Seniors are the beast

Today was the last day of class, and for my seniors, the day was a strange combination of exuberance, gratitude, relief and hopelessness. For me, as well.

Since my students took their final exam in class on Monday, they spent today's class writing about and discussing the difference between their post-graduation plans as of September, 2008, and their post-graduation plans as of June, 2009. While many of my students will be attending 4-year colleges, most have decided to stay close to home and attend one of our community colleges. Several students had to change plans because a parent refused to file income tax and therefore could not complete the FAFSA. Several more because a parent, sibling or significant other convinced them not to leave home. Some are reluctantly attending their second or third choice college. Several will be off to basic training in July. Several are attending their first choice college with adequate financial aid. Too many tell me they are still "undecided."

One student totally surprised me with this answer about her college plans:

My plans have changed due to being homeless.

Other parts of the day made me laugh, usually at myself.

A note posted on my wall:
Elizabeth and Katherine will greatly miss there favorite teacher Ms. Huth! Heart U always!

A short conversation at the end of class:

Audrey: I feel like I'm gonna be famous. Miss, when they make a True Hollywood Story about me, you'll agree to be interviewed, right?

Me: Yes, of course.

Susan: She'll say, "Oh, I remember Audrey was always so funny . . . "

James: Naw, remember, Miss Huth will be mad old by then. She'll be like this (in a quavering old woman voice): Oh, that Audrey was always so funny . . . "

Me: What?? Is that me or a very old chicken?

(Laughter)

Audrey: That's you, or it will be you!


Later, an overheard bit at the end of another class:
I'm so scared of large bodies of water, you've no idea. That's why I won't go near the Mohawk River. You never know when a whale might come sneaking up.



At the end of the day, I know there are a dozen and a half really bad pictures of me posing with students, pictures they assure me are "really really good." In my head are faded pictures of those who simply stopped coming to school, despite our best efforts to convince them otherwise. I see myself writing good bye and good wishes on shirts and stapled pieces of paper to those who did not have $72 to spend on a yearbook. I see my graduating seniors proudly showing me the cap and gown they paid $27 cash for today. I rather enjoy this picture, however, left on my board today, near the suicide prevention hotline numbers we were directed to post in our rooms.

I'll take "breathing" for 3 points, Alex.

(As the pledge ends and class begins)

Katherine: Huthie! You didn't stand up for the pledge!

Me: Right.

Katherine: But it's the pledge!

Me: I know. I was silently respectful, unlike you, who was yelling at me through it.

Katherine: I think you should turn to god for help, Miss Huth.

Me: Um, thanks. I hope it works.

Katherine: Oh, I'm just kidding, Miss.

Me: I know. And I also know you're just stalling right now.

Grace: Speaking of stalling . . . it's really cold in here.

(Murmurs of agreement from others.)

Me: Yes, I know. Okay. On to Hamlet . . .

Katherine: Well, Miss, you're all set with that big ol' sweater of yours.

Me: Uh huh. And back to the play . . . Act III, scene 2 . . .

Blanche: Excuse me, please. What's "strumpet" mean?

Me: Um, someone with loose morals.

Katherine: Like a skank?

Me: Hmmm. Yes. Like a skank.

Amanda: Or a ho?

Me: Um, yes, kind of like that, too.

Blanche: Thanks. Okay. Act III, scene 2 . . .

Grace: Hamlet reminds me of House.

Me: What? Dr. House on TV?

(Murmurs of agreement from the class)

Grace: I know, right?

Me: Hmmmm . . .

Grace: You don't see it?

Me (considering): No. I guess I do.

Grace: See? I just made a real-life connection to Hamlet! I should get 10 points for that!

Me: Why don't I just give you breathing points as well? Anna, I think that's worth only about 3 points, right?

(Anna, trying desperately not to be drawn into this, laughs a bit and shrugs.)

Me: See? Anna says only 3 points. If you want to explain your point, I'd be happy to hear it.

Grace: It's the way he talks to everyone, especially to Ophelia and Polonius. Like, he's always cracking inside jokes and making fun of them. House is always doing that.

Me: True. I guess I'll take your "real life connection." Should we take a moment to discuss the similarities between Hamlet and Okonkwo in Things Fall Apart?

