Priorities

I opened up my email program at school at 6:20 Monday morning to find this:

"Clever Boy's father called to let us know that his mother was killed in Afghanistan last week.  He won't be at school for a few days and would like you to collect work for him."

This sucks on so many levels.

One of the hazards of working in a building that serves a lot of military kids is that the odds will eventually catch up with you and you'll get a message like this.  That doesn't make it any easier.  And the fact that it isn't the first makes it suck even more.

So, we got together work for Clever Boy but I really don't care if he turns it in or not.  He has other things to deal with that are lot more important than a writing prompt and a set of workbook pages on states of matter.  Mr. Math actually talked with Clever Boy's Dad (who is divorced from Clever Boy's mom) and it was obvious that this has hit the family hard (despite the divorce) and that they need to deal with this before we need to worry about school.

So, the week after we finished The Very Bid Deal Government Mandated Test, I'm struck with the realization that although the government makes a big deal over the damn test, and everyone is so obsessed with the damn test, that when you really get down to it, IT ISN'T WHAT REALLY MATTERS.  (Although 50% of my evaluation of a teacher is now based on this damn test.)

What really matters is that we take care of our kids.

What really matters is that we are here when a kid loses his mom.

What really matters is that when a kid needs a shoulder to cry on, we're here.

What really matters is that when a dad is choked up about losing his ex-wife in the line of duty, we're here.

What really matters is that we are here, taking care of many of the kids that society doesn't really care about because they're poor, or have disabilities, or their parents have issues, or no one really cares about them at home.  We are here for them.

What really matters is that we try to do whatever we can to get these kids to grow up to be decent human beings with the skills to take care of themselves and have a happy life.

We just don't teach these kids about science, or social studies, or math, or reading, or whatever.

We're teaching them to be good people.  And it's a damn hard job.  And no freaking test is ever going to measure that.

When Kids Are In Charge

I really like my kids, for the most part, this year.  (Okay, I hate my Seventh Period Class From the Very Depths of Hell Itself but there are kids in there I like - it's just the combination of kids which make me crazy).

Their parents, on the other hand, are making me insane.

Case in point.  We have a kid I'll call Absent Boy, because, you guessed it, he's absent all the time.  He misses every test.  He misses every benchmark.  He's usually gone on Fridays and often times he's gone on Mondays.  When he comes back he's healthy as a horse, nary a sniffle or a sore throat in sight.  In short, he basically tells his mom when he wants to come to school and she lets him get away with it.   He was absent yesterday, the day we had our two hour delay, and when one of the teachers asked him why, he said, "Well, there was a two hour delay and we didn't know if they'd cancel, and mom didn't know how she'd get me to school, so I didn't come". (Did this lady never hear of a bus?)

Absent Kid has a whopping 37% in my class and he's pretty much doing the same in all his other classes.  He's a bright kid, when you can get something out of him, which isn't often.  He is on an IEP as a special education student, but seriously, he does well on the things he does.  He is capable.  As a sped kid he can turn in late work (never does) and in my class he gets a homework helper which basically is an answer key to help him do his homework.  All he has to do is copy it and turn it in.  But he doesn't.  He has, in fact, informed his sped case manager and the enrichment teacher that he's not bothering to do much in seventh grade since he'll get passed anyway because he's on an IEP.   He won't even turn in things we do in class.

We have tried to get his mother to come in for a meeting.  She'll agree to a meeting, then five minutes before she is to show up, she'll call and cancel.  Today, yet again, she pulled this stunt. So we have yet to get her in here (she also apparently doesn't show up at IEP meetings either.)

This kid is running the house.  If we wanted any more evidence of this, Mr. Math ran into Absent Mom (how appropriate) and Absent Boy at a local fast food join yesterday.  Absent Boy didn't see Mr. Math at first and was running around being a brat and talking back to his mom.  She told him he couldn't have something and he went off and slapped her in the face!  And. She. Did. Nothing.

Apparently this is her coping mechanism...to do nothing.  The kid talks back...she does nothing.  He fails his classes...she does nothing.  He whines and complains and wants to stay home from school...she does nothing.

But I'm the one being held accountable.

A Mom With the Right Attitude

Last year when the school board came out with our inclement weather make-up plan, it involved using our winter holidays (MLK Day, Presidents Day and Good Friday) to make up the school we missed due to weather, over the measly three days we are allotted.

No one raised a fuss.  Not a peep.  And, keep in mind, the school board meetings are open to the public and the school board is elected by the public so there was plenty of opportunity for the public to have some input.  If they cared enough...

But oh my, when it actually came to implementing the plan (with MLK Day the first day we used), you would have thought that some big vast conspiracy was afloat.  (For the record, we had to make up days last year, but we didn't go over our limit until after MLK Day so we didn't have to use it as a make-up day.  We did use President's Day and Good Friday and no one squawked.)

We had a lot of absent kids, but, for the most part, very few kids who had notes stating that they were at some of the regional MLK celebrations.  Most of our kids were absent because (a) the parent is so clueless they didn't get the phone call/email/read the paper/watch the news to figure out we were going to school and the kids sure as hell weren't going to tell them of (b) they had plans made for the three day weekend already and most of them didn't involve any sort of MLK celebration.

So, the kids that were there were, for the most part, completely accepted the fact that we were making up a snow day, buckled down and got to work and didn't whine.

Drama Boy, a boy I had last year and who is now in 8th grade, was apparently whining a big about going to school to Mrs. Sandpiper's room next door.  He wasn't happy he was in school on MLK day.

"So, what did your mother say about it?" Mrs. Sandpiper asked.  We both have always liked Drama Boy's mom because she's pretty much no-nonsense when it comes to school and Drama Boy's drama.

"She said that if Martin Luther King were alive today, he'd want me in school getting my education," Drama Boy replied.  "And you can't argue with that."

No you can't.  Perhaps that would be a better way to celebrate the day - put a focus on getting an education and being the best person you can be.

Priceless or Pathetic?

120 Students

69 F grades on Friday's Progress Reports.

Number of parent calls, emails, or conferences?

Zero.

Pathetic.

On an aside, we've had the past two Thursday evenings set aside for parent conferences.  My team had quite a few openings in our schedule.  We did get a few walk in's - including a mom who passed the school on the way home from work, saw the marquee, and pulled in, thank goodness, as we were going to call her to set up a meeting anyway.  However, it never was busy.

