Balancing Acts

As teachers, balancing our personal lives and professional lives is always a challenge. Inevitably you use yourself as an example or incomporate an anecdote from your own experiences to establish an example or non example. It is so very easy to reveal too much. It's only natural; you're busy building relationships and trying to break through those tough shells of theirs to the creamy, maleable filling underneath. This is especially true of some of the Family Consumer Science classes (i.e. Parenting, Child Development I, Child Development II, etc.) Eventually, this will come back and bite you. Guaranteed. It's just a matter of how thick you skin is I suppose - how much you're willing to bleed. Yesterday I was bitten and it's very possible that I might be scared for life.

I am fortunate enough to have some students who are so loyal that they sign up for any of my 7 classes regardless of their interest in the subject just to be in my class. As a result, some of them know more about me than others. Of course they love to share that information too. Such was the case yesterday. During a review scession in Fashion class, I heard one student announcing to the class, "Dude, you should have seem Mrs. G's mom when she came and talked. [My mother came in to speak to my child development class as a former NICU nurse] Her mom was awesome - she brought us stuff to eat and then she was teasing Mrs. G about wanting grandbabies. Mrs. G was all embarassed and stuff. It was great." All eyes turn to Mrs. G. one of my newer students chimes in, "Do you have babies Mrs. G?" I decide to communicate that this is not my favorite topic by hesitating and then using nonverbal skills like tone and emphasis in the words that I choose. As I open my mouth dramatically and begin to respond, another student who has had many of my previous classes cuts in on my behalf, "Nope, she's waiting until her husband is done with college and gets a job." A third students turns to me and comments, "You better get going Mrs. G, you don't have a lot of time left!"

I have to talk over the giggles to defend myself, "I'm only 25!"

"Yeah, but I thought you told us that the older you get, the harder it is to get pregnant,"

"Uh, starting in your late 30's!"

"I dunno, you're getting up there!"

"Look, you need to be discussing Fashion, not my fertility - it's just plain creepy to talk about my uterus when we should be talking about principles of design!"

"What's the name of your favorite book again, Mrs. G?" (Okay, maybe this is a good sign that the conversation is heading in a better direction.)

"Wuthering Heights."

"Oh, that's the word I was looking for - withering. Like your withering uterus!"

Yep, I'm adding 20 questions to your final.

I think you missed a turn back there

I shared a touching moment with one of my students today. We were reminiscing about all that we'd done in class this quarter when she looked at me and spoke [I believe] directly from the heart in that oh-so-articulate teenage way: "Mrs. G., I wish you taught important classes - they'd be more fun." I must have made a face (like I could have stopped myself even if I wanted to) because before I had time to respond she stuttered a quick cover, "Uh, I don't mean that the classes that you teach aren't important; I just meant that you'd be great if you were an important teacher. [I can feel my eyebrows elevating on my forehead to my hair line - as is customary when I'm perturbed] I mean ... um ... what other classes do you teach again? I wanna take one of your courses next quarter too! I love you Mrs. G!" "Riiiiiight," Open mouth, insert foot, hop away.

Sinatra who?

Every kid remembers that old teacher, you know ... the one that you'd expect to have retired like 20 years ago. Well, I always thought that one of the benefits of being only 24 when I started teaching high school would be that I wasn't going to be completely disconnected from the kids' interests and the pop scene of the day. I even managed to wow a few kids my first year with my knowledge of terms like "scene kid" and "lolz". I thought I was set. More than once I've been told, "You're the coolest teacher - when you're not mean," or "you're crazy, but in a good way..." It all ended today. I suddenly feel the need to talk about my plethora of pet cats and start sentences with "back in my day, we ..."
Thinking that I was going to treat my kids so some not-so-crappy music (as opposed to the classical stress-relief CD I listen to I suppose) I'd play some good stuff. I turned on some Christmas music that I had purchased about a year ago - a Frank Sinatra and Bing Cosby Christmas CD. I was enjoying myself and my students were suspiciously quiet when one of my girls lets out a dramatic sigh followed by the exasperated statement, "Mrs. G, I swear you're turning into my grandma!" "Quoi?" I asked in a genuinely confused tone. "Yeah, she listens to this old stuff too." No. This isn't happening, "I know it's kinda old-school, but it's Sinatra - he's timeless!" Another girl pipes in, "Who?" She's as genuine and innocent as can be - I kinda wanna drop-kick her at the moment. Despite my instincts, I keep my cool and respond, "You know - Sinatra ... Rat Pack ... Ol' Blue Eyes?" "I think I've heard of him [oh thank God] ... isn't he kinda like Michael Buble?" That's it, we're listening to Mozart again ... at least he's old to everyone. "That's Life ..." (click it!)

