fasten your seatbelts ...
[REQUIRED BLOG: ADVICE TO FIRST-YEARS OR, WHY ARE THEY UNHAPPY RABBITS?]
... it's gonna be a bumpy year.
You've read the other second-year blogs that tell you to make the most of the summer, enjoy your time now, make friends, build a network, and whatnot. So I won't go there.
Here is my most important advice: Take to heart the advice you get about classroom management and organization.
As my school security guard says whenever I'm at my wits' end: You in the Delta now, darlin' In other words: All bets are off.
During summer school you'll be told to manage your classroom in a way that seems dehumanizing and demeaning. Do it. It won't seem necessary in your summer school class. Ignore that. Your students in your classrooms come from families that are chaotic and tragic beyond your wildest imagination. They see more violence and fear before they come to school some days than you've probably ever seen in your life. What they don't have is structure. They are in free fall in terms of self-regulation. They do not understand nuanced behavior. Many are nearly unable to self-regulate or exhibit impulse control. I know it seems demeaning, but these students need the structure that gives them an anchor.
You'll be tempted to think, "I'll be the one who's different. I'll show them respect and they'll respect me for it. They'll want to please me because I'm the first person who's ever smiled at them and shown I care." You will be fresh meat. It won't happen. Believe us.
I'm going to make an analogy that will probably get me in trouble, but not establishing strict classroom management in a critical needs classroom is a little like having a dog and not training it: Neither of you will be happy, but you'll be the one who gets bitten. You have to immediately establish yourself as the alpha figure. This can be difficult when some of your students are bigger than you, more worldly than you, and maybe only two or three years younger than you. The only way to do it ... THE ONLY WAY TO DO IT in their world is through power. It's what they understand. It's the only coin of the realm here.
Your students interpret politeness and kindness as weakness.
If you hesitate a split second they smell it and will wedge that little crack of insecurity open until you have no control. And believe me: That's a scary place to be. Fifty or 90 minutes of trying to control 25 or 30 teenagers is an eternity even in the best of situations (which this isn't), and it will leave you rattled and not ready for the next 30 who are walking in as the bell rings before you can fight back the tears.
Believe me, in the long run, your students are happier when they are in a controlled, calm environment where the expectations are simple and clear. They'll complain about that, but it's what they want whether they know it or not. You can always loosen up once you've gained their respect, but you can never -- and I mean NEVER -- regain the ground you lose by letting them control you and your class. They are masters at wresting control from you. You are a rookie. You'll hear some of us say "Don't smile until Christmas." It's not so far from the truth. Maybe Thanksgiving.
Once you've earned their respect -- and I've had students tell me they put new teachers through a trial by fire -- you'll be able to quiet the room with a simple glance or stance. But you must earn their respect first, and for the most part, they respect only someone who is in power. What you hope in your heart of hearts is that they will realize that your kindness and fairness is more powerful than the irrationality they encounter elsewhere. But maybe not. You need to be at peace with that.
OK. Organization. You think you're organized. You organize your stuff. You have cute little folders and you label everything and you have a system. Take that system and multiply it by 150. Gonna label everything? Or maybe you just keep it all in your head because you know where everything is. Dominique asks you what you did with that worksheet. You know, the one with the questions? About that book? The one from the day she left out early? She put it on your desk. Don't you remember? Times 150.
Touch each piece of paper as few times as possible. Have an absolutely iron-clad, fail safe system of where paper travels. Turned in, waiting to be graded, graded, handed back. What do you do with work you're handing back if the student isn't there? (Remember you have about a 25 - 30 percent daily absence rate.) What about late work? When was that due? Late because he was absent or just didn't do it? Now it's not with the others. Where does it go? Your students are, again, masters of the con.
Streamline all of your systems so that each one involves the fewest steps possible. Eliminate all redundant procedures. Record things once in one place. Establish self-sustaining systems that don't need your constant tracking. There will be a session during summer school about organization. It will be in the afternoon and you will be tired and would rather be swimming or drinking. PAY ATTENTION! You are about to be hit with an avalanche of paper and humanity demanding your soul.
Keep meticulous daily attendance records, and a daily activity log for each period. Your school might or might not require it. I have never turned in an attendance sheet other than for homeroom. It's a joke. I was tempted to let it go.
