A field guide to growing up without growing apart
As with most of my news these days, I found out on Facebook. I had just gotten home from work and was checking my newsfeed, and I saw a post from a high school classmate: a link to a breaking news story about a school […]
Cue the pomp and circumstance—I finished my Master’s degree. Student teaching and my final course as a Master’s student wrapped up in the first week of May, and…that’s it! I was done. I started this program nearly two years ago, and have been taking classes […]
Okay, who am I kidding? If there’s one thing I have learned from spending the last four months teaching in a public high school, it’s that there are way more than five types of students. It’s really a grab-bag out there, with the future Presidents, models, car salesmen, and hobos all rubbing shoulders in the slightly cramped and run-down hallways of our schools. I’ve actually come to see my school’s diversity as a really beautiful thing, as challenging and crazy as it may make it to teach there. A public school being a vast and diverse place is not news—it’s a well-known fact. Yet, for me, the past four months have been one huge realization, not just about schools in general, but about the school I attended and loved for four years.
Seven years ago I graduated from the same high school where I now student-teach, and to 18-year-old me, that school was a pretty small place. There might have been five types of people I met there, but they all took AP classes and filled their extra hours with sports and music lessons. Yes, we came from families of slightly different socio-economic backgrounds, we had varying interests. Sometimes our religious and political views were in drastic contrast. But we had all the important things in common: a work ethic, plans for our bright futures, three square meals a day that didn’t come from tax-payer money, you know. Those things.
The thing about a student’s day is that it follows a very set pattern. They usually get to school at the same time, take the same route from class to class, and sit at the same lunch table with the same people. I was no different, but what I now see is that my insulated path around the school completely bypassed whole wings of the building, whole segments of the student population. I was there almost every day, but there was so much I missed.
As a teacher, I’m getting the bird’s eye view I never had as a student. It’s like looking at an ant farm from the outside—you can see everyone and how they function, but the individual ants can only see the tunnel in front of them. I know now that when my privileged bum vacated that desk, an under-privileged one probably filled it, and that person’s high school experience was vastly different from my own. I realize now that most of my teachers didn’t spend all day having deep discussions with their AP kids—when we left the room they had to try and teach upper-classmen how to read, coax those in the grip of gangs and poverty to complete the simplest of daily tasks, and write people up for cursing to their faces.
And so, even though in my own school alone I’ve discovered a plethora of individuals with strengths, weaknesses, worldviews, and needs that I never knew existed, here are just five of them—five people I was too self-absorbed to notice then, but I have definitely noticed now.
I’m used to hearing a lot of excuses about why little Jimmy couldn’t manage to finish his homework, and usually I’m pretty skeptical. However, I currently have a student in class who has no computer or internet access at home, which makes it pretty tough to work on the research project I just assigned or type up her essay. Go to the public library, I said. Well, her mom doesn’t have a car, so she’d have to take the bus. It’s not an insurmountable challenge, and it won’t get her out of doing her work, but it’s still a glimpse of a world I couldn’t even have imagined when I was 14. The same kid has also mentioned that she might miss some school later this week because her mom couldn’t pay the power bill, and their electricity is getting shut off. She doesn’t want to come to school without a hot shower, and I can’t really blame her.
When I was in school, I spent my fair share of time complaining about homework or boring assignments, and my friends and I all had subjects that weren’t our favorites. But we weren’t anti-learning. However, I have several students who act as if they’ve absolutely never met an assignment that was worthwhile. Whatever I ask of them, it’s a burden. It’s “lame.” It’s entirely too much effort. And worse, when you try to engage with them and ask them what they’ve learned, they give you attitude. Like, how dare you expect that I might actually learn something? I’m only here because I have to be. This type of kid will mouth off or act up when you point out (even in the nicest way) that they’re doing something wrong. They act like your help is offensive and they’ve got it covered, while simultaneously demonstrating their own ignorance every step of the way. It’s infuriating, and of course the ones they’re truly hurting with that attitude are themselves.
Unfortunately there are quite a few kids in the public schools these days with mental troubles greater than those a teacher is really qualified to deal with. This can take many forms. Sometimes they have a label, like Autistic or Oppositional Defiance Disorder, and sometimes there’s just something not right in their head. Recently, my mentor teacher mentioned that she thought one of our low-achieving students might be mentally ill. The thought had never occurred to me, but once she said it, his odd behavior, inability to focus, and consistently bad choices started to make more sense. The problem is, even if it makes sense, that doesn’t help us deal with the issues stemming from these mental problems. We aren’t trained as doctors or therapists, which makes it pretty overwhelming to try and help these kids.
