I’ll initiate this blog with a series of classroom antics, which beyond their basic humor underscore some truly problematic issues.
Larry is a fourteen-year old redneck. He looks redneck, talks redneck, and raises all the classroom hell you might expect from a redneck. Naturally, he has a terrible reputation among teachers, which is reinforced by what I would mildly call anger control issues. For most of the year he has been one referral away from expulsion, and for most of the year he has failed every single subject. Yet for some reason he has taken a shine to me. Though he rarely works in my class, he is almost never disruptive. I enjoy our small talk, our banter, and our mock bickering in the hallways. I don’t dread him as other teachers do, so I was surprised and definitely amused when this happened:
Larry came into class during passing period, meandered aimlessly about the room and sat down in his seat in the front row a good three minutes before the tardy bell. As the passing period came to a close, four of my students were lingering in the hallway.
“You are going to late,” I cautioned.
“I’m going to get my coat!” said one.
“Yea, me too. It’s always cold in your room!” said another.
All four rushed in seconds after the bell. Larry looked blankly ahead.
“You are all late,” I said.
“No,” they protested, “You said we could get our coats!”
“I said no such thing, and I’m writing you all up.” At this, Larry bolted out of his seat.
“You can’t write me up! I’m not signing any damn detention form! This is crap!” Larry screamed as he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
There was a moment of stunned silence. “Larry wasn’t late,” I said emotionlessly. Then the tardy students erupted into laughter.
Soon the students were busily working away, and I stole away to find what had become of Larry. As it turns out, Larry had walked himself down to the office where he quietly and resolutely awaited the dean. “You know I wasn’t talking to you; you weren’t late,” I said. “Why don’t you come back to class now?”
When I saw that Larry had gone directly to the office I was reminded of the character Brooks in The Shawshank Redemption. He is the one that Red (Morgan Freeman) characterizes as “institutionalized.” I thought of how many of our chronically misbehaved students have themselves become institutionalized, how familiar they are with Friday night schools, out-of-school suspensions(OSS), and the expulsion process itself. These punishments hold no fear, and are frequently welcomed. I have often been told by students that they enjoy the OSS. It is located on another campus where there are only two rules: (1) Absolute silence (2) No sleeping. They are gone for days at time, and return even more lost, more hopeless (if that is possible). However, these students do develop a peculiar skill, one that they frequently use in my classroom. They can sit perfectly still, perfectly quiet, and perfectly disengaged from any meaningful activity, until, of course, a teacher tries to write them up.
Larry is a fourteen-year old redneck. He looks redneck, talks redneck, and raises all the classroom hell you might expect from a redneck. Naturally, he has a terrible reputation among teachers, which is reinforced by what I would mildly call anger control issues. For most of the year he has been one referral away from expulsion, and for most of the year he has failed every single subject. Yet for some reason he has taken a shine to me. Though he rarely works in my class, he is almost never disruptive. I enjoy our small talk, our banter, and our mock bickering in the hallways. I don’t dread him as other teachers do, so I was surprised and definitely amused when this happened:
Larry came into class during passing period, meandered aimlessly about the room and sat down in his seat in the front row a good three minutes before the tardy bell. As the passing period came to a close, four of my students were lingering in the hallway.
“You are going to late,” I cautioned.
“I’m going to get my coat!” said one.
“Yea, me too. It’s always cold in your room!” said another.
All four rushed in seconds after the bell. Larry looked blankly ahead.
“You are all late,” I said.
“No,” they protested, “You said we could get our coats!”
“I said no such thing, and I’m writing you all up.” At this, Larry bolted out of his seat.
“You can’t write me up! I’m not signing any damn detention form! This is crap!” Larry screamed as he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
There was a moment of stunned silence. “Larry wasn’t late,” I said emotionlessly. Then the tardy students erupted into laughter.
Soon the students were busily working away, and I stole away to find what had become of Larry. As it turns out, Larry had walked himself down to the office where he quietly and resolutely awaited the dean. “You know I wasn’t talking to you; you weren’t late,” I said. “Why don’t you come back to class now?”
When I saw that Larry had gone directly to the office I was reminded of the character Brooks in The Shawshank Redemption. He is the one that Red (Morgan Freeman) characterizes as “institutionalized.” I thought of how many of our chronically misbehaved students have themselves become institutionalized, how familiar they are with Friday night schools, out-of-school suspensions(OSS), and the expulsion process itself. These punishments hold no fear, and are frequently welcomed. I have often been told by students that they enjoy the OSS. It is located on another campus where there are only two rules: (1) Absolute silence (2) No sleeping. They are gone for days at time, and return even more lost, more hopeless (if that is possible). However, these students do develop a peculiar skill, one that they frequently use in my classroom. They can sit perfectly still, perfectly quiet, and perfectly disengaged from any meaningful activity, until, of course, a teacher tries to write them up.
2 comments:
That's a great story, Rob. What happened to that kid?
Well, so far he has not yet hanged himself.
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