I'm Not a Morning Person People

I am not a morning person.

I am not a morning person.

I am not a morning person.

I AM NOT A FREAKING MORNING PERSON! HOW MANY TIMES MUST I REPEAT MYSELF BEFORE YOU GET IT?!?

No, I am not a morning person. Usually, this is the very first thing I announce to any class of students I teach before the hour of 9AM. My brain is incapable of functioning rationally before 9AM. It really does not matter how early I wake up, or how much coffee I consume, my brain refuses to think or work before 9AM. I have accepted this fact of my life and adapted my life accordingly. I do not schedule early morning meetings if I can avoid it. I start my morning off with the least stressful and strenuous activities I can manage. I drink gallons of coffee. I do yoga, meditation and breathing exercises. I do all of these things in a vain attempt to appear to be human. However, it is just an illusion. I am not a morning person.

I give my students fair warning from the beginning.  Do not approach me with inane comments or requests first thing in the morning. You will not receive a rational, or possibly even an intelligible answer. I can guarantee you will not like the manner in which said response is delivered.  And, in all likelihood, you will walk away from our verbal altercation either in tears, or seething with rage.  However, it never really seems to matter how many warnings I give, my precious, pubescent pupils never heed them.  At least once a week, one of the intrepid teens will accost me upon my arrival at school, insisting that I give them my undivided attention and bow to their demands.  Inevitably, said student leaves my presence wounded and hurt, figuratively speaking of course.  Well... mostly figuratively speaking.  What can I say?  I am not a morning person.

By the end of the school year, one would think that most of my students have learned not to disturb my morning rituals, either through direct, personal experience or the experiences of friends and classmates.  However, every year, I seem to get one student who is incapable of learning that particular lesson.  This year, that student is Carol.  (Obviously, "Carol" is not her real name.  As a matter of fact, Carol is as far removed from her real name as I could get.)  Carol just cannot seem to grasp the meaning of the words "I am not a morning person".

8:05AM - I take a deep breath, open the door, walk into the high school, and begin weaving my way through the throng of trash-talking teens in the hallway to my classroom.
8:07AM - Keys are in hand, I am mere seconds away from the blissful silence of my classroom, and then I hear it...

Ms. Teacher!  Ms. Teacher!  Ms. Teacher!

Me:  (FUCK!  Maybe if I do not turn around, it will go away. I walk faster.)

Ms. Teacher!  Ms. Teacher!  MS. TEACHER!!!

Me:  (Almost there...)

Carol:  OH!  Ms. Teacher!  I've been waiting for you since 7:30 this morning.

Me:  (FUCK!!!  Carol.  I was so close.) *sigh* Carol, I know I've told you this numerous times before, but I'll try it one more time.  I do not get to school before 8AM.  Ever. 

Carol:  Oh, yeah, I know, but this is important!  And I emailed you, and posted a question on the online forum for the class last night.  I even left a message on your voice mail.

Me:  takes a deep breath.  I replied to your email last night, and to the same question you posted on the discussion forum 2 hours later.  Obviously, I have not gotten your voice mail message, as I have yet to walk into the classroom.  But, do you ask the same question in your voice mail?  The same question you posted and emailed me about, that I have already answered?
 
Carol:  Yeah.  So, anyway, the homework that you assigned, that is due today, do we have to write complete sentences?  Or can we just, like, write the answer?

Me:  sigh  Carol, just like I said in the email, and on the online forum, and in class the day I assigned the homework, and for every other homework assignment like this one,... You must write the answer in complete sentences.  Turns toward the door, dismissing the conversation.

Carol:  But... why?

Me:  Stops in mid-step, halfway through the doorway.  Excuse me?

Carol:  Why?  Why do we have to write a complete sentence?  Why can't we just write the answer?

