Gladly Would I Teach

Yesterday I checked my email early in the morning and discovered an email from a parent who asked me to reconsider only giving her son half credit for a late quiz he had made up the previous day. The email initially angered me, and I spewed, “You have to be kidding me,” as I sat in my empty classroom at 6:30.

I calmed down and reread the email where the parent expressed her concern that her son’s grade was so low because he was juggling so many extra-curricular activities and had a valid reason for not taking the test a few days before as he should have.

Years ago when communication with parents was limited to telephone conversations, teachers were often blindsided with such requests and forced to respond immediately. Oh, how I hated those phone calls where parents expressed anger or concern or fears about their child’s grade. I often felt trapped.

E-mail is so much easier because we have time to calm down and think about what we need or want to say.

I counted to ten yesterday morning and then started my e-mail:

Dear Mrs. “Jones,”

Do you realize that “Sonny” took the quiz three WEEKS late? Do you realize that even with all of the extra time to study, he still failed the quiz before I deducted points for his tardiness?”

A very concerned and frustrated parent responded several hours later and told me that she had no idea that her son had been that tardy nor did she know that he had failed it. The email ended with her expressing how upset she was with her son and how she and her husband would deal with Sonny that night. This morning I received a follow-up email to ask me to notify her if I didn’t see an improvement.

I definitely saw an improvement today!

After a zillion years in the classroom, I’ve learned to count to ten and calm down when parents intervene and jump to their children’s defense. Sometimes they don’t know the whole story. Once they learn everything they need to know, most parents are supportive of teachers. While some parents want extra privileges for their children, those parents are rare. Instead, they want what’s best for their children – the same thing that I want.

  Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2010 Edie Parrott

Earlier today I read John Spencer’s interesting blog  about books that make students uncomfortable: books should make you feel uncomfortable

John mentioned that he disliked To Kill a Mockingbird, and many of us jumped in to defend the book. Atticus would have been proud! To Kill a Mockingbird is one of my favorite childhood books. As an adult I still enjoy it because the novel gives a glimpse into Truman Capote’s childhood, and I love Capote.

One of John’s assertions is that English teachers often select “safe” literature, and I think most of us would agree that we frequently must assess what novels we want to teach, whether the books are appropriate for our students, and whether or not we have the strength, time, and perseverance to defend the book if a handful of parents complain.

We all have our horror stories.

Two decades ago I taught Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men to two classes of ninth-grade honor students. Because I knew I might have a few parents complain about the profanity in the book, students had to have parental permission to read it, and I offered a substitute selection for parents and students who objected to the book. In the letter I explained that the book contained profanity in order to develop the characters.

I was happy to discover that all of the parents supported me and signed the permission forms. Several of them included notes thanking me for including Steinbeck’s little gem because it was one of their favorites.

A few days later, however, I was startled to discover that one child’s parents were unhappy and requested a parent conference. I was young, inexperienced, and uncomfortable when parents challenged anything I did. At the beginning of the conference the parents stated how upset they were that I assigned such “trash.” They then pulled out their copy of the book and showed me that they had highlighted all of the “dirty” words in the book. The book was awash in yellow highlights.

I listened calmly and never objected to anything they said even when they told me that such “trash” might be appropriate in some homes where parents do not emphasize high morals, but they would not tolerate the book in their home.

When they finished their tirade, I stated emphatically that I understood their concerns, and, although I thought the book was appropriate for students, I would never teach the book without parent permission. I then explained my process for obtaining parental permission and whipped out the permission form the student had turned in the previous week. “Here’s the form Mark gave me. As you can see, your signature is at the bottom of the page. Obviously, one of you gave your permission or your son forged the signature. I believe this is a problem you need to resolve in your own home not  in a conference with me.”

In the South, we would say that the parents came in on their “high horse,” intent on showing me the evil of my ways.

They limped away from the conference on a donkey!

End of conference!

I’m sure the parents would have liked to have berated me for assigning such an evil book, but they were so embarrassed by their son’s forgery that they didn’t say anything except a very weak “I’m sorry.”

I kept that highlighted book for years, but I must have tossed it aside one day when I no longer thought it was strange for a parent to spend so much time hunting and highlighting objectionable words.

  Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2010 Edie Parrott

As my students gathered in groups to create public service announcements (PSAs)  last week, most of them immediately wanted to create something humorous. They are teenagers who are always in search of humor.

