Howelling at the Moon

Mr Howell... can I talk to you private?

I just wanted you to know why I haven't been as focused recently. I've only told you (since you're like my school dad) and Ms. C since she's like my school mom. Oh and Mr. W cause he's my other school dad.

Mr Howell, I always wonder why god always puts me in situations I don't like to be in. I know that life is always going to be a struggle but sometimes it feels like I'm targeted. I just got off of work I got out later because there was an incident today. I was cleaning and saw a Hispanic man and his wife standing outside the bathroom worried and I asked them if they were okay if they were lost and he started explaining that he saw a man on the floor and he wasn't responding I went in bc my coworker was in there he's a kid around my age the man was just laying in his back with his eyes open. Since it was a night shift my other coworkers are Hispanic older women they only speak Spanish

She called 911 and my manager was on call with them as well I had to be in there to translate while she was trying to help the kid flip on his side. I'm worried about the kid he's still in high school ik that must of been really hard on him I wanted to be strong and try to give the man cpr but he was much much bigger then me the kid (my coworker) he's much much taller then me so he tried his best. In my live I've had to see a lot of ppl pass away and be in rooms with ppl who have passed, when I walked in the bathroom I already knew the man had passed away he was stiff and the color was leaving his skin his eyes were open as well, nobody wanted to touch him to check everyone was scared. Even though I've seen it many times every time will always feel like the first. Usually I'm able to keep my cool but this time I couldn't. After the paramedics got there I stepped out I had to go translate again and then later that day I started to tear up it brought up a lot of memories I tried to forget about my oldest sister when we were in the hospital. My boy was there he stayed with me the whole time I pulled my self together and went back to work had to talk to some customers bc they kept coming asking why we were closed had to smile at people act like nothing like I always do my manger seemed concerned and kept asking me if I was okay, I told him I was and he was like is it your first time seeing a body I told him no he was like second? I was like no he seemed surprised.

I don't want to go to school tomorrow but its only the second day of school itjust started. I gotta man up tho take a deep breath and smile like always do

I came home late explained to my mom why I got out later and then had to argue bc of my sister always argues and bc of other stuff. They always think of me as a strong person that stuff like this doesn't affect me. I figure part of it is also my fault I always act like stuff like this doesn't affect me I usually let things pile up and then fall apart...

Hey kiddo, what are you still doing here?

Just didn't feel like going home yet.

Everything ok?

Yeah, I guess.

Long pause while we both digest the obvious lie.

It's just that... well, the guy who rents a room from my dad has been starting to make comments to me. Like, unwanted comments.

...he knows you're only 17, right? And did you tell your dad?

Yeah, but my dad says he needs the rent money. And he basically implied I probably deserved the comments. And until I'm willing to cover the rent myself I just need to deal with it.

F@*!

That's not really an appropriate thing for a teacher to say Mr Howell.

Mr Howll can I tell you about my day?

Sure child. I've got time.

Well remember the cart you helped us make in woodshop?

Franks "culture project" for his language class that I gave up lunch to help him finish since he put it off till the last minute? I have no idea what it had to do with French, but yes, I remember.

Uhm, well yeah, that cart. Well, we delivered after lunch to the teacher and she loved it, but while he was pulling me to class in it-

Wait, you rode it to class? I mean I know you're petite, but...

Yeah - I mean we had to prove it worked, right? But yeah, while I was riding it to class, a fight broke out in the hallway ( I know child, I tried to stop the students running that way) and Frank was really mad. I mean, not mad I guess but frustrated. Like, he kept saying, why are you people fighting when you could be checking out my cool cart?

Fights scare me Mr Howll. You know, I'm not very big. Only 4'10".

And then later, between classes, I went to the bathroom, but it was weird because there was all this blood like a bunch of heavy drops like going into the bathroom and then in the bathroom a pretty big pool. And it was weird because like at first I thought maybe it was some poor girls period blood that she was unprepared for, but it really seemed like too much, so I went and found security and told them, and they were kinda mad at me, like asking how I got in that bathroom, but it wasn't locked and I guess it was supposed to be because I guess like some girl did self harm and was trying to commit suicide and they had to call an ambulance and everything.

You ok Mr Howll?

