Having a Nervous Breakdown

During my second year of teaching Calculus I had a nervous breakdown in front of my students. I can’t remember exactly what topic I was trying to explain, I think it was the idea behind the Fundamental Theorem of Calculus, but I’m not sure. What I do remember was the feeling and how it started.

I was going over some procedure and explaining how to get the correct answer and one of the students asked me a simple question.

“Why did you do that?”

As soon as I thought about it I felt the sinking feeling of not knowing why. I hate that and have talked about it before. This time though, I didn’t respond with a command of just shut up and do the problem, and I did this for a couple of reasons. One, I was going through some graduate school classes that was completely rearranging my concept of knowledge. Two, the class consisted of only two students which had allowed me to develop more of a personal relationship than is typically involved in a classroom.

When I couldn’t explain the mathy stuff to my students beyond a just mimic me response, I stopped teaching. I literally stopped teaching and just sat there in class. After a few minutes I admitted that I had no idea what I was doing. It is blatantly obvious to most people that math that is used in school isn’t like math in reality, so if I can’t even explain what is happening, what’s the point of the entire endeavor?

I imagine that everyone has been in a class where they have thought to themselves, that the teacher has no clue what is going on, but I can’t imagine many people being in a class where the teacher came in on day one and said, “I don’t know what I’m doing…so, let’s get started.” While it wasn’t day one, that was essentially what I was doing in front of my students, admitting that I am clueless.

If I did that in class today I wonder how my students would respond? I fear they would use it as a justification to tune me out more than many of them already do. (He doesn’t know what’s going on why should I bother.) I fear that they would use it as a justification to complain about grades. (How can he give me a C when he doesn’t understand the stuff himself?) But when I admitted my cluelessness to these two Calculus students they didn’t pounce at the opportunity to take control of the class. I was met with empathy and sympathy, and it immediately transformed the class dynamic. No matter how comfortable I had felt with students in the past it was always centered around a me-them type relationship, but from my meltdown to the rest of the year, class took on a more of an us mentality. It was still a classroom, and I still had more mathematical knowledge than them, but I didn’t feel like the dispenser and controller of knowledge anymore. It felt more like I was talking with them rather than talking at them, as if we were exploring together.

What I learned from that moment on was that my classroom needs to be a place where vulnerability is acceptable, though I think I’ve lost that.  We finished out the rest of the year learning Calculus together. Some days were smooth, some days were messy, but it always felt as if it was together. Sometimes we talked about a concept for the entire period with no math written. Some days we worked on procedures from the book. Some days we did other non-math related stuff and embraced the human element of school. Looking back on the experience, it was probably the first time that I felt like authentic learning was occurring in my classroom and was finally finding a vision of what I want education to be.

That moment became the impetus that lead to what I consider the best two years of teaching in my life. Every class seemed to develop some sense of supportive community. I felt free to experiment with ideas and push the limits of my students. Unfortunately I have watched that environment whittle away that past three years. Why don’t I have that accepting, vulnerable, safe, welcoming classroom centered around togetherness? I’m not entirely sure, but I do know much has changed over the past three years. My schedule changed, students have changed, I have changed, administration has changed, technology has changed, testing has changed, all of this leaving me more disillusioned than I have been in a long time. Maybe I have to have one of those coming to Jesus type moments like I did way back in 2011 when I had a nervous breakdown. I don’t know.

All I know for certain is that right now, there are way more days that I leave work unfilled, like my presence at school has served no purpose. I was under no assumption that everyday would be a rewarding bed of roses when I started this profession, but I am tired of feeling like a piece of shit at the end of nearly every day.

Feeling Nostalgic Tonight

Two interesting things happened a few days ago. In one class, as I was trying to push some students with “why” type questions, a student pointed out that I seem to have disagreements with the American education system. In the next class, a student mentioned that she wasn’t sure where she was going to college. Well, I felt like a failure right then and there, but why? I am just a math teacher, my responsibility is to teach math, everything else is the responsibility of the student, right?

After the class of 2013 graduated, I decided the answer was no. The class of 2013 was the first group of freshman I had at my current job. I had many of them for three years of classes, and several for four. In a way I kind of grew up in my teaching along with them. Growing up with them meant that I formed countless inside jokes and built a level of comfort so that I could try and push their boundaries. In return, they pushed my boundaries as a teacher as well. This was the group that got to watch me experiment with different formats and styles. It was towards the end of their time with me that I began to regret that I didn’t demand more.