Pathetic.

Why do I care more about these kids' future than their parents do?

Putting the Hood to Work for You

I have a student in one of my classes we'll call a Stroll Boy.  Stroll Boy never moves faster than a stroll, and that pretty much plays out in all aspects of his life.  He's famous for doing nothing.  At all.  He's turned in maybe 2 assignments (classwork) this grading period.  He fails every test.  He won't bring his book, a pencil, a binder, a work ethic.  If you pull his records you'll find that he's being raised by grandparents and biological parents are non-existent in this kid's life.   His grandparents are feeding him, giving him a place to live, but don't seem to be all that interested in seeing that he's a success academically.  They probably are overwhelmed at having to deal with a 13-year-old when they'd rather be retired.

So, Stroll Boy is mad at me because I took his locker away - again - because he won't bring his book to class.  (This is a pretty much standard practice in the seventh grade - no book, no locker.)  He's also mad at me because I have higher expectations for him than he has and doesn't want to hear the cold hard truth that he's not going to be playing in the NFL if he doesn't make the grades to play on his high school team in a year or two.    Last I looked, he's not such a phenom that the scouts are already lining up to sign him.  In fact, considering his work ethic and lack of speed, I doubt he'll even make it to the high school team.

His method of "punishing" me, is to be tardy to class.  Now, we're not talking tardy by a second or two.  We're talking a kid who comes in, puts his books on his desk, and then "goes to the bathroom", and shows up five or more minutes late to class.  He just strolls in, ambles to his seat, and spends the rest of the period trying to look somewhat busy (without moving too much or making much of an effort).  I actually find this kind of funny because all I do is write up a classroom referral for a tardy, tell him to get his pencil out (usually doesn't have one) and off we go with class.  If he thinks he's punishing me, he's far off target.  Rather, he's just showing me how sad and lost he is.  This kid has been through every intervention program we have at school for at risk kids and he's one we just haven't been able to reach.

Anyhow, after the second tardy in a row, I managed, amazingly, to contact his grandparents and told them about the tardy issue, the missing book issue, and how I was worried about how he was probably not going to pass science if he didn't turn on the jets here shortly.  I got a very non committal "Okay," from both, and tried to get them to schedule an appointment for a conference with no luck.  (At this time I was lucky to even get to speak to someone considering our lack of success in the past).  I figured, well, I made parent contact, they know what's going on, and we'll just keep doing the referrals and he'll end up in detention or something.  No big deal.

So imagine my surprise when I get an email from one of the front office secretaries telling me that Stroll Boy's grandparents had sent down his uncle and he'd like to sort of spy on him and see how he's behaving in class.   No Problem!  I love it when I get parent/uncle/significant adult observers.  I email back that that would be great, and to let her know what time to send him down.

Classes change and Stroll Boy walks in, drops his books, and takes off.  I'm doing hall duty and don't see The Uncle, but figure he's found a place to observe (most likely guidance where they can watch all the cameras).  The kids run to class, the bell rings, and I start class.

No Stroll Boy.

He walks in five minutes later.

And three minutes behind him there's a knock on the door.  The Uncle.  (Who saw that Stroll Boy was late, I found out later.)

I open the door and there stands The Uncle...and this guy is HUGE.  He's nicely dressed, his braids are pulled back, but he's HUGE.  I introduce myself, he introduces himself and I wave him over to a spare chair which happens to be by the lab group that Stroll Boy is in.  And then I wonder if the chair will support him. Because he's almost twice as tall as most of my students and quite a bit heftier.

Stroll Boy's jaw drops and he looks like a deer in the headlights.  He obviously wasn't expecting his Uncle, especially his Big Huge Uncle from the Hood (as we often call the neighborhood The School is in because, well, that's what everyone calls it).  It was amazing  (and really kind of funny) what a model student he was during this period...he had his pencil, he snapped to whenever I gave directions, he participated, he did a great job.  He looked like a candidate for National Jr. Honor Society.

And then I noticed something.

This is my sixth period class, my largest class, and a class with a lot of unruly kids (every isolation seat is occupied) who have a lot of issues with self-control.  They are loud, they tend to talk all the time, and they aren't the most academically inspired kids I've ever seen.

But on this day they were perfect.

Absolutely perfect.  They didn't talk out.  They raised their hands.  They were polite.  They participated.  And we had a great time.

And then I realized why.  Sitting in the corner of the room, was a Big Huge Dude from the Hood.  A Real Big Dude from the Hood.  And they weren't about to do anything out of line with the Dude from the Hood sitting Right Over There.

After class I talked with the Uncle from the Hood and had a nice conversation with him.  He knows his nephew needs to get motivated and with the program, and he says he's going to work on that.  Good for him. I hope he does.  But in the meantime I invited him to sit in my class whenever he wanted.  Seriously.  I'd take a Big Huge Dude from the Hood in my corner any day.

Can Anyone Find a Parent?

We handed out report cards last Friday.  Unlike some buildings in the district who have gone all electronic, we still do the paper report card.  Seems only about 20% of our parents bother to sign on to PowerSchool so this is about the only way we can make sure they see their darling's grades.  Even then, it's a gamble that the report card will make it home, but at least they can see the staple holes in the agenda where it had originally been stapled.

Out of 125 kids, 30 of them earned an F in science, mainly because (all together now), they don't turn in work, don't study for tests.  (A good sign, however, is I have two special ed kids with B's because they do all their work.  It can be done.)

Along with the report cards we sent out a team newsletter (which probably won't be read), a full color booklet from the State about test scores and high standards and high expectations and how you need to be engaged with your child and make sure they study and do their homework, blah, blah, blah (which probably won't be read), and then a BRIGHT PINK form to use to sign up for parent conferences, which start on Thursday.  The form is pretty straighforward.  We schedule individual appointments, so it said to put the name of the teacher you wish to see by the time slot you prefer.

Any guess on how many parents sent back the parent conference form?

Better yet...any guess on how many parents sent it back filled out CORRECTLY and actually followed the directions and put in the names of the teachers they want to see at the time slot they preferred (unlike most who simply put their kid's name by a time slot, leaving us to wonder who, exactly, they want to visit with)?

How does twelve sound?

Yup.  Twelve.  125 kids, tons of F's in all subjects, and we get twelve parents who plan to visit.

Now granted, we may get a bunch of walk-ins, especially if the weather is good and not raining, but truth be told, we may just be sitting there all night with nothing to do.

