No Place Like Home

Ahhhhhhh, Utah.

I'll admit that I was none too stoked to come home for Christmas, but my lovely wife threatened my life if I didn't come. So here I am. Now that I'm back, I must say that it's nice to be here, especially because it's snowing and I LOOOOVE snow and lots of it.

Last night, we decided to go snowboarding, so we headed up to Brighton Ski Resort to do some shreddin'. We got up to the ticket booth and the guy asked if we had our "half-off" coupons, we said no. The next thing is something you'd rarely find in Memphis: he told us how to get the coupon and was willing to accept the coupon on our phones. Incredible. The snow was also incredible. The pictures are a bit grainy, but it's awesome.



...and another...



I must say that being on the slopes was MUCH BETTER than being with a bunch of pre-/post-pubescent kids. Why, you might ask? Well here's a list.

1. Snow doesn't give me attitude.
2. Snow never called me a racist, especially since we're the same color.
3. I'd rather be freezing in the snow than baking in a classroom.
4. Explaining to my wife that she needs to stay heel-side is much easier than repeating for the 70th time a pronoun is not the same thing as a noun.
5. Snow doesn't talk back.
6. Snow doesn't steal my pencils.
7. Snow doesn't steal my stapler.
8. Snow's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Snowflake, never demand me to explain why Lil' Snowflake has a 17% in my class, even though he's been to class AT LEAST half the term!
9. Snow asked me to go to the restroom and I said no. Then, snow never asked again.
10. I can pee on the snow with no consequences. Especially lawsuits.

Utah is great...except for this prime example of Utahn parking.



There's no place like home.

"You a racist!"

The transcript from the events leading up to the realization that I am a racist. A little long, but worth the read:

AB: "Mr. Lowe, I need to use it (the restroom) real bad. I got to go! We gotta go!"

Me: "As soon as everyone's silent, we'll head to the restroom."

(Most of the girls begin to settle down, but AB won't shut her mouth. I just stand and wait. Their fate is in their own hands)

AB: "MR. LOWE! I gotta USE IT!"

Me: "A, as soon as you're silent, we'll go, but you're the only one that's talking."

(She keeps talking. I laugh at the irony. A few of the other girls start giggling because they realize how stupid she's being)

Me: "A, do you realize that you have to go the worst, but you're the ONLY one still talking?"

(She realizes now that she won't win, so she becomes defiant and keeps talking just to talk. It has become a power struggle)

Me: "Okay, everyone else can use the restroom except A."

(She is still talking. All the girls use the restroom and return to their seats quietly. A won't sit down, she's just standing)

Me: "A, will you please sit down so we can get started?"

(She won't sit down. I ask her again nicely and again she won't sit down. I demand of her to sit down, she won't)

Me: "A, sit down. Sit."

AB: "I am not your dog! Don't tell me to sit!"

(I walk over to her seat and tell her to go to the hall and wait for me. She sits very quickly. I tell her that her time to sit has passed. She goes out in the hall)

Me, very calmly: "Why? I just want to know why you thought the last 10 minutes was a good idea."

AB: "I hate this class."

Me: "Why?"

AB: "YOU! YOU! You always pick on us!"

Me: "I pick on you? I pick on you because I want you to be able to follow a simple direction? If you keep acting like this, you'll be at McDonald's. But if you get to McDonald's and your boss says, 'Hey, A, go flip those burgers,' and you don't do it, you won't be at McDonald's anymore, you'll be on the street."

AB: "I won't be at McDonald's, I'm gonna be a lawyer."

(I chuckled at the prospect of that)

AB: "YOU ARE A RACIST! If B (a white girl) came out here and said she wants to be a lawyer, you would say that it's a fantastic idea, but you just laugh whenever a black girl says it because you're racist!"

Me: "How black is C? Is she as black as you?"

AB: "Yeah."

Me: "Yeah, she is. She wants to go to law school and I think it's a wonderful idea, we've even stayed after school and looked at law school pamphlets together. What about L?"

AB: "She's not black, she's mixed, she doesn't count."

Me: "Wait a second. I'm racist because you don't follow directions, yet you're the one who won't count another black girl because her dad is half-hispanic? Who's racist now?"

Anyway, the conversation digressed until it could go no further. Honestly, it hurt to hear that from her. I've made a very concerted effort to treat all my students equally and I really don't see color anymore. My favorite students are B, C and J, are all black, but A doesn't care because I'm a racist.