When I say demand more, I am not talking about academics. I have mentioned previously about how grad school affected my concept of knowledge, but it also made me realize that many more students are capable of achieving goals they never believed if put in the right environment. There was a segment of that graduating class that reminded me of myself. It was a group of students whose cognitive ability would allow them to pursue nearly anything they wanted, but they seemed to be going through the motions.

There was no subject or activity that invoked some sort of passion. If something did create a spark of interest, they were overwhelmed with worries about future career prospects. The cost of college frightened several to the point of not even trying.

They reminded me of myself because I was that student that was doing what I supposed to do. I had the good grades and test scores that got me the scholarships, but I didn’t have any real sort of passion. When I went to college I chose a major not based upon some sort of calling or desire, but on future career prospects. I chose my college largely based upon how much it would cost.

When I graduated I found myself wondering, now what? Six years into my career I found myself wondering, is this it? I felt like I had done everything society ever had told me to do, I got good grades, I was respectful, I stayed out of trouble, I participated in voluntary activities, I held down a part time job in school, got married, bought a house, had kids, and at 27 I felt like it was a big let down. Where’s my stability? Why don’t I have the enjoyable career? All that work for just a paycheck. Then I started to worry that I would take it out on my kids, literally and figuratively.

I don’t know what the future holds for the class of 2013, but there is a handful of students that come to mind that I wish I would have pushed more. I think I did an adequate job getting most ready for college math, or at least no worse than any other teacher, but I have this nagging feeling that I should be responsible for more than just an ACT score. My job should be to guide students down a path towards a rewarding livelihood, whether that be changing their current path or encouraging them on the one they are on. If that isn’t my job I should be replaced with an automated math program, like Khan Academy.

The next year I decided to make some changes. In a conversation with a coworker I mentioned that I decided to do what I thought was right. In earlier years I had learned that I cannot impact a student’s cognitive abilities any more than I can impact a student’s height. But I had learned that I can impact a student’s EQ. I had the most efficient, productive, fun, off-task Algebra I class I ever had to that point. I was fortunate to have a small group of dedicated seniors that let me push their limits (I cannot emphasize how much it was pushed), and I don’t solely mean academic. I proof read essays and talked about college with them. I got them to question assignments instead of just complying with the assignment. Seriously, coloring as as a senior? Not everyday was about math, but everyday felt productive.

I hope that when they left that something stuck, and I’m not necessarily talking about math rules. I hope that they developed a perseverance they didn’t have before. I hope that they developed an understanding of what it means to know something. I hope that when they left me, they learned not to be content with complacency. I know that sounds kind of hippieish, but I do consider myself an idealist at times. To me though, that’s what school should be about, not power-reduction rules.

So when that student said she didn’t know where she was going to college, my heart sank. I have known this student for four years. I have had a few opportunities to push her in the past, but this should have been the year that I had her, and a couple of other potential filled students, in a small group that would have allowed me to shift the focus of education away from math. It pains me because it is reminiscent of the class of 2013 all over again. They told me their plans, or lack of them, and kept my mouth shut. I’m back at that regret all over again. Things change and the good times can’t last forever, but there has to be some way for me to get at least closer to what I had. When I reminisce about those years I don’t know if I made a difference in those student’s lives, but I know I’m not making a difference now.

Why Do So Many Students Take Remedial Classes in College?

My first year of teaching at my current school I was given a Calculus I course. I was scared to death. Calculus! It had been six years since I had done any math above an Algebra I level, and I had never taught anything above an Algebra I course.

The Calculus class is entirely elective at my school, so all the students that were in my class all wanted to be there to some extent. They should therefore represent some of the most academically driven students we have. We also offer dual enrollment options through the area schools. One day one of the students in my first Calculus class asked me for some help with some of his college math homework. As I was helping him I asked him what class he was taking at the community college because the math questions seemed lower than the topics we were working on in Calculus. He responded that he was working on a College Algebra class.

I was shocked. Here was this student who had passed Algebra I, Geometry, Algebra II, Pre-Calculus, currently in Calculus I, maintaining a good GPA, staying on honor roll, and would eventually graduate near the top of his class, but he was struggling in College Algebra at community college. While he was my first personal experience with this phenomenon I started asking around and found out that it was kind of common for a college bound students to be placed into remediation.

I started to hypothesize why this was happening and came up with some possibilities.

It’s all a conspiracy for colleges to make more money.

