Dispensing credits to seniors like Pez on Halloween, this week, our fair school has decided to offer credit to any student who shows up on time for what is being labeled as "an intensive crash course." Most of the seniors who promise to be in attendance are multiple credits away from graduating this Spring. Well, they were until this recent "give away" week. Which leaves me wondering what I would do if I'd grown up in a system that passed me on year after year, believing that in the end, they'd pass me on and discovering that it's true. So, yeah, I guess I'd cut school and party too. As a teacher though, it makes me sick. Most of the kids are coming for English credits because they sat in class for a year without reading a single text or writing so much as a paragraph and now, for one week they will earn a year's worth of credit? I'm not sure that I can work in a system that touts this sort of program. Granted, what does a high school diploma mean these days? But if the plan is just to pass everyone after all, why all the pretense? Why all the staff meetings about high standards? What will a diploma mean to a kid who has done nothing and how angry will it make the kid who has worked her ass off?

It's Spirit Week at our school. This means watching as teachers run around desperately trying to impose a sense of pride where there is none. There is Twin Day, and Back in the Day Day, Mismatched Day (a day I truly can't comprehend) and Pajama Day (my personal favorite as I can meet the dressing requirement with little effort). For the students, it becomes an excuse to not wear their school-issued uniforms and promote gang colors and thug fashion. It's a week where enforcing no hats and colors is nearly impossible and I pretty much let anything go rather than argue. The successful part happens on Friday when the kids participate in a basketball game and the cheerleaders show off their skills--the only problem with it this year was that it fell on the same day as the start of our winter holiday so many staff members, myself included, had no desire to stick around and cheer. Apparently, this date was chosen so that photos could be taken to meet the yearbook deadline. These pictures are needed because the President of the Parents was "offended" by the previous yearbook as it did not prominently feature her child. According to this parent, the yearbook was "racist" because it only offered pictures of students in clubs or on the water and did not feature kids in the classroom. Had I been at the meeting where this opinion was voiced, I would have left the room. The woman who has worked on the yearbook for the past two years has given up most of her life to try and create memories single-handedly in a school where chaos and uncertainty reign. I've heard that this woman dispenses the word "racist" like Pez but I'd never imagined she'd taken it quite this far. Why she is encouraged to remain on the Parenting Committee is a feat that could only happen in Bushwick. We have no parent involvement or we have parent involvement from parents whose limited education and values require careful footing on very shaky ground. I try to stay away from those monthly meetings as they reek of foul play.

But on Valentine's Day for the third year in a row, I organized a contest and had a reading. This year, the reading went really well. It was in the library and the poet shared the stage with the students. The students really enjoyed reading their poems, the hot chocolate simmered in my hot pot and the marshmallows made it have that wintery kid-like touch. Some students really let their spoken word skills out and the student pride factor was genuine. Sure, I offered extra credit to the kids who showed up and there were one or two kids who were there just for that, but most of them got roped in once they sat down and had some cupcakes. A few kids even read the sonnets that they had written for my English class and that made me swell with pride. The best part was that a few teachers got up and read poems, adding to the mix, and raising the level of sophistication somewhat. There were kids from all four years and several from multiple schools as well which really made it something special. I felt proud of the kids and the staff who showed up to be a part of it. I was grateful that it wasn't a total flop and that in fact lots of kids attended and asked for more.

When does a party become a bash? And when does a bash become a bashment? Well, I don't think this one did but I can't be sure as it is the first "winter bashment" party I've ever attended or more accurately, chaperoned. Friday night was indeed the Senior Bashment--an event held in the gym featuring "Seniortinis." "Mudslides" and other cleverly disguised sugary-non alcholic beverages designed to make the students feel that they were entering the world of adulthood without breaking the law. There were two dj's spinning off what in effect was a musical race war--hip hop or a lighter, twangy latino fare-neither audible at their preferred volume anyway. We ordered about thirty pizzas which we were unable to give away because we hadn't considered the typical teenager party behavior which meant that the pizza got cold and the dance floor was empty for the first hour and a half while the bleachers were warmed and everyone checked each other out. The cheerleaders ran around in their uniforms preparing for their half hour stunt show which came out oddly in the middle of the dance party. The boys walked around wearing sunglasses and posturing their chains and hats and baggies while the girls pranced by in tight clothes and decked out hair do's. Eventually the bumping and grinding began and let me just say that there were postures held and moves created that I would never even attempt in the privacy of my own home. The circle of girls "backing it up" became impossible to survey because they were walled in by the on-looking envious masses. Occasionally, one of the more veteran teachers would dance through the crowd touting her umbrella and poke a few bodies apart. I washed my hands compulsively, worked the bathroom shift once or twice and stuck it out at concessions. The seniors planned the event themselves and had decided to call the king and queen the frost pimp and his queen but after a bunch of angry teachers they changed those terms to something else. They forgot about nominating someone until the bitter end, and the one boy who came decked out in his fubu fab wore his tilted red-velvet crown gleefully on his head as he kissed the three remaining teachers on the cheeks and said goodnight. He is indeed a ghetto king and a heart breaker.
The raffling off a a sidekick was another highlight and the winner was the envy of all.
Still, there were more cops and security officers on hand than was neccessary and the party was anything but wild. Much tamer than suburban after prom parties if you ask me. Well, maybe not the dancing, but certainly the males. Mostly, I saw little gentlemen buying their dates sodas and politely taking their hand to the dance floor. And of course when the hip hop alternated to the merengue and salsa you could see the years of dancing at family gaherings pay off because some of our kids can reallly shake it. My white hips sure as hell can't move like that. The security guards were getting into the action--they couldn't help themselves and they are all pretty good dancers too. Somehow, the whole event felt innocent and sweet just as our students can reveal themselves to be underneath all the sadness and fear. Oh, yeah, I suppose that isn't totally true as a few of the spring pregnancies were there dancing in white. An odd, but somehow appropriate part of this high school picture.