Grace, Blanche, et.al: Naw. We're good. Act III, scene 2 . . .

Nothing more to say

(After reading the mandated "grief statement" to the class about the previous night's suicide of a freshman, the 8th in the last four years, and the 5th one this year)

Me: So remember that if you need to talk to someone about this or anything else, you may go to the Commons. We've got guidance counselors, social workers, psychologists, clergy and students and staff there for you to talk to. . .

Patricia: But that makes me so mad . . .

Me: What? Why?

Patricia: Because people do that just to get out of class. They don't really feel bad, or they didn't know this girl . . .

(Some students mumble in agreement.)

Dolores: Yeah, it's not like they really care about that girl.

Me (sighing): Look, I understand your point, but how can you or I determine who needs help or feels bad? It's not right that some people abuse this, but still, something like this affects us all. (Slowly) I mean, even though I didn't know the students who killed themselves recently, that doesn't mean their deaths don't affect me. (More slowly now) I did know Dashad, for instance. (Stopping abruptly, struggling to make some point and suddenly terrified to find my eyes filling with tears) He was my student . . . and that was really hard (shocked to realize I won't be able to continue or even look up at them) . . . and um, right now . . . see? This reminds . . . me . . . um, of . . .

(Sorry to have begun this at all and even sorrier not to be able to finish, all I can do is turn away and wipe some random words off my white board. Class is silent.)

(Bell rings)

Dolores (from behind me, quietly): You had to bring up Dashad, right? You know he was my best friend?

Me: I know. I'm sorry.

(Dolores holds her phone out, showing me a picture of her at his grave.)

(Long pause.)

Me (finally able to look at her): I'm sorry.

Dolores: I know. It's okay.

(She walks away. I walk to my computer, hoping to distract myself with some email but realizing Patricia is still in the room. )

Patricia (walking slowly to stand next to me): I mean, it's so hard still. He was our friend, but he was your student, too.

Me (able to look up and seeing her eyes filled with tears): I know (sighing). It is still really hard. But that was my point, I guess.

(Long pause as we both reach for kleenex.)

Patricia: I know. I mean . . . I'm afraid now (stops to blow her nose) not to answer my phone. I think, what if it's one of my friends who needs me? What if I don't answer the phone and I'm not there to help them?

Me (as the weight of this burden sinks in): Oh, Patricia. . . (slowly, wondering what can possibly be said) It's going to be okay. You need to take care of yourself. . . You're a good friend.

Patricia: Thanks.

Me (hugging her): Thank you. You have a good weekend, okay?

(She hugs me hard for a long minute, then lets go.)

Patricia: Okay.

(Study hall students arrive as she leaves. I focus on taking attendance.)

Strep + subs + 12th grade - nagging + teacher = . . . wait . . . what? sigh . . .

Because I have already written at length about the problems we teachers have with having substitutes, I will not spend much time discussing the problems of missing two consecutive days of school last week from a bout of strep throat. Suffice it to say that as today progresses, I'm learning more and more of what happened in my absence.

Like the substitute who arrived 15 minutes late and then left 10 minutes early telling my students, "I'm leaving because I've got stuff to do." Had this not been independently documented by several reliable sources, I might not have believed it. And my class, apparently sans "stuff" merely remained in the room, quietly, waiting for the bell to dismiss them. Oy.

I have yet to determine the degree to which my classes actually completed work in my absence. I do not have high hopes for this. Nevertheless, I did enjoy finding this note scrawled on one of my attendance lists:

Where you at Mrs. Huthie? Not cool to ditch us like this, but whatever. I'm sure you have a good excuse, just make sure you're here next class, alright, ok. I'll talk to you later.

Sometimes it's enough just to know you were missed.

The truth is in the necklace, my children.

(As I collect "writer's notebooks" at the end of class and try to address questions from students having trouble completing their financial aid forms for college)

Me (to Adele): So you can estimate the tax information on the FAFSA until . . .

Audrey (looking up as I pass by): Have you ever toasted a pop tart?

Me: What? Yes.

Audrey: Do you want to try this? It's a hot fudge sundae pop tart.

Me (to Audrey): No. Thanks, though.

Me (to Adele): . . . until you have the real numbers.

Adele: So should I call the EOP office?

Samantha: What does your necklace mean?