Think about it. We tell students they get free college. Colleges get extra state funding that would normally be sent to public schools. Incentive exists to have a placement test that forces students to start at remedial classes. That way high school students would have to take at least two math classes at the college before receiving even credit for one college level math class, which means more money for the college. The colleges can hide their greed behind the placement test scores and deflect blame to the bad high school teachers.

While I think there is an element of plausibility to the idea of a conspiracy, I have too much faith in educators at any level to be driven by greed.

The students just don’t test well.

Anxiety is a very, very real issue. But, ugh, come on.

If I am writing off the idea of anxiety as a reason for remediation. how is it possible that a student appears to be excelling in my class, but struggling with the same topic in another setting?

It’s my fault. I suck at teaching.

If it’s not the student and it’s not about greed, then it must be my fault. At least I am not alone in being a crappy teacher though. Roughly 20% of all college freshmen will take some sort of remedial class, and of those in the remedial classes, 4 out of 5 had GPA’s above 3.0. Since the early 2000s colleges have turned increasingly to placement tests like the Accuplacer, or standardized tests scores, like the ACT, to determine if students are academically ready for college level work. Colleges just want to make sure that students are prepared for the work they will encounter. I thought my students were doing well, colleges didn’t, therefore I suck.

 

It was during that year that I realized that there was something wrong with the way I had experienced education. I was 26, in my first year at my current job, and had never previously questioned the whole system. Sure, I had the sympathetic talks about schools being like prison, or generic work ethic or critical thinking dialogues with students, but I had always believed in the piety of the enterprise. That year started me on a journey that I have never abandoned.

Twitter Math Makes Me Feel Dumb

Tonight has been weird. I left school with my mind fluctuating between anger, disappointment, and curiosity. I was curious about reflections and the thought of reflecting a triangle over a parabola came to mind, wondering if it would have some sort of fun house mirror effect. The more I thought about it on my commute home tonight I realized that derivatives would be involved, so clearly this wasn’t going to be something I could try to do in Geometry.

Then when I checked Twitter tonight I saw this.

<blockquote class=”twitter-tweet” data-lang=”en”><p lang=”en” dir=”ltr”>Reflecting over a circle <a href=”https://t.co/WaqQ04G5ji”>https://t.co/WaqQ04G5ji</a&gt; <a href=”https://t.co/1zzqMf1nKh”>pic.twitter.com/1zzqMf1nKh</a></p>&mdash; Christopher (@Trianglemancsd) <a href=”https://twitter.com/Trianglemancsd/status/837071141873164290″>March 1, 2017</a></blockquote>
//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js

Low and behold, nested within the Twitter stream was a question involving reflecting parabolas. I thought it was neat to watch the discussion unfold in front of me, but when I came across the term normal line, I felt stupid. I had no idea what a normal line is. I don’t know if I never was introduced to the term, or I had forgotten, but I do know it’s not that I was rusty. So rather than try to participate, I just kind of shut down because it made me feel dumb.

The problem I have is that I am the math zombie that became the teacher. I finished a math degree and didn’t really know math. I discovered I was a math zombie when I first began teaching Algebra I and I couldn’t answer a typical mixture problem. (If I had a book with me I probably could find the exact problem since it was that scarring.) Any math that I actually know has been more or less self taught with the aid of textbooks, YouTube, perseverance, an enormous debt of gratitude to the History professors at BGSU who challenged my conception of knowledge, and the students who drug me through. Hopefully that doesn’t mean I am dumb, but that does mean that my mathematical knowledge is extremely piecemeal and lacking in formality. Some of the reasoning I try to share with my high school students clearly lacks the rigor of proper mathematics, as has clearly been pointed out on occasion, but I can confidently say it is mine. Sometimes the responses sting though. I was so excited to share my explanation about rationalization with the world, but was dismissed by some because of canonical forms and the definition of radix. I had to look up canonical forms (which made me want to flip that guy the bird) and I’m still not sure what a radix is or how it impacts square roots. Kind of rips the confidence straight out from under me.

But as painful as times like these are, it helps remind me what it must be like for my students. I can empathize with ALMOST every single student in class to some extent, at least in the attitude towards academics, because I have been there. Math wasn’t, and still isn’t, always easy for me, I need moments like tonight to remind me of that. When I leave work angry and disappointed because of student work, it’s night’s like these that I remember what it was like…

to be worried about grades first and foremost.

to not wanting to focus because other assignments are due.

to just not being able to think about math because, well, just not today.

to struggle to try and remember all the steps in this witchcraft.

to look at a quiz and think, “We didn’t go over that!”

to wanting to just get by and get done.

