Banana Bread for the Teacher's Soul

So I have had 4 brown shriveled up bananas in my freezer for a few months now. I saw them every time I opened the door and thought, I should make banana bread, and frankly got a little annoyed they were still sitting there. But I never took the time (or umm, had the time) to do it. Finally this weekend, after staying at school till 5 on Friday and working all afternoon/early evening Saturday, I had the time on Sunday.

Baking to me is like therapy. I started baking when I lived in New York and got a Kitchenaid mixer for Christma--I mean Hannukka. I don't do it enough now. Mostly because I don't have roommates to pawn the stuff off on and then I'd just get fat. When I can make enough for my classes I'll do it, but that is more of a chore than therapy!

This was great, I got rid of the bananas, made something delicious, and my whole apt smelled nice. And I got to bring in treats today for a few lucky individuals.

Ms. Bright works across the hall from me. She has been there for advice daily, she's seen my cry, vent and scream, she's taken kids that were driving me crazy, had a 'come to jesus' meeting with them and then just made them work quietly in her room when that didn't work. She's even come and spoken to my class to tell them to wise up. Basically, my life at Whites Creek is better because of her. I was so happy to bring her something I'd made with love to let her know how much I appreciated her help.

She made me feel better too--we talked about my sappy card and she said, "you know, I really appreciate your drive, that you haven't given up yet despite how tough it is." I think there were bets in this school about how long I'd last, not a single one had me coming back after the Holidays, but I am still here. Still plugging away.

I think when I have smushy brown bananas in my freezer, and I know what I need to do with them--I need to just do it. I need to stop being annoyed at them and use them instead for something good. This might be a crappy metaphor, but I'm not an English teacher, so forgive me. The point is, I am going to stop dwelling on what's going wrong, I am going to realize that I am a fighter (just like I wrote in all those b-school/TFA applications) and keep fighting. Keep doing good stuff with what I have, even if it just looks like a mushy old frozen banana. (Now you totally want to try the stuff right? It got rave reviews you know....)

Being Positive?

So my mom mentioned that maybe I shouldn't complain so much on this blog. Is that what it sounds like? Am I too negative all the time? umm, probably.

Let's try saying some good stuff.

They were right about it getting better. Sort of. I mean, I know my material better. Much better--I can teach the concepts with an eye towards where we are going, I know the ways in which to explain the concepts that these kids get, and I am a little more organized, because I know how helpful that is.

It's also just nice to see friendly faces in the hallway. My kids from last semester, even when they groaned and growled at homework, classwork, pretty much any work, give me hugs in the hallway and tell me they miss me. They even ask knowingly if I miss them. One of the girls that gave me the most hell 1st period last semester said, "how are your classes this semester Ms. Sudow? Are they as bad as we were?" At least she understands what she put me through. She is the same one that said she probably could have got it if she'd been paying attention all along. I asked her if she remembered that in her classes now, if she was, in fact, paying attention and doing her work from the start, she said she was. Let's hope that's the case.

I realized, well have known it all along, but it's become clearer to me, that I did not become a teacher to teach Algebra 2. Yes the math skills in my class are important, but I want to teach more than that. I want to teach responsibility, work ethic, love of learning--all that good stuff. All the things that somehow were just in me, maybe it was Potomac, maybe it was my parents. These kids don't have that, for so many reasons they don't have that. One is that they have no idea what the 'real world' looks like. They don't really have anything concrete to reach for because they don't seem to know what success really looks like. I want to show them that somehow. I want them to see the other side so they know how to act. I want them to be invested. That is probably the toughest part of my job. To see so much potential in these kids, but they've gotten away for so long with mediocrity, with pushing people away and getting kicked out class, that there really isn't much reason for them to try anymore.

I am going to keep working at it. I am going to keep getting on my soap box every once in a while to help them understand, or see what's out there. Hopefully they'll actually listen and not just think I am some rich girl who doesn't have a clue.

Initiation

Fights are not new to Whites Creek. But they are new to the Business and Economics hallway, we usually hold it down.

I felt it coming. Just after the bell, Sleepy, one of my geometry students from last semester, was standing in the hall with four or five other boys, those 4 walked away all singing some song, in unison. That was the moment. I knew something was up. I looked to sleepy, who put one hand up in the air, waving it at them, using expletives and talking about gangs.

Crap.

The boys rushed at Sleepy as I yelled for them to cool it. White girl in her Jcrew sweater telling boys with gold grillz not to rush at each other for who knows what anger they've got. Not so effective.

I didn't want to insert myself, but somehow 5 boys turned to 15, and the mob moved towards me, all of the sudden, there I was right in the middle of it--not a good place when fists are flailing and blindly punching whatever is in front of them.

So then, like any smart not very large human who does not want a black eye, and who sees her favorite savior teacher running across the hallway, I ran. We called for help, I talked to one of my students who also accidentally got mixed up in it to make sure she was ok, and then savior teacher number 2 came down the hall. This woman does not play. She broke up what was left right away and worked to comfort whoever got hurt.

Yes, this is more interesting than my usual posts, and yes, teachers and students spent much of the rest of the day reliving what happened and, well, gossiping. I did it too, despite my better judgement.

What's sad here is that Sleepy will probably be kicked out of Whites Creek. Sleepy who told me he was 'The truth' in my class, who took his grillz out when he'd come to tutoring so he could be serious, and who passed my class because he studied and tried the best he could to get his grade up.

What happens to him now? He goes to an alternative school where he can hope to get some kind of degree, maybe. Is a degree from an alternative school as good as a degree from a normal one? Is the fact that he got in a fight at his normal high school forever on his record? I'm not really sure. But I have a feeling the fighting that started at 7:06 this morning didn't end at 7:10. I have a feeling it's going on right now, that his gang is retaliating, that they are rallying and that something will probably go on at school tomorrow. I have a feeling this won't be the last time Sleepy gets in a fight.

Often it's the good ones that end up getting kicked out for these fights. Often the ones that drive you crazy in class just keep driving you crazy.

This is the part of teaching that is heart-wrenching. This is one of those teachable moments they tell you about--I tried to talk to my advisees today about not fighting (because all they could do was talk about it). About being the bigger person and not stooping to the other person's level. About keeping your head down, doing well in school and rising above the fight. The message was lost on the students who needed to hear it most.

For my part, I feel a little tougher, initiated into what it's like to break up a fight (or umm, call someone else to do it), and energized to keep trying to teach them to be humans, not just mathematicians.