Me (to Adele): Yes. Absolutely.

Me (to Samantha): It's supposed to be a Chinese character for "energy."

Me (to Grace): You're going to try to finish the TAP form tonight then?

Grace: Yes, but . . . .

Audrey: Everyone else has tried a piece. You may as well.

Me: No thanks.

Me (to Grace): But nothing. You need to just get this done!

Samantha: So do you think it really means that?

Me (to Samantha): The symbol? My theory is it means, "I'm an idiot for wearing this necklace in a language I don't understand."

Samantha (laughing): Could be!

Audrey: So how do you toast it?

Me: What? You put it on a lower setting. Especially if there's icing.

Jessica: Look at her! She's so cute, trying to answer everyone!

Me: Thanks, Jessica. Good to know.

Audrey: Well, I'm just going to eat this untoasted then. That's why it's called a "pop tart," because it's "to go."

Me (cocking head slightly): What?

Audrey (laughing): I know. That didn't make any sense, did it?

(Bell rings . . . )

Guess who's coming to dinner without answers?

Packing up at the end of class and after a brief discussion of whether the movie Guess Who's Coming to Dinner is still relevant today

Lucy: . . . so yes, I think it is.

James: And the attorney general called us cowards and says we can't discuss race honestly in this country. But Miss?

Me: Yup?

James: You have kids, right?

Charles (interrupting): Are they black?

(Class laughs.)

Me: Um, what? (carefully) Noooo . . . why would they be black?

Charles: Just wondering.

James: So how many do you have?

Me: Two. A boy and a girl.

James: What if one of them said they wanted to marry a black person?

Me: Um, it would be fine, as far as that goes.

James: What do you mean?

Me: Well, I can't imagine objecting to someone based on some category like color or religion . . . I trust my kids' taste and selectivity. I'd just want the person they choose to be a kind, compassionate, thinking human being.

James: Welllllllll . . . what if your daughter wanted to marry someone who was black AND a really really really really hard core conservative right winger ?

Me: Wow. Hmmmmm. Let's just say that I might have a problem with one of those categories but that I'd have to reserve judgment . . .

James (laughing): I knew it! You'd object to his being black! (several beats) . . . . . . . sike!!

Me (slowly shaking my head): O, goodness. Yeah, you'd better add "sike." Okay. Moving right along . . .

Charles: What if you just had a black baby?

Me: What? But I don't.

Charles: I know but just what if you just suddenly had a black baby without any warning. What would you name it?

Me: What? There are several problems with this scenario, you realize this, right?

Charles: I know. Just play along. What would you name it?

Me: Um, I don't know. Is it a boy or a girl?

Charles: A girl.

Me: Um, I'd name her Erin.

(Class laughs)

Charles: Why "Erin"?

Me: Because that's what I named my daughter.

Charles: Naw, it has to be a different name.

Me: Um, I don't know.

Charles (smiling and nodding): See? That's why I like you as a teacher. You give me answers I can understand.

Are left-handed compliments better than no compliments at all? (Probably.)

As we finish watching Katharine Hepburn's character fire Hilary St. George in Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

Patricia: Miss! That's you!

Me: What?

Patricia: That's just how you act!

Me: Like Sidney Poitier?

Patricia: No! Katharine Hepburn! She's talking all quiet to that woman, and you know she's mad but she never gets loud, she just stays all quiet . . .

Dolores: . . . but you know she means business!

Douglas: Yup. That's you.

Grace: And it's so great because you know she is so mad at that woman and she's just all calm. It's kinda scary.

Me: I guess I'll take that as a compliment. I could do worse.

Home-schooled college: Where you're a name, not a number (but you might have to sleep on the floor)

Just before class

Audrey (excitedly): Miss Huth! I went to that college open house Sunday and loved it. And I got in!

Me: Congratulations! That's so great! So they had an instant admit thing?

Audrey: Yes. I was so happy there. The campus felt like home.

Me: That's great. I'm so proud of you! So did you get to . . .

Dolores (interrupting, to others): We're going to have college at Miss Huth's house next year.

Me: (distracted): Um, what??

Dolores: We're having college at your house next fall. We do graduate in four months, you know.

Audrey: O goodness.

Me: Exactly. Audrey, I think you're better off at Maria College.

