Mrs. Parks

Took the class down to the Capitol today to see Mrs. Rosa Parks lying in honour. The viewing itself was a bit anticlimactic for the children because the casket was closed, but the day as a whole was more than worthwhile. For one thing, even if they didn't fully appreciate it today, they will at some point.

But there was also plenty for the kids to connect to immediately. None had ever been inside the Rotunda--and when I gestured to them all to "look up!" as we waited to file past the mahogany coffin, the somber silence of the sacred space was temporarily interrupted with Anthony's "Whoa! Ooops! Sorry!" After we were outside, the kids were suitably impressed by the view of the Mall, and equally struck with the diversity of the crowd that we watched follow us out--all ages, all races, men and women. After a bit of people watching, I suggested to the children that they ask some of their fellow mourners, "Why are you here today?" The answers they received were better than any history lecture or lesson I could have possibly devised. Greying African Americans recalled the days of segregation and the March on Washington. Aging white liberals spoke of the transformative effect of Parks' inspirational act, a blinding light on the racial road to Damascus that awakened them to greater humanity, greater responsibility. A white woman with a six-month-old daughter bundled against her chest reminded the children of the gendered dimensions of the moment in which Rosa Parks became the mother of the modern Civil Rights movement. And for that matter, the children heard the word "movement" again and again....the words "march," "protest," and "organize" countless times...and experienced for themselves that at significant cultural moments our nation's attention focuses again and again on a few square miles just a few Metro stops away.

So, I didn't manage to get the new spelling words out, but all in all, not a bad Monday's worth of teaching.

Children's Emerging Racial Categories, Part One...

A week or so ago, while the kids were at music class, I had a chat with our friendly neighborhood nun, who had decided to check in on how I was doing. Not so good, I admitted...and from there we had a conversation that ended up with me in tears. Twenty minutes later I had to pick the kids up from music, still red-faced from crying. Fifth graders being the lovely, tactless creatures that they are, eleven voices instantly called out: "What's wrong with you? You been crying?"

Yes, dear ones, I was, but I'm okay, thanks for asking, you don't need to worry about it. On to other things. And fifth graders being the lovely, self-involved creatures that they are, instantly turned their minds to other things.

Except for Marquette. "Why your face red?" he asked.

"Because I was crying a little bit. I was upset."

"But why your face red?" he asked again.

I thought that maybe he was having a typical does-not-compute Marquette Moment until he added, "My face don't get red when I cry. Why your face get red? I mean, your no-o-o-se all red, your chee-eeks all red, your e-ey-es all red--"

Yeah, I get it, Marquette. I look like shit. Thanks.

But--"Good question, Marquette. Well, my face is red because my blood vessels are a little swollen from crying. Your blood vessels swell too, but it don't show because the brown pigment in your skin covers it up. Since I'm white, I don't have that much pigment, so the red shows through."

Marquette pondered this, giving me a moment to feel very proud of myself for this simple yet elegant response to a child's curious query. After he had digested the new information, he had a follow-up. "Pigment's what makes black people brown?"

"Yes. It's like a chemical that your body makes to color your skin. Everybody has it, but some people have more than others, so that's why we're all different skin colors."

"Okay. Pigment makes us black. White people ain't got no pigment, so you get red when you cry. Now. Here's another thing. Is it a chemical that makes your nose all pointy and mine all round?"

Um...well...see, it's like this.....Dude. Stop asking questions. It's time for math.

Hall passes and other dilemmas of a progressive educator in a repressive school

Hall passes and other dilemmas of a progressive educator in a repressive school

There are lots of little "teacher tasks" that I really enjoy. I like to put stickers on the tops of papers. I like to put kids' work up on the bulletin board. I take a certain pleasure in arranging kids' desks. But there's one quintessential teacherly chore that I have absolutely no desire to engage in: Giving permission to go to the restroom or the water fountain. I refuse to do this, actually. My kids are allowed to go into the hallway without specific permission and I tell them that I hate it when they ask me to go. Instead, I have a little clothes-pin system in which the kids put a clip by their name on a list by the door as they leave. This way I know who is out of the room, and they can go without interrupting me to ask.