And my ass is on the line if these kids don't pass the Very Big Deal Government Mandated Test...and every study on earth points to parent involvement as the key factor in academic achievement.

And my parents really don't want to be bothered.

Click...

One of the problems with our wacky unbalanced classes this year is that some kids that really shouldn't be together are. Poor Mrs. Social Studies was ready to pack it in, retire, and move to Arizona when she realized that not only was her 5th period (the class we take to lunch and historically, the Worst Class of the Day) her largest class at 36, but that it had every single one of our wannabe thugs in it.

One of the little darlings, Bad Attitude Boy, had already had hallway conferences with two of us, had been barked at (severely) by me, and was rapidly proving to be a real pain in the neck. In addition, we looked at his records and realized that he really should be in our inclusion math and wasn't. So, Mr. Math, Mrs. Social Studies and I sat down and reworked his schedule to put him in the proper math class and to remove him from his buddies in Mrs. Social Studies' crowded class and put him in my nearly all girl class of 21. (I figure putting him in with a bunch of rather serious-minded girls, rather than another set of class clowns, would be a new and sobering reality for him.)

Before we can do a schedule change, we have to do a parent contact to let them know we're doing a schedule change (just in case they actually care), so Mr. Math went off to do that during planning.

I was setting at my desk putting the final touches on a lab when Mr. Math comes in.

"Can I borrow your phone?" he asks. "Something weird keeps happening every time I try to call Bad Attitude Boy's parents and I want to make sure it's not my phone."

Let me step back a minute and mention our issue with the phones. Last spring Someone Somewhere Who Has Authority decreed that all phones would be removed from our desks and mounted on the wall by the door of each classroom. Apparently many phones were getting knocked off desks and we were spending a fortune replacing them. No one asked the teachers if this was convenient (it isn't) or if it made sense, they just up and came and took our phones and put them by the door. Since many of our classrooms have doors right next to each other, it's a real treat trying to figure out who's phone is ringing when you are doing hall duty. The other annoying part is that if you want to talk to a parent with your computer in front of you (so you can read the information in PowerSchool) you have to unhook your computer from the teacher station goodies (document reader, LCD projector, etc.) and carry it over there and find a place to put it so you can read from it. I've seen teachers sitting on the floor by their door with their computers in their lap, talking on the phone because not everyone has a table to put by the door! I have my teacher station somewhat close by so I went and bought a 25' phone handset cord so I can see my computer and talk on the phone.

But anyway...back to Mr. Math's phone problem. I wasn't surprised, at all, by Mr. Math's question because yet another issue with the phones being moved is that, for some weird reason, they don't work all that well now. I was having an awful time with static, and voices cutting in and out (until, amazingly, I spent my own money on my 25' phone cord), so I figured Mr. Math was having a similar problem.

"Go ahead and use it all you want," I said.

"If you don't mind, I want to put it on speaker phone so you can hear it in case it does it again," he said. No problem. He pressed the button, dialed away, and the phone rang twice then picked up.

"Hi there, this is Mr. Math from The School and I'd like to..." he said and then we heard a very loud and audible CLICK.

"See, it did it again!" he said.

"That's not the phone," I told him. "That's someone hanging up on you!"

"That's what I thought," he said. "It happens as soon as I mention that I'm from The School! I can actually hear breathing on the line, and then they hang up!"

Amazing. So much for all that parent involvement that we keep hearing the politicians bark about. Good thing we weren't calling to tell The NonParent that the little darling had been, oh, hit by a car or something.

Mr. Math did go to Mrs. Sparrow, one of our admins, and she said to document the three hang-ups and change the schedule.

So there.

The Big Payoff

Earlier this week, Mrs. Eagle and I engaged in one of our favorite rituals signifying the ending of one school year and the beginning of summer.

We went to the local High School and saw a lot of our former students graduate.

Both of us had actually received graduation announcements from former students which just blows my mind. Kids often remember the teachers that made a difference in high school, but there aren't many that reflect way back on their past and recall a middle school teacher. Especially seventh grade teachers...I think seventh grade is such a rough year for most kids that then tend to blank it out (I did). But we got those invitations and that was even more motivation to go see our kids graduate.

Several things really stood out for me.

One, I was amazed (and relieved) that some of the kids I had who just really struggled during seventh grade were graduating from high school with honors. It goes to show that often times a kid can pull it together after falling completely apart in seventh grade.

Second, the best part of the ceremony had to be when one of the graduates, who had been in a severe accident a few years ago, nearly died, and who has undergone a lot of rehabilitation, received his diploma. One of his teachers wheeled him up in his wheelchair, and then he pushed himself up, stood, took two steps, and received his diploma. That young man got a standing ovation from everyone in that auditorium and he deserved it. He's undergone a lot in his young life, but he's managed to do something many kids don't even try to do - he graduated.

Third, and this is the old lady witch coming out in me, I wish people understood the dignity of a graduation ceremony and dressed the part. I swear I saw more inappropriate clothing on parents (sagging pants, boobs falling out of tops, short shorts, you name it) than I see at one of my rare trips to the mall. Come on people, your kid is graduating, so stop looking like a hooker for once and act like a parent! (Mrs. Eagle and I spent a lot of our time rolling our eyes at each other as some of these fashion disasters paraded by.)

But on the whole, it was a wonderful experience to see these kids make it to graduation. They were a nice group of kids when I had them all those years ago, and I wish them the best in their future.

And it's just kinda neat that I may have had a small role to play in their success.

Stuck in the Middle

One thing that I've noticed as a teacher is that most parents don't exactly see eye to eye when it comes to their child's education. It seems that oftentimes one of the parents is a little more squishy about things while the other one is demanding results. You've got the parent who believes the cherub when she says she's done all her work (and doesn't bother to check) and then you've got the other parent who's demanding to see everything, checking the agenda, and is signing in to PowerSchool on an daily basis.

When they're living together - and communicating - everything usually works itself out.

However, when they aren't living together - and aren't communicating - it can be a nightmare.

This year, it seems, we have more parents who need parenting classes and family counseling than I've ever seen before. These people are not agreeing on how to raise their child and are doing their darndest to get us in the middle.

Two sets of parents come to mind - Cool Dude's parents, and Spoiled Princess's parents.