Jessica: Dolores! Honestly. What are you going to study?

Dolores: English, of course!

Me: Hmm. I thought you wanted to study business?

Dolores: That's for later.

Me: So let me get this straight. I'm just going to quit teaching here and open a college in my house?

Dolores: Yup.

Me: Oy. Let me think about this . . . okay. Then tuition will be a million dollars.

Dolores: Okay.

Audrey: That's a little steep for me. Can I pay you a bit at a time?

Katherine: I thought you were already set for college?

Audrey: Oh yeah!

Me: So you're not expecting room and board as well, are you? I mean, I don't have a lot of beds or anything.

Dolores: Well, we got to eat and sleep, right? We'll just do like we do in the City. You know.

Katherine: You know. But I'm not sleeping on my coat!

Dolores: Naw. It's Miss Huth's house. We'll pull the cushions off the couch and sleep on those.

Me: Um, we do that in this city, too, by the way.

Dolores: Oh. Anyway, and you can cook for us, but I'll do the cleaning.

Me: Hmm. Cleaning. Okay. That sounds good. But tuition is still a million.

Audrey: You'd better get a loan, Dolores!

Learning: It's not just for social studies anymore.

During a discussion in the library of how my seniors may end up in jobs they cannot even imagine today, as preparation for their research projects on career possibilities.

Librarian: So how do you picture the job market changing in the next twenty years?

(Silence)

Librarian: Is it possible that some careers you plan on might not exist twenty years from now?
(Silence)

(Finally, slowly, a lone hand.)

Jennifer: I mean, that's a really tough question to answer. We don't have all sorts of time to sit around and think, like Locke and the rest of them from the Age of Enlightenment did. All they did was think, and I can't imagine they ever envisioned something like the internet, for instance.

(All heads swivel toward Jennifer.)

Me: Jen, did you just refer to Locke in my class?

Jennifer: Yes.

Me: John Locke.

Jennifer: Yes. John Locke.

Me: L-o-c-k-e.

Jennifer: Yes. I like to use what I learn when I can.

Me: Hmm. Cool.

Voices from the backseat: A little soothing mousse will do ya

I wish some of my students were as interested in their work as they are in my appearance. Each year, it seems that some feel they must comment on the way I look, often in a complimentary way, but occasionally with suggestions for improvement. This year, Grace seems particularly concerned that my hair is not as full and luxurious as she prefers.

On a bus ride home from visiting the State University College at Plattsburgh

Me: So how was the food today?

Blanche: It was scrumptious.

Me: Scrumptious?

Blanche: Scrumptious.

Me: I thought it was delectable.

Judith: What does that mean?

Me: The same thing as "scrumptious."

Grace (trying to fluff my rain-dampened hair from the seat behind me): You really need to add some volume to your hair.

Me: Judith, is she petting me?

Judith: I'm not sure.

Me: Jeez, Grace! My hair was a lot bigger before it got rained on!

Grace: I know. It's all right. I'm just trying to do what I can do.

Me: Hmmm.

Next day, as I sit at my computer before class begins

Grace (suddenly appearing behind me): So you didn't take my advice, I see.

Me: What advice?

Grace (as she pulls my hair back and fluffs it gently): About giving your hair some volume.

Me: I have a feeling you want me to spend more time on my hair than I'm willing to.

Grace (still fluffing, but more vigorously): Nope. You just need to work on it a little.

Me: I'll get right on that mousse, okay?

Grace: That's all I'm saying. A little mousse.

Me: If I get mousse, will you stay awake during class?

Grace: I can't promise that. You're not boring. It's just that your voice is so soothing . . .

Me (in a studiously low, soothing tone): O, Grrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaccccccce. I will trrrryyyy to give my hair volllllluuuuuummmmme if you try to stay awaaaaaaaaake. Deal?

Grace: Hmmm. Okay.

Besides, every time I learn something new, it pushes some old stuff out of my brain.

As I try to use an LCD projector for the first time in three years . . .

Me (muttering to myself): . . . so this plug goes here, and then I have to . . .

Elizabeth: Miss Huth?

Me (on my knees under a table): Uh huh? Hang on. I have to plug this in.

Katherine: Um . . . Miss?

Blanche: Are you sure that goes there?

Me: Yes. Absolutely. Of course.