Me: "Is AD black?"

AB: "Yeah."

Me: "Well, by your definition of skin color, she's actually blacker than you are. So why isn't she out here in trouble? If I hate black students so much, why isn't every black girl out here just like you? Did you ever think that it's your attitude and not your skin color that's getting you into trouble?"

(She doesn't respond)

Our hallways are a 1950s-style checkerboard pattern with alternating brown and tan squares. The students are required to stand in one block ("rock your block") and not talk in the hallway.

Me: "Well, we're gonna go see Mr. Jones, our BLACK administrator, and see if he treats you any differently...."

(And then the kicker that totally pissed her off)

Me: "...and you need to rock your block, so put BOTH feet inside that brown block. Oh, excuse me, I forgot that I'm a racist. Will you PLEASE put both feet in that block right there that's a little darker shade than the one next to it?"

Yeah, a little immature, but oh so gratifying...except that I'm a racist.

To Jean or Not To Jean...

A small conundrum facing the teachers at my school on a Thursday, the last day of school. Generally, jeans are reserved for Fridays only, but considering the circumstances and the shot nerves this week has brought on, the staff may just need to sport the dungarees for a day.

Karen, Jamie, Kathleen and myself are teachers; Ronnie's our principal.

I Hear America Singing

For extra credit, I gave the students the opportunity to re-write Walt Whitman's "I Hear America Singing" based on their own "American experience." Here are two of the best, I'm way stoked about it, too.

I don't hear America, it is so quiet.
Everything is so colorless, boring and old.
No leaves on the trees, and it's awfully cold.
I don't hear America because no one speaks.
No one talks, dogs don't bark and birds don't tweet.
America sings, from Whitman I heard.
But that I can't say
Because maybe Walt was having a good day.
America is [sic], others may think,
But America remains cold, boring and dull to me.
-AW

I hear America crying, all the hurt being shed.
Those of fallen soldiers,
Each one dying while serving our America.
The mothers of young fallen kids
Dying on the street because of crime.
The man trying to work off all his bills,
While still hurting.
The boatman crying because he can't make the payments for his boat.
The shoemaker crying as he sits on his bench,
And then tries to stand as a tall man.
The woodcutter's sad song;
The plowboy's on his way in the morning.
The woman at work still having sadness in her eyes.
Each crying because they have little belonging to him or her
And to none else.
-TB

A Few Reasons

Some days are killer. Some days are great. And some days are just funny.

A few reasons why I keep dragging myself out of bed at 4 a.m. every day:

1. This somehow showed up on my board. I have no idea when or who did it, nor how it was done because we had silent work time today, but the rascals are tricky.





2. Kids come to my room every day during my planning period and beg me to hang out in my room instead of their class. I always tell them to go to class, but today their teacher is gone, so three girls are just hangin' today. A tidbit of our conversation:

JH: "Well T's my husband, so it's cool."

(I stopped typing and just stared at her)

Me: "Your husband? You're 13 years old."

JH: "Yeah, I know, but he's still my husband."

VM: "Did you know that in my dad's country, you can get married when you're 13 and can quit school at 12?"

Me: "Which country is that?"

VM: "Honduras. I want to go there so bad."

Me: "To get married? You're in Amurrrica, so stay in school and don't get married."

JH: "He cheated on me the first week we went out."

Me: "Did he really cheat? How did he cheat?"

JH: "He and L were talking to each other about gettin' together."

Me: "Did they kiss?"

JH(completely disregarding my question): "It's okay though because I cheated on him, too. J and I are best friends and we were just talking one day, then he gave me a hug and we...just...um...kissed."

Me: "Wow. So you can't really talk because you did the exact same thing."

JH: "Yeah, but....but....whatever, Mr. Lowe, he's stupid for doing it."

Another conversation:

BF: "We should get tattoos. Mr. Lowe, what tattoo do you want?"

Me: "Justin Bieber on my back."

BF, VM and JH(all in unison): "What?!"

BF: "Why do you want Justin Bieber?"

Me: "Bieber Fever, baby."

BF: "I love Justin Bieber."

Kids Say the Darndedamndest Things.

