Sunday, January 25, 2015

Genocide and Things

My students just “wrote” papers on the various genocides which have occurred throughout history.  This is an assignment I’ve done for a few years now, and I don’t remember ever having such ridiculously incorrect and apathetic attempts at essay writing.  No one knows what they’re doing.
  
I’ve read about 50 papers so far which are just summary of some stuff they found online in a google search.  The last one I read cited about.com as an academic source, so I go on this computer to vent. 
I truly love teaching.  Most days, I even love (most of) my students.  But this total lack of academic ability is getting ridiculous.  I mean, my students are about a year away from graduating high school, most are planning on attending university, and they have no idea how to write a research paper.  

So rather than expanding their ability level and making them go above and beyond the high school curriculum (as AP students SHOULD be doing), I’m going to have to go back and teach them basic information that should have been taught to them in 8th or 9th grade.  Until teachers at ALL levels commit to actually teaching their students valuable skills, public schools are doomed.

Here’s an example of a thesis statement:  “(Pol Pot) was a soft spoken man with a generic face … he was your average guy.”

Okay, friend.  Whatever you say. 


Wish me luck.

Friday, January 16, 2015

Teaching Rant (New and Improved)

Teaching Rant (New and Improved)
Fact:  Anywhere between 40 and 50 percent of teachers will leave the classroom within their first five years (that includes the nine and a half percent that leave before the end of their first year).
Fact:  Approximately 15.7 percent of teachers leave their posts every year, and 40 percent of teachers who pursue undergraduate degrees in teaching never even enter the classroom at all.
Fact:  The average starting teacher salary in the U.S. is $35,672.

Here’s the thing:  Teaching is hard.  Every day is a palimpsest of hormones and apathy and personality conflicts.  I’m not trying to say that other jobs aren’t hard – of course they are – but teachers who care take their work environment home with them every day.  And if a teacher happens to actually care AND teach a subject where kids have to write and think, the pressure increases exponentially. 
Is it possible to be a teacher and not care?  Yes.  Absolutely.  Is it possible to leave work at the end of the day and not think about school until the next morning?  Sure.  But only if your job is just a job.  When a person signs on as a teacher from the perspective of the job being a missionary calling, then they eat, sleep, breathe, and dream that job.  Students need teachers who are in the classroom for more than collecting a (mediocre) paycheck and periodically photocopying worksheets.  Schools operate in loco parentis, in other words, in place of the parents.  Parents don’t show up to school.  They don’t sit through eight hours of classes.  They forget what it’s like to be subjugated to the onslaught of growing up and dealing with the maelstrom education. 
Here are some things that I heard from other teachers just this week.  A random sampling of how things work at an above-average, highly-functioning high school:
·         Even after students read Adventures of Huckleberry Finn OUT LOUD, IN CLASS, some of them didn’t know that Huck was a white kid.  When asked on a quiz (the question was designed to make sure everyone got at least one question right) which river Huck and Jim were rafting on, the answers ranged from the Missouri River (maybe an understandable error) to the Amazon and the Nile. 
o   Subnote:  They’re not listening.
§  Sub-subnote:  Many of my students (past and present) have told me that they don’t need to actually read any of the books for their English classes, because the teacher summarizes it for them in class. 
·         As juniors in an Advanced Placement English class, students were almost unilaterally unable to write a thesis for a research paper, because they hadn’t been asked to come up with one on their own yet. 
o   Note:  They want to simply be told what to do, so they don’t have to think about how or why what they’re learning is important outside the parameters of a grade.
·         When reading Shakespeare (again, out loud, in class) students pretended not to understand what was being said, because they knew the teacher would just cave and tell them the right answer.
I don’t think teenagers are getting dumber; I think that students have learned how to play the game.  They don’t have to care, because other people (teachers, parents, counselors) will care on their behalf.  Then when senior year rolls around, they expect to be offered admission and scholarship to universities.  And most of them will get admitted, because colleges and universities prey on young people, making them believe that college is their only choice, so they should mortgage their futures with student loans, even if they have NO IDEA what they want to do with their lives and/or they don’t have the skills to succeed in college. 
It seems like I’m making the case that the problem with education is the problem with teachers, but what can we expect when earning a teaching degree is so easy and there is no real oversight once teachers are hired?  Teachers are expected to walk into their respective classes every day and teach roughly 30 kids (all of whom operate at different ability levels) the importance of, say, symbolism in literature, when some of those kids can’t even read or have crippling ADHD or are struggling with major depression or their parents are going through a grueling divorce … or the kids are just exhausted from trying to go to school eight hours a day, work a job to pay for necessities, do their homework, be involved in clubs and activities, practice for theater/band, or go to soccer/football/baseball/swimming/whatever-practice after school every day?  It is a RARE and COMPOSED teenager who can handle all that crap all day, every day. 
Young people just give up a little bit, every year, because they have no idea what to focus on.  Their coach is screaming at them to remember the plays, but meanwhile, their history, English, and math homework sits – unfinished – in their backpacks in the gym locker room. 
And the next day?  When they didn’t have time to do their homework, or when they chose not to do it because they wanted to nerd out with their videogame console instead, guess who has to try to pull it together?  The classroom teachers. 

Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE is exhausted every day.  Something’s gotta give. 

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Religion = A Fucking Joke


                I’m going to bag on Islam here for a minute, simply because Muslims are doing most of the killing right now.  In all seriousness, I’d like to know how people can be so fucking stupid that they murder people because of a cartoon image.  People who are offended by images of Mohammed are simply fucking ridiculous.  If you are offended by the prophet Mohammed being depicted, let me give you some advice:
                                DON’T FUCKING LOOK AT THE PICTURE.
                That’s pretty good advice, don’t you think? 
                People who believe in a certain ideology DO NOT get to impose their opinions on other people.  Any person has the right to subscribe to any belief system they choose – what they DO NOT have the right to do is murder other people who don’t agree with them. 
                I don’t know Mohammed – we don’t hang out or anything – but, guess what?  Neither does any Muslim who walks the face of the earth in 2015 … because MOHAMMED HAS BEEN DEAD FOR 1500 YEARS!!  People who think they’re acting on behalf of a dead prophet need to acknowledge two things:  1. You’re mentally ill.  Get some help.  2.  Mohammed wouldn’t like you.  As in:  if there’s a hell, you’re burning in it.  Those virgins you think you’re getting?  They were probably already raped by misogynists in some country where women don’t matter. 
                If a rational person reads any newspaper on any given day, here’s what they will read:  religious zealots in some country are killing people.  EVERY.  SINGLE.  DAY. 
                Believing in some version of god gives NO ONE the right to take up arms and murder other people just because they’re offended.  And on another note, I truly believe that a huge percent of these murderers don’t even carry out their “mission” (or whatever the fuck they want to call it) in the name of God or Allah or Yahweh or the Flying Spaghetti Monster – these people are just bored and lost and unemployed and fundamentally stupid.  To fight a holy war, all a person needs to do is find a bunch of intellectually stunted people who have no job and tell them they matter.  Here’s the kicker:  no one matters.  Every one of us will die, and life/history will move on.  Being offended by a picture or a statement or an idea just shows that people are petty and narcissistic and clueless. 
                Get over yourself.  Get a job.  Plant some trees or grow some food.  Build something instead of blowing things apart. 

                Oh, and as I’ve said before, if you’re going to kill a bunch of people, start with yourself.  

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

fuck off, please

Dear Sir:

                You are killing me, a little bit, every single day.  Every breath I breathe, every time I hear your voice, every step you take in my home, makes me sad, tired, homicidal, and suicidal.  I hate your presence in my life with every fiber of my being and every ounce of blood in my body.  I want you to go away.  Not so far away that you can’t properly parent your children (even though you fail at that most days anyway), but far enough away that I don’t have to think about you being around when I wake up or when I come home from work or when I fall asleep at night.  Just.  Go.  Away. 

                I honestly, SERIOUSLY, don’t understand why you won’t go away.  I have done everything I know to make you go.  The kids complained that we argued too much, so I stopped talking to you.  That was the only way to create a temporary peace, and yet that didn’t stop you from haunting me and my home.  You stay here, even though I refuse to look at you or talk to you unless it’s absolutely required.  When I asked the youngest yesterday which one was worse – arguing or awkward silence – she said arguing.  You know that, because you hate arguing.  You have never really fought for ANYTHING in your life.  You wait to see what happens.  You passively accept whatever happens.  You do horrible things, and then wait to see how people react.  And then, well, you lie about whatever you’ve done, because you have no idea how to be true to either yourself or anyone else. 