One student came to me before school and wanted to know if she could work alone. She was deeply moved by all of the suffering in Haiti and wanted to do something to encourage people to donate money. Teenagers are often criticized for being  self-absorbed or tagged as the “Me Generation.” As Ansley’s PSA illustrates, however, some teenagers are indeed interested in what goes on around the world, and they have huge open hearts that want to help.

Please take a look!

  Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2010 Edie Parrott

On my way to school each morning before daybreak, I used to pass the same man walking down the road, a sweater swung over his shoulder, lunch bag in hand, eyes glaring at the pavement, never looking up. Instinctively, I waved, but he never responded.

Weeks passed and it became a game to see if I could get his attention, but even a single, admonitory horn blast in the still morning air caused him only to take a step off the road and continue his conventional walk toward – I never knew where.

I wanted to yell “Wake up, old man; the world’s passing you by,” but rational responses prevailed. It’s a sinuous, hilly road, and scenery is limited before dawn. I made up stories to pass the time. One day he was a stockbroker, the next day a hit-man, a poet, a cellist, a traveling preacher, and a tenor for the local operatic society on his way to the VFW. Once, I even considered the possibility that he was a philanthropist who had given away millions in an effort to live closer to nature. I was young and idealistic. I couldn’t accept the fact that the man was merely a laborer, probably minimum wage, a workman with no future other than walking every day to work, a man who never truly touched life.

Months passed, and I named him Bartleby – Bartleby on his way to death. It was cruel, but semi-darkness evokes sinister feelings. I drove on. “Have a good day, Bartleby!” In the stifling morning air before sun-up as I followed the man’s shape in my rear-view mirror, I could almost hear his response: “I would prefer not to,” as darkness enveloped his body.

“Wake up, old man!  The world’s passing you by!”

I received my best advice about teaching that year, my first year in the classroom, but, like most advice, it came much too late.

Randy sat on the back row in my third-period class. He was a wall-hugger, content with anonymity. Meanwhile, I was a pure English teacher in those days. I taught the parts of speech; simple, compound, complex, compound-complex sentences, onomatopoeia, alliteration, personification, and epiphany. I moved quickly; there was so much to learn and so little time. “Better keep up, kids, or I’ll leave you behind!”

Randy hugged the wall, and I listed the zeros daily. The kid was fifteen years old, several years behind in reading and failing every class, but his parents never called the school. They just didn’t care!

By spring, the biography unraveled. Randy lived right up the street in a run-down shack, its sagging front porch propped up with concrete blocks. Forgotten, long-ago useless cars spotted the yard where daffodils and geraniums should have bloomed. Randy caught the bus down the road so that other students wouldn’t see where he lived.

In all of the years that Randy and his brothers and sisters had been in school, no teacher had ever made contact with the parents. There was no phone, and letters mailed home were returned the following day by one of the embarrassed children who reported that no one in the house could read.

Often, food was short.

I felt sorry for him. His childhood was so different from my own. Poverty was something I recognized only in magazines. With a callow, black-and-white assessment, I thought I understood Randy. He had enough anxiety in his life without me creating more. He hugged the wall, and I rarely intervened. If he found trouble in the work I gave, I patted him on the shoulder in the condescending way that rookie teachers exhibit so frequently, and I gave him an easier assignment. When he turned in a paper, I automatically gave him a much higher grade than the other students, even when I knew it was not his best work. When he was tired and put his head on his desk, I allowed him to sleep right through my class. At no time did it ever occur to me that a TRUE teacher would have sat down beside Randy and said, “I know you’re having trouble, but I also know you can do the work. Let me help you get started.”

Randy dropped out of school the last day of spring quarter, and that is when an “old-timer” a “lifer” in teaching who had grown up in Techwood Homes, America’s first public housing unit, approached me. Despite terrible odds, with the help of a few good teachers who were willing to take extra time with her, she had graduated from high school, graduated from college, and dedicated her life to helping students. “Don’t ever give up on a kid like that,“ she told me. “Too many people already have, and he doesn’t need anyone else feeling sorry for him. You’re all that stands between that kid and the future.”

The report card shows that he failed my class, but I know how much I failed Randy. He needed encouragement, and I taught him symbolism. He needed direction and someone to show him how to succeed, and I talked about hyperbole and assonance. He needed someone to care, and I marked zeros and watched him hug the wall. It was so easy to do; everyone else had also given up on him.

