Pissing off the Teacher

For all the intangibles that make my school different from the hundreds of other schools in Los Angeles, it is remarkable how many similarities there are still. Let’s start with the differences. My school is brand new. The athletic facilities are remarkable – an Olympic size swimming pool, brand new football field, two indoor basketball courts. There is almost no tagging at my school, which is so very different from my experience at Jordan High School. There, I would walk into our first period summer school class past freshly painted walls. I would walk out of class an hour later and somehow the walls would be tagged. Every single day the walls are repainted. (Embarrassing anecdote: I once backed into our freshly painted blue classroom door. I had blue paint on my butt the rest of the day. Dry cleaning got most of it out). At my school, nothing needs to be painted.

Small learning communities help preserve an intimate learning environment. It is possible for me to know all the 440 students by face. I feel like I know almost every senior by name. The teachers at my learning community are incredible. They are all innovative and invested in their students. Unlike some stories I hear from other corps members about their dysfunctional schools, there is not one teacher who does not care about their students. It is a remarkable achievement. I could keep listing differences, but the similarities keep popping up – in their grades. What do you do when only twenty percent of your students turn in their homework? If you’re as frustrated as me, you yell at them and then threaten them. It is completely inappropriate and, perhaps fittingly, it didn’t make me feel any better about the situation.

“When I give you time in class to finish your work, and you waste it talking or sleeping or whatever you do, I have no patience when you do not turn in your homework the next day. I can hurt your grade a lot more than giving you a zero for this assignment. You all are starting to piss – me – off.”

Complete uncomfortable silence for a whole minute as I walked around the room, passing out handouts of today’s reading. In my mind, I was frantically trying to think of a lighter next line – somehow transitioning from that regrettable speech into introducing today’s lesson. Mostly, I was just waiting to make sure that I could make that voice transition successful. It’s harder than I thought. Changing from angry, trembling voice to a calmer, steady voice is almost impossible without coming off to high-pitched or forced. Putting on a veneer of patience, I try out a few “okays,” “alrights,” and “does everyone have a copy of the reading?”

A few minutes later, Carlos asks me if I’m going to cry. I look at him straight in the eyes and say, you can make me yell, but you won’t ever see me cry. Twelfth graders are such punks sometimes.

After fourth period, my neighboring teacher came into the room and gave me two big hugs. That really calmed me down, and I had a wonderful fifth period after lunch. I bet my ninth graders wondered why Ms. Goswamy was so overly goofy that period.