Oh, Haaaayell No

Viola started the day off with more talk about the weekend and the boys being crushified, and me being, apparently, the anti-ice-princess. We spent almost our WHOLE prep period talking about it-- and she kept saying, "I know you didn't mean to, BUT..." And I kept saying, "Lesson learned, I feel mortified, I will be a firm, stern teacher from now on, I get it." I was really hoping to just move on from the whole thing, so to spend almost an entire HOUR talking about it again was so not a fun start to the day.

Then this weird situation came up with a girl who had come in to talk to me before school-- she had some heavy stuff on her mind, and then she ended up crying during 4th period... When she tearfully left after class, she lingered outside our door, and mentioned to several of her friends that she had talked to me about things earlier in the day. I was torn-- should I have gone to talk to her? Or should I be the Teacher-With-A-Clear-LINE, and just let the girl fend for herself? Complicating things further were the dynamics with Viola-- this girl and her have known each other a long time, and I worried that I would be "stepping on Viola's toes" to try to counsel this girl instead of letting Viola take care of it.

I was all stressed and bothered and worried.

Finally, 6th period-- musical-- rolled around. Jane and I took most of the high-school kids into the auditorium to start working on "Who Will Buy," one of the show's big songs. As she was standing up front, I noticed Aaron-- the naked-chested-hallway-chaser-- madly texting from his seat on the edge of the auditorium. I walked up to him and held out my hand for the phone.

"Why don't I hang onto that for the rest of the class?" I asked.

He pulled up the waistband of his sweats and threw the phone into his pants. "Whoops! How'd that happen?" he said. Then his phone dinged and vibrated with a return text. He closed his eyes halfway and grinned. "Ooooh..."

I was FLOORED.

ALL the pent up furies from the weekend and the subsequent talks and lectures rallied together in one single furious expression on my face, and one single enraged tone of voice.

"Aaron that is UNBELIEVABLY inappropriate!" I hissed. "I don't EVER want to hear that kind of crap from you again!!"

He looked surprised, and chastened. Then he grinned and said half-heartedly, "Sorry."

"No. I can't believe you just said that Aaron, SHAME on you. Don't you EVER pull that crap with me again." And I walked away, still fuming.

After class, he walked out in front of me, Leon tagging along at his heels. I called after him with a voice full of nails. "Aaron, I really hope I never see anything like what you pulled in class today again," I said.

"Greta, I'm sorry," he said, looking genuinely apologetic.

"That was so rude," I said.

"I'm sorry Greta!" he said. He sounded upset. I'd really made him feel bad!

"That was unbelievably rude," I repeated.

I told Viola about the interchange and she gasped. "Yaaaaaayyyy!" she crowed. "That was EXACTLY what you needed to say! I'm glad you came down so hard on him, he NEEDED that! And he wants you to like him, Greta, so I bet he feels really bad-- he'll probably never do anything like that again! Good jooooob!"

It was another prickly day all around, but I felt like I'd gotten one thing right. At least the teacher instincts are closer to where they need to be than they were this weekend.

Still-- at this point...?

I AM SO READY FOR SPRING BREAK.

It Starts

Boy Student 1: "Is that a ring on your finger? Are you engaged??"
Me: "It's on my right hand, goof."
Boy Student 1: "Do you have a boyfriend?"
Me: "That's not really any of your business."
Boy Student 1: "Woah! Why you gotta be all offended?!"
Boy Student 2: "She's all offended now!"
Me: "YES, I have a boyfriend."
Boy Student 1: "How old is he?"
Boy Student 2: "Look, she's getting all pink!"
Me: "We're FOCUSING ON CLASS right now."

I was flustered for the rest of the day. I told Viola about it. She said, "Oh, Greta-- you have to be so firm with them! Don't smile, or joke, or anything-- just be clear that talking like that is INAPPROPRIATE. You are their TEACHER. And don't worry about them not liking you afterwards-- they'll get over it. You just have to be FIRM."
"Ack. I know. I knew what to do in my head, but when it actually happened, I just got all flustered! Did I screw myself over by not telling them that it was inappropriate from the get-go? I shouldn't have even ADMITTED that I had a boyfriend!"
"No, no-- you did nothing wrong. But you should talk to them tomorrow and be CLEAR that talking like that to you is crossing the line."

At lunch, with the other teachers:
Viola: "Did you hear what the boys said to Greta?? They're all in love with her."
Other teacher: "You're going to have to get used to that. You're kind of a babe."
Me: "Crap."