But when Lajeryl is failing and his formidable grandmother wants to know why, nothing impresses like your showing up in the office with a big-ass binder full of weekly attendance records, a printout of all the assignments he missed, and copies of the tests he cheated on.
When DeKindrick insists he never got that handout or didn't know about that test, nothing shuts him up like your silently opening the binder, calmly flipping to the page for the day you did that work (And you know that day because you've kept a meticulous daily log of what happens in class) and showing him that he was there. Maybe you made a note that he was sleeping or talking. Even better.
When classes are randomly cancelled or held in a four-hour lockdown, it's impossible to keep each of your six periods aligned in what they're doing. Use a notebook to record the daily lesson or activity for your students to see when they've been absent. I suggest also keeping a "teacher calendar" for yourself that has 6 blocks for each day so you can jot quick notes about each period.
The sheer amount of information, the millions of details will overwhelm you. Leave nothing to chance.
Lastly:
You're coming to Mississippi. Somewhere in your essay I'll bet the words, "make a difference" appear. You'll make a difference. But remember the MTC motto, the ever-present "One child at a time." When I got here I thought that meant lots of groovy one-on-one time with kids who needed my help. And there will be. What it refers to, though, is that you might only help one child. You'll get to know maybe 120 or more. They all need your help. But they also reject your efforts, and that hurts. You need to be OK with not fulfilling every aspect of your intention.
You have to know that on your worst day -- and your worst day will suck beyond your worst nightmare -- you are still probably the best thing that will happen for many of your students that day. You have to know it -- really KNOW it -- because they probably won't tell you. Until Christmas. Or maybe Thanksgiving.
Ah men.
UPDATE: This post obviously caused a bit of back and forth here and on other blogs. My response to responses is here. I hope that those who suggest meaningful discussion of the issues as part of the answer will prompt those discussions in the months to come.
Comments
i'll second that amen.
I've been horrible about keeping attendance (read: I haven't marked it down since February) I hope that doesn't come back to bite me....
"During summer school you'll be told to manage your classroom in a way that seems dehumanizing and demeaning. Do it."
wherein you actually ask people to push aside critical engagement in the identity/power issues that lie beneath the very real notion that applying a grotesquely skinnerian framework for behavioral control may be problematic, and-- yes-- dehumanizing (which it is). this is not to say that one should not attempt to create a humanizing and rigid environment, nor is it to say that being strict or structure-happy is necessarily problematic. it is to say, that i take issue with the (unfortunately common) implication that people will be better off putting their conscience aside for the moment while they learn the rigoramole of punishment-punishment-punishment-reward-punishment-punishment because the "reality" of the "dogs" that they're going to have to "train" is just so (gasp) different from their own that they can't possibly understand it, let alone engage in it on it's own terms and or let it inform/be informed by whatever previous socioethical framework they are fluent in.
"Your students in your classrooms come from families that are chaotic and tragic beyond your wildest imagination."
wherein you blatantly romanticize and make caricature of (and, to qualify my use of these terms, i point to your use of "wildest imagination") the very community that you are serving. once again dehumanization takes the form of hyperbole: that the "reality" of the living conditions outside of the school building (i.e. in the space of homes) is just beyond rational understanding. i contend that it is in fact not that hard to engage in (let alone wrap one's mind around) the wide range of family relationships that one encounters in a community (any community, actually), and perhaps the real issue is that we're letting our "wildest imaginations" get the best of us, instead of doing the difficult work of engaging in the complexities of power, race, identity, community, etc. and, of course, we can all bring out our "life is tough" list of horrible situations that students have to deal with-- but the suggestion of embedding one's response to that list within a framework that replaces rational, supportive engagement with an arm's length just-make-sure-their-shirts-are-tucked-in and use-your-discipline-ladder-so-they-know-there's-structure is far from good advice. furthermore, the most tragic consequence of this caricature is the absence of family lives that are healthy (though, like all, imperfect). dear future teacher: some of your parents give a damn. more importantly, don't for a second let a class, race, or region informed assumption ignite a functional "imagination" to eclipse the reality of your community.