In a perfect world all my students would come to me with amazing prerequisite knowledge and be highly motivated to learn. That’s not the world we live in though. Without empathy for all the situations our students find themselves in, to many of us wind up browbeating kids into obedient behavior, which just breeds a culture of compliance. My hope is that with some understanding and a little patience I can get a student to want to contemplate the reflection of a triangle over a parabola because…, well,…why not?

Stupid

“This is stupid.”

That seems to be a common way that students will vent their frustrations with academics. Okay, maybe it isn’t verbatim, but every time that a subject’s legitimacy is questioned with a dumb, stupid, or pointless, the sentiment is always the same. It’s what leads my students to write poetry like this.

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I don’t mind this, and I actually like the creativity behind it. Even now I have days where the last thing I want to do is go stand in front of 15-20 adolescences and talk about math. Usually though, the, “this is stupid,” sentiment comes from an incomplete understanding of the mathematical concepts being taught. Students know that the classes are important to their long term goals, but they realize that the math in the class is not important to their long term goal. Consequently, students become more obsessed with getting the correct answers, which leads them to ask, “how to do…” rather than the all important why. They want to get through class with the highest possible grade with the least amount of effort because the math itself isn’t important.

(My wife has a Doctorate of Chiropractic and has diagnosed some really cool stuff that I wouldn’t expect from chiropractors. But a few nights ago she couldn’t remember the formula for circumference of a circle. Yet she has a college transcript that shows she has successfully completed Calculus I. Needed the class to get into grad school, but not the math. She thinks math is stupid.)

Why this behavior manifests is a discussion I would love to have, but will do so in a different post. What I want to talk about in this one is what is class is like when everything is “stupid.” When my students experience this frustrations, I am more than empathetic to them because I have been in their place.

I enjoyed school throughout high school, but that enjoyment was based upon my success. When I started to struggle with school the enjoyment diminished. That mindset started to create a correlation, so the more I struggled, the more stupid I thought school was. Sometimes I would spend class time thinking about other assignments that needed to be completed, or about an upcoming work shift, or just spent time lost in my own contempt for all the students who seemed to get everything. The nice thing in college is that attendance is rarely required and majors can be changed. In high school though our students are stuck in that environment, they need Geometry, Algebra II, and maybe even Pre-Calculus just to gain the economic stability that comes with a high school diploma.

Looking back on my educational experience, I have noticed that my classes seemed to segregate based upon our attitudes towards school. There was me and the other future math teachers who would constantly complain about why we had to take classes we would never use, complained about the homework we couldn’t do, and looked upon our classmates that could engage with the professors with a mix of disdain and wonderment. Sure we were all math majors, but we weren’t a unified group. I never went to their study session, and mine, when they would exist usually turned into general venting sessions. Now that I am the teacher, I see this behavior manifest itself in my classes to some extent. We like to trumpet the positives of heterogeneity, but ultimately even our students know that homogeneity creates better learning conditions. All of my classes had an element of heterogeneity which allowed me to find the other students who also thought, “this is stupid.”

The first time I ever entered a classroom environment where true homogeneity existed was when I was 26, and entering grad school. The class was grueling work, especially with working full-time, buying a house, and starting a family. A typical workload was at least 1 book (non-fiction, dense, historical reading) that would be discussed each week, 1 book to present and discuss with the class about every three or four weeks, and 2-3 papers of original research during the semester. I don’t think I had read 5000 pages cumulative during my lifetime, let alone academic reading, in three and a half months. Then showing up once a week and discussing this for three plus hours, it was just too much.

But, as I quickly found out, I was the only one who felt like that.

That got real lonely, real quick. Instead of dropping out though, I slowly mimicked and embraced that behaviors that lead me to actually understand knowledge rather than just memorize answers. I started to speak up with original ideas, finding out even if they were dismissed I was not ridiculed. I began to ask questions in discussions and then participating in discussions. By the end of the class I was fully immersed in the subject matter, picking up the behaviors of my fellow classmates for which the subject was a real thing, and not just something stupid that is meant to be survived.