As trite as it sounds, experience is often the best teacher.  Today, whenever I’m tempted to give up on a student, I think back to Randy. The day that memory no longer arouses action, I’ll walk away from my classroom forever. Perhaps I couldn’t have changed him, but the most haunting memory of all is that either through lack of effort, misguided compassion, or insufficient desire, I never really tried.

Full of hope, one morning in the following fall, I watched as the headlights captured two approaching figures on the side of the road. In the darkness of the early morning, it was impossible to differentiate father from son as they walked toward – I never knew where.

I wish I had a second chance with Randy.

  Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2010 Edie Parrott

We are experiencing the coldest weather in 25 years in Georgia. This morning as I sat here drinking tea in front of a fire, I started thinking about an earlier time of very cold weather.

In the early 1980s when I was a young teacher, I rented a house adjacent to an elementary school in the system where I taught. It was a great deal for me because the school district charged very little rent because they wanted a teacher in the house in the hopes that he or she would watch over the school.

One January morning I awoke to the lovely news “Cobb County Schools are closed today.” There was a little snow and ice, but the schools were closed primarily because of the cold. If I remember correctly the temperature was in the single digits. Those of you who live in areas where it gets really cold will probably laugh that we close schools because of single-digit temperature, but school heating systems, particularly in older schools, are just not equipped to handle such weather.

I went back to sleep.

About thirty minutes later, Mrs. Burrell, the secretary at the elementary school called me and told me that a parent had called her at home to tell her that she had spotted a handful of young children waiting at the school. Since the secretary was home and didn’t want to drive in the bad weather, she called to ask me to walk over and check on the kids. I immediately told her I would be happy to do so . . . and then grumbled as I hung up the phone, climbed out of bed, and got dressed in my warm clothes.

I had to walk all around the building, but I finally found five little boys (kindergarten to third grade) standing together behind the school. I can’t remember that much about them except that two of them were not bundled up well for the cold weather, and Billy, the youngest one, had no gloves or mittens and as his nose ran, it actually froze on his face.

I brought all of the kids back to my house and had them call their parents to pick them up. Four of the parents arrived within 30 minutes to pick up their children, but not one of them even thanked me.

Billy and I sat in my kitchen as I tried to get the 5 year old to tell me his phone number. No luck!  Then I asked him to tell me his last name. Still no luck! When Mrs. Burrell called me back, I had to describe Billy in the hopes that she could figure out who he was. Sure enough, she responded with his last name and then said, “Now, we’ve got a problem.”

According to the secretary, Billy’s parents were not very supportive of the school so teachers usually dealt with the grandmother, but she was out of town for the week. Because Mrs. Burrell knew it would be impossible to reach the parents, she decided that she would come pick up Billy, keep him at her house, and then take him home at 11:45, his normal time to return home after half-day kindergarten.

I told her not to worry about Billy because I would keep him at my house and take him home at the proper time. So, Billy and I spent several hours watching cartoons in my den and waiting for the time when I could take him home. He was so cold that I had to remove most of his clothes and bundle him in a blanket while I dried his clothes. I also realized very quickly that women in their twenties without children rarely have food or drinks in the house that appeal to five year olds!

At 11:30, I dressed Billy in his nice warm clothes, put him in my car, and set out to take him home according to the directions the secretary had given me. No one was on the road!

I drove into a seemingly deserted neighborhood of lots of little houses and very few trees. As I pulled into Billy’s driveway, however, I experienced a surreal scene that I hope to never again witness. Two police cars pulled in quickly right behind me, and officers jumped out of their cars, drew their guns, and screamed for me to get out of my car with my arms raised.

The experience would be unnerving for everyone, but it was particularly upsetting to someone whose greatest transgressions prior to this moment involved overdue library books and a speeding ticket for driving 58 in a 55-mph zone in South Carolina!

After telling Billy to stay put, I stepped out of the car and raised my arms high in the air, just as I had seen in cops-and-robbers television shows. The policemen lowered their guns, and an angry woman jumped out of one of the police cars and screamed, “What did you do to my baby?!!” She ran over and pulled Billy out of my car. I discovered that the parents and policemen had been searching for Billy all morning, but I have no idea why they would not have talked to neighbors who lived right beside the school!

After explaining the situation to the police officers and giving them Mrs. Burrell’s name so they could check my story, they told me I could go. They also told me that they were planning to charge the parents with abandonment for leaving a 5 year old child outside a locked school on a morning of single-digit temperature.

A little upset, a little angry, and very cold, I drove home.