Me:  Carol, the two are not mutually exclusive.  And, as I have explained to you before, I require a complete sentence because I am also tasked with teaching you how to write.  I want to make sure that you know what a complete sentence looks like, that you practice it.  Also, you are a 17 year old honors student in my 11th grade English class.  This should be a non-issue by now.  Turns away and proceeds to, finally, enter the classroom, now feeling irritated and disgusted.

Carol:  But... I just don't think you are understanding what I am asking.  Let me try it this way... As long I put down the answer on the paper, does it have to be a complete sentence?

Me:  Thoroughly disgusted.  Let me try it this way... Your answer will be worded in a complete sentence.

Carol:  But...

Me:  Oh good grief, Carol!  I do not know how else to explain it so you will understand it.  Do you not understand the words I am saying to you?

Carol: It's not that, I just...

Me:  YES or NO?  Do you understand the words I am speaking?

Carol:  Yes, but...

Me: holding up hand  Yes?  Okay, good.  So, you understand that your homework should be answered in complete sentences?  Yes?

Carol:  Well, yeah, but...

Me:  holds up hand again  Yes?  Okay.  Glad that is settled.  Please close the door as you leave.

Carol:  But... that's not the answer I want.

Me:  stops dead in tracks, glances back over one shoulder  Well, I apologize for that, but that is the answer you got.

Carol:  I don't want to write a sentence!  stamps foot

Me:  Did you really just stamp your foot at me?  cue hysterical laughter

Carol:  stamps foot again  Don't laugh at me!  I'm serious!  I DON'T WANT TO WRITE A SENTENCE!

Me:  wiping tears from eyes  That is a shame, since the assignment requires it.

Carol:  Well, I'm just not going to write a sentence.

Me:  sits on corner of desk, sips coffee, and drawls out Well, sugar, that is your choice. (It should be noted that when I lapse into a Southern drawl in class, bad things are soon to follow.  For some reason, I tend to use a Southern accent to chastise my students.)

Carol:  mollified  Oh, so I don't have to write a sentence?  Whew!  Thanks!  Turns to leave.

Me:  No, darlin', I said it was your choice.

Carol:  What does that mean?

Me:  in a Southern drawl and with a smile that doesn't reach my eyes  The directions require a sentence.  If you choose to not write a sentence, you have not followed the directions, and therefore have not correctly completed the assignment.  As such, I will be forced to deduct the necessary points, as you failed to accurately complete the assignment.  So, we are back to it being your choice.  You can choose to do the assignment correctly and completely, or you can choose to half-ass the assignment.  Either way, your grade will reflect accuracy, completeness, and effort.  The choice is ultimately yours, as it always is.  Sips coffee

Carol:  But, but... stamps foot, AGAIN THAT'S NOT FAIR!

Me:  drawls  The fair only comes to town once a year, princess, and it looks like you missed it.

Carol:  But...

Me:  NO!  Let me tell you what isn't "fair".  It isn't "fair" that for some unknown reason you seem to think that rules do not apply to you, that you do not have to do the same work, put forth the same effort as your classmates, or follow the same directions.  You are not special.  You are not above the law.  You do not get to do what you want simply because you don't feel like doing what is required.  It isn't "fair" I am forced to have the exact same conversation with you week in and week out.  It isn't "fair" that I am forced to endure the spoiled antics of a pampered princess who refuses to listen to anything that is said to her if she does not want to hear it.  It isn't "fair" that my morning is ruined at least once every couple of weeks because you decide you do not see the merit in completing an assignment, and want my permission to not do it.  It isn't "fair" that I am forced to tolerate your presence before school even starts because you want to question and debate every single assignment and direction given to you.  Let me enlighten you, sweetheart.  I'm the teacher.  You are the student.  That is how things work.  I create meaningful assignments that usually serve multiple purposes to try not only to educate you, but also to mold you into some semblance of a decent human being.  Granted, at least on that front, in your case, I seem to be failing miserably.  But, I am going to continue to try.  I will give the assignments and directions, and you will follow them.  Or not.  The choice is ultimate yours.  But, I guarantee that if you fail to meet the requirements, follow the directions, put forth the effort, or live up to my expectations, your grade will reflect your failure.  And trust me, it will be YOUR failure.  You can suck it up, accept life as it is, and pass the class on my terms, or you can be stubborn and obtuse, continue to rail at the wind about how "unfair" life is, and fail on your terms.  Choice. Is. Yours.  Now, I am done with this conversation.  For. The. Last. Time.  Get your things, turn around, and walk out the door.