Katherine: But the light isn't on, and the computer monitor is blinking.

Me: Yup. S'posed to do that.

Katherine: Hmmm. I don't think so.

Me (tightening connections): There. Right?

Katherine: Oh. Yup. It's stopped blinking.

Elizabeth: So why isn't the projector light coming on?

Blanche: I mean, the light is supposed to be on.

Me: Um, I know.

Blanche: I'm just sayin'.

Sara: She's fine! She'll get it!

Me: Thank you, Sara. I appreciate your support. And may I just say that if I had had access to an LCD projector during the last three years, I would have this new one set up in no time. It's lack of practice.

Katherine: Do you want me to get Mr. G.?

Me: Mr. G.? Ha! I can do this myself!

Elizabeth (under her breath): Yeah, maybe by the end of the class . . .

Me: Hey! I'm right here!

Elizabeth: I mean, I have great faith in your ability to make this thing project onto the screen.

Me: That's better. Thank you. And look, that's the little button to turn it on.

Thomas: So . . . there's no light.

Me: And your point?

Thomas: Well, there's supposed to be light.

Me: Thank you. Yes. I know.

(Elizabeth, Blanche, Sara, Katherine and several others posit theories on why there is no light.)

Katherine (cautiously, after several minutes): Um, did you turn on the main switch?

Me: What?

Katherine: The main switch on the side of the cart.

Me: What swi . . . ? Man. No. Jeez.

(Blanche flips the switch and the projector shoots out a beam of light partly onto the wall but mostly onto the ceiling.)

Me: May I just say that I do know how to use technology? I mean, I do have an iPhone . . .

Sara: It's okay, Miss Huth. We know it's been a while.

Blanche (patiently): So now we have to lower the projector so it projects onto the screen, not the ceiling. See? You have to unscrew these little legs in front . . .

Me (heavy sigh): Oy. So this is what I've become. . . Look, I at least know how to do that.

Katherine: It's okay. We know. Now let's look at that SUNY Plattsburgh website, okay?

Directives from the ceiling, stars in the closet and feet on the ground

(A voice from the ceiling interrupts a lively discussion of how to improve college application essays)

Disembodied voice: If you are assigned in-school suspension and walk out, you'll be suspended for two days. Some of you are going to ISS without being assigned, and if that happens you will get two days' suspension as well. You must be accompanied by a parent when you return, or you will be escorted off school property . . .

Me: Who goes to in-school without being assigned??

Grace: I know, right?

Disembodied voice: . . . you will not be allowed to return to school.

Donald: So much for talking about going to college . . .

(Later)

Me: So I'm recommending that you check out AdmissionsAdvice.com to confirm what I've been telling you about your college application essays. You really need to make sure that they communicate some aspect of who you are that your grades and test scores won't show. We'll continue working on your rough drafts tomorrow. Any questions?

Alyssa (waving her hand in the air): Clay Aikens is gay! He came out yesterday.

Me: Alyssa, um, I don't think I actually called on you. And I don't think this has anything to do with college application essays . . . so . . . What??

Alyssa: And Lindsay Lohan has a girlfriend.

Me (to Jessica, as I point to my forehead): Is that frown line back? The one that happens when I'm confused?

Jessica: Oh yeah.

Me: Just checking. Alyssa, I'm very happy for them all.

Charles: And back to the discussion of our essays . . .

(Even later . . . )

Me: So how many of you got an idea for your essay from the brainstorming activity?
(Two hands go up out of 24)

Me: So how many of you wrote your brainstorming thing vertically, like a list?

Charles: Vertically? Um, I wrote complete sentences.

Amanda: Me, too.

Samantha: Yeah.

Katherine: Yup. Complete sentences.

Me: What? How many of you did your brainstorming in complete sentences?
(22 out of 24 hands go up)

Me: Why? I told you specifically that it should NOT be complete sentences, that you should just write whatever pops into your mind related to the topic.

Charles: That's just the way we roll.

Me: Oy. Yes, I am rolling my eyes at you, Charles. Let me get this straight. I tell you NOT to write complete sentences, and you do. If I tell you I WANT complete sentences, I get little bitty fragments with no punctuation. Huh??

Jacob: I think that's the way our minds work. We want to do the opposite of what people tell us to do.

