxious or illogical. Two of my CHAMP kids were told they were “acting white.” (For the record I have 2 caucasians, 2 asians, 4 African-Americans and 1 Hispanic. Gender breakdown is 5 boys and 4 girls.) We had a discussion with handling the dramas from what the kids call “the haters.” I told them that being a CHAMP means you set the temperature. They’re like classroom thermometers. When they act up, it makes it okay for others to denounce them, or to act up as well. One of the kids said that’s what being Christian is like. As a Christian, everyone expects you to be perfect when that isn’t the case.


Since I started this entry, some other events have happened. The kids who have been doing the most complaining used the weekend to reflect. I began to hear apologies and amendments to their accusations. They wanted to clarify their statements like politicians. Their parents began reaching out to me, and not in a negative way. Parents don’t typically send messages to you about how much their kid loves school, or talks about their teacher often, or asks what their kid can do to make the cut. We hear so much about whiny kids who don’t want to work for anything. Fast food workers demanding higher pay for no skills. You hear the word “entitlement” and it gives you an idea that those on social programs are only in it because they’re lazy (which isn’t true). We live in a society where everyone gets a trophy, a medal, a certificate for being “good.” But for this one moment in time, the kids are learning from real adversity--at least the kind of adversity that feels real to them. Will they respond with defeat and negativism when they don’t get their way in middle school? Will they blame society, the white man, racism?


We had another moment in class. Three things in their lives will prevent success, statistically speaking--poverty, race and family make up. Statistics are stacked against those who live with just one involved parent, but have higher chances of success when there are 2 (go figure, God knew what he was doing when he made a man and woman). Poverty is extremely hard to overcome. It takes years, maybe generations to lift oneself from it. And race. I believe racial tension is a problem for people to cling to in order to prove their reasoning. It’s easy to blame your skin color for your lack of success. White Privilege is the phrase we’ve given for white guilt to manifest itself into some sort of institutional reparation. I don’t play the racism game much any more, but I know it’s reach. All these things are barriers in our lives. But the only way we can rise above those situations is attitude.
If you’ve lived in poverty all your life, one way to continue is to believe that there is no hope. I’ve found that the less one has the more generous they are. One parent homes are all across the country, mine was one for short periods of my life. But my mom’s attitude was never one of defeat. She didn’t have men come and go in the home, nor did she bear children and watch the men in her life leave (only once, my dad). Here’s an example:  A parent who has 6 kids, all different fathers. One kid was doing an assignment on counting their siblings and she raised her hand and said, “what about my mom’s abortions? Do I count those?” The teacher found out that the mother takes the entire brood to the abortion clinic, periodically, and enough for her to remember (she’s a second grader). That’s attitude, when you’re not being responsible enough with your body that eliminating a life is more convenient than raising one.


Not everyone in my classroom will be a CHAMP. I know that probably bothers some readers, educators or today’s college protesters. Some might say I’m “shaming” those that didn’t (That’s another social justice buzzword for blaming the victim or the oppressed). In high school, they award the top 2 academically gifted students. We all get to graduate, but those 2 are set apart. They deserve that. I never once thought, oh, they’re white and that’s why. It motivated me to get on the Dean’s List in college. Corporations do not always promote everyone. Only one person in a million wins the lottery. While making it means a step forward for some, I know that not making it could have the same effect. I had one kid last year that didn’t make it, but guess what, his silly self isn’t getting suspended every month like he did before he came to our school. He’s proving to himself that he has what it takes, despite his color, his family’s income and even his learning disability. He’s a real-life CHAMP.

The last month of the year brings its own set of challenges. They will all jump over hurdles of fire just to make Field Day or that end-of-the-year pizza party. They’ll be moving on to, and I’ll see significantly less of them than this year, a slice of their life. It’s all about watering seeds. Over and over again. Luckily I don’t have to pay a spiritual water bill. The spigot is always ready for a saturation over a sprinkle.

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

The Smell of Victory (A Day in the Life of)

When I woke this morning I could still smell the lingering funk of last night. It wasn't my attitude, but instead was a rambunctious Shitzu-mixed-up dog of mine that decided the creature scurrying in the dark of our backyard needed special attention. Both my wife and I could smell the skunk as we watched tv. We knew what was about to come in running.. So this morning’s smell was not of the just-washed sheets. The familiar scent of a shower, my wife’s baby powder she applies, the distinct scents of my children’s hair and bodies (even my son’s breath!) did not persuade my nose that the skunk smell had dissipated.

We all sidestepped the dog’s cage. Poor guy, getting yelled at to “go potty” as if a bowel movement was a punishment. Coffee freshly brewed, papers signed and the van boarded. Turning towards the babysitter’s house, the defrost on the van had not yet unfogged the windshield. I’m driving blind towards the sun.

We kiss our little one goodbye. We’re off to work. No traffic this morning. We didn't even catch any lights. Still, the skunk smell had somehow attached itself to our belongings. As a kid, I always thought that no matter where my mom would drive, the moon would always follow. It was like that, only the moon was now an oppressive skunk-face, glaring down at everything I loved.

Arrived at work. Bypassed the mailboxes and the encouraging white-board message that greet us every morning. Our counselor updates the greeting white-board each day. Sometimes they make me smile and sometimes they make me roll my eyes (the old broken cynic in me still exists), but on this particular morning it gave me pause for thankfulness.