Carol:  Stamps foot But...

Me:  Stamp that foot at me again.... 

Carol:  does not stamp foot, grabs belongings, begins walking out the door But... UGH!  This is SO NOT FAIR!

Me: can't resist, yells after student  Ah, sugar, maybe you'll catch the fair the next time it is in town! 

As I close the door behind her, I can hear her ranting her way down the hallway.  I sigh, turn back to me desk, shake my head, and repeat... I am so not a morning person.

So What If I Don't Have A Penis?

"So what if I don't have a penis?!?!" the boy shouted across the room. The rest of the class immediately bursts into hysterical laughter. The teacher, who was expecting it, dissolved into a fit of giggles. The young man smiles proudly, and receives high praise from the whole class and the teacher for his excellent delivery.

Oh, and I suppose I should mention that this is not a fictional anecdote. Nope, not at all. This was the scene in my classroom about an hour ago. And, I must admit, I am immensely impressed with that student. Actually, I am impressed with most all of my students today.

Today was the culmination of two weeks worth of studying, analyzing, and reading drama in my summer school classroom. Today, the students got a chance to showcase their acting abilities, and their creativity.  Students broke into small groups to perform their version of David Ives' one-act play, "Sure Thing".  I am not sure which I found more impressive today: my group of all girls who performed a modernized version of the play complete with "grills" or my three groups of all boys who actually embraced playing the role of the "girl".  One thing I can say for certain, the class enjoyed the activity.  And that, I will gladly count as a success.

Oh, and it was pretty entertaining to hear all of them proudly shout across the room my favorite line from the play, "So what if I don't have a penis?"  ;)

Armed Robbery Makes Me... Nervous???

I am in the middle of trying to teach drama in summer school right now. Up until yesterday, I was actually quite pleased with the way the unit has been progressing. The students have mastered (mostly) the basic vocabulary, we have discussed and analyzed structures, and had some surprisingly interesting discussions based on themes and actions from the one-act plays we've read. Based on how well the kids have been handling the sprint through drama, I decided it was time to let them show their acting skills, and put on our own performance. *sigh* What is it that they say about best laid plans???

As any good teacher knows, you cannot just walk in on Monday morning and tell your class, "Hey, guess what? Today you are going to perform this entire play in front of the entire class!" You really need to ease into these activities. I thought I would begin with a quick review of the importance of staging, stage directions, and actors' expressions and gestures. Again, my students surprised me with a rather insightful discussion. Needless to say, I was growing ever more ecstatic, thinking that I just might be able to pull this off and have a great lesson AND performance. So, I introduced the warm-up activity. *sigh* And that is where the downward spiral began.

I had students count off, in order to put them into 5 groups. Unfortunately, as my luck would have it, FIVE of the most rambunctious students I have ever taught ended up in a group together. Looking back now, I know I should have split them up. However, I allowed myself to be swayed by their enthusiasm for the activity.

Ah... the activity... My brilliant idea... (Consequently, I do feel the need to admit that I came up with the idea for this particular activity while drinking a glass, or two, of wine.) Because the one-act play I wanted the kids to act out relies heavily on tone, facial expressions, and gestures, I thought the students needed some practice in matching their own tones, expressions, and gestures to corresponding emotions. So, I decided we would do a pantomime activity. The students would get into small groups, each group would be assigned 3-4 emotions, and would have to "mime" the emotion. The rest of the class would then have to guess the emotion. My goal was that my students would learn 1. how to over-exaggerate facial expressions and gestures for the sake of a stage performance and 2. appropriate expressions, gestures, and body language to convey emotions. (Sadly, many students today do not know how to adequately demonstrate emotion.) Lofty goal, apparently.