Cool Dude has one overriding goal in life and that is to be the hippest, coolest, hottest dude in the seventh grade. This kid has the hottest clothes, the trendiest hair cut, he is so cool he can freeze a six-pack of Diet Coke. He is also one of the laziest kids I've ever seen - he's absolutely perfectly capable of passing seventh grade, should he get over himself long enough to turn in work.

Cool Dude lives during the week with Cool Dad. Cool Dad does not really stress, as far as we can tell, academics. No one checks Cool Dude's agenda, no one checks to see if he's done his work, no one is harping on him to study for his tests (even though Cool Dad and Cool Mom are both getting our weekly emails and both have access to PowerSchool.) As far as I can tell Cool Dude and Cool Dad are just hanging out and chillin' all week long together. On the weekend Cool Dude goes and lives with Mom and it really hits the fan. She gets on to PowerSchool, checks his grades, sees all the missing assignments and fires off email after email to us about "What can we do to help him pass seventh grade?"

Cool Mom is a recent education graduate and has done some subbing recently for a special ed class. She has decided that Cool Dude must be special ed (after all, he's failing) and has demanded he be tested. Now keep in mind, Cool Dude has been tested - and he reads at a 12th grade level. He has Proficient and Advanced Very Big Deal Government Mandated Test Scores. He has, on multiple times, admitted to all of us (but obviously not to Cool Mom) that he's just lazy and he can do the work if he feels like it. However, we are having to jump through the hoops with progress monitoring, and data collection just to make sure all our ducks are in a row when we tell her that no, under the state and federal guidelines, your kid is not going to qualify for special ed. Last time we looked being cool and lazy was not a learning disability. (On a side note, when our special ed secretary called Cool Dad to invite him to a meeting, his comment was, "There's a problem at school?")

What I really want to tell Cool Mom is to get a change of custody so that she has Cool Dude during the week and can hammer him every night about his school work, and she can turn him over to Cool Dad and they can waste their weekends away together being, oh, cool.

We have never met Spoiled Princess Girl's mother. We have, however, met dad (many times) and Nana (although we're not sure how Nana is related, if she's a Great Aunt, a grandmother, a stranger down the block, no one has bothered to explain this to us.) Dad likes to drop in whenever he's in the mood, for impromptu meetings. Often times when we're in the middle of something like, say, teaching our classes.

The last meeting was interesting. Dad is harping on SPG about how she's not working hard enough (and waving a box of shoes at her that he's taken away and is returning to the store), Nana is saying he's too soft and She Wouldn't Have Bought Those Shoes as SPG Shouldn't Be Rewarded For What She's Supposed to Be Doing in The First Place, and we're sitting there watching the three of them squabble for what seems like hours with absolutely no result.

"Uhm, is there any way we could perhaps get SPG's mom in for a meeting?" we finally ask in the middle of the squabble.

"Oh, that woman, she won't come," Nana says. Nana crosses her arms and looks sour.

"She won't come," says Dad. "She says SPG is doing her hardest and that's all she's expected to do, and I know she can do better."

"And you know SPG is always gonna do what her mother says because it's the easy way out," says Nana.

We finally suggested perhaps SPG's Dad set up a meeting with the guidance counselor and see if SPG's mom could come and they could do some family counseling.

Which of course SPG's mom apparently refused to do.

Which leaves us...nowhere....

Oh The Aches and Pains!

Every year we have a couple of kids who qualify for that unique title of "Nurse Groupie". These kids will find a reason, no matter how big or small, to spend some time with the school nurse.

Nurse Groupies are not that unusual in middle school, although they tend to really flourish in elementary school with its corresponding numbers of boo-boos, infectious diseases, and just overall germiness. Elementary kids tend to actually need a school nurse more. Middle school students tend to become nurse groupies as a way of Getting Out of Class.

However, this year we have a student who quite truly tops them all when it comes to a Nurse Groupie. This kid doesn't just want to see the nurse once a day (which is pretty excessive), she wants to see the nurse Every Freaking Period of The School Day.

We noticed this the first week or so of school and quickly put a plan in place to keep track of her nurse visits in her agenda. Every other student gets a "go see the nurse form" filled out and off they go - Nurse Groupie has to have her agenda checked as well so we can see if she's already been that day. Mrs. Language has become, poor thing, an email pen pal with Nurse Groupie's Mom, and we had approval from her to limit the visits to once a day.

I do have Nurse Groupie the last period of the day, so by the time she lands in my room, she's already used up her visit. But there are times she'll ask to go, and it will run like this:

"Mrs. B, I need to see the nurse," she'll whisper (I can barely hear this kid talk even on a good day).

"Well, what for?" I'll ask as we have to put a description on the nurse form.

"I have a headache," or "My side hurts," or my favorite, "I need an aspirin for my allergies."

At the last one, I tend to blink at the kid and inform her that I too, suffer from allergies, and I've never needed an aspirin for them.

In any case, we've had two parent meetings with Mom who, on one hand, wants the kid in class instead of at the nurse because she's failing. (Big surprise, she misses instruction and then is absent a lot and never makes up anything.) On the other hand, she feeds into this constant litany of aches and pains and headaches and allergies and blurry vision and stuffy noses and.....

The last parent meeting involved the nurse, an administrator, and Nurse Groupie along with Mom. We basically said that she wasn't going to be able to go see the nurse unless it was a Dire Emergency because she was, again, failing and she needed to be in class. The Nurse backed us up and said the visits were, "just a bit unnecessary." Mom said she wasn't to go to the nurse again unless it was an emergency. Nurse Groupie blinked and nodded her head.

The next day Nurse Groupie said her side hurt. The day after it was blurry vision. The day after that it was a backache.

At this point I can't wait to see how she handles her 40's when every bit of your body can ache on a bad day.

In any case, Mrs. Language emailed her best Pen Pal, Nurse Groupie's Mom and informed her that NG apparently didn't get it.

The response...surprised us. It started off with an excuse about the blurry eyes (eye drops). She then, amazingly, grew a backbone and said that unless NG was on the floor throwing up, bleeding, or generally on death's door, she was not to leave the classroom to see the nurse. And mom, bless her heart, was giving us the latitude to make our own judgments as to whether she needed to see the nurse or not.

You can bet we printed that email out and put it in her folder as well as forwarded it to the Nurse and The Principal.

An interestingly enough...two days without requesting to see the nurse. Maybe she'll survive after all.