Yes, child. Just a little embarrassed that sometimes I think my life is hard.

Mr. Howell - can I talk to you outside? Like in private?

Sure. And moments later, What’s up?

Uhmm, are we reading today? Like, out loud?

Yes.

"Mr. Howell, can I talk to you after class?"

"How about right now?"

"Ok, but outside? Private?"

once outside,

"Remember yesterday when Janet was crying and you asked me to follow her and make sure she was ok? Well, I found her in the bathroom and she is having problems with her boyfriend and she said sometimes she feels like cutting herself and then she pulled out this knife and I wasn't sure what to do, so I took it away from her, but then I talked to my mom after school and she said I should not be walking around with a knife and I should tell the teacher and so can you take it and did I do the right thing?." (holding out 4 inch, razor sharp, ornately decorated knife.)

Is that people take. 

 It is not an essay I chose the topic for, nor is it an essay I even chose to give. It is a district mandated writing prompt.

 Believe me, as much as I want to complain about the prompt, I do understand the value of standardized assessments. (This is not that rant.)  So like a good soldier, I am giving the prompt in as serious a manner as I can so that the students will take it seriously and try their best.

 What I don’t understand is why it is mandated that I teach a certain number of standards and why it is mandated that I give standardized assessments by certain dates only to then have the same organization which does the mandating interrupt (read: undermine) my teaching and assessment giving.

 During second period, the phone rang in my classroom three times. Two of the three calls were requests (read: demands) for four different students to be pulled from my class.  These were not disciplinary issues, (at least based upon my familiarity with the students and their reactions), so I have to assume that they were being called away for something more academically important than Senior English. Which makes me wonder how important the prompts were. (Or, more honestly, how important the call outs were…)  And I wish I could say that three phone interruptions in one class period was a rarity. I have a personal policy that the fourth time in any one class, I respond to phone calls with “Rocket Pizza, may I take your order please?”  We've only been in school three full weeks, and the students don’t even laugh anymore.

 In the fifteen or so days we've been in school, three different adults scheduled time in my classroom for “short” presentations and I have pending requests (although I am usually told instead of asked) from three more groups.  None of these presentations (read: interruptions) are for anything remotely related to the common core standards for English. This is on top of the three different school-wide (or at least grade-wide assemblies) which in at least one case didn’t just shorten the period, but replaced the class period.

 And even now, as I am giving my next class their instructions for the essay prompt, the interrupting intercom comes on to make one more school-wide announcement. Mind you, we are now well beyond second period which is five minutes longer than all other periods for the express purpose of providing time for announcements so that it we don't lose valuable instructional minutes.

 Are all these other things important?  I assume so. Because never, in a million years would I interrupt another teacher’s class period and take away from the limited time they have been given to teach unless I truly believed that I was more important, or that my announcement was a bigger emergency, or that the information I had could not possibly be distributed in any other non-interrupting way such as email or text or the school website, calendar, marquee or any of the 500 other discreet methods of communication available to every employee of this school district .

With the child who tries,

but will not succeed?  

Hope I am wrong? (Because I have been.)

Redefine success? (Would you want the prize if it weren't honestly earned?)

Give more? (And to which other charge do I give less?)

she's practiced the laugh so often

that it is almost

impossible

to tell

she's not laughing...

Nothing is ever that simple of course. And so neither is she.

After all, smiling, whether you mean it or not creates a better mood.

Maybe she's wiser than she acts. 

Or more probably, she acts wiser than she is. 

Either way - Don't stop laughing kookaburra.

So this acquaintance says to me, “How difficult can it actually be?  I mean, you’ve been teaching for fifteen years now and always the same subject – at this point you can probably ‘call it in’ huh? I mean what’s the worst that can happen - occasionally you have to come up with a new seating chart?”

            I bite my tongue and count to 25. Twice. And I think to myself, “You know, that’s funny because I did have to unexpectedly create a new seating chart today. First period.  Because Perry showed up for the first time in two months.  Apparently he just got released from juvenile hall. And part of the judge’s ruling was that he was not allowed to associate with Harris for three years. And Harris (who was only released a week ago himself) is also in my first period class. Eventually their schedules will be adjusted to keep them apart but right now Perry wants to kick Harris’ ass because Harris was the one who ratted him out. “He ratted me out Mr. Howell. If he would of kept his mouth shut I might not of gone to juvie. ‘Snitches get stitches’ Mr. Howell.”