"Oh, snap! Trotsky got shanked in his dome piece!"
This is the way one of my students rephrased my explanation about how Trotsky died. I share a room with a teacher who was in the midst of her Animal Farm introduction and I decided to throw in a little trivia. But I think I got the real lesson. He should get credit for that if he wrote it on a test. But I doubt he would.

Queen Mab was a hit--particularly when hinting that she could be the one to blame for those unseemly nocturnal emissions. I think I saw some relief on the faces of confused boys. At any rate, they certainly enjoy the sword and torch jokes and the girls seem to tune in now and then as well. Listening to professional actors read the parts is really helping the kids pick up on the subtext and the plot.

The new "mastery works" v. "practice and effort" seems to be working too. A few kids seem to actually be keeping up with maintaining their points and looking to see what has been assigned and what, if anything, they are missing. I like it because the turn-around time is so quick and as I glance over the work, I can see who is on the ball and who is not.

I like the spring semester. It is filled with teaching artists and theater and fun stuff to read and do. The kids are more mature and trained (after a season on routines) and they seem to b responding well to all the positive feedback that I am coating them in. I am working very hard to stress the positive and ignore or at least respond much less to the poo-pooers of the class.

We're almost finished with act one. We're nearly on schedule. Woah.

and then there is ...frisco, a throw back to the seventies in striped green and yellow collared shirt (instead of his uniform) and matching sneakers (the new thing is to match them) who wanders the hallway with his fanny pack and pony tail telling me that he does want a high school diploma but yeah he is seventeen and has few credits. When I ask him when he might get serious and start turning up he says, "it's not that easy Miss, you think it's easy." I look at him and tell him, sincerely, that I know it is not but that it certainly won't get easier. He says, "I was working." To which I respond, "You might have to give that up if you really want the diploma," and he says, "I know. That's not easy either." We both know what he is telling me. Neither knows what to do about it.

Or Josh, who wants me to take him to a play, and I said, Ok, I will (I took him last year) if he comes to school for the whole month of February. "Too easy." He says. I doubt he will make it. I told him he only had to pretend to be awake. That got a smile.

Or Edny who I told to read Running With Scissors because he is gay and hates my hair and mocks me daily, and needs attention so badly. He is so proud to have the book and came to show me his organized binder, insisting that this was one of his "major goals" this semester.

Or Jonathan who wants to beat me up when I force him to remove his hat and insist that his colors are not acceptable on our floor. Other kids nod to him as though he were a celebrity. I chase him off the floor when I discover that he has no lunch. I admonish another boy who is trying to copy his mannerisms. He comes to my class off and on weekly and will never get credit for the year. He will eventually drop out as it is fairly clear he is not interested in school except as a place to sell.

All hail the sun. Nothing like eleven degree weather to encourage a bunch of teachers to start their internet engines revving in hopes of finding a cheap ticket to a sunny place far, far from the depths of the moaning, moody mass. But such searching and commitment leads to the sad reminder that those with whom we might travel are fellow teachers thus rendering the vacation obsolete. In many ways what we need to break from is one another.

My students are learning to thumb their noses and enjoying comparing sword lengths with one another so I suppose that means that Romeo and Juliet is somewhat successful thus far. A few complained of the boredom factor but several piped up with pride at understanding the basic message that a lonely teenage boy might want to crash a party in hopes of seeking out the girl of his dreams. They also seemed to perk up at the notion of Diana, Goddess of chastity and the whole concept of the nunnery (where’s a girl to go today)?

The AP brand child was knee deep today in Things Fall Apart, teaching one another the finer points of imperialism, cultural relativity and questioning the limits of Western Feminism. I was pleased that they are beginning to teach one another while I am merely a spectator of sorts—like a friend with privileges.

I taught them “Coyotes” and they laughed that they had howling sounds in their heads all days. It was an effective song to use as a guide to understanding archetypes and legends. I think.

We trudge on. The spring semester is so bearable comparably speaking. I can only hope that it feels this way in March and that I do make it somewhere sunny.

All hail the sun. Nothing like eleven degree weather to encourage a bunch of teachers to start their internet engines revving in hopes of finding a cheap ticket to a sunny place far, far from the depths of the moaning, moody mass. But such searching and commitment leads to the sad reminder that those with whom we might travel are fellow teachers thus rendering the vacation obsolete. In many ways what we need to break from is one another.

My students are learning to thumb their noses and enjoying comparing sword lengths with one another so I suppose that means that Romeo and Juliet is somewhat successful thus far. A few complained of the boredom factor but several piped up with pride at understanding the basic message that a lonely teenage boy might want to crash a party in hopes of seeking out the girl of his dreams. They also seemed to perk up at the notion of Diana, Goddess of chastity and the whole concept of the nunnery (where’s a girl to go today)?

The AP brand child was knee deep today in Things Fall Apart, teaching one another the finer points of imperialism, cultural relativity and questioning the limits of Western Feminism. I was pleased that they are beginning to teach one another while I am merely a spectator of sorts—like a friend with privileges.

I taught them “Coyotes” and they laughed that they had howling sounds in their heads all days. It was an effective song to use as a guide to understanding archetypes and legends. I think.

We trudge on. The spring semester is so bearable comparably speaking. I can only hope that it feels this way in March and that I do make it somewhere sunny.