When I was in school, my parents warned me about “bad” kids who would try to sell me drugs, but to me they were about as real as trolls that live under bridges. To my knowledge, I never saw a drug deal go down, nor did anyone ever offer me drugs. I saw kids smoking cigarettes at the edge of the parking lot each morning, but never did I suspect they might be using substances harder than tobacco. I was blissfully naïve, just sheltered from those kinds of people. Now I know they really did exist, and still do, especially since marijuana is now legal in our state. There are multiple boys in my class who talk about vague sources of income and who regularly have their backpacks checked by school administrators. They’re known dealers, plain and simple, and their academic performance tends to match up with their chosen career path. All I can say is that I hope a life of crime turns out to be as lucrative and fulfilling as they seem to think it will be…but the logical part of me knows the majority of these kids will end up in prison within the next few years.
I teach freshmen, which means they should be relatively innocent and still have high hopes for their futures. However, I’ve met a few freshmen who, by the end of their first semester in high school, had already given up on the idea of graduating. They failed every class and didn’t seem at all concerned. Why try to right the ship when drowning was their plan to begin with? One particularly exasperating student does almost no work in class because he, “doesn’t F-ing care about school,” and has made it clear he’s only there for the free breakfast and lunch everyday. He intends to drop out as soon as he’s 16 and legally able to do so, and he doesn’t care who knows it. This student’s performance and attitude are so poor that my mentor teacher has told me repeatedly not to waste any more time coaxing him. It’s sad to say we’ve given up too, but why should I give my time and effort to someone like him, when there are 29 others in the room who are still trying? From what he’s said, I suspect he’s involved in the trade described in #4, and I can already tell that won’t end well for him. When people give statistics about the maddeningly high percentage of young black men in the prisons or killed by homicide, this kid’s face always comes to mind. Is there really nothing I can do to stop it?
This week marks the end of my student teaching experience, and the last time I will be teaching these five types of students for at least a few years. But I will never be able to think of my high school in the same way I did 5 months ago. I’m so grateful that my high school experience was a positive one, and I know my school and my teachers served me well. I just wish I could do more to create the same kind of experience for the huge percentage of kids who fall into these five categories. I would never have been any use to them at all if I hadn’t let my idealistic picture of high school disintegrate a bit. Though I still can’t say I have tons in common with these five kinds of people, at least now I have a little more empathy.
As you know if you follow our blog at least a little bit, I go to graduate school— why, because I post about it all the time, that’s why. Well, as a matter of course, many of my friends (excepting three of naughty princesses, obviously!) […]
Saturday night over dinner I had one of those moments of self-reflection. It was the weekend so my roommates were out engaging in various social activities. Home alone, I was eating dinner: a can of black beans, prepared with salt and garlic, and a tomato […]
It’s that time again. Time for all four princesses to answer one burning question.
Question: What is something that your parents don’t understand about you that you wish they did?
Cinderslut:
My parents and I don’t have fun in the same ways. To be honest, these days it seems like my parents live a pretty boring life, just working and then coming home and watching TV in the evenings. They don’t have kids at home anymore, and they haven’t yet found any hobbies to replace us. They are very set in their routine, and they don’t like to disrupt it. As such, they don’t do much that could be considered fun, at least in the way I define fun.
I, on the other hand, need a healthy dose of fun in my life. Playing sports, video games, board games, trying new recipes, reading, traveling, social events…these are all things I’ve made a place for in my routine because they enrich my life and make it just plain more fun. And some of these things just aren’t ever going to be a part of my parents’ lives, because they won’t make the effort. Their idea of fun is different from mine. An example is alcohol. Around the time I turned 21 I of course started experimenting a bit with alcohol. We’re talking sharing a bottle of wine with the Naughty Princesses, or ordering a gin and tonic at happy hour, not blackout binges. Yet my mother never understood that having a drink, or even two, could be fun; to her it was dangerous, uncouth, and borderline immoral. Now that I live in a dry country, making wine and hard cider at home is a hobby I enjoy, but you can imagine what my parents think of that.
My parents and I have fun in different ways, but at the same time I know I’m more like them than I’d like to admit. I too love to just kick back on the couch and watch TV—there was a Man vs. Food marathon on over Christmas at my parents’ house, and I was loving it! And maybe many of the differences between us have more to do with age than with inherent differences. I guess I’ll have to wait until I’m 60 to find out if I’m still an illegal booze brewing, world traveling fun-seeker, or just my mom, 2.0.
