On discipline II

There was some feedback to my previous post that really got me thinking, so instead of leaving a response, I thought I'd turn it into a blog entry.

Here it goes . . .

Determined delinquents.

Now that is an interesting phrase. Many of the students who cause me trouble though, just don’t fit that mold. They’re often the athletes or ‘preps’ or snots in fact.

I often tell my students, “some of my favorite students have failed my classes.” And that’s true.

I TRY to get most everyone in a class. I should not claim to get everyone in; some choose not to partake. I have no solution for apathy. That frustrates the hell out of me, but there is nothing I can do.

You're right. My classes are great. But that usually changes when I teach a summer session - or two- at the ALC. If you review any of my blog entries from any random summer, you'll see plenty of frustration in those.

What I learned from those kids – most of them have serious problems and would some would fit in with ‘determined delinquents’ – was that most kids just want to be heard.

I always struggle with getting work in from them (and this is true in all of my classes), until I spend some time during class wandering around and getting to know them. I have found that to be one of the most effective ways to ‘discipline’ kids.

Once they see that I’m interested in them – and not simply the “teacher” who is there to enforce rules – well, the walls come down a bit and I’m able to get them to buy in a little bit more.

I think most students buy in to my classes because I make them relevant. If it’s one thing I do well, I think it’s that I can make the most esoteric and stuffy literature or writing assignments relate to the kids and their lives.

I tell them all the time that I could never teach math or science. I could not get kids to learn about someone else’s theory or concept. But in English and composition, the students – and their lives – are really our textbooks.

Where else do they hear that? Let’s read “Young Goodman Brown” and see what they think about it. Let’s write an essay in which they analyze a time they were hurt or reflect on what they do best.

That makes my job so much easier.

Of course, that doesn’t always work.

When I realized that some kids are not going to buy in no matter how nice I am, no matter how I try to connect with them, no matter how interesting I try to make a lesson, I was okay with that. As I said in the previous blog, I cannot make a kid do anything they don't want to do.

Some don't want to do anything. I move on without those who don't want to do something.

I don't lose any sleep over it either.

But those cases are pretty rare for me. I find if I connect with them on some level - giving them a nickname, knowing what sports they are in, handing them a book to read that I think they'll like, giving them a hard time when I see them in the hallway or at Hugo's or at Walmart - it makes it easier to get them to buy in.

One of my favorite things is to just walk down the hall. I’ll say hi to a dozen kids and give crap to another dozen.

But, ultimately, the ball is in the student’s court. They hold the ultimate control. They can buy in and get something out of the class, or they can dig in their heels and make it a pain for everyone involved.

When the latter happens, I do everything within my power to get them out of my class. This is not always easy, but if I make the attempt, the student will know that I expect them to buy in to my class.

Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I actually gave out a detention. I don’t post my classroom rules (where could I find room? I have too many posters, works of art – both professional and from students, student assignments, and other junk).

We go over the rules on the first day of class when we go through the syllabus, but I try to get through that as quickly as possible. I mean there are far too many interesting things to get to.

Some of my colleagues go on for the entire first day of class going over their rules and procedures – and that’s great for them – but for me, I’d just as soon get done with the syllabus and move on to something cool. I mean who wants to talk about using the bathroom pass (not that I have one) or whether to raise their hands or not when we could be reading “The Lottery” or they could be writing about an embarrassing moment or their favorite film.

Now, I also found the most important thing to remember when it comes to discipline is to make your classroom management match your personality. The way I handle kids won’t work for others. It’s all about doing what you’re comfortable with.

The one thing a teacher should avoid is trying to be someone they are not. Students see right through that.

When I was a freshman, we got a new math teacher who was also our football coach. He was a hard ass on the field and mean as hell in the classroom (tossing chalk at kids and so forth), but that fit his personality.

If you are not a hard ass, never try to be one in front of the kids. They’ll see right through that.

For instance, while still in high school, we had a substitute who we all knew (he was a former graduate). Yet, when he was subbing, he tried to be like our math teacher and football coach, yelling and screaming and trying to be something he just wasn’t.

We ate him alive. We never had an ounce of respect for him. We knew that wasn’t who he really was.

I’m not a hard ass, so it would be futile for me to act like that. That’s why I never put any stock in the old adage that you have to be mean to the kids for the first few months before you can lighten up. You know, let them know who is boss.

The reality is that the kids are the bosses. They are the ones who make the class run. Once I realized that and bought in to that, teaching became a whole lot more enjoyable.

If I wanted to control people and bark orders, I would have gone into the military.

Instead, I have the greatest job in the world. The bottom line, for me anyway, is connecting with the kids. Or at least as many as possible.

Here is the first time I realized ‘my’ way of disciplining kids --

That first year teaching, I had a hell of a sophomore class. Six sections. One student in particular, Adam, gave me fits. He was a typical sophomore. He was not interested in Shakespeare or A Separate Peace or the Harlem Renaissance.

But I got to know him, and that made all the difference. Adam was quite the cusser, so I told him that every time he swore, he’d have to do some push ups. He was the class clown too, so he ate it up. Later in the year, he would eat lunch in my room with me since he was trying to quit smoking and he said that if he went with his friends for lunch, he’d end up smoking. So we spent a month worth of lunch periods eating in my room.

It didn’t take long before Adam was an ally. If some of his friends were talking or being jack asses, Adam helped me reign them in. He respected me, I think, because he knew I made time for him and that he meant something to me.

Once my stapler turned up missing. I don’t know who stole it (I had my suspicions), so I told Adam to be on the look out. Well, it was not a week later and I was in the middle of class when I heard someone calling my name from the hallway.

I went to the door.

What did I see?

There was Adam with the top of a locker pried open.

“Reynolds! Your stapler’s in here. Reach in and grab it!” he called as he held on to the top of the locker with both of his hands.

There was maybe three inches worth of room, but I was able to spot my stapler and snatch it out.

Adam was quite pleased with himself.

I had won him over.

Now, was he a straight A student after that? Ha. Far, far from it. But he behaved and worked rather well. He was never going to an English major, but he enjoyed coming to class every day.

Sometimes that’s all you can ask.

Three years later, on the last day of his senior year, Adam tagged a long with my journalism class as we went to the Dairy Queen.

“Reynolds?” he asked as we walked down the sidewalk.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I have to tell you,” Adam said with that guilty smirk in the corner of his mouth.

“What?”

“Well, remember that Julius Caesar booklet we did in your class?”

“Yep,” I said recalling vividly how when I finally got around to grading them, Adam’s was mysteriously absent. He spent the better part of the next week swearing up and down that he had turned it in and that I had lost it – not something that was completely out of the realm of possibility.

“Well,” Adam went on, that smirk growing wider. “Remember when I said I turned it in. Well . . . I never turned it in,” he said sheepishly.

“That’s okay,” I replied slapping him on the shoulder, “Remember when I said I believed you and would give you credit for it anyway. Well, I never really gave you credit for it.”

The look on his face was the highlight of that year.