Anna: Miss? I think it's because we have messy lives so we naturally try to put them in order, in sentences.

Me: I think I'll go with what Anna said, if you don't mind.

Teacher punishment: Fire drills. Student punishment: Reading the New York Times

(Fire alarm rings as the class is two paragraphs into a four-page New York Times article about Berea College, a Kentucky college that provides free tuition to its low-income students )

Various student voices: Oh, thank goodness! About time! Woo hoo!

Me: Hey! I'm right here!

James: We're too tired to suck up right now.

Me: Hmmm. Too bad.

(Later, the fire drill over, the article read and written about)

Me: So did anyone write that they'd be interested in going to Berea?

Darren: I wouldn't go there. The education isn't good.

Me: The article doesn't discuss that, but why do you think this?

Darren: If the education is free, then it can't be worth anything.

Me: So. If I gave you a Jaguar, you'd turn it down?

Darren: What?

Me: If I gave you a fancy car like a Jaguar, you'd turn it down because it wouldn't be worth anything?

Darren: No, that doesn't make sense.

Me: Exactly. The Jag still costs a lot of money and is valuable, but I'm giving it to you. I'm just not making you pay for it. The free tuition is a gift to you. Just because it's a gift and doesn't cost you anything doesn't mean it's not valuable.

Darren: Ohhh. I guess. That makes sense.

Me: That's why I get the big bucks.

John (quietly to Donald ): You know, I bet she does.

Me: Only some days . . .

(In the hall)
Student: Did you hear about that fire last night?

Other student: Yeah! I heard the sirens!

Student: It was on my street. Man, seeing that house burn was hot!

(As the New York Times articles are being distributed)
Audrey: Miss? Are we reading New York Times articles as punishment? You said that last year's class had to read these after they lost all your books.

Me: Of course not! You haven't lost my books yet, so this is fun, not punishment.

And other skills to file under "miscellaneous"

(During the last two minutes of the day, as Gerald takes his do-rag and snaps it in the air like a wet towel)
Monique (laughing): Do it again!

Gerald (as he obliges): Why are you laughing?

Monique: I don't know! I want to learn that!

Me (watching enthralled as the do-rag cracks in the air): Geez, Gerald. That's pretty good. Notice, however, the very wide clearance we've given you.

Gerald: Oh yeah. Don't worry. I practice a lot.

Me: I believe it. Nevertheless, I think we'll all stand back a ways . . .

Monique (still laughing): Man, I want to try that!

Gerald (as he coaches her on the proper technique): And then you snap your arm back like that.

Monique (as her attempt results in a mere rustle of nylon in the air): I need to practice, I guess.

Me (as Gerald now displays variations--snapping it ceiling-ward and floor-ward alternately): So this needs a name. What do you call it?

James: Do-rag whipping.

Me: That's pretty good.

Gerald (thinking for a second): Do-rag ninja.

Me (et al., laughing in agreement): That's perfect!

Monique: Now you need to do this on YouTube!

Darren: Hey! You should include this on your resume!

Me (head in hands as others enthusiastically agree): Oy. Perhaps not. We'll see . . .
Bell rings.

A room without a view: Or I wonder what accountants dream of?

If I had stopped to think about it, I would have realized that I was overdue for a teacher dream. Although I went the whole summer without one, I woke up this morning, my first weekend after my first full week of school, straight from the throes of a fairly typical teacher dream.

My retired friend Gary was back teaching English, and he was telling me quite enthusiastically about his plans to begin the year with Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. We discussed this for a few minutes, and when he disappeared to teach his class, I decided to find my class. At this point, this turned into one of my more typical teacher dreams where I'm supposed to be somewhere but I either don't know it or can't find it. This time, I couldn't find my room.

I spent most of my dream wandering around a huge building filled with people that looked like a cross between my former school and my current school. I kept running into people I knew who seemed to know where they should be. I kept waiting to hear the dreaded, "Mrs. Huth, please report to your class" over the PA system.

In my dream, my room was AB21, a computer lab that is actually across from my real classroom, AB16. I felt frustrated that I couldn't find my familiar room in this familiar building so finally, I asked someone where my room was. The person I chose was a former department chair, infamous for her enthusiasm and optimism. She stood in the center of a beautiful room beneath a skylight and in front of a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. The light streamed in, and I remember thinking that my room, the room I was looking for, was somewhat like hers.