                So, please?  Please go away.  Do I seriously need to serve you with divorce papers in order for you to fuck off?  Do I have to be an ever bigger bitch than I’ve been for the past five years for you to walk away from this cesspool of grief you’ve created in suburbia?  I don’t know how else to politely tell you (ask you, beg you, compel you, force you) to GO AWAY. 

                If I have to leave my house and my children in order to find happiness, I will NEVER forgive you.  We will never speak again if I have to be the one who leaves this life that I have created.  (Because let’s be serious, I am the one who has put this house together and parented our children and paid the bills and done literally everything which makes a house a home.)

                And the worst part?  You have turned my only male child into a non-communicative mute who retreats at the first sign of dissent.  His only male role model is a man who sits on his ass in front of the television every time he’s home (that is, when he bothers to come home) and rejects any communication beyond small talk and grunting.  I hope to god my son can transcend the lessons you’ve taught him.  I hope to god my son can forgive me for staying in such a tragic, malignant relationship, wherein neither partner grows or benefits or prospers.  I am so sorry.  Forgive my folly, and please don’t repeat it in your own future relationships.  And to my daughters, never mistake complacency for happiness; they are not the same thing.  Not having dissent is NOT the same as being happy.  Life is too short to sacrifice the fundamental element of happiness.  Don’t settle.

                And sir to whom this letter is addressed:  move on.  Please.  Stop ruining other people’s happiness just because you don’t know what else to do.  Everyone suffers because of your indecision and indifference.  You have made the last ten years of my life insufferable, and you have done that through your absolute inability to simply accept circumstances as they are.  I hope you can live with that after I have died of stress-induced cancer or heart disease or dementia.  I hope your cancerous indifference eats at you for the rest of your life the way it has eaten at me for a decade.


Sincerely, Your Wife

Study Hall Hell

Certainly Dante should have included sitting through study hall one of the sub-levels of hell.

Forcing myself to walk downstairs and into the vacuous, rank cafeteria right after lunch every day is cruel and unusual punishment.  I have three degrees, for god's sake; why am I forced to sit in a rancid cavern, which is still wet with cafeteria-towel slop and littered with assorted food items, just to babysit 25 people?  Realistically, I get paid just as much to teach AP English for 50 minutes as I do to sit in a hard plastic chair for 50 minutes, graciously permitting teenagers to use the restroom every so often.

My ass falls asleep, my legs twitch, my shoulders hunch, and my head starts to ache every day.

So, yeah.  Another 50 minutes of my life that I'll never get back.  Making a difference every day :)

Monday, January 12, 2015

Je Suis Charlie

My favorite thing about the satiric magazine Charlie Hebdo (a publication I had not even heard about until many of the staffers were murdered the other day) is its equal-opportunity teasing of people and ideologies:  politicians of every kind, governments in all parts of the world, religions of every belief.  Humor has to be part of the human equation; if we take things too seriously in this fucked-up world, we run the risk of losing our minds out of sheer panic and distress.  Satire is important, and it doesn't work without being irreverent and crass.

In other words ... Dear Fundamentalist Douchebags:  Get over yourselves.  I know it's cliche, but the pen is mightier than the sword.  You can't kill everyone whose opinion differs from yours.  Just because you and your friends have chosen not to think for yourselves, or to join some stupid ideological bandwagon, or to alleviate your painfully boring lives by training with AK-47s, doesn't mean the rest of us will drink your shitty, religious or cultural Kool-Aid.

In many countries, I would be killed for what I did last week:  I am a woman, first of all, so that doesn't bode well for me.  I am a teacher, something which is apparently bad, based on the number of schools being bombed around the world on any given day.  And I printed out a bunch of Charlie Hebdo's cartoons and displayed them at the front of my classroom, so my students could see how childish those Parisian murderers were.

Fatwa, anyone?  If I knew how to draw, I'd draw a picture of Mohammed and attach it to this blog post, because I don't give a shit what any of those people think.  You know what I think?  If there is a heaven, murderers don't go there.  And if Mohammed was alive, he'd just be disappointed in the general stupidity of religious fundamentalists who take the power of god in their own hands.  Next time, just shoot yourself first and get it over with.