Update 3/9/10...Well, I was wrong. She requested to go three times today. Mom emailed and said she had a headache this morning and a stuffy nose. Of course, her excuse for me was she needed "girl products". Nothing about headache, stuffy nose, the plague...Oh good gracious.

Night Owls

Over the years as a middle school teacher, I've had my share of sleepy kids in class. It's not that unusual, especially among the boys, considering the amount of growth these kids go through when they hit puberty.

Sometimes it really impacts their grades and you have to get a parent involved. Usually we've discovered that our little Sleepy Heads have a television in their rooms and are staying up all night watching (usually inappropriate and very adult) television while the parents are blissfully snoozing away. Usually all it takes is the removal of the television from the room, and we see a much more alert and chipper kid in class. In some other cases, the problem is a computer in the room and the kid is up all night chatting or playing video games on line - sort of like Rip Van Winkle. Now, kids with computers in their rooms is another post for another day (can we say "online predators" anyone?), but it's still an issue, and, once again, once the parents figure out what's going on and remove the problem, we see a much better rested kid in class.

So, this brings me to a discussion that I had with my Fourth Period today. This is one of my smallest classes, and although there are quite a few of them that are, shall we say, a bit difficult in the personality department, they do have their moments.

Drama Boy, out of the blue, asked me if I'd every talked to a friend on the phone at night when I was a kid.

"Drama Boy, you need to remember that we didn't have our own phones back in the dark ages when I was a kid. We had phones attached to walls in the kitchen and everyone heard our conversations and there was no way I was allowed to use the phone after 8:00 pm."

This brought a chorus of "ohhhhhs" from the kids. They can't believe how tough life was for us in the old days.

"Oh yeah," he said, as if remembering that, yeah, teachers are old. "Well, I was texting this girl this morning around three, and..."

"Wait a minute," I interrupted him. "Three in the morning?"

"Yeah, three in the morning," he continued.

"You were on the phone texting a girl at three in the morning this morning?" I asked incredulously. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, and well my Dad caught me and busted me out on it," he said.

"Well, thank goodness," I responded. "I hope he took your phone away as well."

"Well, no, he didn't"

Idiot.

Of course the entire class is listening to this conversation and start putting in their two cents' worth.

"My mom took my phone away after my last progress report when my grades tanked and she found out I was up texting 'til two in the morning," said one of my girls.

"Yeah, I usually stay up texting at least until midnight," said another.

I was floored. I was hoping that Rip Van Winkle and Drama Boy were the exceptions to the rule, but the more I talked with this bunch, the more I found out that they aren't getting any sleep! They're too busy playing video games and texting all night long! Here they are, in the throes of puberty, when they need, oh, eight to ten hours of sleep a day and they're getting maybe, four? If they're lucky!

A few of the kids in this class admitted that they had set bedtimes and were usually in bed by eight or so, which is a good thing since we start school rather early (at 7:30). Interestingly enough, any guess on which group has the best grades?

Yeah, you got it, the ones getting to bed earlier are more successful academically.

So my big question is...where are the parents? Asleep? Do they not check the bills to see that their darling cherub is up at all hours of the night and day texting away? What's so hard with taking that phone away over night and giving it back in the morning?

There are times I just want to beat my head against a wall.

The Obnoxious Folder

Anyone remember Elf Boy? He's a tiny little guy in my 5th period who, from what we can tell from previous test scores and grades, is really quite capable but who turns in ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

Nothing at all. He has one of the lowest grades out of all the kids in my classes. He never needs to be told to fill out the "why I didn't have my homework" slip and nine times out of ten his explanation is "lost it" or "forgot it at home". He must fill out about a dozen of these a week in between all his classes. He did get enrolled in after school tutoring and his tutoring teacher is, thankfully, snatching all his completed work as soon as it's done and putting it in my mailbox so I can disburse it to the rest of the teachers on The Team.

I've been trying to get a hold of mom for months to get a meeting set up and finally - finally! - this week she actually returned a phone call. She couldn't come in for a meeting due to her job, but she could do a teleconference. So, I set one up and we called her, put her on speakerphone and we all had a nice chat about Elf Boy and his grades.

Mom seemed very nice, and sweet, and very concerned that although she sees him "do all his homework and put it in his binder/bookbag", she doesn't have any idea why none of it gets turned in. None at all.

So, we put in a plan something that has worked well in the past - The Obnoxious Folder. The Obnoxious Folder is the brightest, garish, most eye-popping folder with pockets that we can find which is to go home with Darling Cherub every night. Cherub does homework and it all goes into the Obnoxious Folder. The parent is supposed to supervise, and in some cases staple, to make sure the work is Done and In The Folder. The parent then makes sure the folder, which is obnoxiously garish and loud, is then placed into the bookbag which is usually deep, dark and has some of the same properties as black holes. The idea is that the folder is so obnoxious it can't get lost - like all the homework has been doing for the past year. The next morning the first thing this child does after he/she arrives at school is to personally hand me the folder. I usually snatch them up during hall duty when I see them walk in from the buses, and make the kid stop, open the backpack and fish out the folder. At that point, I empty the folder, give it back to the cherub and send him and her off on their merry way.

This has worked pretty well in the past because I now have custody of the work, and it takes me a minute or so to deliver it to the teachers who assigned it. No big deal as I usually have to check in and talk to them about something anyway. If I'm short on time, I put it in the mailboxes.

Well, Elf Mom loved this idea. I had given Elf Boy a BRIGHT YELLOW folder the day before and she was going to make sure he had it EVERY NIGHT and she'd make sure he put all his finished work in it EVERY NIGHT, and that he'd hand it to me EVERY MORNING, and life would be wonderful because finally, finally, finally, Elf Boy would turn in his assignments. Elf Mom is ecstatic because this is a great idea, it's something she could do, and it will solve all her problems.

Except it's not working out that way.

Most mornings when I intercept Elf Boy in the hallway, he has his yellow folder. It is EMPTY. And those are on the mornings he remembers to bring it back to school. I asked him if his mom was watching him put his work in the folder like she said she would and he hems and haws, and finally admits that no, she's not checking on him. He can't understand why the work isn't there. (Elves again?) Like mom, he swears he's doing it.

Really now.

So Elf Mom, who promised she'd watch him put all the homework she sees him do every night into his folder...hasn't even managed to do that for one single day. Not one. Two weeks now and the only thing this folder is getting is banged up from going in and out of the backpack every day.