So much for being a Good Samaritan!

Would I do it again? Absolutely!  What makes this story interesting is that it is such an anomaly, and it pales in comparison to the hundreds of other times when I have helped students and parents who thanked me profusely.

I just hope the next time I have to help doesn’t come on a snow day when I am nice and warm and planning to sleep late!

  Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2010 Edie Parrott

Yesterday I walked around the classroom and collected research papers. When I reached a student who has a low grade in the class, he looked up at me and told me he didn’t write the paper because he didn’t think he could pass anyway.

He just gave up!

He didn’t even attempt the paper.

Although I had discussed his grade with him a little over a week ago and emphasized that it was still possible for him to pass if he did well on the remaining assignments, he didn’t even try.

Of all of the students who exasperate me, I think students who exhibit defeatist attitudes are the most perplexing. Normally, I would analyze the student and try to ascertain why he gave up so easily when most students in the class are still fighting to make the highest grade they can acquire. I didn’t today.

I think I understand part of this student’s problem because a few weeks ago I called the father to discuss his son’s grades. Regardless of what I said, the father responded, “It’s up to him. He has to make the decision to work and pass the class.” I wanted to shake the father and tell him how important it is for him to encourage his son.

I guess when children reach 17 or 18, parents have to back off and make kids stand on their own.

The student will indeed fail since he did not submit a research paper, and next semester he will take a different English course since he has to pass one more English class in order to graduate.

The student just gave up, and I think I am sadder about it than he is.

This morning’s LA Times contains an inspirational story of Bruce Kravets, a 66-year-old middle school math teacher who refuses to retire.  The article fascinated me because it contrasts sharply with the opinions of so many teachers.

Last night as I read through the Facebook status updates of some of my teacher friends, I was struck by how many of them reflected anxiety and unhappiness about having to return to school after the one-week Thanksgiving break. In an online teacher discussion forum I check regularly, several teachers yesterday reported that they couldn’t wait to retire. Yet, here is a teacher who won’t retire, a teacher who actually works without a paycheck.

Retired Los Angeles teacher keeps at it, for free

Bruce Kravets keeps coming back to school after 42 years because

He couldn’t think of anything more fun or rewarding than teaching algebra, geometry, logic and stage craft.

After 32 years of teaching, I think I understand how Kravets feels. I’m thinking of leaving high school teaching and teaching at the college level, but I can’t imagine retiring now. I actually believe that teaching becomes easier as we age. Yes, there are exceptions, but, for the most part, good teachers who enjoy their jobs probably are able to prepare effective lessons faster, reach difficult students easier and with less tension, maintain the interest of students longer, mentor younger colleagues with more patience, and prevent parental complaints with greater understanding than they could as younger or less experienced teachers. In fact, physical tasks may be the only areas where older teachers  may encounter more trouble than previous years.

Does this mean all good teachers will stay in the classroom beyond retirement age? Of course not! Many excellent teachers retire because they have other things they want to accomplish or because they are tired of the routine of daily teaching.

As this article illustrates, however, good teachers who are respected by their peers, administrators, students, and former students might just stay around for a few years past their retirement.

And we need them!

Growing Backlash Against Overparenting

In the past week, I have heard repeated complaints about overbearing parents who challenge everything that teachers do. Some teachers report instances of angry parents who email them when their children make low grades or write letters to administrators and include a litany of grievances against teachers who they believe mistreat their children.

It’s common today to hear teachers state that they enjoy working with students, but parents wear them down. As anyone who has spent any time inside a classroom knows, however, most parents are supportive of teachers, and only a handful of parents have unrealistic expectations and  believe they must intervene repeatedly in their child’s education instead of allowing students to handle their own problems.

Oh,  those demanding parents may be in the minority, but they often create so much stress and so many problems for teachers that some teachers actually leave the profession.

A new article in Time Magazine suggests that the tide may be turning as more helicopter parents recognize the need to step back and allow their children to make their own mistakes.

I recently had lunch with a former student, a beautiful young woman who is smart, diligent, and kind, the kind of student teachers remember for a lifetime. I was thrilled a couple of years ago when she first told me that she wanted to become a teacher because we need such compassionate and intelligent young people in today's classrooms. Unfortunately, although she will complete her degree and obtain her teaching certificate in the next year, she probably will never become a teacher.