Group 3, the 5 rambunctious boys. And, because it DOES matter in this instance... 4 black kids, 1 white kid. Their emotion... NERVOUSNESS.

I call for Group 3 to come to the front. The lone white kid gets up and walks to the front of the room and faces the chalkboard. The four black kids arrange their desks in a 2 x 2 block and one pretends to be the "driver".

I can already see the impending disaster. But, before I can stop them...

The white kid begins to make gestures like he is withdrawing money from an ATM. The "car" rolls up and all four black kids jump out and rush towards the ATM, brandishing their "pretend" handguns. The white kid runs for his life...

The classroom erupts into wild laughter. I shake my head. Students begin calling out their guesses as to the emotion they were trying to portray.

Terror!
Fear!
Homicidal Mania!
Horror!
Prejudice and Discrimination!
The five students in the group become exasperated with their classmates' guesses. "No, stupid! Nervousness! [White kid] was nervous." This, of course, causes the other students to laugh that much harder. I continue to shake my head, bewildered.

"Boys, I don't even know where to begin to explain all that was wrong with your performance."

"What do you mean? That was tight!"

"No, you completely missed the point. Pantomime is an over-exaggeration of facial expression and hand gestures, not a full on skit that perpetuates modern stereotypes. Seriously? You put the token white kid at the ATM?" I stifle my own laughter. "You jumped right over nervousness and plunged head first into terror, panic, and paralyzing fear."

"No way! [White kid] was nervous! Didn't you see his face when he saw us?"

"[White kid] was nervous when he first saw you in the 'car'. The minute you jumped out with guns waving he went straight to fear and terror. Again, you missed the point."

"But you said we had to over-exaggerate our actions."

I sigh, and shake my head. "No, I said you needed to over-exaggerate FACIAL EXPRESSIONS and HAND GESTURES, not kill someone in a drive-by shooting."

"Man, it wasn't no drive-by. It was armed robbery."

The class again erupts in laughter. Tomorrow, they work individually.

The Morning Routine

"James, Johnathon, Devontae, and Natalie, pull up your pants, please," the teacher says upon watching her students file into the classroom as the morning tardy bells sound. "Kiddos, do I really need to say that to you every morning?"

The students dutifully hike up sagging pants that are belted close to their knees, walk to their desks, and have a seat. The teacher introduces and explains the warm-up activity for the daily lesson. After checking that all students are working, the teacher sits down to take attendance, and do her required morning policing of the dress code. A quick once over around the room reveals that 10 out of 24 students are out of dress code. The teacher sighs audibly.

"Te'Ron, Alvie, James, John, Devontae, Natalie, Amy, and Amir, pull up your pants. Mary, button up your blouse. LaQuanda you need to go see the Dean of Girls."

LaQuanda stands up and shouts defiantly, "Why I gotta go see the Dean?"

The teacher audibly sighs again. "Because your skirt is too short and your top doesn't cover your midriff. And, if I wanted to get nit-picky about it, you are not allowed to wear clothing that depicts sex, drugs, profanity, or violence."

"I ain't got on nothin' wit that on it." LaQuanda tosses her head and smirks. The class tries to cover their laughter.

"Really? FUH Q? You don't think that is inappropriate?" The class laughs out loud. The laughter is due to the fact that the teacher over-exaggerated the pronunciation to avoid actually saying 'fuck'. However, LaQuanda does not pick up on it and believes the laughter is directed at her. She retaliates the only way she knows how.

"My momma buyed this for me. If my momma say I can wear it, you can't tell me I can't."

