First Year Teacher
Friday, February 25, 2005
I got the vice-principal in trouble with the principal today! Quite an accomplishment.
The problem started when we had an assembly today. I can't stand assemblies, as they are just a powder-keg waiting to explode. Today's went fine, but as I was sitting nervously scanning the crowd for the first sign of violent eruption, the vice-principal came and sat down next to me.
Little did she know that I am a incurable smart-ass. I really can't help it. I can't help sort of making little quips about what is going on, especially at a cheesy middle-school assembly where a lot of funny things are happening all the time. I kept making her laugh and she kept looking anxiously over at the principal who was sitting with the superintendant. The principal kept glaring at the vice-principal who was so clearly laughing at the children during this somber gathering.
Finally the head of our English department stood up to thank everyone who had performed. She said, "We have had many events here at G Middle. And all of them have been more exciting and wonderful than this one. Please give the planners your applause." No one seemed to notice that she had inadvertantly insulted the assembly except for me and the vice-principal. She looked over at me and I started to snort. She started too. Then I kept pretending to be the English lead, saying things like, "Thank you for completely underwhelming us today!" and "This is the least best assembly, ever!"
In the end, apparently the principal got on her for being disrespectful during the ceremony and we agreed to never sit next to one another again. At this rate they will have to sequester me in another building when the children get together and perform. ¶ 3:46 PM
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The problem started when we had an assembly today. I can't stand assemblies, as they are just a powder-keg waiting to explode. Today's went fine, but as I was sitting nervously scanning the crowd for the first sign of violent eruption, the vice-principal came and sat down next to me.
Little did she know that I am a incurable smart-ass. I really can't help it. I can't help sort of making little quips about what is going on, especially at a cheesy middle-school assembly where a lot of funny things are happening all the time. I kept making her laugh and she kept looking anxiously over at the principal who was sitting with the superintendant. The principal kept glaring at the vice-principal who was so clearly laughing at the children during this somber gathering.
Finally the head of our English department stood up to thank everyone who had performed. She said, "We have had many events here at G Middle. And all of them have been more exciting and wonderful than this one. Please give the planners your applause." No one seemed to notice that she had inadvertantly insulted the assembly except for me and the vice-principal. She looked over at me and I started to snort. She started too. Then I kept pretending to be the English lead, saying things like, "Thank you for completely underwhelming us today!" and "This is the least best assembly, ever!"
In the end, apparently the principal got on her for being disrespectful during the ceremony and we agreed to never sit next to one another again. At this rate they will have to sequester me in another building when the children get together and perform. ¶ 3:46 PM
Thursday, February 24, 2005
My students and I have slipped into the love part of the yearly cycle. Do you have this too? In the beginning of the year, they seem to like me. Then after a month or two they begin to dislike me. By Christmas, they hate me and wish me nothing but misery and harm. After Christmas, they seem disinterested. But right about now—pre-spring—they love me. They are comfortable with me, joke with me, and understand when I am kidding and when I’m not. It is such a blissful state. Too bad I have the whole spring cycle coming up. Spring is when they think of nothing but their boyfriends or girlfriends and see me only as an obstacle to their love. In spring I become the person who is responsible for seizing their forbidden love letters, the spy who roams the bathrooms looking for couples holed up in there, and the evil monster who expects them to read and write when they should be expending all of their energy on planning their marriage. I’ll just enjoy this pre-spring time while I can.
In other news, Angry Teacher wasn’t even reprimanded for her behavior. When I talked to her about it again, she told that she was trying to drink this sleepy-time tea stuff during the day. She says it keeps her "steady". All day yesterday when I saw her, she was holding her teacup so tightly her knuckles were white. She was swilling the stuff by the gallon. What does a teacher need to do to get in trouble around this place? Actually hit the kid with the podium? Gee whiz. I hope she remembered her calming herbal tea this morning. ¶ 7:45 AM
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In other news, Angry Teacher wasn’t even reprimanded for her behavior. When I talked to her about it again, she told that she was trying to drink this sleepy-time tea stuff during the day. She says it keeps her "steady". All day yesterday when I saw her, she was holding her teacup so tightly her knuckles were white. She was swilling the stuff by the gallon. What does a teacher need to do to get in trouble around this place? Actually hit the kid with the podium? Gee whiz. I hope she remembered her calming herbal tea this morning. ¶ 7:45 AM
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Dear Angry Teacher,
I'm sorry that you are having a bad day. I am sorry that it is only 7am. I know you must be having a bad day already because when I say "Good morning!" you always reply with, "Is it?" or, my favorite, "Can't be that good. I'm here." These kinds of early morning messages really help me prepare for a day of wonderment and loving interaction with my students.
