In June, we'll look back on these days and laugh. Won't we? Won't we? Hopefully, not from behind our teacher desks, overlooking a classroom full of hormonal teenagers chomping at the bit to get on with their summer.
Another snow day. This makes 13. It's kind of hard to maintain any continuity in my lessons. As much as you'd like to believe that kids hold onto the information I expose them to like a snapping turtle waiting for thunder, I'm lucky if they can remember at the end of class what I have presented at the beginning. It's not for lack of trying on my part. So sorry I don't grab my phone and send them an outrageous video with my objectives subliminally imbedded in the background. They need to meet me halfway. Like coming to school with the idea that they are there to learn, not there to endure soul-sucking boredom while draping themselves across the desks like limp dishrags. Sorry. I'm only thinking of a handful of my 100 daily students. Not all. I'm not sure exactly what they think school is. But here are a few things it is not:
A bed and breakfast. Okay. Everybody gets free breakfast. But a bed is out of the question. Textbooks are not pillows.Maybe the temperature is chilly to keep you awake.
A movie theater. No show. I will give you previews to upcoming lessons. I do expect phones to be on silent. I do expect you to remain in your seat with no talking. However...I do NOT charge admission!
A storage locker. My room is not a place to leave your cap, hoodie, purse, textbook, library book, half-finished soda, returned assignments, iPad, folder, earphones, or broken mechanical pencil. Sweet Gummi Mary! Do you think I want Hannibal Lecter giving Clarice clues to look for stuff in here?
A speed-dating service. Do not ask to come in when I don't have you in class that hour. Do not pretend you left something. Do not dart in between classes to talk to somebody. That's what the hall if for, in four-minute increments, throughout the school day.
A happenin' hangout. It's not that I don't like your company. But I can't have you come in and chat after school. I have work. You have a life. We can chat briefly in the hall, then you must move on. I will not host individuals after hours, nor before hours. Times, they have a-changed.
Everybody grab their thinking caps, and let's delve into the world of science tomorrow. Until 7th hour, of course, when we have a pep rally.
Now, my classroom is kept cold to keep them in a state of hibernation. And to keep the menopausal teacher happy.
ReplyDeleteI guess that's the difference between youngsters and I-am-almost-adult students.
Sioux,
ReplyDeleteYes, there is a difference. Mine complain about the cold. Not the heat. They are like reptiles sunning on flat rocks, napping clandestinely until awakened by the creatures around them setting off the alarm as danger nears.