Again
an A
beside your name.
Nine boxes for nine days.
Six A’s.
You, with that great brain,
want A’s
on your transcript
not your attendance record.
What is happening in your world
that keeps you from learning?
Ties shackles to your potential
for excellence? Your health is fine.
Oh, dear girl,
What can we do
to advocate for you?
Every day you approach the computer
“What are we doing again?” I show you where to see the assignment. I review the expectations, the objectives, the criteria.
“Oh! Okay! I get it!” you say, and set to work.
The next day, we do it again.
Today you stare at me with blank, hollow eyes.
“I don’t get it,” you say.
Everyone else is busily working. You’ve been absent. When you come, you have to study for a test in another subject. Or see the counselor. Or help your friend. In fourteen hours of research time, you’ve been here for eight. Do you have anything to show for the time? Others have the list of the websites they consulted, pages of notes, excitement over how they’ll turn research into a presentation next week.
You have confusion.
The same confusion from the first day. Repeated again. Some days we can help you. Some days you are confident and productive.
But nothing stays in your memory more than an hour.
Other days you are sullen and oppositional, because you’re sure you’ve never seen this before, and you’re angry about it.
“This is stupid.”
What more can I do? I ask. They tell me your parents refuse to have you tested. They don’t want you to have a label, so we don’t know if this is a cognitive impairment, learning disability, or the results of drug use or a sports injury. A label comes with funding to give you the additional support you plainly need. Keep repeating expectations. Keep explaining the criteria. I agree. This is stupid.
The course is almost over and you return each day to week one, living a personal Groundhog Day loop,
and no one knows how to pull you out.
#JustinTrudeau #cdnpoli
During Canada’s recent election campaign, the Conservatives denigrated Liberal leader Justin Trudeau because he had a degree in literature and was a drama teacher. (He also taught French and Math). They thought that made him incapable of running a country. I have taught Drama and French. I have a degree in literature. I smiled, because I truly believe that if you can manage a high school drama class, you can manage a country. If you were a good teacher, you’ll be able to manage that country with consideration, respect, and intelligence. As I see them, I will point out how PM Trudeau’s teaching experience is making him a good leader. These posts will be in addition to my daily poetry, so you won’t miss out.
On the first day of session, Trudeau went to welcome all the MPs to Parliament Hill. He told reporters this would set the right tone, that regardless of party affiliation, that each MP is in this together, working for Canadians.
This is precisely the policy of teachers, who on the first day of school (and days subsequent, of course) stand at the doors of their classrooms to welcome students, judge their frame of mind, and set the tone of cooperation and connection within their class.
Daughter, wife, mother, student, teacher
each role I embrace in the search for myself
poet, writer, dancer, seamstress, preacher
constrained by expectations, trying to excel,
battling responsibilities, expanding my reach.
Stop.
I’m tired of being caught in this box!
I need to be free of these responsibilities;
I need to find me.
I don’t fit in this box, in this space or this place,
where I have been a chrysalis.
Now,
I a m o u t s t r e t c h e d,
gossamer wings unfolding from this abyss of my history,
from what they said I had to be–
what I thought I had to be–
I am embracing destiny;
accepting all the facets of my identity,
I have discovered
me.
It couldn’t be, he said, that you are unwilling?
A shrug was the reply.
Do you feel unable?
Another shrug.
You know, he said, it’s always a choice;
if you are willing,
eventually,
you are able.
You do not believe in censorship
you say
and yet you sit there and complain that
I accept work with curses. Work that is
about process, about drafting, about stretching.
I do not censor youthful voices
that may want to shout,
to try new language, new words.
We learn about audience and persona
and your child is allowed to stretch her wings
to try on new faces and expressions with me.
She is allowed to find her voice in my class room,
even if her voice
is louder than you like.
Our graduating students chose the theme of CARNIVAL! for their Graduation ceremony today. I wrote a poem for the teacher they asked to be the special speaker. Here it is:
ERS GRAD 2015 POEM
A carnival is quite a bore if you are there alone
And surely melancholy could seep into your bones
But in the night, with all your friends
A carnival’s great fun, the spinning lights will mesmerize
The laughter never ends.
Cherish time together
at this your graduation
Your memories and histories are worth the celebration.
You may live far apart as you journey through your lives
But always choose what’s positive
and you will choose to thrive.
For life can be a carnival, it’s fun and fearful, too
Remember Eagle River,
as we’ll fondly think of you.
Guest instructor
releases class without permission
Students delighted to wander the halls
bounce balls
study their phones
while the supervisor
looks around the class room,
alone.
“So what happened exactly?”
the students asked,
and I told them about the fall,
casts, surgery, plate, and screws.
“Ha!” one laughed, “That’s perfect for you!”
“Why?” I asked
“Because now
even your skeleton
has bling!”
.
.
True story.
I love my students.
🙂
Grade eight.
Horror.
Mother is her substitute teacher today.
“Do not
acknowledge
that you know me!” she hissed.
But when her name was called for
attendance, and teacher-mother
looked around for
whichever student would raise her hand,
she glowered,
unhappy
with anonymity.
Shawn L. Bird 