The Blind Side

A recent project I had students complete involved choosing a movie, ANY movie, and analyzing what the message of that movie was. Their movie choices turned out to be very revealing. My sweet, innocent students dove for Dumbo and Toy Story while the more advanced ones asked me if they could choose The Hangover. The movies ranged from My Girl to District 9 and everything in between.

Now I have one student whom I would describe as challenging on most days and unloveable on the worst. She's this giant sulking mass of a girl whose first instinct is to glare at me while sitting sideways in her desk. At one point, I snapped and said, "I'm sorry! Did I do something to offend you because you're giving me an attitude for trying to help you make up the credit for the work that you'd otherwise be failing!" Much to my surprise, she had this puzzled look as if she wasn't even aware of giving me the look of death a minute ago. Her expression softened and in that fleeting moment of repenting embarrassment, she looked more like a 12 year old girl as opposed to a hard worn woman.

She had chosen the movie The Blind Side which I finally got to see. As I saw the movie, I couldn't help but think of this student who I am slowly but surely giving up on. In my growing shame at the montage of moments where I had used her behavior as an excuse to turn away, I wondered how many others had given up on her. How many others got pricked by her thorns and learned to stay away? How many incidents conditioned her to always be on the defensive?

As the credits to the movie started rolling and the actors behind the characters were revealed, the photos of the real family were shown. Fantasy melted into reality, and I couldn't help but wonder why she had chosen this movie. What is her real story?

Just in time

Wow.

I had an on-campus Professional Development meeting with other English teachers. That means I was only couple rooms away from my classroom while all hell broke loose. There was a substitute who valiantly tried her hand at wrangling my beasts. When I came to pick up some papers after school, she tentatively escorted me to my overhead projector. She explained how my 5th period weren't listening at all, so in frustration, how she had slammed her fists down. Hard. On the glass of my overhead projector.

I now own a new overhead projector. My old one is resting in peace somewhere in old junk graveyard with angry shards of broken glass adorning the top. Spring break anyone?

We run LA

If you told me last March that I'd be running the LA marathon a year later, I would've questioned your sanity. So when I was asked to help out with a program called Students Run LA in September I made it perfectly clear to the teachers and students involved that I would not, under any circumstance, be running 26 miles. I'd simply be running the practice runs with them until my feet wore out and I inevitably hit the wall. 

And my feet did wear out. I did hit the wall. Multiple times. I even fell flat on my face and have a scar in the shape of North America to prove it. But the only reason why I decided beyond all logic to actually run the marathon was because of the kids. About half were former students and seeing them on a weekly basis, watching them creep up their mileage from 2 miles to 14, and then to 20 was nothing short of amazing. But they got tired waking up for 6:45 am runs, they looked longingly at the 7 elevens and Starbucks we passed during practice runs. Some of them followed in my footsteps and body slammed into the concrete sidewalk. But they all got up...and ran. All nine of them safely and soundly finished the marathon this past Sunday. And I couldn't be prouder.  

Una grande racista

I was so frustrated with my 6th period yesterday that I was beyond formulating speech. In the eye of the storm of needy kids, talking kids, and kids with a never ending supply of stupid questions I stood with my hands balled up to my sides, and slowly but surely emitting a low guttural roar. I eventually snapped out of it and helped each kid at a time and extinguished the disastrous fire known as "teaching students to write an essay". But a mental note was duly taken and today I came armed with a new seating chart and gleaming fire in my eyes.

"Sebastian over here. Sergio to this seat. Gabriel go over to that corner seat there and, Abraham you are sitting at the last seat in the last row," I chirped as I happily pointed each student to their exiled locations.

That's when I heard Sebastian said, "It's cuz I'm Mexican".

Normally, I would have either set the student aside to have a serious heart to heart with or have written up an ice cold referral. Call me cheerful, but I didn't take this comment to heart at all.

"That's a very interesting observation Sebastian. Let's see now, I chose a profession that involves teaching and interacting with students of all races. Right now about 90% of my 150 students are Hispanic and what I do on a daily basis is to help those students learn and eventually become successful members of society. Why would I do this? Oh, obviously because I'm a huge racist! You must be right Sebastian. Thank you for your insight."

The class twittered away as Sebastian learned the ever so valuable lesson of keeping one's trap shut. And that was that.

It's funny how it's always the students who aren't doing well academically who like to pull out the racist card. You didn't get credit for the homework you didn't do? Your teacher must be racist! I'm finding that when dealt with this card, it's best to lightly flick away this stupid accusation derived by an equally stupid thought process.

The way to really impart the overeager racism detectors is to be on them even more. Harass them, pester them to the point of crying uncle. See if they did their homework. Keep them in for lunch detention if they didn't. Write and call home so often that you get to on a first name basis with their guardians. Get called a racist a couple more times. Do all this in the hopes of those students waking up one day and realizing that someone who spends this much time torturing them to do better does it because she cares.