Some of my favorite responses:

Question: "What is one stereotype that you have ever heard?"
KM's response: "chineas people eat cats and dogs."
RM's response: "The song you just heard is a stereotype."
MH's response: "M1 is Mexican and she has a blue jacket, but where is yours M2 and P?"

Question: "Define: Secondary Source."
CM's response: "I can have the fruit mom."

Question: "Fill in the missing fact.
1. Men that wear eyeglasses are very intelligent.
2. ____________________________ (should be 'Jason wears eyeglasses')
Therefore, Jason is very intelligent."
CM's response: "Girls that wear contacts are very nice."

Does Jesus know how to Dougie?

I just got back to my classroom from our stunning Christmas Concert that definitely did not fail to please anyone...except for maybe the Jews in the audience...and the Muslims...and probably the atheists. I was shocked at how openly Jesus Christ was discussed in school. Being a Christian, I have no problem with it philosophically, but realistically, there are Jews and Muslims (the latter view Jesus as a prophet, but not the Savior of the world) in our school that probably were a bit turned off, if not offended, by the spectacle.

A few highlights from the show (remember that this is a public school and in front of 600 students):

"Let's put Christ back into Christmas this year. We need to celebrate Jesus Christ and honor His birthday."

"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house; Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse."

Boy on stage: "Christmas is about love and giving, not necessarily material things, but of ourselves selflessly."
(Applause)
Teacher conducting: "That was great, I love the 12 days of Christmas. Now, our dance team is going to perform 'Teach Me How to Dougie.'"
(Wild Applause)

I stand firm in the fact that there is no better way to honor Jesus Christ in this Christmas season than to pump some Cali Swag District and be taught how to dougie. It's also worth mentioning that almost every teacher was blushing at the fact that the choregraphy of the dance included the girls nearly grinding the floor and showing their goods through their short skirts...at 12 years old.

Pictures and video to come.

Drugs in the pocket? No biggie.

I've realized that in addition to being a teacher, I'm also a life coach. With 60 female students, I've become more of a psychiatrist and mediator than anything. Moral lessons are plentiful, but some don't go quite as I plan them to go.

CB: "Mr. Lowe, can I talk to you in the hall?"

Me: "Sure."

We go out into the hallway.

CB: "Mr. Lowe, P is spreadin' some stuff, some rumors. My SUPPOSED friend is spreadin' crap about me."

(Something worth noting: this "supposed friend" threatened CB and told her that she and two other classmates were going to jump her only three weeks prior)

Me: "Well, maybe you shouldn't be 'friends' with her anymore. Did you ever think about that possibility? Wasn't it only a few weeks ago that you were crying in my classroom in fear that she and C and K were going to jump you?"

CB: "Well yeah, but we cool now, Mr. Lowe."

I think for a second, then begin my teaching moment that is going to change her life. I mean, seriously, this girl's perspective is going to be forever changed after I say what I'm about to say...

Me: "C, there are just some people that you shouldn't be around. For example, would you ever hang out with someone if you knew that she had a bag of cocaine in her pocket?"

(The obvious answer that 98% of the rest of humanity would give is a resounding no.)

CB: Silence...... "Um, but what if-"

Me: "No, C, it should not take you this long to answer my question. There are no 'what ifs,' no technicalities, no details. 'Yes' or 'no,' would you hang out with someone who had cocaine?"

CB: "What about weed?"

Me: "Okay. You need to say 'absolutely not.' You should never be around people with drugs, no matter who they are. Drama is P's drug; stay away from her! Just like you should stay away from people with drugs, stay away from her and her drug of choice: drama."

Teaching Moment Scoreboard
Me: 0 Kids with drugs: 1

Eleanor Roosevelt and her slave brigade

Each day, at the beginning of class, we do what my school calls "brainwork." I usually have a quote or a penetrating question that will cause them to think deeply and analyze it from another perspective. Monday's quote was a portion of one of my favorites:

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood." -Theodore Roosevelt

I asked them why the credit would belong to someone who is "marred by dust and sweat and blood." I asked them what this quote means to them personally. The following conversation ensued with VGM, one of the more intelligent students I have.

VM: "Wasn't there a woman with that name?"

Me: "A woman named Theodore Roosevelt?"

VM: "Yeah, or something like that. She did a lot of stuff."

Me: "Do you mean Eleanor Roosevelt ?"

VM: "Oh, yeah, was that Theodore Roosevelt's wife?"