What I learned about myself was that I was part of that 80% of students who could achieve something (made me look back on my undergrad with regret), but could also become abject failures. I figured out that I was a product of my environment. If I was around highly motivated, inquisitive students, I became like those students, and if I was surrounded by students who wanted the grade, I became that grade motivated student who thinks classes are stupid. When I went back to the classroom I figured out that I am still part of that 80%, even though I am now a teacher. Essentially that means that a student will get out of me what they want. I don’t know if that is a good or bad thing, but it is reality.

One of the perks of working in a small school is that I get to see most of my students year after year and I know some of my students fall victim to me being unable to influence the environment inside my own classroom. I have watched some of the most inquisitive, creative minds stumble into a complacent stupor when surrounded by peers who just want the right answers and don’t really care why. I have also been surprised by watching some of the most indoctrinated students blossom, also when surrounded by the motivated knowledge driven students. I can try to influence students, but ultimately I am at the mercy of the dominant students in my classes, even if they are unaware they are the dominant influence.

I am empathetic to my students who are just trying to graduate. I just wish they could surround themselves with students who cared.

 

What I Learned About Knowledge From Dropping Out of Grad School

After moving to Ohio I found myself without a full-time job. I even had a little difficulty getting substituting positions just because the system was so different from that in Minnesota, and I didn’t find the area schools very helpful, with the exception of the secretaries at Upper Sandusky High School. On a complete side note, ODE was not helpful at all with getting my license transferred. That’s not really important, but it does give me another reason to complain about ODE.

I decided that since I was just substitute teaching I would trying applying to a graduate school program. I ended up choosing the History program at BGSU because of it’s location and the timing of the classes. My first couple of times in a graduate seminar I was a little lost. It didn’t represent anything like I was used to. I could best describe the setting as almost like being in a book club. We had assigned reading, and then we discussed the reading.

Admittedly, I was lost, and also a little star-struck, since my first professor I had instantly recognized from History Detectives.

I had read the book, but the discussion didn’t have the recall questions I was used to answering. I kept waiting for the professor to ask questions that would allow me to demonstrate that I had read the book, that I could show my classmates my superior intellect. But it never happened. He only kept asking these, “Why did the author use this,” or “What did you think about this,” kind of questions. The only time I had ever answered opinion questions throughout my educational experience, it was always a, “Yes, I liked it,” type of question. I asked for advice from some of my classmates and was informed that as long as I speak up a couple of times during class it would be fine. That really didn’t help since I didn’t know how to voice a comment during class without the fear of sounding stupid.

Part of the class involved reading a book individually and then presenting it to the class. I had chosen this book about the Dust Bowl. As I began rambling through my summary of the book I felt all those typical feelings of anxiety that comes when having to present in front of an authority figure. I first noticed the ubiquitous amounts of head nods as my report of the book was heavy on the summary, but light on analysis. I then mentioned something about the failure of the Russians to adapt corn to their climate, and an ensuing drought there, but I worded it as a question. When I looked at my professor he hadn’t a clue what I was talking about. This made me feel uneasy, so I kind of stumbled through the conclusion of my presentation and mentioned the American ethos.

Then the questions began.

I don’t remember any of the specific questions, but I do remember feeling caught off guard, especially the questions from the professor. There are two types of teacher questions. The first type is the one almost everyone is familiar with, the checking for comprehension question, the rhetorical question. Teachers already know the answer to these questions, we are only asking students to see if they know the answer as well. The second type of question is what I call a legitimate question. A legitimate question acknowledges the limitations of the questioner, and transfers authority and power to those being asked, and that’s what made it so scary for me.

It seems to me that most students seek affirmation of their correctness from the teacher, without much thought as to why something is correct. I see this all the time students volunteer an answer to a question and want to know if it is correct, but cannot explain how they came to their conclusion. Many times they will answer questions with an upward inflection in their voice, as if their answer is a question itself. Usually to save time, teachers, including myself, will either confirm or deny the educated guess from the students. This is a problem because the students’ concept of knowledge and truth is based upon affirmation of the authority figure.

Which is why my professor threw me for a loop when he asked me a legitimate question about the American ethos. He wanted to know more about the American ethos that the author was discussing, but he wasn’t testing me to make sure I read the book, he really wanted to know and was dependent upon me to provide him with information. Suddenly, I was an authority figure over my professor controlling his access to Worster’s paradigm of American ethos. My struggle happened because I had never developed the executive function necessary to regulate my own concept of knowledge. My definition of knowledge was like so many of my students’, dependent upon the affirmation of the teacher.