Signs of the Apocalypse

I've recently noted that the instant text lifestyle has had a huge affect on my students' daily lexicon. Things that used to be full sentences have been reduced to phonetic tri-syllable statements. It's seeped into their writing as well; "IDK [I don't know]" is a common answer in test blanks. Students have even started to use emoticons [using symbols on the keyboard to create faces and pictures, such as :-) representing a smiley face] in their writing. It's as if they've forgotten how to write longhand and think only through the context of the keyboard (or keypad as is the cases with chronic texters). Overall effect - annoying to the teacher in me. Side effect - as a young adult observing a significant shift in the culture of the up and coming generation, it's a friggin' riot!

Exhibit A: The Introduction. I came into my room one morning to see that a student had left a message on the board for me. Centered on my white board was the note seen above in red. "Oh how interesting! Someone thinks that peace is less than three and then forgot to finish the rest of the equation ... [it's actually peace, love, and happiness]" I smirked and noted that in the back of my mind to use this to make fun of my kids later.

Exhibit B: The Epidemic. "Come up to the board and write one of the possible answers!" Following the traditional groans, I look to the class as they feign weakness that inhibits their movements. "Common, or we'll go run around outside in the snow!" A chorus of 'Okay, okay!', 'what are we supposed to do again?', and 'can we use the book?' fills the awkward silence. Then I look up and see it: my board has been polluted with emoticons!! Every single answer written on the board is proceeded or preceded by some variation of a happy face. Not just any happy face though, a sideways happy face - an emoticon happy face. There are colons, parentheses, p's, and dashes as far as the eye could see. "At least you guys can write them so I don't get a crick in my neck!"

Exhibit C: The Aftermath. "Mrs. G, look - I can text a rocker dude!" Next thing I know \m/-_-\m/ is written up on my board. Not to be shown-up as technologically illiterate by the whippersnapper, I replied, "Check out my dude listening to music [said in a more hip and modern manner, of course]!" I draw the following on my board: d-_-b Pretty proud of myself and my bilingual nature, I look to her only to see confusion etched on her face. Thinking that I've realized my error, I start to explain that back in my day (God, I'm getting old), we had headphones that went around your head - not just "ear buds". She stopped me mid-rant and responded in a way which proves that we are all doomed: "Yeah, I know about those things, but I don't get how you would make the backwards d." Yep, definitely doomed.

Echoes from My Past

As students were researching their assigned region of the United States and deciding what recipes to cook from that region, my "Southern" team called me over. "We need some help deciding on a main entree. Everything takes too long!" "Well, have you thought of doing a catfish fry? It's a great entree and it's a quick preparation." Then it occurred to me that I was talking to a kid who, as an individual who'd never left her Midwest state of origin, believes that an exotic fish was tilapia. "Do they eat catfish in the south?" All of the sudden, my body began to tremble inwardly, I felt the surge of my mother and grandmother's influence and my upbringing. I couldn't stop it - no one could have. "Oh, you poor baby! Bless your heart," I sang in a southern twang. "Every good Texan knows that you got to go to a fish fry every Sunday for cold fish and hot beer!" Ouch. Just ouch.

Pear-shaped teacher

While teaching Fashion, I reviewed the students on the Elements and Principles of Design. They were to look around the room at their classmates and find examples of each element and principle to demonstrate their knowledge. When I asked for input on the element of Shape, one young lady said, "I used you! [oh God, here it comes] You're pear-shaped!" Well, yeah she's got me there, but does she really have the concept down? "Can you explain further? Why am I pear-shaped?" I prompt. "Because of your ghetto-booty!" Then the thought pops up, "Damn! I've taught them too well!"

Introductions, Class!

It's the first day of school - high school to be precise. I've made sure that the right kids are in the right spot, "No, your schedule says B125 - this is C125." Looking into the class I see that me telling the kids to sit anywhere they want today isn't going to work - the first row of desks is conspicuously empty with students huddling in the back. I did put on my deodorant today, didn't I?
"Welcome to [insert one of seven classes that I teach here]!" I begin my salutations and tell the kids that I prefer to take the monotony out of their first day by doing something different than going over the syllabus, policies, and procedures. "We're going to do an ice-breaker instead." (enter the dramatic teen groans) "There's candy ..." After seeing them perk a little I think, "Okay, not too lame so far." A few dramatic reenactments, corny jokes, and anecdotes later I'm officially that teacher who's "crazy - but in a good way." Success! Now all I have to do is learn all of their names, lull them into a sense of security with me and in my class, and then ... you know, teach. This year is going to be easy as pie. Mmmmm, pie. When's lunch?