Do You Want a Cookie?

There are moments where I feel proud of my students. Sometimes it is over small things, like getting 100% on a grammar test or actually answering a question correctly. Sometimes it's bigger, like when they decide to not rip out the hair extensions of the girl they are fighting with or not beating up one of the private school kids that go to school next door just to get a pencil. There really isn't a day that goes by that I am not proud of at least one of my students. Working with inner-city kids is special. There is a fine line between making them feel proud of their accomplishments and making them feel entitled to the rewards that come from being good little students. It's difficult because some of the students have really difficult lives, they sleep in the park, live in fear of being deported, or having their hot cheetos go stale.

The teacher across the hall from me had all of her students show up to class one day. None of them skipped or were tardy. She had that moment where she was proud of them. So she told them all that she would buy them pizza. I was ok with this because hey, I'm across the hall, and the chances of me scoring a slice or two were pretty good. But she and I share some students and they started whining in my class. "Ms, how come you never buy us pizza?" I may have ranted a little, but this was my response:

Pizza? For being on time? I don't buy you pizza because you don't get rewards in life for doing things that you should be doing anyway! It's your job to show up on time, not something that I should reward you for. You know what I give you every single day when you are here? KNOWLEDGE! You're on time? Oh, let me make you a smarter person. There are starving children in Russia who don't get knowledge for being on time to class. You think you deserve a reward for doing the bare minimum? You're breathing right now, do you want a cookie for that? Sit down and prepare to learn something!

I then proceeded to teach them about pronoun-antecedent agreement. I'm not really sure about the starving children in Russia, but I did love the line about breathing to get a cookie. I'd like to think that they were happy about their reward of knowledge, but they probably just thought I was crazy.

It's getting close to the end of the semester. This means that there are some students who are finally deciding to care about their grades. I take their grades from the second quarter and average them with the first quarter to make their semester grade. This means that to pass the class you must have had at least a 22% in the first quarter. Otherwise it's mathematically impossible to pass the semester. Every year I have students who fall below that line. One student, we shall call him Jose, got a 12% the first quarter. The thing is, he is here every freaking day, he has no reason to be failing other than plain old laziness. So Jose came to me the other day asking for make-up work. He has a 33% for this quarter. I momentarily thought that I should tell him he has no chance at passing. But no, not this teacher. If you are going to come to class everyday and make my life as miserable as possible, I am going to give you work. So I gave him a huge stack of papers. He won't pass the class, but at least he will have gained some stinking knowledge so next time he takes the class he might pass. That, and I like torturing students.

And to end the post, this conversation:

Student: Ms! Why is there salt in the ocean? Me: A very long time ago, an ancient Chinese man spilled all the soy sauce in the water to give it flavor. It's tasted like salt ever since. Student: Wouldn't that make the ocean a funny color? Me: Soy sauce used to be blue, but he changed the color so no one would figure it... out. Student: Sneaky Asians! He was smart!

While the Teacher is Away

This past month has been an eventful one for me. First I took a business trip to Florida, and I saw this:

I love the ocean!

We flew out on Monday morning at 5:00 a.m, which meant that my awesome roommate woke up at 3:30 to take me to the airport. (thanks Lauren!) I hate Florida, I really do, it's gross and muggy and there are alligators. But the ocean was nice. One of my co-workers got wasted and offered to give everyone (including the principal) a piggyback ride. That's the kind of entertainment you just can't buy. We flew back on Thursday and my flight got in to Phoenix at 3:30. By 4:30 my roommate and I were in the car on our way to San Diego. I got to spend a couple of days with my friend Jimmy.

This is Jimmy. Ladies, he is single, has a good job and drives this:

if interested please contact me.

*Pictures used without permission.

Jimmy and I went all over San Diego and I got to see this:

Man I still love the ocean.



We drove back Sunday and I had to go back to work the next day. But I did find this in the classroom:

Can you feel the love?

If you can't read the little boxes, the one on the left says, "What's a pronoun? -A noun that's lost it's amateur status" Maybe my favorite student response of all time. The students were good all week long, they didn't try to kill the sub and they didn't steal any of my books, even the Diary of a Wimpy Kid. That's a pretty big deal in the land of inner-city high school kids.

Noses, Moms, and the Miracle of Fall Break

It's been a few weeks, I know. But to be fair, I was in a codeine induced coma for some of that time. I have never been able to breathe through my nose, like ever. I've pretty much had a cold for 27 years. It's been awesome but it was time for this to end. I have been to a few ENTs over the years, which are now called Otolaryngologists (yeah, I know) and they have told me two things. 1. I have a deviated septum and 2. I have tiny little nasal passages. I would have had the surgery at a much younger age but because I had a bad reaction to some anesthesia when I was younger I had to be awake for the surgery. This caused me to feel queasy and involuntarily cry. But, as I have gotten older, I have decided there are some advantages to being able to breathe properly. I put on my big girl pants and had it done. Amazingly I even got to go under for it, so really I was freaking out for nothing. So I had my surgery and several totally awesome things have happened because of it.