I often hear objections to this idea from other teachers, parents, and non-educators who take an interest in the goings-on in my class: "Won't the kids just leave the room because they feel like it?"

It is true that students sometimes take advantage of my liberal leave policy to 'check out' of class for three or four minutes when they're bored, frustrated, or feeling just plain lazy. This does not concern me in the least, for the following reasons:

a) I am morally opposed to telling others what they can do with their bodies unless I have a damn good reason for it. Teacher or not, I do not have the right to restrict the movement or actions of the individuals in my 'charge' unless the restriction serves some unarguable greater good such as safety or learning.

b) It is valuable information for me as a teacher to know when children are feeling bored or frustrated. They would let me know that in some way or another regardless of my restroom policy. At least this way, I can observe quietly while doing other things instead of having to stop what I'm doing to deal with what the child is doing.

c) Most children would never dream of abusing the policy, and they all appreciate being treated with this level of trust. (It is a sad commentary on our system that trusting ten-year-olds to use the restroom when they see fit is a remarkable act on the part of a teacher.)

d) For those children who do abuse it, I am more comfortable with talking with them about their behavior in a way that gets at the real issue. ("Anthony, I've noticed that you keep leaving the room at the beginning of math, when we do our sixty-second timed drill. Are you feeling pressured by the drill?")

e) Leaving a work-group or other gathering at appropriate times is a skill that must be learned in order to present oneself appropriately in professional settings. Children never get to practice it if you don't provide opportunities. That is: Kids can't learn to be adults unless you treat them like adults to the extent possible. ("Tyrone, it's probably not a good idea to leave the room while I'm giving directions. It's better to wait until the activity has started and you're kind of on your own.")

f) Taking the kids to the bathroom in groups is demeaning to both them and me. Also, they play around in the bathroom if they all go together, and since the girls' and boys' restrooms are on opposite ends of the hallway, I can't monitor both groups simultaneously. Allowing them to go one at a time prevents many a water-fight.

Predictably, my principal has other ideas on this topic. She recently admitted a concern that children were using the restroom too often. "Take your kids in groups. They have to know that they have to control their bladders, that they have to tune them to a schedule, OUR schedule. They can't just urinate whenever they feel the need. Our kids need structure--OUR structure. This is just one way to emphasize to them that they can't just do what they want, that this is a Christian atmosphere and we have rules."

I haven't even bothered to argue about this issue, as any woman who has such a well-developed philosophy regarding the link between urination and the blood of our Savior is clearly not to be trifled with. But I have the feeling that she's on to me. She has cast suspicious looks at the clothespin-wheel at the door, and she keeps sending around memos about the need to monitor children in the restroom. It's probably only a matter of time before the urination hits the fan...

Parent correspondence

Dear Ms. Sweetland,

I am very concerned that Taylor has not been getting any homework. Why don't you send home work so I can reinforce what is being done at school?

Mrs. T.

***

Dear Mrs. T.,

Thank you for your note. Taylor does receive homework Mondays through Thursdays in the form of the assignment of reading for 30 minutes. She also has to write me one letter a week regarding her reading. However, I understand your concern about reinforcing other skills. Can we talk by phone? I'll call you before the week is out.

Yours in service,

Ms. Sweetland

***

Dear Ms. Sweetland,

Reading is not homework. Does the principal know you are making the kids read every night?

Mrs. T.

From the principal's desk

Dear Ms. Sweetland,

I looked over your receipts totaling $141.54. I wish you had asked me first before making the purchases, especially the more expensive ones. I checked the school funds and we are quite low. After we receive the lunch money from families I will be able to reimburse you for half. I can then give you the other half later on, maybe after next month's lunch count.