Me: "No, she was actually the wife of President Franklin D. Roosevelt, who was also a president, just 20 years later."

VM: "Oh. Didn't she help with the slaves. Didn't she build the tunnels under the ground?"

Me: "No. That was Harriet Tubman. She did that during the Civil War, Eleanor Roosevelt wasn't even alive."

On a related note, I gave an example from the Civil War to help explain the historical fiction genre and a good chunk of my students thought the Civil War was fought in the 1920s.

Call me!.....and don't trust black dudes

A note one of my students gave me prior to leaving for Thanksgiving break:

"Dear Mr. Lowe,
Hav a faburistic Thanx-Givin. Love you, we all do...
tell ur wife 2 call me!
901-xxx-xx50
Sincerely,
Candie Monster
-CB"

How nice. My wife never called. Bummer.

Then, as I was grading the exams they took on Tuesday before the break, I came to a shocking answer that details just a lil' bit of racism in one of my students. We've been researching the case of Emmett Till (see previous post) and so the whole test had to do with Emmett Till and the events surrounding his death. As a wrap-up to it all, the last question on the test was:

"Based on the facts and testimonies given, whom do you believe? Why? (Remember, you need to base your decision in FACTS from everything we've read)"

The correct answer would consist of either siding with Emmett Till or his accused murderers based on an assortment of facts (there was more evidence for Emmett Till's side; there wasn't enough evidence to convict the murderers; the witnesses gave perfect testimony to convict; etc.).

RC's response: "I think black men can't be trusted."

Ummm.......a brief history - or civics - lesson may be in store.

Thanksgiving!

In the spirit of the giving of thanks, a few things I'm thankful for:






And the best of all...

Vocabulary Blunders

Although grading is one of my very, very least favorite tasks, I do love seeing all the random answers I get on vocabulary quizzes. Here are a few of the best examples from Friday's quiz:

1. Segregate: "I dog and cat are separate at the pet shop." --AD

2. Segregate: "He was segregated be his girl friend." --MR

3. Indigenous: "The boy and the girl were indigenous in the store together." --MR

"Do I do the prostitution?"

As a wrap-up to our unit on Emmett Till, we are doing a review the day before the test, but instead of a game or a review sheet, we will be doing a mock trial, complete with a judge (myself), lawyers (select students) and a jury (everyone else). I explained the ins and outs of a trial, including when the prosecution presents its case and when the defense presents its case, opening and closing statements, etc.

I didn't realize that they had no idea what "prosecution" and "defense" mean, so an interesting conversation followed my explanation. R, one of the lawyers for Emmett Till's side (the prosecution team), came up to me and asked a question. Now you need to know that this girl, along with many of her classmates, speaks so softly that I have to practically touch my ear to her lips in order to hear what in the hell she's saying. Here it goes:

RG: "(mumble mumble mumble)"

Me: "What was that?"

RG: "Can I do (muuuuuummmmbbblee)?"

Me: "Can you what?"

RG: "Is prostitution okay?"

I honestly thought that I heard those words come out of her mouth.

Me: "Is prostitution okay? No, it is not okay. Why?"

RG: "Well, I'm making my case for Monday and I'm not sure where I go. Do I do the prostitution? Do I prostitute?"

Me: "No, R, that's prosecution. To prosecute. And yes, you are the prosecutor. You will prosecute the defendants."

I couldn't stop laughing. I informed her in ever-so-politically-correct terms that prostitution is, in fact, walking the street and soliciting to pervs, while prosecuting is making a legal case against a defendant.

And, thus, her vocabulary grew.

Young Love...

I'm so mad at myself that I can't remember who I took this note from because I'm actually interested to know who's getting with who's man. I'll call them S1 for "Student 1" and S2 for "Student 2."

S1: "J's girlfriend is mad becaues she nows I can git him anytime I want to. She said she will fight for him and he said that I will win and hunrt her to."

S2: "OMG! so are you and J going out?"

S1: "No not yet but we will are you Ok and your boyfriend OK."

S2: "Yea but I didn't get to see him in 3 days I think his mom or dad takes him to school because it is cold outside."

S1: "ok cool."

S2: "does that mean he loves me if he comes down my bus stop everyday."

S1: "yes that way he does it."

S2: "oh why does he always smile when he sees me"

S1: "becaues he know you ok and you love him."