As the year progressed in the graduate course, I became more comfortable and started to understand how authoritative knowledge is formed. It started to impact my concept of mathematics and my concept of teaching. I have written about my struggles in school, whether it be in the classroom or as a teacher, but this post is ultimately about how a History class changed how I think about knowledge and power.

I started successfully adapting to History class when I started justifying my statements in class. If I was going to offer a comment I made sure I had a passage from the book or some other source ready to provide evidence. That way, no matter how my professor or classmates might respond I could reply with the proof of my statement. When I started to reflect upon the math I was teaching I became appalled at how much of my mathematical knowledge rested not on proof of knowledge, but how much had simply been affirmed by authority figures. I had just memorized many correct answers and procedures. I knew I was right because I was told I was right, and it showed in my teaching.

My teaching during the first four years of my career could be summed up as regurgitation. In more uncouth terms, it was like I was telling my students, “Here is the shit I had to learn in school, now it’s your turn.” Okay, maybe I hid behind some platitudes about critical thinking, or 21st century skills, but my whole concept of school had nothing to do with knowledge.

That’s how dropping out of grad school educated me. (I couldn’t handle the work load of full-time work, becoming a parent, and watching other areas of my life go to crap.) It enlightened me to the idea that knowledge and truth is not something that is owned by teachers. They try to make sense of the world and then share their understanding with us, but they do not  create and control knowledge. Yes, teachers are usually more of an expert in their fields than their students, but they control truth. Real power comes from being able to make sense of the knowledge around you independent of any other people. It made me feel like so much of my formal education was a waste.

School as we know it, isn’t set up to achieve knowledge. Authentic learning comes in fits and spurts, and is not easily confined to weekly assessments and standardized testing. Grades and test scores do not necessarily accompany knowledge. One of the proudest moments I have ever felt as a teacher was when a student remarked that he achieved a 96 on an economics test at the local community college. (I had taught economics to him in high school, a class I didn’t feel qualified to teach.) The grade wasn’t what made me proud, but what he said next, “I know it is a good grade, but I don’t feel like I really know anything. I would rather have an 80, but actual know something.” After years of classes with me it was finally clicking for him. Grades can make us delusional to our own abilities.

I was delusional. I graduated with honors from both high school and college, but struggled to explain Algebra I concepts. I essentially was exactly the same person that I was in junior high. I had never learned or mastered any academic subject. The only thing I had ever mastered was how to put down the right answers on tests to appease my teachers. And I didn’t realize this until I was 26.

Are high school students capable of mastering knowledge? I believe the answer is yes, but it is a near impossibility under the lock step current system we have. The only time I feel like I have had success convincing students the merits of mastery, rather than the merits of grades, have been in small homogeneous classes, or in regular after school sessions. Mastery of knowledge will lead to confidence.

Grade motivated students will eventually be exposed, one way or another. When smart students become motivated by grades they become complacent. Complacent students become stressed when pressed about their knowledge. Complacency breeds the anxiety that will eventually breed perpetual underachievement.

We preach creativity and mastery, but our actions tell students that all we really want from them is the right answers. We are so wrong.

Let Me Explain Something…

The vast majority of my followers on social media are my students. Not my readers here, but as long as it’s only 140 characters there might be a chance they read it. In preparation for another school day, I was overcome with the usual sense of frustration and dred, imagining another course of IDK’s and IDC’s. So I impulsively sent out this.

It probably was the first time I fell into the trap of sending a subtweet.

Previously, I have talked about the amount of interaction and the relationships that can form between teachers and students in a small school. With all the schedule changes this year, I am fortunate enough to have one class where I have been around all the students for at least one previous class, while most of the students have had me twice, and a couple three times. (Figured out who I am talking about yet?) So, I entered this year with high hopes in anticipation of working with all these students that I have had before. I wouldn’t have that typical feeling out period where students and teachers kind get to know each other. We could just jump in and start to math. But then I saw the schedule. Not only was this class nearly twice as big as it ever had been, I had two different classes lumped together. I thought it would be okay though, I had built up a relationship with these kids.

Reality was a let down though. I am modifying my curriculum on the fly, which is never good. Because the class is twice as large the negative behavior has reached a critical mass where it can drag down all but the most motivated. I have students in class who wouldn’t be there except for the relatively new fourth year math requirement. The pressure for college credits has increased drastically even in the last three years. I fear that the majority of students in my class are there because they believe they are SUPPOSED to be there, not because they WANT to be there.