"Actually, the school can tell you that, and has told you that," the teacher says flatly. "Now, would you please go see the Dean?"

"You be trippin'. I ain't even goin' get in trouble for it. The Dean is just goin' have me call home and get new clothes. She ain't goin' write me up for it or nothin'," LaQuanda huffs.

"Yes, you is goin' get in trouble," a girl in the back of the room retorts.

Turning to face the new voice, LaQuanda verbally attacks, "No, I ain't. My momma don't care. They can't be tellin' me what to wear if'n my momma say its okay." LaQuanda adds emphasis to her words by rolling her eyes, sucking her teeth, and tossing her head.

"Be that as it may, LaQuanda, you still need to go pay the Dean a visit." The teacher stands from her desk, walks to the door, and holds it open. LaQuanda sits defiantly regarding the teacher for a moment. The teacher leans against the door and cocks an eyebrow, meeting the little girl's stare. LaQuanda, reluctantly, stands, and angrily prances her way out the door.

Once the girl is gone and the door has closed, another student announces, "She is gonna get in trouble. Her momma don't likes it when she has to come up to the school. And, the dean done tol' her if she got another dress code violation she was gonna get written up."


"That's between her, her momma, and the Dean. Now, who wants to volunteer to read their entry..." The students are re-directed back to the lesson and class resumes.

It is now the last 10 minutes of class. The teacher walks around the room assessing students' work and the success of the lesson. Students are finishing up the wrap-up assignment, asking for approval and clarification. The teacher is pleased that the lesson went so well, given the start to the period. She was able to re-focus the class after LaQuanda's departure and there were no further outbursts. Of course, LaQuanda has yet to return the room. Looking at the girl's books still spread out on her desk, the teacher sighs, again. "Deana? Will you gather up LaQuanda's..."

The teacher is interrupted by a hard knock on the classroom door. LaQuanda has returned from her trip to the Dean of Girls' office wearing baggy, ill-fitting jeans and a school t-shirt. She is visibly upset and carries a yellow form with her. As she walks into the room, she glares at the teacher and stomps back to her desk. The teacher goes to gather the work LaQuanda missed; LaQuanda's classmates grill her about what happened with the Dean.

"What'd'ya get? SIPS?"
"Did the dean call your moms?"

"Yes!" LaQuanda hisses. "My momma said she won't gonna come all the way up here 'cause she tol' me this morning that I couldn't wear the shirt to school. And that if I gots in trouble for wearin' that shirt after she done tol' me not too she wasn't gonna bring me no more clothes. The Dean says I could sit in SIPS all day or put on something from the Lost and Found pile. I wasn't gonna put on none of that stuff. Its all dirty and tacky. So, I went and sat in SIPS."

"Why'd you go sit in there? It stink in there, and you gets all crammed up together."

"I know, but won't gonna wear none of those old clothes. They ain't cute." A boy beside her snickers. "What you laughin' 'bout?"

"Them clothes you wearin' now ain't cute," he replies.

"You ain't cute neither!" LaQuanda tosses her head, rolls her eyes, sucks her teeth, and continues talking to her friend. "Anyways, Sheena was in there and she say she had a pair of jeans in her locker I could wear. So, I went and got 'em, and went back to the Dean. She made me put on this t-shirt. Then, you know what she did to me? She gave me SIPS! I got 2 days of SIPS for this shit. That's just stupid and triflin'. I hate her!"

The teacher approaches LaQuanda and hands her the work. "LaQuanda, this is what we worked on today. You can bring it in to me next class and I won't mark it late." LaQuanda rolls her eyes as the teacher walks away. The bell rings. On her way out the door, LaQuanda throws all the work into the trash.

The teacher walks to the door, takes a deep breath, puts on a smile, and turns to greet the next class of students as they enter. "Good morning! Come on in, the assignment is on the board. Trashawn, Amber, Nicholas, Miguel. Please pull up your pants..."