(Any guess on who's going to be held accountable for this kid's education? Let me clue you in...it won't be him and it won't be his mom.)

I got with Mrs. Reading Teacher a few days ago to discuss the folder issue. Her comment? "I sort of thought about sending a stapler home to help her staple his work to the folder, but I'm not sure that would even work."

Sad to say, she's probably right.

Fuzzy Expectations

We met on Wednesday afternoon with Snow Day Mom, who, thankfully, didn't have Snow Day Dad along with her. It became pretty obvious that mom is a bit relaxed on things and dad is the one with the combative personality.

It actually was a pretty interesting meeting. We had Mr. Enforcer there (we always ask for an admin to be at parent meetings if we think there may be an issue with a parent). I love having Mr. Enforcer at a meeting because he lays it all on the line and he always, always, has our back. So yesterday he looks at Snow Day Mom and asks, "So, what are your expectations for Snow Day Girl?"

Mom blinks and says, "Well, Dad would like for her to have all A's, but I'd be happy with a high D."

What on Earth? No wonder the kid is just kind of sitting there. The parents can't even agree on what they think she should do!

I always bring a copy of the study guide with me to parent meetings because my parents should be reading it. I send a copy home with every kid and on the back it has a study log that needs to be signed by the parent every night when the little cherub has studied his or her vocabulary cards. Most of my kids can't seem to pry a parent signature out of their parents or, better yet, the parents have never seen this form.

Even though I email a copy to all the parents on my email list and talk about it constantly in my weekly emails.

BTW, I borrowed this study guide format from Elementary History Teacher when she posted it on her blog a few years ago. It is awesome. UPDATE: I've had people ask for a link to Elementary History Teacher's study guide. It is found in her archives from September 2008. Go there, and you should find it. She does a much better job of explaining her study guide than I ever could.

In any case, Snow Day Mom had seen the study guide. But she admitted that she "never really remembers to get it signed", and then she asks a bombshell of a question. "Do you do other tests, or just vocabulary?"

At this point our jaws about his the floor. Why? Because there's a section on the study guide that says, "The UNIT and VOCABULARY tests (note, plural) will be given on...". It also has all the questions that students should be able to answer so they will do well on the UNIT test, the standards, the page numbers in the book the information is found on, and about a zillion other references to a UNIT test on it. It was obvious that mom sort of just skimmed the whole thing and keyed in for some reason on the vocabulary.

And then, of course, was the fact that she missed all the "UNIT test" grades on the progress reports.

"I guess I should check PowerSchool a bit more," she admitted.

Amazing.

Oh Yes, We Read Minds. It's in the Job Description.

I usually check my school email account about once a day. There are times that The Principal will send out a blast to let us know about something that's coming up, a parent may drop a line about a sick kid, or even a student could be emailing about a homework question. (Although, truth be told, I get more spam than anything.) Anyhow, I notice an email from Mr. Math asking about what day this week we could do a parent meeting in the afternoon after school.

I think this is a bit odd as he mentions in the email that he just got off the phone with the parent. Which is weird. Because it's Sunday. And I know he's not in The Building (we can't get in there once the alarm is set without causing quite an uproar with the local authorities), and I can't imagine that he's home on a Sunday afternoon dialing up parents to set meetings. Even though this is a parent we've been trying to get a hold of for months without any success whatsoever - no return phone calls, no email responses, no response to notes in student's agenda

When we returned after four days out of school, due to our two snow days, I found out the rest of the story.

Apparently The Father sent Mr. Math a very irate email on Sunday demanding to know why - WHY? - he was so RUDE as to IGNORE the TWO voice mail messages his wife left on Mr. Math's phone on Thursday and Friday.

Okay, let's think about this a minute.

We had a snow day on Thursday. And another one on Friday. And hopefully this parent realized when she called around noon on both days that her child wasn't at school that day. That she should have been sitting there at home right in front of mom. Because the school was closed. Locked. Alarmed. And no big yellow bus came by and picked up her kid.

And because of the snow day, and the school being LOCKED, Mr. Math couldn't retrieve his voicemail. Which rings on a phone in his CLASSROOM, not his home.

Apparently when Mr. Math returned the call to the parent, after receiving the irate email, he mentioned that we weren't in school on the two days that the parent left a message. Her response?

"Oh."

Now I think I understand why this kid seems a little bit spacey.

When Parents Stick Their Heads in the Sand

We have a girl on the team who has incredible potential but is probably one of the most messed up kids I've seen in a long time.

The fact that I didn't even meet her until the fifth day of school, because she was in ISS during the first four days, was an indication of trouble to come. Academically she should be an A and B student, but is getting by with C's and D's.

The kids all think she's nuts. They'll come right out and say it if you ask where she's at (often I see her in the morning, but she'll do something to get in trouble and end up in ISS).

"Oh, Crazy Girl, she's up in ISS," they'll say to my inquiries. "She's nuts! She's just crazy." Now, in middle school, when your peers think you're crazy, chances are that there's something off somewhere.

We had a meeting, called by Mom, early in the year which was a bit odd in itself. Mom is going to college so she isn't home a lot, but Crazy Girl has both parents (biological dad is in the picture which is almost unusual these days), and they live in an area in the rural part of our county along with a lot of their kin in the same neighborhood. "She's never by herself," Mom assured us. "She has lots of love and support from her parents, her grandparents and lots of aunts and uncles." Mom didn't understand the dark eye makeup, the defiant attitude, the refusal to do work, the mood swings. Mom nervously giggled during the entire meeting and Crazy Girl sat there and sulked until we asked her to leave so we could talk to Mom in private. Mom didn't seem to get that there were problems out there, much more than academic.

Like Crazy Girl's obsession with the really bad boys in school - she's drawn to the kids that ooze hatred and trouble. Her latest was a boy she met in ISS (and passed some incredibly graphic notes to explaining the various sex acts she was willing to do with and for him). He's been sent to alternative school and she's been trying to get there ever since. Prior to his removal, she ended up in ISS a number of times for groping and kissing him in the hallway.

Another weird habit of hers is that she hangs on kids. It's kind of hard to explain without a picture, but she'll literally drape herself over her friends' backs and hang on them. She's very touchy - always grabbing at her girlfriends, hugging, holding hands, and hanging on them. So much so that Mrs. Social Studies asked me in the hall one day if I thought that perhaps Crazy Girl was a bit confused over her sexual orientation.