That’s just the student influences though, I haven’t even begun to talk about my own actions. I need to make sure that I had weekly grades. I need to vary my grades, of which I don’t. I need to make sure I am providing enough opportunities. There is too much down time. I need to vary my presentation. I give out too many A’s and B’s. Students don’t know how to improve grades. I don’t provide enough resources. Instruction needs to be bell to bell. Everyday is an academic day. If students say they are learning in my room, they are just lying to protect me because I am likable. Students can’t be expected to do math without examples. Students shouldn’t take more than 2 minutes to solve a math problem. I haven’t asked students what their preferred learning style is. I should contemplate if a high school is really the place for me, because sometimes people just need a career change. Essentially, nothing is ever learned in my classroom, my students just look at social media, and if anyone ever did want to learn something, they would have to find another teacher. This has been my environment for the past three years.

All that has influenced me in ways I really don’t like. I don’t have patience like I used to. I don’t have empathy like I used to. For example, today I covered a topic that should have been largely review from the previous class. I had a quiz planned for tomorrow because it was a review topic, so if everything went smoothly I would assess tomorrow. If the students struggled, I would keep teaching, they would keep learning and I would assess at a later date. But one student I think slept through class, another studied lines for the upcoming musical, a couple did a few questions then studied physics formulas, three were consistently on their phone, and I had to almost constantly talk over four. The 10 or so who did problems consistently seemed to know what was going on until we got to linear and angular speed and then the questions and confusion just got weird. (Figured out who I am talking about yet?)

Should I assess tomorrow? I think yes, because those students who had time to ignore me and focus on physics, or whatever else they were doing, must understand what is going perfectly. If they didn’t understand what was going on why else would they possibly choose to ignore me.

I hate that I think like that. It’s like school is making me hate students who I normally like. It’s kind of like Ghostbusters II. Watch from about 3:40 to the end.

It’s like school is the river of slime, especially true with a description like, “pure, concentrated evil.” This class that I am talking about, I really like them, I really do, but when I have to meet them in the river of slime that I call school, now I hate them. That whole vindictive process ultimately delegitimizes both the teacher and the students.

Several years ago I wouldn’t have handled it like that. First we would have been in one large group, 13 or 14 tops. The structure can alter the class dynamic drastically. I would have found time for us, and I mean all of us, to discuss the upcoming musical. I would have found time to talk about physics, whether that be studying the formulas for the class, talking about the formulas, or the purpose of memorizing the formulas. I would have talked about the stresses of work and how to deal with fatigue. I would have worked in a discussion of multitasking and the impossibility of multitasking and learning. With whatever time was left we would have discussed the math topic for the day. Those discussions about physics, the musical, or multitasking, would have all probably centered around the idea of how we learn and why we learn. So even if math didn’t dominate the day, I would still have felt like it was a productive day.

All those pressures about grades, bell to bell, every day an instructional day, I didn’t have those several years ago. I could teach in a manner that would align with my perceptions of the purpose of school. In my lower levels that meant I could dangle free time and movies as incentive for work. I didn’t fear being called down to the office to explain my lack of resources, which freed me to harass/encourage students, rather than just ignore them like I do now. In my upper levels we spent time talking about zones of proximal development and theories of how we learn, purpose of college, school in Brazil, or even the TARDIS. When we did math it was done collectively, which was fine because grades were more or less a fabrication and students were more or less on the honor system whether they learned. It wasn’t just math, but it was also while I was teaching a class that became dubbed epicnomics, where the exam was a report on UHF. I was able to run a project based Geography, full of down time, but full of great presentations. Ever contemplate the geography of nothing?

That leeway in class allowed me to branch out and pressure students to move beyond their comfort zones. It started with simply trying to get a student to think about a homework assignment (why are you coloring as a senior?), morphed into proofreading papers to try and instill a mindset that a good grade isn’t enough (“I got a 95, but don’t feel like I know what I’m doing.”), and culminating when I got tired of excuses from one of the smartest students I have ever met, set my computer and credit card in from of them and told them to register for the ACT.  Those are some of my best memories from several years ago, even though they have nothing to do with math. Math was still taught and learned, but it was incidental to why that slimy school should exist.

It was a different climate though. I felt as though I had some autonomy to define success. OTES didn’t exist. I had different classes. I had different administration. I had different students. I’m different too.

When I say I need a break from school, I’m not talking about a vacation. I still want to learn something.  I just want to leave the river of slime behind.