I'm also very sorry that you decided to have a lab with your students today. Sounded like a good idea, but when I heard the screaming from your room and the buffalo stampeding of out-of-control children careening around the hallway I knew it wasn't. I was sad to hear you yelling things like, "I WILL LEAVE THIS PLACE! DO YOU HEAR ME? DO YOU HEAR ME?" I could bearly concentrate on teaching my lesson from the constant and ear-ringing slamming of your door over and over. I found it even harder to pay attention to my students when one of yours came into my room and sheepishly informed me, "Mrs. Angry Teacher done lost her mind. She gone."
Once the vice-principal convinced you to put down your car keys and get back into the room, I had high hopes for the rest of your day. However, when I heard you bellowing, "WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU? WHAT IS THE M A T T E R WITH YOU? ARE YOU STUPID? ARE YOU A MORON? YOU MUST BE!" at a student that I also teach, my heart sank.
It sank further when, after school was finally over, you told me that you had thrown your entire podium as far across the room as you could. You told me this with a smug smile of furious satisfaction and declared that you would hold a (entirely ineffectual) silent lunch tomorrow. I asked you if you thought your furniture toss was a little much. You simply replied, "At least it wasn't a student...yet."
I know the kids are irritating. I teach the same ones you do. They make me mad. They push my buttons. But can I give you a bit of advice, Angry Teacher? Even though you have been teaching decades longer than me? The anger and shouting doesn't seem to be working. Especially since I don't yell and scream and insult and the kids do better with me than you. It didn't work when you busted your overhead marker in half out of rage and colored your hands and your floor green. It didn't work when you backed a student up against a fence and hollered in his face until he finally threw his binder across the field. From what the students told me, the podium throw didn't help them want to listen better or do more work.
You hate teaching. You hate the kids. If I had so little control, I would hate it all, too. Perhaps a career change is in order? I mean, I know you have a lot of years racked up, but are you happy? At all? Please consider what I am saying. If you hate kids and teaching, please do something else. You don't help the students. You certainly aren't helping yourself.
I write this with much love and hope for your future happiness.
Take care, Angry Teacher.
Love,
Firstyearteacher ¶ 4:37 PM
I'm sorry that you are having a bad day. I am sorry that it is only 7am. I know you must be having a bad day already because when I say "Good morning!" you always reply with, "Is it?" or, my favorite, "Can't be that good. I'm here." These kinds of early morning messages really help me prepare for a day of wonderment and loving interaction with my students.
I'm also very sorry that you decided to have a lab with your students today. Sounded like a good idea, but when I heard the screaming from your room and the buffalo stampeding of out-of-control children careening around the hallway I knew it wasn't. I was sad to hear you yelling things like, "I WILL LEAVE THIS PLACE! DO YOU HEAR ME? DO YOU HEAR ME?" I could bearly concentrate on teaching my lesson from the constant and ear-ringing slamming of your door over and over. I found it even harder to pay attention to my students when one of yours came into my room and sheepishly informed me, "Mrs. Angry Teacher done lost her mind. She gone."
Once the vice-principal convinced you to put down your car keys and get back into the room, I had high hopes for the rest of your day. However, when I heard you bellowing, "WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU? WHAT IS THE M A T T E R WITH YOU? ARE YOU STUPID? ARE YOU A MORON? YOU MUST BE!" at a student that I also teach, my heart sank.
It sank further when, after school was finally over, you told me that you had thrown your entire podium as far across the room as you could. You told me this with a smug smile of furious satisfaction and declared that you would hold a (entirely ineffectual) silent lunch tomorrow. I asked you if you thought your furniture toss was a little much. You simply replied, "At least it wasn't a student...yet."
I know the kids are irritating. I teach the same ones you do. They make me mad. They push my buttons. But can I give you a bit of advice, Angry Teacher? Even though you have been teaching decades longer than me? The anger and shouting doesn't seem to be working. Especially since I don't yell and scream and insult and the kids do better with me than you. It didn't work when you busted your overhead marker in half out of rage and colored your hands and your floor green. It didn't work when you backed a student up against a fence and hollered in his face until he finally threw his binder across the field. From what the students told me, the podium throw didn't help them want to listen better or do more work.
You hate teaching. You hate the kids. If I had so little control, I would hate it all, too. Perhaps a career change is in order? I mean, I know you have a lot of years racked up, but are you happy? At all? Please consider what I am saying. If you hate kids and teaching, please do something else. You don't help the students. You certainly aren't helping yourself.
I write this with much love and hope for your future happiness.
Take care, Angry Teacher.
Love,
Firstyearteacher ¶ 4:37 PM