Peace and Love,

Mrs. H.
(Principal)

Dear Mrs. H,

Thank you for your note. I am sorry if I caused any problems; that was not my intention. I did ask about the process of getting supplies, several times, before school started. I got only vague answers from both you and the staff (e.g., "Get what you need, but don't go crazy.) I tried to go by that guideline, but apparently my idea of 'reasonable' was different from yours.

Please consider me a resource for getting more funds into the school. I have considerable experience with grantwriting and have been very successful with it in the past. Also, as you know, I hope to be a principal myself in a few years, so I would consider it a valuable learning experience to be involved with the school's budget.

I know how stressful money problems can be and I apologize if I unintentionally caused you any distress.

Yours in service,

Julie

Marquette's latest

"If you need me, I'll be in the closet, spreading my rashes."

"I'm present today, but don't you think it would be better for both of us if we both pretended I was absent?"

Trouble in Room 5

Well, the honeymoon is over. Me and my kids are still in love, so to speak, but behaviorally, they've stopped coming home with flowers every night and taken instead to leaving their underwear on the floor. The things they do to the toothpaste tube are just outrageous.

The most serious incident: My beautiful, freshly-painted pale-aqua walls have been marred with graffiti. With the 'b-word,' no less. We all had a nice long talk about misogyny, vandalism, and our right to a welcoming, positive learning environment. "Whoever did this," I said, "basically cussed us all out and then asked me to paint." I was disappointed, and shocked, and offended, and I told them so.

The kids seemed to take this to heart. "I want to be in a school that's nice," said Rajanique. "This building is all old already, and stuff always be broken, so we don't need to make it no worse. I don't like to use words like this, y'all, but for real, whoever did that, that was triflin.' "

For readers who don't know, "triflin" is about as bad as somebody can get in the inner city. It's even worse than having "no home training." If you don't have home training, you might be rude or gauche from time to time. If you triflin, you don't even brush yo teeth.

The lead suspect for the triflin behavior is tiny, innocent-looking Alexus. Two days before the graffiti appeared in the coat closet appeared, I caught her and Taylor passing notes in which they were trading a long list of insults. "Your stupid." "Your'e dume." Meany...ugly...idiot...

And then:
Hore.
Bitch.

SAY WHAT?

Now since Taylor is an altar server in the parish, and Alexus' family is also part of the church, I knew their parents wouldn't approve of such language. We happened to be having Mass that morning, so I asked the priest to have a little talk with the two girls about keeping Christ on their lips and showing respect for women who are reflections of the Blessed Mother. (Yes, I actually said those things. Nobody at my job even suspects I am an atheist.)

After Mass I put the notes in my desk, called the girls' mothers at work during my lunch break, and after receiving coded promises that their daughters were in for a good ass-whoopin, I forgot all about it. Until three days later, when the b-word showed up on the coat closet wall, in black marker.

Welcome to the pilot episode of CSI: Elementary.

I got the principal and the first-grade teacher and we compared the handwriting from Alexus' note to the writing on the wall. "Both t's are crossed very low," Mrs. Thomas observed. "And look at the i's. The dots are way up high."

"The h's are similar, too," noticed Mrs. H.

"Everything matches but the b's," I said. "And that could be because the word starts right next to this ledge. Her hand would have been smushed at first. And notice how low on the wall it is. Written by a short kid, definitely. I think we've got our perp."

"We can't make it stick unless we get a confession," says Mrs. H.

"I've already talked to Alexus," I said. "She swore it wasn't her."

"Leave it to me," says my principal, with verve. "I'll talk to the mother and see if she can turn up the heat."

Of course, in true form, the principal dropped the ball on getting in touch with the parent, so the case went cold. I talked to the mother some time later, and she said she wanted to come up and take a look at the handwriting herself, but so far, she hasn't come by. Me and the kids taped some thick paper over the offending word, and sooner or later I'll paint over it.

Incidentally, Alexus volunteered to do the painting for me...