Later, talking to a friend.
Me: "This happened today. Ack. This is what I said. Ack."
Friend: "You should have said THIS!"
Me: "I KNOW WHAT I SHOULD HAVE SAID! And I've said it a whole bunch in my head...! But in the moment, you know- it's like on a game show! You just freeze! Aaagggh. Ackity ack smack attack."

Today:
Me, whispering to Boy Student 1: "Clark, I need to you stay after class for a sec."
Me, whispering to Boy Student 2: "Adam, I need you to stay after too. Adam? Did you hear me? Just for a sec."

After class:
Me, to Boy Students 1 and 2: "So... I know that you were probably trying to be funny and joke around yesterday when you asked if I had a boyfriend, or if I was engaged, but you need to know that talking like that is inappropriate. I am your teacher, and you are my students, and there is a LINE that shouldn't be crossed. Our lives meet when it involves your education, but NOT my personal life. Asking questions like that is crossing the line. Okay?"
Boy Student 2: "Yeah, we get it. You're our teacher, not our friend."
Me: "I am your teacher, first and foremost."

Me, to Viola: "This is what I said."
Viola: "That's perfect! Sorry I wasn't there to back you up-- I was trying to shoo everyone else out. And how did they respond?"
Me: "Clark seemed fine-- you know, a little awkward, but he'll get over it. But Adam seemed angry. Which is to be expected-- I knew that, if either of them were going to get angry, it would be him."
Viola: "He said, 'Bye TEACHER' on the way out the door to me."
Me: "That was probably in response to me saying that I was their teacher, not their friend. But I can't just be their FRIEND! I would be a pretty terrible teacher if I was only trying to be their friend."
Viola: "You did PERFECT. You were clear, but you didn't condemn them. Awwww, good job honey!!"

And that is the first story of flirting testosteroni teenagers. Curse my blushing tendencies.

You Know It's Been a Rough Day When....

... The first thing you do on your way home is buy a bottle of wine, and a tub of ice cream.

"Barefoot" Pinot Grigio, and a gallon of Java Chip, to be exact.

And yes. Yes, it was. It was a ROUGH DAY. Today, in fact, wins the award for "worst day so far."

It started so innocently-- like one of those summer days that begins deceptively warm and muggy, only to usher in a mammoth thunderstorm. Today, the deceptive warmth carried the seemingly benign title of "Picture Day."

Picture Day. What a nice thing. Taking pictures. Students in cute outfits. Girls with curled hair. Such a nice thing.

Except when it turns the day into HELL.

Since I'm complaining, I'll include all the little details, starting with the heat. I remembered last night that Picture Day was today. "Whaddam'I gonna wearrrr?"" I planned a cute outfit, banking on the weatherman's assurance that today would be cooler. I picked a light pink sweater, and a black pencil skirt: classy, simple, professional, stylish. But-- BUT: I woke up, and found weather reports that predicted high 70's, low 80's. My light sweater would be sweltering. I had to plan something else. I planned something else. And my last ditch effort included high-heels that were especially high. "Meh, they'll do. I'll survive," I thought. Mistake, mistake, stupid mistake.

Storm cloud #1.

Viola called me at 8:15. "Greta!! I overslept!! I'm coming!!" By the time she got to school, she was stressed and grouchy.

Storm cloud #2.

"How are we going to deal with this picture day thing...??" she thought aloud. "I HATE picture day-- there's no organized way to do it. It screws up class no matter what, and the kids milk their time out of class for all its worth." See, today is block day, which means our normal 50 minute classes are turned into 90 minute classes. This requires modifications in and of itself. Furthermore, our classes are mixed 9th and 10th graders-- and they had to go down to the auditorium to take pictures separately. Picture day required the following migrations:
1.) Entire class goes down to the auditorium to take individual pictures.
2.) Entire class trickles back to classroom, where the objective is to learn things.
3.) Ninth graders go down to take their class photo.
4.) Teachers try to help the tenth graders learn things.
5.) Ninth graders come back to class.
6.) Tenth graders go down to take their class photo.
7.) Teachers try to help the ninth graders learn things.
8.) Tenth graders come back to class.
9.) Teachers make a last ditch effort to help the class learn things before they all bolt at the bell.

Does this sound chaotic? It was: absolute chaos. There was a schedule initially, somewhere. But as things got progressively more disorganized, the schedule was thrown out and the cue to go down to the auditorium became largely based on personal initiative.

Storm cloud-- BIG, DARK storm cloud, #3.

And: Picture Day occurred with fifth period.

That'll be #4.

