Being at such a small school, I know probably too many details of my students' lives. I don't often talk about the all negatives in my conversations about work because of something my CS said at Institute. She told the story of someone else's presumptions about her students and how she hated to reinforce those. She said she talked about the hard stuff with other corps members because they had students of their own; they knew. But when she talked to others she tried to highlight her students' achievements, moments of warmth and brilliance, their potential.
Doing this has proven to be exceedingly difficult, because it is the very bad stuff I try to avoid that makes their successes all the more joyful, frustrating, and heart-breaking.
To my original point, I know about the feuds, the friendships, who goes with whom, who should never sit next to so and so, and who made the mistake of beating up another young man so severely that he is in a coma on a CTA bus last week that was being monitored by a camera. I was in the office this morning when another mother came in with her son claiming that he had been assaulted by students from my school. And I was in the middle of reviewing vocabulary when the principal came silently into my room with the young man so he could have a look around to see if he could identify his assailants.
"Who was that, Ms. Geraghty?"
"Uh, you know, probably a prospective student."
"...what's prospective?"
"(sigh...) a potential student. (silence) Like, an eighth grader who might come here next year.
"oh. ok."
I'm part of the conversations in which kids discuss whether they'll have to transfer schools next year because they're afraid to get shot outside our new building.
I hear the stories of abuse, neglect, loneliness, abandonment, sorrow that make their very presence in school every day a success. And it's hard not to want to gloat about the A they got, the conflict they settled, the new record they set, without also explaining how much farther they have to come to get to those goals. I suppose that's what makes keeping expectations high so challenging. They may be just as high as those in other places. But the journey is so much longer. D. A-B isn't really doing much better this semester than she did last semester, at least academically in my class. But I know that in my class she knows she is welcomed and cared about and looked after, that I notice when she's gone, give her opportunities to be successful wherever I can, ask her about her life, and expect her to do more. The TFA goal is 80% 80% 80% mastery mastery mastery. but the reality is much different. That's something I've had to reconcile with my idealism; of course we have to keep lofty goals to always keep moving forward (my spanish I kids are hovering in the low 70's right now). But perfection isn't humanly possible. There will be failures. And I think failure has become less scary a word than it was at the beginning. Because if there's one thing I've learned this year, it's the importance of perspective. I may not have been a stellar teacher. I made more than my share of mistakes. I failed my kids many times by many accounts. But, unlike 1/4 of our staff, I haven't quit. I've done the best that I can do and kept my sights on the goals, remembering that acting with compassion and faith is oftentimes more important than expecting to be able to act with expertise I haven't earned.

There was another incident after school today. I hesitate to call it a fight, since there wasn't any direct physical contact. Incident doesn't really convey the violence it contained though. Sticks were hurled, bottles were smashed, threats were shouted. I was sitting in my room after school with the windows open, enjoying the smell of spring. All my tutoring kids were gone and I was geting ready to leave,- before 5! I heard shouting and screams from outside and hurried to the front. Probably 10 or 12 boys were out in the parking lot with the assistant principal. Some were my students, still at school for baseball practice, some weren't. Some had removed shirts, coats, strewn belongings around the lot. Gordon was pulling J towards the school, telling him to get inside. The boys were all posturing and shouting. I went outside, staying on the steps until a student came close enough to push inside the building. One of the non-students pulled a stick from who knows where and was waving it, approaching my students. he never got close enough to hit one directly, but eventually he threw it at E. I grabbed him and pushed him inside. Then the glass bottles appeared and started flying towards the stairs as more students headed inside. I got them inside, but there was glass shattered everywhere. Another teacher got cut, but thankfully no students were hurt. I stayed inside after the glass, and the non-students somehow got a huge pole and started waving that around. Gordon got the rest of the students inside and the other boys left the parking lot, obviously waiting around the corner. "J, you can't go back out there because if you go I have to go with you and you don't want me to get hurt." Thing is, as I was getting to the front, the other teacher was calling the police. Fully ten minutes later, several minutes after everyone was gone from the area, a single squad car crept into the parking lot.

Various kids from the neighborhood- gangs, groups from other schools, assorted others- have ben involed in stuff like this too many times this year after school. Kids get jumped on the bus, come streaming into the school form sports practices outside, are threatened on the sidewalks. My students certainly aren't always innocent. There have been fights between students within the school building (though almost always between girls) and they aren't just sitting back and not fighting back or responding when it happens outside. There was a food fight during one of teh lunches today. But it wouldn't happen outside if the temptation wasn't there. I can't help but think we're just holding our breath trying to get them through three more years until they can get out, go to college, and see an alternative.

J gave me a hug before he left the building with an escort for the bus. This is the second time I've hugged him post-incident. To say I hope it's the last could predict something I dont want to think about.