It became clear as we talked that she isn't sure what she wants to do in the future, but it won't be teaching. Her education courses apparently have been lackluster because she rarely talks about them. Her eyes sparkle when she discusses her Shakespeare course or her readings in other courses, but the education courses rarely pop up in our conversations. Then she mentioned that her father wants her to do something else since he doesn't consider most teachers to be very intelligent. He thinks she can do better. Such views are distressing, but I can't argue with a father who wants only the best for his daughter, particularly since earlier in the day I had heard the same comment from a retired teacher who was unhappy because her own son plans to become a teacher.

It's upsetting to know that the teaching profession has lost yet another wonderful young teacher, and it's disquieting that so many citizens view the teaching profession so negatively. Sometimes I want to scream, "Most teachers are intelligent; most teachers care about students; most teachers are dedicated, and most teachers are credits to the profession."

We live in a time, however, where the bad teachers, those with little intelligence, little motivation, and little dedication receive so much press coverage that it's easy to overlook the inspirational teachers right down the hall who keep plugging away and ignoring the condescending remarks often leveled at teachers. 

It's time to get rid of the bad teachers.

We know them. They are the people who believe kids are dumb, believe kids don't care, and believe they are wasting their time trying to teach. They are the teachers who rarely plan, rarely encourage, and rarely grade anything of substance. They pass out handouts and tell students to complete them quietly or turn on videos and instruct students to watch quietly. They often do not know their subjects well enough to instruct, well enough to answer questions, and certainly not well enough to inspire students to want to learn. We know them. Often they are people who are fun to be around, but either through lack of intelligence or lack of motivation, their students rarely learn.

To those of us who walk the halls of today's schools, these bad teachers are a minority, but to many citizens outside of schools, these teachers are the teaching profession.

If we want to attract our best and brightest students to the teaching profession, we have to restore the prestige and respect that America at one time held for public school teachers. That won't happen as long as we allow incompetent teachers to hijack our classrooms. Some will say that teacher unions prevent administrators from getting rid of poor teachers, but I teach in a right-to-work state where unions wield little power. Administrators who want to get rid of bad teachers have no excuse here.

Decades ago my parents were proud to tell their friends that their daughter was a teacher. I pray for the day when the parents of our most intelligent, kind, and dedicated students will once again smile when their children tell them they want to become teachers.

The assistant principal told police she pulled Cobb into another classroom, with the children present, to calm her down. But Cobb continued to curse in front of the students. That's when Smith ran into the room again and "attempted to attack" Cobb, the report states.

via www.ajc.com

It's hard to be a teacher today when other teachers behave outrageously.

As I drove home this afternoon, I heard a radio broadcast about two Georgia middle school teachers who argued loudly while spewing profanity and then became embroiled in a physical fight in front of students. The news made me angry and sad. How does a respectable adult who cares about students and who has spent years training to serve as a role model for impressionable children forget her responsibilities and resort to absurd behavior more indicative of an unruly child?

Although the overwhelming majority of teachers are ethical and moral role models for students, whenever one or two teachers behave in such a disgraceful manner, it makes all teachers look incompetent and uncaring. Over the years, I have seen my fair share of unethical teachers. From teachers who had inappropriate relationships with students, to unprofessional and lazy teachers who rarely taught their classes and allowed students to sit around with nothing to do, to teachers who conducted outside businesses while they should have been preparing tomorrow's leaders, the teaching profession has always had a few bad apples, as do all professions. I wonder, however, if citizens today view teacher misbehavior as a more egregious problem than in the past.

I'm told there was a time when teachers were placed on pedestals and revered as the most important members of their communities. What happened to those times? I am surrounded by caring, professional, and dedicated teachers every day, but too many citizens never see those teachers. Instead, they see and hear outrageous stories of teacher fights, teacher-student affairs, and teacher crimes, and those disgraceful faces of a few teachers soon become the faces of all teachers.

I don't know if we have more teacher misconduct today than in the past or if our 24-hour news services simply report more teacher misbehavior today. What I do know is that parents who should readily entrust their children to the care of today's teachers are apprehensive about the adults who teach their children.

What I do know is that as many spectacular potential teachers select more lucrative careers instead, we ease our standards for teachers and place adults who may not have our students' best interest at heart into classrooms where they will have close contact with students each day. We may only have a few immoral and unprofessional teachers, but they create a disproportionate number of problems for students, parents, and other teachers.

What I do know is that this week many middle school students in a Georgia school probably no longer view teachers with the same reverence and respect as they once did.

I find that distressing.