The going back-and-forth completely dissolved the class, and it wasn't helped by the photographers' lack of schedule and organization. The students dawdled in the halls-- we would have been helped by a couple of Australian Shepherds, corralling them back to our room. Viola was running back and forth, doing her best to crack the whip, leaving me at times alone with the class, at times, running around the school tracking students down. ALSO: our plan for class-- peer editing essays-- was largely ruined when half the students showed up without a draft to edit. SOME of the students showed up waving a thumb drive: "It's on here! It's written, it's just on here!" They know they're supposed to have it printed by the time they come to class, but we made a concession anyway by letting three girls go next door to print their papers. After five minutes, Viola asked me to go check on them.

The class was locked. The room was empty. The girls were nowhere to be found.

I reported this to Viola. "What?? I'm going to read them the riot act. Can you go find them?? I'm only asking because I know you don't want to be in the class..." Well, THAT was true. I walked all over the school-- each step a stab of pain, thanks to my stupid heels, and looked for the girls. I found one.
"Relia, get back to class."
I found a second. "Diana, guess what I've been doing for the last five minutes? Looking for you. Get back to class."
She protested, and then fell apart, crying. "I just (sob) got a referral! (sob) Because this guy (sob) was leaning back in a chair! (sob) And I tried to make him sit up in the chair (sob), and instead he fell out! (sob) And a teacher said (sob) that I was being AGGRESSIVE!"
I took a deep breath and tried to calm her. I chided myself inwardly for being such a hard-ass. Where was the empathy I had promised myself I would show the students? The third missing girl showed up, and I tried to explain to both of them why we couldn't just have them wandering.

I took the non-referral girl back to class, and Viola met us in the hallway, giving the girl, as predicted, the riot act. Two boys in a different period scooted across the hallway and darted guilty glances at me, hiding behind a doorway. When Viola and I walked back into class, I called, "Stephen! Kyle! Where are you two supposed to be right now?" They both darted back into their History class. Seriously-- this is how the whole day was, it was just NUTS.

Viola left me in the class again to go crack the whip down by the photographers, and I was alone with fifth. One of the girls began to leave. "Ellen, where are you going?"
"I'm not feeling well, I need to go to the bathroom."
"Well, get a pass, and I'll sign it." She ignored me and left. I rolled my eyes in exasperation. The front table snickered. Another group of students migrated back into the classroom.
"Okay guys, take a seat and get out your drafts." They continued chatting and milling around the class.
"Guy, take a seat and get out your drafts." Chatting. Milling.
"You should be quiet and working on your drafts." Chatting. Milling.
That's when I lost it. It flew out of me before I could stop it, completely unbidden and completely huge.

QUIET!!!!

They all froze, and looked at me, eyes wide. Thank God for that, because if they hadn't-- I would have been absolutely up the creek. This is the cardinal rule of classroom management: you NEVER, EVER, EVER lose your cool. You NEVER yell. Because once you're on the ropes, once you've played the last trump card-- if they still don't give you their attention at that point, you're doomed. You've lost the battle. Your ship has gone under, and your coffin is nailed shut.

THIS is what I wanted to talk with Viola about, at the end of the day-- this, more than the hurting feet, the heat, the chaos of picture day-- was what warranted the wine and Java Chip. "How did I become this anti-teacher??" I asked her. "I broke every rule I'd made for myself-- I ordered the students around, instead of showing them that they could expect respect from me. I yelled in class, instead of keeping my cool. Things got chaotic, and my first instinctual response was the total opposite of what I've told myself I'll do. I LOST it."

We talked about it, and she was supportive. "Understand Greta, that, as the intern, you basically have a big target on your forehead." Apparently this is normal-- her previous interns went through the same thing. "Matt experienced this!" she told me. "And he's a GUY! He's a muscley GUY! And HE would tell me, 'Dang Viola, they showed me absolutely no respect today.' That's just what's going to happen this year."
"So-- but honestly Viola-- how am I going to keep them under control when I start teaching??"

We discussed it, and she gave me some good advice... Her management style is very authoritarian, and she admitted that-- but her personality is big enough to balance swinging the hammer with joking around. "You're a much gentler personality," she said, "And I don't know if it's a good idea to try doing things exactly the way I'm doing them, because, as you discovered today, that sets you on edge." I do have a major backbone, which I'm not even sure Viola's experienced yet-- my petite stature and blonde hair typically get people assuming I can't be tough. In fact, people are always surprised when I say I'm doing high-school, they always think a girl like me would do elementary, at first. But damn it, I DO have a backbone, and I DO get feisty, and I DO know how to be an effective leader. But... I also come across soft at first. Somehow, Viola told me, I'll need to figure out a management style that works with those different parts of my personality.

Anyway... I'll figure it out eventually, I know. But on Picture Day? Well, that was doomed from the beginning. And until I get it all together?

I'm pouring another glass.