It reminds me of my courtship with my wife: I used to always go to her bus stop and she definitely had to bat off some hoes to get what she wanted...except for the whole part about me getting with other girls, that part's not true at all. But she did fight some beezies along the way. Young love.

Today is just a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Plain and simple.

Fighting the bull

There is a girl in one of my classes that only comes about 1-2 times per week on average. She is very defiant of any authority and she is difficult to work with when she does actually come. I just flat out didn't like her. She never comes to class, but somehow she scored a 100% on my unit test. I know she didn't cheat, I watched her like a hawk because, at that point, I wouldn't have put cheating past her. She is a very smart girl that just doesn't want to behave or, for that matter, even come to school.

She got a 10-day suspension three weeks ago for fighting, so last Monday was her first day back. I was dreading it. It's not that I didn't want her to come back, I just hated that I hated her. I didn't want her to come and have bad feelings toward her because I felt like I wasn't being a good teacher. If she didn't come back, I wouldn't have to confront those feelings.

She came back.

I prayed silently for patience with this girl, M. I saw her coming down the hall and the dislike was coming up in me. She walked past me to the bathroom, then came out and was about to pass me. I realized then that I had to be the one that changed. I said, "Hey M, how was your weekend?" She smiled. It was the first time that I had seen her smile. She responded, "It was good, I didn't really do anything." I then told her that I was glad she was back and couldn't wait to have her in my class later that day.

Since then, she has been wonderful. She came every day last week, took notes, raised her hand and participated on her own. She was a different person.

On Wednesday, I found one of my students with a phone so, per school policy, I took it from her. She then wrote a note to M and they went back and forth until I took the note from them. It read:

CB: "Hay! Hw yah doin!"

MH: "Good and u?

CB: "Fine and bored, Imma b gud so i kan try tah get tha phone bak."

MH: "He's good like dat, lol, he will give it back."

CB: "I kno! I luv him (az a teacher!) datz wat up"

MH: "Hez kinda cool! lol

CB: "Kinda! He iz! He colorful, but yu kno I dnt want my brutha 2 distrust me!"

CB was one of my worst behaved students at the beginning of the year, but we were able to have a breakthrough and now she is in the palm of my hand. She behaves very well and if she has a problem, she comes to me like an adult and tries to solve it without freaking out. The other teachers have noticed a significant change in her. Now MH was coming around. The girl that I had previously loathed was now say that I am cool.

Yeah, it's just a couple of lines. Yeah, it might seem stupid. But I was able to meet her halfway and now we can have a great relationship and she can truly shine. If she can get a 100% with behavior problems and never showing up, imagine what she can do now that she's coming and wants to participate.

I'm getting through to at least two

As stated before, our entire unit is focused on Emmett Till and what really happened that night in 1955. The students are very engaged and I was so stoked to find my students writing this to one another. Generally, passing notes consists of illegible or completely absurd conversations about who-the-hell-knows, but this one was spectacularly different.

AB: his face so messed up he used to be cute

AA: awl wat happen I wanna kno! you ain't even gon tell me? LOL but I will find out today.

AB: Nooo but his face is messed up I could not sleep afta I read all dhis. I been to where he got killed and where they dumped his body at...

AA: Where? is it a book? wat iz it?

AB: No its a true story, no book.

AA: but you said you read it. im scared to look! i wanna kno wat happen!

AB: ON THE INTERNET!

AA: oh. on google? or anotha web sight? OMG im finna (fixing to/going to) cry!

AB: google he got his own page

AA: oh my GOD dats wrong, oh GOD dat iz

These two girls know how to spell very well, but apparently it's not cool to spell correctly when you write notes. Kaboom.

A regular Tuesday, a murdered boy and a changed class

This takes a more serious tone than my usual rants, but it's totally worth it.

My students are usually well-behaved and pay attention in class, but they have yet to really grab onto something and claim it as their own (although the letters to the superintendent complaining about the current - and completely bogus - grading scale really did great things for their teenage angst appeal among one another). They seem like they're completely content with just going day to day, learning their bit and moving on to the next grade. I needed something to get them fired up.

And thus it was...