“Seriously? Seriously?  You’re gonna use a street rhyme as a moral guideline on how to live your life?  How about this one – ‘If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime’?  Maybe, instead of blaming Harris you shouldn’t have been shooting the pellet gun at what wasn’t an abandoned building after all. Maybe you shouldn’t have broken that window. Maybe, you shouldn’t have taken the pot shot at the store owner who came running out yelling at you? Hmmm? Maybe it isn’t Harris you should be mad at. Maybe it’s the kid in the mirror Perry.”

Speaking of seating charts, how about fourth period where I’ve got 20 resource students, each with Individualized Education Plans detailing their individual learning disabilities and how I am supposed to accommodate and differentiate for each one of them, and with those 20 are another 20 who do not have IEP’s but probably should have because they have always struggled in English and I’ve got to take those 40 students (and the 37 desks in my classroom so thank god at least two or three are absent each day but still, a continually new seating chart) and convince them that not only can they understand 400 year old Shakespearean English (when they are barely able to use the modern vernacular to communicate their needs) but also that it has value and practical applications to their lives. Which I could probably do, except that at least once a period and sometimes as often as three or four times, the phone will ring because some counselor or vice principal or school psych or parole officer or heck sometimes even just the attendance office needs to see or talk or check on little Johhny and I know these things are important and will only take two minutes, but your two minute interruption takes me another three minutes to get the class back on track (because at least half those learning accommodations are for ADHD) and two plus three is five, times four is 20 minutes and between calling roll for 3 minutes and waiting for the students to find their book and then turn to page 457 for 7 minutes and the last five minutes where the kids aren’t paying attention because they are busy packing up, well now the class only has 15 minutes of instruction time for me to convince them that yes, they do actually understand Macbeth and the global themes of greed and guilt and why ‘weird sisters’ should not be trusted.

And then lunch at last! 30 glorious, wonderful, stress-less, duty free minutes where I can shut my door and not have to deal with – oh dear why is Angel sitting outside my class and not with her friends? And why does she look like she’s about to cry? Well, because she’s on the phone and she is about to cry. And then she’s off the phone. And trying to hold back the tears, but they’re obviously coming sooner or later so, “What’s the matter Angel? Boyfriend?”

“No, my mom.” And then she can’t hold back and the tears gush and is my first thought to give her a hug and let her cry on my shoulder?  Nope – my first thought is, ‘dear god, more than anything, this girl needs a friend or father figure in whose shoulder she can hide her face so that she doesn’t have to be quite so embarrassed about bawling in public but are my windows open and is the door open and if anyone sees her crying on my shoulder will it look inappropriate and thank you so much you dumb asinine 41 year old teacher from Modesto for leaving your wife and kids for an 18 year old former students because now everyone assumes all male teachers are perverts and screw you I’m not. I am going to give her the hug she needs.’ And so I do. And eventually she tells me how her mom was berating her for being a poor excuse for a daughter and selfish and worthless. “Why?” “Because I just joined the worship team and now she thinks I spend too much time at church and not enough time with my family.”

And God help me I almost can’t help but laugh. “So let me get this straight – You have pretty good grades, you have a respectable and respectful boyfriend, you have never used drugs or alcohol or been suspended or in a fight so the one thing your mom can find to complain about is that the daughter she named ‘Angel’ spends too much time at church? Seriously?”

And now we’re on to 7th period, or rather, the five minute passing period just before class starts and Brianna approaches and with the most serious, sad face I’ve ever seen her wear and asks, “Mr. Howell, I know I failed first semester and I know we are already five weeks into the second semester, but is there any way I can pass this class?” And what I want to say is “No, sweetie. 5 monkeys typing for a week have a better chance of randomly reproducing all the works of Matt Groening than you do of passing my class,” but she wouldn’t understand the reference, and I’d feel mean and petty so instead what I say is,

            “I’ll tell you what – the reason you failed first semester was because you were absent, on average, 3 out of every 5 days.  And the reason you are failing so far this semester is because out of the first 20 days you have been absent 7, suspended 5 and tardy 4.  But if you can consistently show up on time and prepared and ready to learn for the rest of the semester, then I will consider passing you based upon your Spicolian efforts.”