1. My mom came to visit me. I love this woman. We don't spend enough time together. Having her here makes me want to quit my job and move home. We laughed, cleaned, listened to conference and watched entire seasons of Project Runway. It was good. I cried when she left.

2. I can breathe! You know how they say that kids don't know there are leaves on the trees until they get glasses? They thought everything was fine before, but they had no idea what they were missing. I walked to the Dr. to get the stints removed and on my way back I only breathed through my nose. It was FREAKY. I got home, sat on my couch and breathed through my nose. Then I cried, I had no idea.

3. I can taste things. You know how when you have a cold you can't really taste things? Yeah, that was my my whole life. Did you know that milk has a smell? I didn't, until last Thursday. My toothpaste is extra minty, chicken is extra chickeny. Now I am scared I am going to eat something I love and discover that I hate it. It's very scary. But I didn't cry.

So now I am back at work, with my awesome students, teaching them awesome things. We are working on summaries in my "regular" English class and Poe in my honors. Kids make me laugh, every stinking day. I have the best job. Next week I am going to have my honors class memorize part of "The Raven" they will get extra credit if they recite it in costume, they will get bonus extra credit if they dress that way all day long. It's going to be awesome.

I need a new hall pass, mine disappeared (what kid would steal a bathroom pass?!?). Any suggestions? My friend Amy is doing a give-a-way on her blog, http://www.agoodlifeblog.com/ for a giant stuffed animal thing. If I win, maybe I will use this. But tons of people read her blog, so I probably wont. I could also use a border patrol hat, but that just seems mean.

A Side Story

So it has been muggy lately, gross muggy. It needs to rain. So I check the weather reports every morning, because that's what the cool kids do. Today's hourly weather report said that it was going to rain at 11 am. I was excited and spread the news to other teachers. One teacher told her first period class this news and this was the conversation with a Mormon student in her class:

Teacher: Ms. Walker said it was going to rain at 11.

Student: How does Ms. Walker know it is going to rain at 11? How would she know that?

Teacher: Because she is Mormon, just like you.

Student: Oh, ok.

It's good to know common beliefs make me a valid source on weather knowledge.

PS- It did not rain at 11.

Baseball? Sure, why not?

So those of you who know me, which is all five of you who read this blog, know that I do not do the sport thing. In high school I hung out with the stoners who walked slowly from one fence to another just so I wouldn't have to run. The only time I've ever hit a ball with a bat was in the MTC, and that was only with a lot of encouraging from the Elders, and possibly a desire to be hit with a ball so I could go home. So when my roommate asked if I wanted to go to a Diamondbacks game I said, sure, why not?

My roommate plays the organ, a talent which got us our awesome tickets. It has been her lifelong dream to play the organ at a Diamondbacks game (ok, maybe not lifelong, but it is an awesome goal) so her mom made some calls and got in touch with Bobby, the super cool organ player. He hooked us up with tickets and we were on our way.

Awesome Seats, Hot Baseball Players

I really wanted a pretzel with cheese, so during the 2nd inning (see how I have learned words!) when we all went to find food I located a lovely salted carb with cheesy fat to dip it in. It was $3.50 for the pretzel, and $1.50 for the cheese, the cheese was a total rip-off, but who wants to eat a soft pretzel without cheese? I picked the medium drink because it was $5, so the total would be $10 and I wouldn't have to deal with pesky change. We all headed back to our seats with our respective food and settled in for the game.

In the bottom of the 3rd a foul ball was hit our way. I did not stand up, because what the heck am I going to do? Try to catch a ball?!? The thought is laughable, on many levels. Plus it was sailing clean over our heads anyway to the upper tier. What I didn't see was that it didn't quite make the upper level, instead it hit the railing, made an about turn and headed directly in our direction. It was at this moment that I wanted to take the last sip of my drink, so I leaned forward, and the ball made it's landing. It hit my back and rolled down to my butt. I was trying to think of a clever way to say that, but in reality there is none. My butt caught the ball. Someone dove in to steal it, mildly violating me in the process, but I figured at this point, it belonged to me. I leaned back and hit him until he gave up. I am now the proud owner of a baseball:

We also got to wear a World Series ring that belonged to the organist and sing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" with the giant bobble-head guys, which was filmed for tv.