And then there are the days that she's absolutely wild and manic prior to lunch, and then almost falling out of her chair, woozy, and incoherent after lunch. Substance abuse? Stealing mom and dad's meds out of the bathroom? Hard to say, and I simply type up another referral to guidance to have the counseling pros check it out.

And she's a cutter.

I had heard from guidance that we were getting a few kids who had had issues with cutting in sixth grade. From what we were able to tell, most of these kids had stopped cutting and were dealing with life a lot better. Not Crazy Girl, however. She has, from the first day I've seen her, cut herself, on the face, of all places. You actually have to look fairly close to see the cuts, but they are there and they are definitely caused by a razor blade.

So, this last week, Crazy Girl cursed out a substitute teacher and ended back in guidance and Mr. Enforcer finally decided that she'd earned herself a ticket to alternative school. Where, I hope, she and the boyfriend don't get put in the same room together - however, if they do, it won't take long before they do something really stupid and find themselves expelled. Crazy Girl spent most of the day in guidance waiting for her parents to come in and meet with Mr. Enforcer.

Which gave the Guidance Goddess and Guidance Diva a lot of time to observe some really odd behavior.

"I think that kid needs a therapist in the worst way," said Guidance Goddess. "She's crying and sobbing one minute, giggling and laughing the next. And every time we gave her something to eat, she'd go into the bathroom and throw up. Heavens she's probably bulimic."

I had to agree with her. This is one troubled kid. I checked with Mr. Enforcer at the end of the day to find out what was going to happen with her.

"She's got 30 days in alternative school," he said, shaking his head. "Her parents are just clueless about what's going on with this kid. It's so sad. Do you realize that her mom thinks those cuts on her face are from the family cat?"

This absolutely stunned me. Those cuts look nothing - nothing! - like cat scratches. And they've been there for months, in the same exact place.

I feel so bad for Crazy Girl, and for her parents. They want to believe that everything is fine because all their other kids are fine, they have a nice nuclear family, and everyone is fed, clothed and cared for. However, something is missing in Crazy Girl's life, or she wouldn't be engaging in such self-destructive behavior. I hope and pray that she gets some help soon, because she's on a dangerous path.

But if parents keep sticking their heads into the sand kids like her won't get the help they need.

Up By Ten

We had our first of two parent teacher conference nights last night.

The weather was forecasting possible rain showers, so we weren't really counting on a lot of folks.

We've had little to know reaction to our report cards that went out last week, so we weren't really counting on a lot of folks.

And the last time we held conferences, my team made school history by being the first team to score a perfect zero in parent attendance.

So, we weren't really counting on a lot of folks.

Conferences ran from 4:30 to 7:00 and amazingly, I saw ten parents. Even better? These were the parents I really wanted and needed to see for the most part. All in all, it went pretty good.

Mrs. Eagle, however, had a total of six. Mrs. Hummingbird had four. And there were a few who had even less. I guess the days of parents two to six deep waiting to get into the room to see you are gone.

But overall, after last year, I'm pleased as punch.

Is it Me or Does it Echo In Here?

For the past two years, The District has utilized an on-line gradebook system called PowerSchool. I love it. I can update grades at home, run reports on missing work, progress reports, and probably reports I haven't thought of yet. Parents can check grades any time of the night or day, see that work is missing, and can even get grade updates emailed to them. Students hate it because parents can keep a really close eye on what they are, or more precisely, what they are not doing.

District surveys show that about 89% of our parents have access to email and a computer. I send out a weekly email to about 85% of my parents, so despite being one of the poorer buildings in the district, our numbers aren't too bad. Last year to save paper, they put the Code of Conduct and Student Handbook on line and parents had to sign a form saying that yes, they reviewed it with their kid or no, they needed a hard copy. This year I had one kid in my homeroom request a hard copy. So everything sounds hunky dory and all our parents are utilizing PowerSchool.

Except they aren't. I can go on-line and see the last time a parent or a student accessed PowerSchool and you would be amazed how many of them either haven't ever logged in, or how many logged in in August and never came back. Getting a password is not a challenge - they've been sent home at least twice, there is a table staffed by guidance at nearly every school event (except sporting events) where people can get their passwords. And I'm not the only teacher who sends out a weekly email that mentions checking grades in PowerSchool and to "contact Guidance Goddess at blah blah blah to get your password if you need it." Every single parent meeting we have we mention PowerSchool and if we get that blank look, we walk the parent down to Guidance, get their user name and password, and hopefully they can figure it out from there. All it takes is a little effort.

Last year The District decided that enough parents were on PowerSchool and that we would cease sending home paper Progress Reports. The Principal nixed that idea and said we'd keep sending them on paper because "it's the right thing to do", and since we had a feeling based on our numbers that PowerSchool wasn't being utilized like it should be. Considering the number of parents that went "What's PowerSchool?" when asked, we figured that we'd better do the paper thing.

This year we find out, courtesy of a front page story in the newspaper, that The District is moving to online report cards and will not be sending home paper report cards for the first grading period. Wonderful idea about moving to the 21st century, saving paper, going green, blah, blah, blah, blah...and parents that don't have access can request a paper report card, blah, blah, blah...

The Principal, again, said we'd send home a paper report card because "it's the right thing to do."

On Friday, there is an update to the news story - apparently the District folks did a survey of PowerSchool usage (probably prompted by the deluge of phone calls they received from people that wanted their passwords) and discovered that only 20% of the families in the District have ever logged on to PowerSchool.

Let me repeat that...20%. That's it. 89% supposedly have access to a computer but only 20% have made the effort to check their child's grades.

That silence you hear is the sound of parent involvement, or, more precisely, the lack thereof.

My team sent home 97 report cards. I had 47 students fail science for this nine weeks. To date, I have not heard a peep. No email, no call requesting a conference, nothing.

It's like they don't even care.

And we wonder why the kids don't care either.

Reason Number 324 Why It's a Really Good Idea to Review Materials

One of the standards that we kept when The State revamped the middle school standards, was body systems. Our old book had very little on this subject so we were pretty tickled to see that the new book actually had a lot more information on the different systems.

And in some cases, too much information. Like the full color, gloriously accurate illustration of the male reproductive system. The book publisher, however, apparently realized that the pictures in the teacher edition (which is what we get to preview before during the Book Publishers Dog and Pony Show) were a bit too graphic. The student edition of the book has nothing but white space where the pictures (both male and female) used to be.