Snow Whore:
My mother and I are polar opposites, so let’s just say there are probably a lot of things about my life that she doesn’t understand. However, one thing that I probably notice and get irritated about the most is our differing ideas of propriety.
Now this covers many different areas. One of the funniest being the guest towel incident. I live in a two bedroom apartment and have unfortunately made the mistake of letting my parents know there is an extra bed at my place, meaning they crash there all the time. I wouldn’t mind that so much if my mother would just be appreciative of the shelter I’m offering instead of nitpicking. But of course, it’s my mother. In the morning she asked where my guest towels were. I said “well I don’t really have a specific extra set of towels, but there’s an extra one over here that’s clean.” With a horrified look on her face my mother then exclaimed “you don’t have guest towels?!? How is it that I have raised a daughter who doesn’t provide guest towels?” At which point she picked up her purse and informed me we had to go to the mall to rectify the situation and buy two matching sets of towels, hand towels and washcloths.
That’s the best example of what I’m talking about, although the propriety issue can range from everything from not speaking as loudly as I do, to crossing my legs sitting even when I’m in jeans, otherwise I look vulgar. I know she grew up in a different time than I did¸ but I just wish she would accept me as I am instead of still trying to be my personal Emily post. I am an adult now, and married, and I want her to understand and be ok with the fact that I run my household different than she does.
Sleeping Booty:
So I had a long talk with my mother last night. And when it comes to my mother, by long talk I really mean a good long listen. Usually my dad gets the brunt of these rants, but he was out playing basketball and since I’m living at home now there wasn’t much I could do to avoid it. Luckily this particular conversation was about my brother and his lack of direction-a topic which I have a great many opinions on, but still, it took all the soothing tones I had to keep her voice from breaking my ear drums.
Her concerns are valid, my brother turns 21 in a few months and has yet to reach sophomore standing at college. Our parents pay for his apartment and schooling (if you can call failing the same class FOUR times schooling) and he works at a movie theater a few days a week for some extra video game cash. My mother is about to lose it, mostly because he never calls and seems oblivious to the work they’re putting in to provide for his opportunities (namely the half price tuition he gets through her job-which she’d rather be working part time). She thinks it is time to cut him off, to stop paying for his apartment and only pay for school if he lives at home. He needs to learn some responsibility she says, and stop playing around.
My dad, on the other hand, wants to send him to Europe. Yes, an all expenses paid trip to Europe this summer where he would learn to live on his own and see a world bigger than his own. To him, my brother is just confused, not sure what his time is worth or what he cares about and it’s true. And a break from the daily grind of watching TV and failing classes is just what he needs to kick him into gear.
It’s a tough choice really; reward him for his mess ups or punish him for his ignorance. And who is to say either one will work? He needs a kick in the ass all right, but handing over a trip of a lifetime or having him move home isn’t exactly fostering independence.
The thing I wish my parents (and my brother) would understand is that communication is essential. My brother has no idea that they’re at the end of their rope, my dad can’t see that he’s walking on eggshells around his son and my mother refuses to even consider the Europe trip as an option. I’ve always been fine walking the middle ground but lately I wish they would work a little harder to understand each other.
The Little Merskank:
I actually had a pretty hard time answering this question. My mother and I are really close; I tell her most of the goings-on in my life—I even tend to tell her most of the boy-drama that goes down. However, of course, even though we are close she doesn’t and can’t understand everything about me: no one can understand someone else entirely.
So, yes, after some thought, I came up with the answer: my mother doesn’t understand my need for romance. My mother is very down to earth, and in her relationships, specifically, she is the most practical person I know. She doesn’t see love or marriage as something made up of deep feelings or passions, instead, she sees it as companionship and commitment to another person. She is not a person who goes in for red roses, and passionate embraces. In a lot of ways, I appreciate my mother’s perspective on love—it is so different from the ideals portrayed by the media, but it is more real and lasting. Anyone can have moments of passion but those are transitory and true companionship and commitment are things too often lacking in our world.
But…. I still want there to be romance. Maybe not something elaborate and extreme like what’s on the silver screen, but still I want to feel a thrill when I see that other person. Maybe moments of passion don’t last forever, but I want them there at least for a while. I don’t need someone to buy me a dozen red roses but I want them to hold my hand and to say they love me. And this is something that my mother simply doesn’t understand. It’s probably also part of the reason that I have such a hard time committing to different guys: I want to feel something, and if I don’t I drop them. Who knows, maybe someday I will give up on my unfilled dreams of romance and mystery—but until then, well, my mother can just never understand.