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Selfish

I'm going to say something totally selfish really quick.  I would be a better person if I was left alone more often.
I have hundreds of creative, original thoughts every day.  I think of songs and remixes and stories and movie plots, but I can't find the space in my own home (and subsequently in my own head) to make any of them concrete.  There is always someone around clogging up my creativity.  I just want everyone to shut up. 
Sounds easier than it is.  Everyone around me wants to do what they want, for themselves,  but as soon as they need something ... they seem incapable of doing anything FOR themselves. 
I have certainly enabled their inability to function independently, because I do everything for them.
Example:  snow day.  Bonus, right?  That is, until all of a sudden I don't have the evening and next morning to be free; I have teenagers invading my house and yelling about stupid shit until 2am.  So much for the peaceful fire and the bottle of wine.  So much for a good night's sleep.  My life is not about me - it hasn't been for a long time.  It's about others - always.
I'd like to live in my house alone.   At least every other day or something.  I'd like other people to get out of my head and leave me there alone, so I can do something of value, rather than staring at netflix in an attempt to shut out the noise of others.
Selfish, I know.  But so necessary.

Thursday, January 1, 2015

A Life in Flux

     
Even though it’s Christmas Break, and I should be going boneless (mentally) and doing a lot of nothing, I am a teacher, so my job doesn’t end just because we’re not in session.  My students had a 10-12 page memoir due right before we went on break, so I have been grading those off and on for the past two weeks.  It’s strange to get in the head of a 16-year-old and rummage about in their thoughts.  Yes, often their thoughts are jumbled and poorly articulated and grammatically incorrect, but they tell stories as they see them, with honesty.

I have read about the generic pains of being a teenager:  sports, the opposite sex, and family dysfunction, but the human condition isn’t constrained to ignorance and apathy in teenagers.  I have read several essays about suicide, depression, anxiety, self-mutilation, substance abuse, and crippling self-doubt.   Wouldn’t it be nice is young people could just enjoy being young? 

I don’t mean to sound like a fossil; I certainly had my share of angst as a young person, but the older I get, the more I find that the crushing burden of life creeps in earlier and earlier for people.  There is no such thing as a simple childhood anymore, because the complexities of life creep in on people as soon as they hit puberty.  (Or get on Instagram.)  While I’d like to think that I’m helping my students with some sort of catharsis by making them write a piece of their life stories, my English class isn’t going to save any lives. 

And how am I to respond to these guttural recollections of life?  By correcting their grammar?  I don’t think so.  I DO correct the errors, but I feel like an asshole every time I write a note about verb usage next to a student’s confession about their private life.  It’s the only way for me to express to them that they shouldn’t feel pity for themselves, even though I do that all the time.  (And that they need to write coherently, or else their message is lost in shitty, careless language.)


So … to the students (past and present), I feel your pain.  Your pain in the human condition.  It did not start, nor will it end, with you.  Take a deep breath and then exhale slowly.  As it turns out, the sorrow doesn’t actually kill you, but it will stay with you for the rest of your life and contribute to the person you will become.  Tread carefully, because some choices never really fade away.  

New Years Day 2015


So much hype about changing to a new calendar.  I haven’t gone out to get properly drunk and social in at least five years, maybe more.  The older I get, the less I seem to care. 

My husband worked last night, as always; the only difference is that this time, he didn’t bother coming home until 11:30 this morning, gave no excuse for not coming home, and then went to bed.  I am so hoping that those are his first steps towards getting the fuck out of my house for good.

One of my teenagers went to a friend’s house, and the other one brought her friends here.  The younger ones who stayed at my house made their best effort to be excited about the “holiday”, but it was quite clear that none of them really cared.  New Years Eve was just a convenient excuse to binge on junk food and stay up into the wee hours of the morning. 

I tried to care, if only for the benefit appearances, but I don’t.  Watching the clock strike midnight last night simply meant that I could give up trying and go to bed. 


I won’t make any New Year’s resolutions, as I think they set people up for failure, but I will aim to make 2015 a better, happier year than 2014.  Shed some baggage, breathe a little easier – that’s all I really want.