World Series Ring

The moral of all of this is to always buy the medium drink. If I had bought the small, I would have saved $1, but I also would have been out of lemonade by the bottom of the 3rd and would not have had any left to reach for when a foul ball was heading my way. I would have been reclined in my seat and that rouge ball would have hit me right on the head, rolled behind me and some sticky jam hands kid would have picked it up. Then I would have been in the hospital with doctors saying things like "minimal brain activity" instead of teaching today. Or maybe they would let me teach with minimal brain activity, who knows? The students have it, why can't I? 

Things I Get Blamed For

Growing up I was a good kid, a freakishly good kid. I didn't break rules, get dirty and I hated to see my parents get mad. Some would say that I was a bit of a tattle-tale. I may have been known to go to my mom and say, "Mom, I don't want Ryan to get in trouble, so don't yell at him, but he did just punch me in the arm." Ryan maintains that I did this so I could have a clear conscience about ratting him out. But I clearly remember not wanting my mom to yell at him because I hated to see the conflict, but I also knew that bad things should be reported to the proper authorities. Ryan and I had a touch and go relationship until I worked out my tattling issues in my early 20's. I was innocent, I mean come on, look at this:

Seriously, could that kid do anything bad? Apparently as an adult I do not have the same reputation.

Someone has been pranking the men's staff bathroom in our building. The state test in AZ is called the AIMS test, and someone may have put a baggie of fruit loops by their toilet with a little note that said "this is the real aims test boys!" I heard a rumor that a picture of George Castansa wearing nothing but boxers and lounging on a chaise was hung on the wall. A rather large frog was placed by their door that has a motion sensor so it ribbits rather loudly when they open their door. All in good fun. Apparently as an adult, people assume that when trouble is afoot, I am clearly part of it. Yesterday a student came into my classroom with a handful of soggy fruit loops, with a message "Mr. K. said he passed." GROSS! The gauntlet has been thrown. I may or may not have been a part of the original prank, but I'm in it now.

Teachers frequently get blamed for the bad behavior of their students. I am proud to report that today, during an observation, my students were good, like Stepford good, for freshmen anyway. They raised their hands, they worked together, they completed the assignments without even whining. It was alarming. It was one of those moments where everything comes together in a perfect storm of awesomeness. Luckily my 4th period is always there to bring a healthy dose of reality. Last week a kid asked me where they speak Pig Latin. I told him it was a made up language. Apparently another teacher is screwing with him, because he asked me again today. I told him Piggonia. He spent 5 minutes looking for it on my map.

The Beginning

We are not a ghetto school. This is something that gets said a lot around campus. Now, I didn't think that the school was too ghetto until I started hearing this. It seems to me that if a school isn't actually ghetto you wouldn't need to keep saying it over an over again, on the loudspeakers, in the middle of my English class.

Gangs and gang related things are not allowed on campus, makes sense. But yesterday I went all kinds of gansta'. I am white, not just pale, but very white, sometimes I do something that forces the students to point out how white I am. They will say, "Ms.... you are soooooo white!" Doing the running man while teaching, listening to "Juno" music as they call it, and saying that Hot Cheetos are, in fact, disgusting and way to spicy for me, are all things that have led them to the announcement of my whiteness. But they say it in a loving way, which is nice. They accept it because I am the nice white lady who will feed them PB&J sandwiches when they forget their lunch, and repeatedly tell them with upmost patience that double negatives are only ok in Spanish. 

Yesterday all my classes had to take a hearing test. I am sure there is an easier way to do this, but we are not a ghetto school, so we have not figured it out yet. Our plan is to take the entire class to the nurses office and wait our turn to get our hearing tested. The nurse can only have about 8 kids in there at a time, so the rest of us sit in a little hallway by the front office and wait. Now I don't know how many of you have tried to keep thirty 15 year-olds quiet in a confined space with nothing to do, but it is no easy task. I told them to whisper, to read a book, to listen to their music, but that all only lasts about 15 minutes. Their attention span isn't that long. Also, I am not sure how I learned to whisper, it seems like I have just always know how to, but apparently the next generation didn't get the memo. First period was ok, they always are, mostly because they are still asleep. But all bets were off by 7th. My 7th period class were getting rilled up, they were losing focus. So I started telling them about the awesome trends of my generation. Then they mocked me. They mocked us. So I did what any self-respecting teacher does. I mocked them back. I rolled up a pant leg, buttoned only the top button of my cardigan (cause that's super fly) grabbed a kid's hat and struck a pose. One of the vocab words this week was "askew" I told them that ganstas' like things askew, their hats, their faces and their walk (or swagga' as it's known to them). So they taught me to walk like a g, and I taught them how to whisper. They taught me to jerk, and I taught them the running man. We were probably too loud, we probably bothered the front desk ladies, but dang it, those kids are never going to forget what askew means. 

That's what teaching in a "not a ghetto" school is like. I love it.