His name was Emmett Till and he was murdered. In the summer of 1955, while visiting family in a small town of 500 called Money, Mississippi, he unknowingly committed a terrible sin that would prove to be the catalyst to his brutal death. He whistled at a white woman. He had grown up in Chicago - in the more moderate North where such behavior would have warranted a smack on the head and strong words from his mother - but he was now in Mississippi, deep in the Delta, embroiled in the racist South.

Two men - the woman's husband and his half-brother - kidnapped Till in the dead of the night, drove him 30 miles to a remote barn, and proceeded to beat and torture him until sunrise. They then took him to the Tallahatchie River nearby, tied barbed wire around a 130-pound fan and then around his body, shot him in the back of the head, and threw him in the river.



Two days later, the world witnessed the fruits of their labors.


The boy died in 1955 at 14 years old. It kick-started the Civil Rights Movement. It showed the nation what atrocities were happening at that time in that section of the country. It did all these things, but most important to me: it made my students realize that the world isn't perfect, but they can try their hardest to make it just a little better.

Is Memphis a state?

Today all of my classes went to the library to dive into some research. Yesterday and today, we focused on getting specific topics and researching only those topics and nothing else. I told them to get into groups of three and choose any country in the world, then focus on something very specific about the country (Mexican food, Canadian sports, Italian fashion, etc.)

First problem, a lot of the girls didn't know any countries past the United States and an embarrassing majority of them thought that Africa is a country.

The most terrible conversation of them all went as follows:

CG: "Hey, Mr. Lowe, we need your help. Is Memphis a state?"

Me: "Is Memphis a state? No."

At this point, I thought they were kidding. They are 14 years old. 14 years old. I soon realized that they were dead serious.

BJ: "Well, then, what is it?"

Me: "It's a city in Tennessee."

BJ: "So Tennessee is a country?"

Me: "No, it's a state. What country do you live in?"

The three of them looked at each other doubtfully and uncomfortably.

Me: "What is the name of our country?"

KM: "Don't we live in (she mumbled something)?"

BJ: "Yeah, what she said."

Me: "Ladies, what's the name of the country that you are in right now?"

KM: "Is it the Uni...ted States?"

Me: "Yes, yes it is the United States. Ladies, it should not have taken you that long to answer that question."

14 years old. 14 years old.

The Sad Truth

My students are getting screwed. And it's sad.

Throughout my short time with Teach for America, I have began to understand a little thing called the achievement gap. It states that there is a definite gap between the generally white, middle- and upper-class students and their peers who are generally black or hispanic and live in lower-income areas. They do attach a racial sticker to it.

In my class, however, it has nothing to do with race, it has to do with money. VGM is white and cannot spell "teacher"; PW is black and doesn't understand what a noun is; and BF is Mexican and cannot physically write down the exact words that are coming out of her mouth when writing an essay. Yet all of them are poor and go to a poor school in a poor area.

I bring this up because today in church, a six-year-old brought up the heartbreaking reality that life sucks for my kids. We were waiting to begin, so I asked him how his week went and what he learned in school. He said that science was fun, but it's not the kind of science that interests him; he prefers the pre-historic era (and yes, a six-year-old said that exact phrase). He then proceeded to tell me about his favorite sea monsters using the actual scientific names of the animals, names I had never heard.

An excerpt of our conversation:

Me: "Did they ever come on land to fight the T-Rex?"

CS: "No, they can't come onto land. The only species of sea monster that can come on land is the dacheosaur."

Me: "Oh, wow, I didn't know that. Where did you learn that?"

CS: "I read it in a book this week. I can read better than a 10th grader, my dad said so. He teaches 10th grade and he says that I can read better than most of them."

My immediate thought was that his dad was just giving him confidence and sugaring him up. I then realized that three of my 8th graders (13-14 years old) read on a kindergarten level.

It's pretty f-ed up that this kid, a six-year-old, is reading 300-page books and enjoying it and understanding it while my students struggle through a simple 5-page short story. It's not a racial issue, it's a money issue. It's also a culture issue, but that discussion would take years to understand and properly communicate. In any way, though, these kids are still getting screwed and an entire society needs to change in order to effect the type of change that these kids need in order to be something in life.

It just sucks.

Just a little leverage...

The 7th grade Boys Honors class is wreaking havoc on all those who enter the halls of our school...or at least their three teachers. Two have been pushed past their limits and the other has that crazy look in her eye that she might just come in swingin' one day.