About a month into being a real teacher, I faced two facts: one, all of the cute professional skirts and dresses I had purchased in anticipation of wearing "teacher clothes" were worthless. I simply can't teach without pockets. Two, I had lost enough weight since starting teach for america (from the deadly combination of no time to eat and being on my feet for hours at a time) that the few pairs of nice pants I rotated every day were requiring an ever higher rate of hitches-per-class-period (HPCPs). I Hate buying pants. I sought out oldnavy.com late one weeknight and found a pair that looked promising. I ordered four pairs in three colors (black, khaki, gray) in two sizes (my old size and one smaller), figuring I would return whatever didn't work. The smaller two in black and khaki arrived and were absolutely perfect. I have to believe someone, somewhere was looking out for me on that one. They were not too long, which would have required time spent at a tailor since I can't teach in anything besides flats. They were not too tight or narrow, not too loose or baggy. They were clean and dressy looking. They were inexpensive. Most importantly, they had pockets. I have worn them 4-5 days a week since then, and today, finally had to admit that both pockets in the black pair are entirely busted. This has never happened to me in a pair of pants before. The bottoms are completely frayed apart. Why? Because they had keys, pencils, chapstick, hall passes, confiscated notes, dry erase markers, and hundreds of other things jammed into them countless times every day for the last 7 months.

As a teacher, my hands are never my own. From the moment the bell rings, they are otherwise occupied and cannot be bothered to keep track of keys, chapstick, and papers. They are too frequently called upon for one of their many tasks. You cannot aimlessly swing a key ring when you are constantly writing, copying, typing, erasing, underlining, checking, crossing, highlighting, scribbling, noting. You cannot lazily smear on your burt's bees, stick in one hand, cap in the other, when you are continually pointing, shaping, waving, miming, gesturing, ruffling, soothing, holding, tapping, poking, high-fiving.
And yet it is not enough to simply stash these on your desk in a little metal cup. Because when you are endlessly pacing, jumping, bending, jogging, stretching, sneaking, maneuvering, circling, monitoring, and high-stepping, you cannot waste a single footfall on trekking back to your desk for a small essential.

D. A-B. was one of my biggest challenges first semester. She's a sophomore in Spanish II. I chased her down in the halls, wrote extensive comments encouraging her and giving her different strategies to try on everything she ever handed in (which wasn't much), tried calling home multiple times, tried all kinds of different strategies in the classroom... and still, she got kicked out of class time after time (or walked out), never turned in a homework assignment, and never passed a test or quiz. Finally, she started coming to Saturday school when it started in December. She earned a 21% for the semester. She failed 5 of her seven classes and the school moved her down an achievement level (track- there are three, basic, academic, and honors) to basic classes. This rearranged her schedule and she was no longer in my class. I was sad to see her go just when it seemed like maybe I could reach her in Saturdy school, but she continued to come every week and her absence from my 5th period meant one less strong personality to contend with.

Yesterday, during my other Spanish II class (7th period), the assistant director knocked on the door and asked to see me for a moment. With him was D, smiling sheepishly and shuffling her feet behind the door. "D. would like to be moved back to your class. She likes your style more. I just wanted to make sure that would be ok with you." "Of course! I've missed having you in class, D." She came in and I checked her schedule, asking if she was coming to 7th period now or was supposed to go back to 5th.
"Which one do you think would be better?" she asked "Where do you think I would learn more?"
"I think right here is perfect. This class is a lot smaller so we'll be able to work better." She nodded, got a copy of what the others were working on, sat down, and went stright to work, never interrupting the class once for the remaining half an hour. And I overheard her say to the curious person next to her, "I asked to move back. I wasn't learning nothing in the other class."

I've said it before and i'll say it again: relationships are the key to any success I have as a teacher. Working with D. in Saturday school in a class of 6 versus daily in a class of 29 really made the difference. I was able to spend more time one on one with her and also talk to her about things other than Spanish. I've attacked most of my major behavior problems this way (by actively seeking out connections and time to just talk to the students) and had maybe an 80% success rate. This isn't to say I don't have any misbehavior any more. Definitely not the case. But now it is much more minor talking, getting out of seats, not focusing in class, and much less major disrespect.

Another highlight (from Thursday): I was in my room before school started. The students had just been let in and there was a rush in the hallways of kids going to their lockers, shouting their good mornings, and lingering before classes. No one had come in to my room yet. With my door closed, and over all the noise from the hallway, I heard a voice singing " Yo-o, tu-as, ella-a, amos, an"-- the -ar verb conjugation song I had taught the previous week. I smiled and kept working. Then I heard it again, this time with a few more voices, and went to investigate. I poked my head out the door and looked around as they continued to sing, adding their own personality to the tune. Finally I spotted them down the hall, grooving along to my silly little spanish diddy. Totally made my day.