            “Thank you Mr. Howell. I don’t know who Spicoli is, but I appreciate the chance you are giving me.” And then the bell rings and I’ve got to get class started and I turn to my computer to call roll and I call the first four students, “Here, here, present, here” and then I get to Brianna. And she’s not here. “What?!? Wasn’t she just here?” “Yeah, Mr. Howell, but after she got done talking to you, I saw her leave…” “Seriously? She asks what she can do to pass and I tell her just show up and pay attention and she thanks me by then cutting my class? Seriously?” I couldn’t make that up as a joke if I tried.

But my day isn’t over. Now it’s Credit Recovery Afterschool Program (love that acronym!) because we can’t afford to run summer school, but we can’t just let the kids fail, so if they sign a contract stating they will attend 60 hours after school (two days a week for 2.5 hours each day) and do the packets we provide, we will give them 5 units of make up credit even though a normal school semester is 90 hours but the caveat is they absolutely cannot be absent or tardy more than three times for any reason whatsoever no excuses none zip zilch nada!!! And here comes Juan. 10 minutes late. For the third time. So it’s only the third time,  he shouldn’t be kicked out yet, but we’re only into the fourth week of credit recovery – there are still eight weeks to go. “Hey Mr. Howell, sorry I’m late, but I had to go get food because I there is no way I could stay awake and focus until 5:30 without a little something, and I heard you like ‘al pastor tacos’ so I brought you one.”

            Crap. “Thanks Juan. These look good, where are they from?”

            “My uncle works at the store up the street and I help out…”

            And I wonder if I should take it, ‘cause if I take it, it’s kinda like a little bribe to not mark him late even though I didn’t ask for a taco but really it was only 10 minutes and the kid is right it is almost impossible to sit in the classroom until 5:30 after you have already been here since 8 am and really isn’t that a life lesson too – if you are going to make a mistake, be prepared to make up for it in advance? It’s easier to get forgiveness than it is to get permission? A way to a man’s heart is through his belly? Especially with tacos ‘al pastor’? Anyone?

            And then a half hour later Sherry - who has already been absent twice and tardy twice - walks in. “Hi Sherry. We started 45 minutes ago.”

            “Sorry Mr. Howell. I had a doctor’s appointment.”

            “All right, but Credit Recovery doesn’t care why you weren’t here, only that you were absent and since you haven’t been here on time often enough, (and since you didn’t bring me tacos says my guilty  conscious) why don’t you go check in with Ms. Jones to see what we can do?” And as I’m writing her the pass, I see an email pop up on my screen from Sherry’s counselor –

            “Hi! I just had a long conversation with Sherry about her grades. She is nervous about not passing your class and doesn’t understand the big project and wants to know what she can do?” And I think to myself, “I didn’t know our counselors had their medical degrees…”

“Well, she could start by not lying…” Which is how I begin the reply to her counselor, followed by, “And when she does show up to class, she would probably understand the project better if she would put her phone away and stop texting while I am going over the hand out which explains in detail the project they will be working on for the next two weeks. In class. With materials I will provide. Free of cost. Regarding the book we read. Out loud. In class. Together. During which I paused every other line to explain. Twice. “

            On my way home, the wife calls and asks if I can stop at the store and pick up a few things for dinner and in the store I run into an acquaintance and we get to chatting and he asks, “How difficult can it actually be?  I mean, you’ve been teaching for fifteen years now and always the same subject – at this point you can probably ‘call it in’ huh? I mean what’s the worst that can happen - occasionally you have to come up with a new seating chart?”

(Spoken like any good addict in denial - 

I'm not an alcoholic! I DON"T have an anger problem!)

But in those moments when I'm too self assured,

All I need to do,

To put myself in check,

Is try to write poetry.

Is that two minutes before the alarm actually alarms,

when I'm awake but Sleep, like a truth serum still in my blood,

And then...

you do. 

and the world changes. 

Or I do.  Which is the same thing.