So I got to thinking, what could I do to help them out. I offered my room as a refuge from the typhoon. I offered to come sit in on the room and scare the boys into behaving. But then I realized that five of the boys, three of them among the worst little demons, want to be on the soccer team that I coach. Voila. Leverage.

We scrimmage every Friday to get ready for tryouts in February, so yesterday I had Ms. H come out and point out the spawns of Beelzebub. The conversation went something like this:

Me: You guys know why you're standing here and nobody else is?

M: No.

Ms. H: It's because you can't behave in my class and now you have to pay for it.

Me: So, you are going to go to the field and you are going to watch the rest of the boys have fun.

L: Can't I just go home then?

Me: No, you told your parents that you were going to be playing soccer until 4. I wouldn't want you to be a liar in addition to a terror in the classroom.

M: Why can't I play?

Me: What did I tell you at the beginning of the year? What are the requirements for this team?

M: To have a 75% in every class.

Me: And?

M: Have our teachers say we're the best behaved in class.

Me: Exactly. So, I have to go to my room for a bit, but when I come down, all three of you better be sitting on those bleachers if you want to have a frozen chance in hell of making the team. Is that clear?

M, L, A: Yes, sir.

Well, an hour passed, I went downstairs and only M was there. How far the two have fallen. Kaboom. He shouldn't act up in class again.

Car wrecks, f-words and a lil' bit of scrutiny

This morning started lousy.

1. I had to shave. I hate shaving. I really hate shaving.

2. I was running late and that stresses me out.

3. And then, I got soaking wet. I was getting on the freeway onramp when I saw two smoking cars rolling to a stop, one in the shoulder and the other on the hill next to the freeway. Of course, nobody stops but instead do EVERYTHING possible to avoid the cars and get on the freeway. I pull over and see a young guy helping a woman into his car, she was in obvious shock.

The kid totally wanted to be a superhero.

He told me he was a nurse.

Neat. I don't care.

The other guy who was actually involved in the accident called 9-11, requested an ambulance and came over to help. Nurseboy, three minutes after the fact, decides he's going to call 9-11, ignoring all our claims that we had already, in fact, called the police. He tells the operator her pulse and heart rate.

Neat. He doesn't care.

Then it began to rain. The only day I forget a jacket, I am on the side of the freeway and it is raining.

Once I got to school, I had to rush to make copies, dry off and get my room ready for the day. Everything's going great until we get ready to go to lunch.

I line my kids up and then hear some kind of rumble down the hall and I see a young man, about 5'11 coming right at me. He blows past another teacher and comes straight my way. I tell him to stop, to which he responds, "Get the f*** out of my way. This is bulls***, get out my f***in' way."

I finally, after him running into me multiple times, wrap my arms around him and drag him into the stairwell. He immediately calms down, apologizes and tells me the story. Of course it was a terrible story, he had no reason to react in such a way, but at least he was cordial about it.

And then the executive director of Teach for America came into my classroom and observed me. Wonderful.

Why wait until after school?

Well, for the third time I called a parent DURING class to get the attention of the student and correct the behavior immediately, and might I say, the third time is definitely the charm.

As we were walking back from lunch, the students are supposed to be silent in the hall. In the stairwell, I hear somebody make a wookiee sound that would impress even Chewbacca himself. I stop the whole class, fight myself to not laugh, then ask who did it. Nobody responds. The class begins to all speak at once. Long story short: nobody fessed up, so the whole class suffered. After a very effective lecture, I send them up the stairs. Then, I hear someone shout. I look back over the balcony of the stairs and 12 kids are pointing at one boy whom I will call "C".

I call him up to the top of the stairs, tell him to stand right next to me, and he responds in a smart alec way. Out comes my phone and I call his dad. The conversation is as follows:

Me: Hi, Mr. H, this is Mr. Lowe, C's English teacher. We're standing in the stairwell and the rest of your son's class is silent, but he decided it was a good idea to shout something out when I told him repeatedly to be silent. I just thought you should know.

Mr. H: Would you like me to talk to him?

Me: That would be nice.

I then hand C the phone and he has a conversation with his father in front of every single student in the class. He hands the phone back.

Me: Yes?

Mr. H: He should be just fine now. I don't know what's gotten into him, another teacher called earlier this week. I don't know if it's his hair or what, but he's gonna get a whoopin' tonight...and then he'll get a haircut. I sure wish y'all could whoop them still, put them right in shape. But you don't worry, Mr. Lowe, he'll get his butt whooped and then he'll get his hair cut. Thank you for calling.