When I told her that I couldn't find my room she smirked at me and told me my room was #3 Crosswoods. She added that that was where they put teachers who would teach eight classes in a row. I asked, Who in the world would do that? She said that they didn't know they were teaching eight classes in a row because they couldn't tell what time of day it was.

I eventually gathered, from random responses from those standing nearby, that while I was teaching my morning classes somewhere else, all my colleagues had met to choose their classrooms. Because I was the only teacher who hadn't chosen, they gave me the room no one else wanted.

I remember feeling vaguely unhappy as I mulled my room situation for the next year. I pictured a small, dark room with no windows. How else could those teaching in the room not be able to tell what time of day it was? Nevertheless, I also remember thinking, Oh well, at least I like my kids. They'll make the lousy classroom seem better.

And then I woke up. Hmmmm.

Tell them they don't suck: Or how to build self-esteem among teenagers

I must assume that teachers respond similarly to the question that inevitably occurs early in the school year: How's it going? or How are your kids? or How are are your classes? Mostly, we respond with guarded optimism: Oh, they seem good! or Oh, they seem fine. or Well, they're freshmen (or 6th graders or kindergartners) after all. We understand that those first few days of school are gloriously different from the rest of the year.

If we are lucky (and have been around the block 21 or so times), our new students know us by reputation from cousins, siblings, aunts or uncles who had us back in the day and who (we hope) didn't hate us. Perhaps even thought we were entertaining. Or useful. Or not lame. If we are lucky and experienced, we enjoy the first few days of classes as a time to move quickly from point to point with classes we don't yet know. Since we don't know our students, we don't necessarily have to worry about them. We don't have any details, complications or background information to confuse our focus on the classwork at hand. No bad test scores, no unreadable essays, no phone calls home from the previous day to contend with. No history. Yet.

To be honest, it is a simple but boring time.

Finally, on about day four, they begin to emerge as known quantities with names and personalities. Monique is the one who looks sullen but breaks into a beautiful smile when I concur that being on drill team should be considered an athletic activity. Grace is the one whose mother I worked with for a few years and tells me that she knows I'm always patient. Dolores asks good questions about applying for college. Josh is very serious. Kevin asks me if I'm always calm and quiet. Darren makes me laugh when he tells me a story about a friend of his and former student of mine from last year. They become more comfortable, especially when I talk about applying to college. Instead of merely nodding at me when I speak to them of my hopes, my plans that they all attend college, they begin to honestly assess their chances and express their fears.

Me (moving around the room as they work on creating their résumés for college applications): You had a question?

Kevin: Not really. I just wanted to say that I suck.

Me: Um, why is that?

Kevin: Because I don't have anything to put on my résumé. I didn't play sports. I didn't belong to any clubs. Nothing.

Me: Well, um, did you have a job?

Kevin: Yeah, but that doesn't count.

Me: Sure it does.

Kevin: Oh. Okay. I'll put that down.

Judith: Miss? I suck too.

Me: Judith? What? Why do you suck?

Judith: Because I don't have anything either.

Me: Judith, you don't suck. Neither does Kevin. In fact, no one in this room sucks. We are incredibly un-sucky. And you all have something to include on a résumé.

Judith, Kevin, George, et. al: But . . . what about . . . yeah, but . . .

Me: None of you suck, okay?

Judith, Kevin, George, et. al (slowly, reluctantly, with a heavy sigh): Oh . . . o . . . kay . . .

Me: It will be fine. Now find a club to join.

Later

Student: Miss? I listed this as community service, but what if they ask me why I did it?

Me: Um, I don't think they'll ask you that. But why are you wondering?

Student: Because I don't think I can give them a good answer. Maybe I shouldn't include it.

Me: Colleges like to see community service on a résumé. What's the problem?

Student: Well, I had to do the community service. . .

Me (patiently): And . . . ?

Student: . . . because I was arrested.

Me: Oh.

Student: See?

Me: Well, you don't have to tell them why you performed the community service. I don't think they'll ask.

Student: Really? Oh, good!

Other student: Miss? Should I put a job on my résumé if I got fired?

Me: Um, have you thought about joining a club here at school?