"They do not understand nuanced behavior."
wherein you actually remove the human element from our students. are you kidding me? they don't understand nuanced behavior? this is not only a grossly offensive homogenization of young people (in the same vein of your previous grossly offensive homogenization of mississippi families), but takes the cake in what can only be racialized undertones in these other efforts to help the unconverted yet-to-be-teacher "understand" the sheer uncivilized context in which they are about to have their colonial trial by fire. by actually presupposing that a set of human beings do not (as a whole, mind you) understand nuanced behavior, one opens the door for a vast amount of abuse stemming from the conclusion that they "don't know any better" or i "know what's best for them," a pair of rationales that have some interesting historical precedent (especially in mississippi: if black folk don't understand the nuances of our fine constitution...)
and, for those who may take issue with my taking issue (and want to play the battle wounds game), a little preemption: yes, i was a public high school teacher. yes, i was a public high school teacher in mississippi. yes, i'm still in mississippi. oh, and if you want to really find a reason for me to not having the background necessary to "understand where she's coming from," i did not teach in the delta (which, i may add, does not corner the market on educational failure).
1) I don’t think your comments are particularly aggressive, or something to regret later. As long as you’ve known me, you know I love a good debate, so I take no offense at our difference of opinion (and on several of your points we do agree). The only part I think you will regret is that last paragraph. Whether you have taught for two years or twenty or zero, your beliefs are equally valid. Experience, of course, helps to inform beliefs, but it doesn’t alter the validity.
2) The parts of Michelle’s blog that I appreciate are, for the most part, different from the parts you most strongly disagree with.
3) The part of the blog that I was highlighting and that I, of course, agree with, is that you have to be strict to be successful at classroom management as a first-year teacher. I haven’t read Skinner so I have no idea if I subscribe to his philosophy. However, I wholeheartedly believe that people respond to incentives, positive and negative. In a classroom setting this means rewarding behavior that you want and punishing behavior you don’t. It’s going to take one hell of an argument, and a lot of data, to convince me otherwise. Michelle was making the point that some (many?) first-years have trouble with the idea of being strict and implementing rules and consequences. Further, Michelle was making the point that while it may seem harsh (key word is seem) it is not actually harsh. Having a well-ordered, safe, classroom with rules and procedures is a sign of caring about the students. I think she is exactly right about this. The main problem you have, I think, with this notion is that Michelle is asking the first-years to “put aside their conscience.” I don’t think this is accurate and I don’t see this reflected in her post. Again, the key word is “seems.” I don’t think Michelle is saying “put away your conscience.” I think she is saying, “examine the ideas of rules, rewards, and consequences before you dismiss them outright as unnecessarily harsh and/or demeaning.”
4) The stuff about chaotic and tragic lives and seeing more violence before school starts than some of the teachers have ever seen is hyperbole. I believe this is the main part you take issue with. You and Michelle can blog this out.
5) The part that I really like in Michelle’s post, and the point I was highlighting, is this: You'll be tempted to think, "I'll be the one who's different. I'll show them respect and they'll respect me for it. They'll want to please me because I'm the first person who's ever smiled at them and shown I care." You will be fresh meat. It won't happen.
Michelle is exactly right about this. This happens every year with a few first-years…
(I scribbled this response in a Moleskine while proctoring a state test. Since then Dave posted a somewhat less emotional and less dense explication over here.)
Being effective (or most effective) is not at issue, since it is not itself sufficient to make something good or right. Is there a sense in which we are encouraged -- by the impossible difficulty of our job and desperateness to find teachable, trainable solutions -- to put aside critical engagement, even to put aside conscience? If it is so common for newcomers to feel -- just to <i>feel</i>, even inaccurately, as they might decide in the end -- that there's something <i>dehumanizing</i> about this, something morally suspicious, should we really be dismissive of that perception? Hand-waving toward the wisdom of experience doesn't seem sufficient to me. Even if 100% of us left after two years having been convinced by survival necessity that this is a morally simple issue (we don't, incidentally), an argument of practicality, even of "the only workable and effective solution" is not rigorous, is not intellectually satisfying.
Is there not some moral complexity in what we do? Isn't facing that openly and reflectively preferable to a "trust us, freshmen" dismissal?