I wave at a few latchkey kids as I go towards my room. No Spotify on the iPad which means a quiet morning of prep. While our building has wi-fi, some sites like Spotify and Facebook are blocked. Sometimes I get lucky and I get about 2 songs into my Ultimate Christian Mix before the wi-if police realize I’m trying to uplift my soul. None of that around here, mister.

I spent the last Friday of Spring Break copying materials and readying the class. Print a few papers, orange out-of-paper light flashes. I’m copying on random green and yellows now. I grab some pencils and head out the door. I’m picking up the class in the gym in about 5 minutes, and the pencils need to be sharpened. Our classroom electronic sharpener died about a month ago. My students have been sharpening pencils with their scissor points, smuggling hand crank sharpeners between one another.

Time to line up. One of my students came back from Spring Break with a walker. He actually broke his hip back in the winter and he had another surgery. We send him ahead but we pass him eventually. I know he hates the walker. His student helpers treat him like he’s a crippled old man, walking ahead of him as if he doesn’t know where the classroom is located.

I apologize to another student. Yesterday I lost my cool and she spent her recess with her face buried in her arms. I hate that impatient part of me. She accepts my apology.

Lessons are rocking from the start. The skunk smell is evident but it doesn't permeate the mood. Our principal comes in to reiterate the new playground rules. Several fights just before Spring Break warranted a new plan—no more hanging out in the fields, no more football, no more fun—but the kids nods their heads and are back to work. Eventually I’m leading a small group through chapters a 9 and 10 of To Kill a Mockingbird. We get into the phrase “n-lover” and the roles of women and men in society. These kids are beginning to see that the world is setting them up for failure. Boys, if you're not an athlete you’re gay. Boys, check this girl out, but don't act too aggressively and be a gentlemen no matter what she wears. Girls, be strong and independent, but first be sexy. Girls, don't be a slut but watch as we dance in front of undressed men in music videos.

We start math—volume of composite shapes. We’re tracing lines and multiplying. We start Hands on Equations. They’re moving pawns and number cubes around their desks in various efforts to solve for X. They hold up their answers for me using their cubes, like 30 red eyes staring at me.

Lunch comes. My Shakeology shake has too-big ice chunks because our ice machine is withholding crunched ice. The straw I’m trying to drink through is causing a vein in my forehead to burst. I’m on a mission. I get supplies from the science supply room, have a quick conversation with one of the special Ed therapists about my move from 5th grade to 2nd next year. It’s also a way for me to witness. I know Jesus lives in all of my conversations, but He’s especially evident in the ones where my attitude reflects Him.

Lunch duty (I just said duty. Did you laugh? We have a kid in 4th grade whose last name is Duty. He was called to the office over the intercom and the entire 5th grade class laughed like they just heard the preacher fart). I try and get my FitBit steps in. I allow kids to go to the bathroom, extra mustards and forks. I pull on braided pig tails and continue ongoing conversations I’ve had with kids all year. Like the 3rd grade girls who put broccoli on everything—today it was hamburgers—and the bully free zone table who want to nominate more students to join them. I hi-five the same 5 or 6 kids every day.

Afternoon session. Finishing time trial in Science with the switch class. While my class has the token bully, maybe 2 that are silly in their bones, my switch class are like hyenas on steroids. Someone is always making noises, making fun of one another—shoes, edge ups, clothing—they make noises like zoo animals, bite their shirts when they’re nervous. I end up ranting to a few of them in the halls. Kids want to laugh but they know I’ll get even madder. I don’t hate the rant person, but I know that they've already tuned me out one sentence in. I am a righteous bully when I want to be.

School’s done, and we’re headed to our next event. Once a month our family serves meals at a downtown church. It’s a hustle to get there. Our house smells like skunk, so does the van. I keep smelling my hands as if the smell has attached itself to every fiber of my being. The dog looks at me when we arrive like he’s been tortured, like he’s in one of those animal cruelty videos.

There’s a wreck a few blocks from their church. We’re almost late. In order to to avoid wreck, we go the alternate route. Reynoldsburg cop pulls up behind and I’m ticketed for an expired tag. My kids get to learn how we treat cops when you’re pulled over, but they also learn something of our finances. It’s a sobering conversation, as if the kids just found out Santa and the Easter Bunny are just imaginary figures.

Serving meals goes smooth like gravy over cheesy potatoes. My little one claims it was much better than being at soccer practice. My son likes passing out the pre-packaged cookies. Have a nice day he probably says about a million times, ends up with leftover cookies that erupt from his pant pockets.

I separate from the wife and kids. She’s off to find the ingredients to ward off the skunk smell—hydrogen peroxide, baking soda and dishwashing detergent—while I’m back to church. I find myself singing with a group of men onstage. Victory in Jesus, my Savior forever! I look at the crowd and I’m ready to drop to my knees. How can performers not just utterly well up with emotion when they sing?

The sermon is about being in the shadows and prepping from an upcoming challenge. How many times do we pray for God to give us a challenge? I’m in tears again.

Back at home eventually. Pizza is baking. The dog knows the eminent bath is coming. My wife bathes him in the sink, all the while we’re talking to him as if he understands what’s going on. It’s like my rant this afternoon. No one listens.

The blessing by night’s end is that I’m stuffy from the weather, either that or my sinuses are protecting me from the residual smell of the skunk. That’s the only thing that still lingers from the day.

Sleep? Yeah, I’m about to finally do that. It’s a new day tomorrow and I get to wake up try again. Victory in Jesus, my Savior forever. I’m in tears again. Goodnight.