Me: No, thank you, sir. Have a nice day.

So, the things I learned today:
1. Either my students are lying or there are wookiees roaming our halls.
2. The length of one's hair is directly proportionate to their misbehavior.
3. A quick call to a parent DURING class does wonders.

How is that relevant?

Yesterday, we were going over persuasive devices (bandwagon, testimonial, etc.) and I tried to give them a story about snob appeal that would make sense to them because the Gucci and BMW references were totally over their heads. Suffice it to say, they got off track pretty easily. Here's how it went down:

Me: For example, I drive a Toyota, which is a great car, but it wasn't very expensive. It's definitely not a Mercedes, though. An example of snob appeal would be Mercedes telling me in a commercial that unless I drive a Mercedes, I'm not cool like those who do.

QT: Do you watch TV?

Me: Yes, why?

QT: Have you ever seen that one commercial?

Me: Which commercial?

QT: You know, the one where they say "Show me the Carfax"?

Me: Q, is this relevant at all?

She gives me a completely confused look as though my question was the dumbest thing she had heard all day.

QT: Of course. So you know when that fox shows up?

Me: Yes...

QT: I liked that part, it's funny.

...and there went three minutes of my class...gone...forever...

I should give points for creativity

My students know that they are not allowed to pass notes in my class. I take them, I read them after class and, if it happens often enough, I will read them in front of the entire class. Two students, knowing I would see, take and read their note, decided to kiss up to me in a very creative way. The note is verbatim:

DS: Hey gurl! Mr. Lowe stress'd!

HP: hey. and yeah he is!

DS: ima check on hym, he maah fav. teacher and I want em 2 b happi!

HP: Yea he is cool tho, it's a relief cumn 2 him at the end of the day every day!

DS: he da best! tha best teacher I eva had!

Well played, ladies, very well played. It kinda worked.

A free flow of information...

I remember middle school very well. I remember the awkward moments. I remember not knowing who I was or who my friends were. I remember it being, well, awkward. Yet in all my awkwardness, I never shared many of my feelings because I didn't know that there was any need to share them. And if I were to share them, I sure as hell wouldn't share them with a teacher, especially intimate or personal feelings. Prior to teaching, I thought everyone felt the same way as I did.

And then I met my students.

My school is run like a well-oiled machine; the students are very aware of the rules and, for the most part, respect them, and our test scores show it. In the hallway, students are not permitted to talk and they must walk in a straight line together to their destination. One day, two of my girls kept giggling and talking - mind you, these girls NEVER make a sound, so it threw me off a bit. Finally, after a third warning, I pulled one of the girls out of the line and made her stand next to me as we walked. The other girl raised her hand and said she needed to speak with me when we got to the cafeteria. I pulled her aside and the following occurred:

Me: "Scarlet (name has been changed), what's up?"

Scarlet: "Mr. Lowe, I really didn't mean to talk in the hall, but it is so cold in your classroom that it is making my nipples hard. The other kids are laughing at me because of it. What do I do?"

Immediately, my thought is - and this technique has been fully proven by millions upon millions of people - to say, "Well, just rub them and they'll soften up." However, I saw the pending lawsuits and loss of job and income from a mile away, so I refrained and came up with another idea.

Me: "Well, what if you just crossed your arms and leaned back a little bit to make it look like you just don't care? Kinda like this. You think that would work?"

Scarlet: "Yeah! Okay, Mr. Lowe, I'm gonna do that. Thanks for the help."

And, thus, my first cannonball into male teacher-female student relations.

And thus it begins...

My name is Trent Lowe and I am a teacher. This blog will serve as an observation deck of sorts into the public school system in Memphis, Tennessee. I teach 8th grade English Language Arts, mainly girls - 53 total - with a valiant bunch of boys - only 12 in all. There are funny times and there are sad times. There are times when my girls are laughing so hard I have to close my door and there are times when they are crying so much that I have to stop class to have a heart-to-heart talk.

There have been times when I've wanted to just throw in the towel and pursue other ambitions, but then there is one moment that puts it all into perspective and I realize how much I love these kids and how much I want to help them help themselves.

So, welcome to Mr. Lowe's classroom.