But the content (and tone) of Michele's original post was given to me in much the same way by 2nd/3rd years, and probably, at some point, I will attempt to convey some of the very same ideas (that still bother me somewhat) to future ignorant MTCers..... Perhaps we could make a concerted effort to add this type of discussion to the classroom management session summer school (that included 1st and second years) so that this would be brought to light? Blogging discussions/debates are nice, but the vast majority of MTCers seem somewhat turned off by the blogosphere... dehumanizing, one might say......
I have been teaching for a while and am a bit older than some of you so my perspective may be different. One of the things I really appreciate about my job is I can approach it however I choose to (within reason). After a few years many of us find what fits for us. It may not fit for others, it may make others uncomfortable, but it works for us. There are a zillion different teaching styles out there, and thank goodness there are! Kids need to be exposed to all sorts of different styles of management, as it prepares them for the Real World.
This style works for Michelle and bless her, and all of you MTC'rs, for trying to make a difference. If you disagree with it, don't choose it for yourself (and if you wish to debate it, do so respectfully, or others will not listen). It took me years to really get myself into what fit perfectly for me, to learn the tricks that get kids to listen and behave. And honestly, I can't even reallly explain them all. Teaching is hard enough--don't make it worse by attacking one another. Focus on all the good that you have done--with your students and with yourselves. And keep on teaching!
I, too, am working on my response and will post it in a few days.
Just getting around to reading this exchange. I agree with the intent of Michelle's original post,but, like Dave, found the language problematic. Being a first-year teacher is hard; mostly because you're adequately prepared to step into an unfamiliar space and perform. To be successful, you do have create and manage order. You end up creating this semi coherent system of punishments and rewards that communicate whatever system of rules and expectations govern the classroom. Whatever is going on in other classrooms, in their homes, in their community, when the students enter your classroom, they know they can't get out of their seats without raising their hand, or that if they answer question correctly on Thursday they'll get a little red ticket.
My thing is, our students already know how the system of rewards and punishments operate. There's a quote that I see trafficked in a lot of the 2nd year portfolios that states the students "...They need to know responsibility, organization, dedication, and that if they work and try hard enough, there's a better life for them out there." In an ahistorical vacuum, this statement is absolutely correct. Wake up early, go to your job and work hard every day, your kids will afforded better opportunities. Mississippi, however, ain't no vacuum.
And, while it's not broad cultural determinism either--we do have middle class families, fathers who take care of their sons and mothers who work 2 and 3 jobs to provide for their families--everyone is aware of the rules of the game. You can work hard your entire life and still be one medical bill away from poverty. the state can put all the mandatory minimums on possession w/ intention to distribute that it wants, unless there are jobs providing reasonable wages, being a d-boy will always be an attractive prospect.
All of that to circle back to the meta-critical point: why teach in Mississippi? It's the specter that always looms in the background of our conversations and our classes. We bring strong content area knowledge; we get trained to become better classroom managers; we learn innovative techniques to make the mundane interesting; we master webquests. At the end of the day, and this is the question that has to inform the MTC experience, is why here? If we simply wanted to become teachers, there are any number of more organized, more teacher friendly school districts we could have chosen. If it was to be part of a humanitarian effort or some broader Do-Good effort, I'm sure there are any number of non-profit organizations that would have you work on just as serious problems w/o the long hours, the bureaucratic BS (and probably better pay) .
Yet, here we are in Mississippi. Teaching: the boy who spent the whole night clocking before they came to your homeroom, the girl who had baby as sophomores and still scored a 28 on the ACT, the boy who is going to get a full ride to any school in the state despite his mom being addicted to crack, the obese dark-skinned girl with low self-esteem, the pretty light skinned girl with low self esteem, the tall gangly boy who's world just collapsed because he's not going to get the football scholarship and go pro like he always dreamed.
More than anything, we need to find moments of pause-- and for Michelle, Dave, and Robbie, I really appreciate the back and forth--where we as a group take a moment of pause and ask what are we doing here. There are some built in moments along the way: watching Lailee's Kin the first summer, discussing the school district project this spring, the portfolio project at the end of all of this. But we should gather our selves at times and create some critical distance from the pedagogical tools that we operate on a weekly basis and reflect, with some sincerity, on what we want to accomplish as teachers in the most southern place on earth.