Now before everyone crawls all over me about how important reproductive knowledge is, and how we're censoring books and all that, please rest assured that we do teach this but in a less "graphic" way (and I might add that our standards don't even specify what body systems to teach, but rather that kids "understand how they are interrelated.") These kids have all gone through the birds and bees talks in lower grades, and in their health classes, although in each situation permission slips were sent home so parents could approve or disapprove. Quite honestly, I have no desire to teach the whole birds and bees thing with a bunch of immature seventh graders, especially considering that some of them may already know more than I do, while others are still playing with Barbies and are as naive as they come.

And I think parents should be teaching this to their children, rather than me, but I digress.

Today my kids were taking their social studies benchmark test and I'm keeping one eye on them (which is like watching paint dry) while I'm looking ahead to try to see what kind of materials we can use for our upcoming unit. Our workbook is wonderful, so I'm flipping through it when all of a sudden, I see The Picture. I'm sure my eyes just about popped out of my head, because that was the last thing I expected to see. They removed the picture from the textbook, but kept it in the workbook.

Mrs. Eagle and Mrs. Hummingbird came by for planning after the test and I showed them the page. They were astounded as well. Mrs. Hummingbird, who has seventh grader on my team was particularly astounded. "Oh gracious, there's no way I'd want my kid looking at that without permission."

"I can't believe they haven't found that," said Mrs. Eagle. "We would have heard the uproar and giggles if they had."

"Now what?" I asked. "Think we should show it to The Principal?"

"Oh yeah," said Mrs. Eagle. "She could use the giggle."

Suffice it to say, The Principal about fell out of her seat, and echoed Mrs. Hummingbird's opinion that she didn't want her daughter to see that picture, and Academic Coach (who has a seventh grade boy) said the same thing. Mrs. Sparrow, who is in charge of textbooks, and used to teach science, went white and said, "Oh good gracious, that would be highly uncomfortable to use in a classroom."

"Oh my word," said The Principal, "the kids would lose their minds if they saw that, and we'd have parents storming the office."

I think it was the parent response that had us the most concerned.

So, after the dance this afternoon, we spent a few minutes tearing this section out of the workbooks. Thank goodness that we keep workbooks in the classroom (if we let them leave the room they'd disappear in the black holes that are backpacks and lockers). It took all of fifteen minutes for us to get the pages torn out. They'll work well in my compost bin!

Ack-Ack-Ack-Part Three

You know it's going to be an interesting week when the school nurse is out sick with the flu and isn't expected back until next week.

I suppose all the coughing, hacking, and spewing finally got to her. Thank goodness she was well and healthy on Monday when we were able to get our flu shots during our planning periods. So, in the meantime, if a kid needs meds we send them to guidance (and I swear, half the school seems to be on meds) and if they're sick we send them up front to call home and get them out of the building.

One of the high schools in the district is running 25% absent so they've closed for the next two days. We're only running at about 15% absent, so we're nowhere near closing. However, last week a lot of the sixth grade was out and now a lot (more) seventh graders are out.

Starting last week we started to get emails and homework forms that read something like this:

"Sick Kid is going to be out until Someday. Could you get together his/her missing work and send it up front from Mom to pick up?"

Seventh grade has 1st and 2nd period planning so if we get one of these emails after 9:00 am, we don't have any free time (except maybe a few minutes after we've gulped down our lunch before we pick up the kids from the cafeteria) to get anything together. We have repeatedly asked the secretaries to please let the 7th grade parents know that we'll have the stuff ready by the next day because we are - surprise! - busy TEACHING and don't have time to get together five days worth of work until we're done TEACHING. And that's after school.

Does this happen? Not often enough.

So we've rushed around trying to get work together for these kids, in between TEACHING our classes, and have a kid run these packets up to the front office. Sometimes we get the stuff up there in the afternoon, and sometimes we don't.

And here's the kicker. Most of the time the parents don't bother to come pick the stuff up.

Kid you not.

We have had a least half a dozen of these kids come back to class over the past few days, all of whom had piles of work sitting up in the front office.

Mrs. Social Studies and I asked one of these kids, who strolled in today, about the work we put up in the front office.

"Um, Mom didn't come pick it up," he said. "She got busy."

I bet. Kind of like the mom who has a kid who is going hungry (no money in the lunch account) and who's too busy "playing her computer video games" to either give her kid a check or sign a free and reduced lunch request form.

Kids as accessories. I swear, that's all they are for some folks.

And in the meantime, I'm not really motivated to stop my TEACHING to get work together for some kid if all it's going to do is collect dust in the front office.

You Just Gotta Wonder

So we had a meeting with Skater Goober and his parents.

First off, out of the six meetings we've had scheduled so far, only three parents have shown up. I shouldn't complain. Mrs. Eagle has had only one show up (out of six) and they're darn glad she did because they all stayed after school for an hour to talk to this parent.

Anyhow....so SG's parents seem pretty together and with it. We talk about the fact he does nothing. We talk about the fact that they uncovered, like some strange archeological site, page after page of undone homework, worksheets, notes, and the like buried deep within the recesses of his backpack. They ask him why He Does Absolutely Nothing and he mumbles "Don't know," and just sits there like the oxygen thief that he currently is even though he's capable of much more. They ask to be emailed (Dad has a Blackberry for work and can show up at school within minutes) with updates daily. In fact, the next day when Skater Goober spends an entire class period and did one freaking vocabulary card (despite the nearly constant taps on his desk, prompting, etc.) I email Dad. Dad says he and Mom are going to come down and follow him around this week, most likely on Monday.

Did they come? Nope. Not yet.

And what did Skater Goober tell me?

"Hey, Mrs. Bluebird! Guess what? I got tickets to go see Kiss!"

"Really?" I ask. They bought Kiss tickets for this kid?

"Oh, yeah, isn't that cool?" he beams. He does not, by the way, have his book or his binder with him. I doubt he has his pencil. He is not, yet again, prepared for class.

"Well, all I can say is it's a good thing you're not my kid," I tell him.

"Really? Why?" he asks. (He really is clueless.)

"Because there's no way my husband would let you out of the house, let alone buy you Kiss tickets and let you go see Kiss unless you had passing grades in all your classes."

Skater Goober looks stunned. "Really? I mean, he'd really not let me go?"

"Really."

And then they wonder why the kids don't do anything.