Student-Teaching: Creating the Bubble

Most teachers have someone in their childhood or teens that inspired them to take the same walk in life–to the front of the classroom. I honestly didn’t like my teachers at all, except for my 1st-grade teacher, who was also my mother’s friend (see blogs #2 and #3), but even her I wasn’t too keen on. I was a terrible student as a child, forgetful and lazy. I remember cheating because I didn’t like to study and I wasn’t good at math. I didn’t understand the “times tables” and if I didn’t have a calculator, I’m not sure what would have become of me.

What did excite me was passing out papers to my dolls while I had them lined up like a classroom on the couch or bed. I liked discussing things with them and being in charge of the room. My sisters would lay with me on the bed as I read them stories or I told them made-up stories right on the spot. Did one need directions to something or a patient voice to help you do something? I was the one to help. A natural people-person and pleaser, the idea of education seemed to come naturally even if I balked at the school system I was involved in. It took college (and making my own choices, I guess) for me to understand that I was a lifelong student and would go to school if I could (forever, even) and earn many degrees. Not every subject or teacher would work for me as I tended to go my own way and had some control issues. I didn’t mind authority at all; actually, I seemed comfortable with it as I had Elfriede for a mother and she believed in strict adherence to her rules. Having someone tell me what to do wasn’t the problem; it was the fact that I couldn’t wrap my brain around certain things and subjects. It wasn’t that I didn’t try–I just didn’t have the aptitude and it would take triple (or more) the effort to get things right for specific subjects. It would explain why when I reached my college years and took more things in the field I liked, things started to come together for me as a student.

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To become a teacher, a person must jump through more hoops than almost any profession (except maybe doctors and the like. However, they get way more respect when they have their title and certifications than teachers do.). A teacher does the 4 years of the degree, observation hours (100 or more), student teaching/internships, at least two tests for the state certificate. Many states now include portfolios requirements with things like filming one instruction, etc. All of this costs money, of course, with time spent going to schools to do observation hours where you are a teacher’s aide and give your time to learn what it’s like to have to do everyday tasks such as make copies, grade papers, sharpen things, prep, etc. You pay hundreds of dollars to get testing done and more for the certificate that has to be renewed. You need professional development to keep your certification and that can cost you money if the school doesn’t want to provide any or doesn’t provide what you need when you can do it. This doesn’t even touch the surface of the supplies, the wardrobe, the books, etc. that you will need to teach that no one will help you provide. Some schools do give budgets and there is a ridiculous tax break that really isn’t worth stating, but I will for the sake of truth.

I worked for this teacher and we talked, and I felt that I could not love teaching more. I was comfortable and the kids seemed to like me too. I did practice lessons in this teacher’s classroom and it went very well. I graded papers, short answers, quizzes, you name it. I was happy for the time being and she called us “kindred spirits.” It was nice.

When it came time to student teach, I wanted to go back to the school that I attended but they wouldn’t allow it. They felt the teachers would see me as a student only and not a fledgling teacher. I didn’t think my teachers would remember me (and I was right), but a rule is a rule and I settled for the sister school to Proviso West–Proviso East. This was a tough school at the time with an even tougher reputation. When I put in my application to student teach there, I was told Concordia was banned from sending student-teachers there. Huh? Benign, super-religious Concordia was banned? What could possibly have happened? Apparently, the last student-teacher placed there had one heck of a time and they decided to end the relationship between Concordia and East. I broke this barrier because I felt it would be okay and I was allowed to go there as a student-teacher.

I found the classroom with a handsome, just-into middle-age blonde man with a craggily face and kind eyes. He was my cooperating teacher and we worked happily side by side for the next couple of months. I immediately liked him the way I had liked the teacher at Walther Lutheran. He was wary of me as he was a proud, gay man, but it was the 90s and there was so much persecution of gay men. When he realized I wouldn’t judge him, he opened up right away and we were good friends. He is an awesome teacher and person. He taught me a lot and I took over his classes after a while and we did alright. It wasn’t as smooth as it could be, but it was very near it.

Some interesting things that happened during student teaching:

• The pot smoker finished his “wacky tabaki” outside. However, on my first morning, my cooperating teacher had been called out of the room because a boy had fallen out in the bathroom. It was 8 am, but he was passed out drunk.
• Only the front of the school is like a castle. The front offices look like a medieval castle and that was really beautiful to see. The superintendent had a fireplace that was almost as tall as I was. Then you went into the rest of the school and see slime-green brick and low-grade floors that were trying to be speckled but just came across as industrial and old.
• No teacher had his/her own room completely. You would have to “float” between classes, which had its ups and downs. I wanted to decorate the room, and another teacher could care less, but it was his room, too. I put up some things and he put up a poster. Fantastic.
• I cried at least twice. Teachers are tired and most of the time frustrated with bad circumstances and a lack of care for morale and so they cry a lot, but this time it wasn’t even for any of that. I was 2 months into student teaching when this student I had never seen came bounding into the classroom and took a seat. I stared at him, the kids stared at him, and my cooperating teacher just looked dismayed. This kid had skipped every day of the semseter so far, and showed up that day because he had been caught by turancy officers and forced into class. I asked him why he didn’t seem to care about attending school and he claimed he didn’t want to do anything in life anyway, so what difference did it make? I asked him how he planned to support himself and his plan was simple–he didn’t plan on supporting himself. He figured he would stay on the couch in his mom’s basement until he was killed on the streets, which would happen soon anyway, he surmised. I saw the defeat in this child who saw no future for himself and it depressed me beyond what I can relate here. His true lack of any hope showed the failure of our society. We failed him and he would fail us. How could he not? He disappeared again after that day and I don’t know what happened to him.
• My cooperating teacher was dedicated and loved his students. He was paid back with scorn. One morning, he just seemed to jump out of his chair and sprint into the hall for no reason. When he came back, he said someone had whipped a penny at him from the hallway. There were cameras in the hallway, so when he didn’t see who did it, he went to security and they found out it was one of the security personnel’s grandsons. She refused to get him in trouble despite physical proof that her grandson assaulted a teacher. To this day, I believe that if it wasn’t a gay teacher or that woman’s grandson, he would have been in trouble for hurting a teacher. Getting hit by a penny seems harmless, but it hurts–trust me. It was one more reason to think the school wasn’t safe for teachers.
• I had students in the hallways call me a “fat bitch” and run away from me. A security guard that was right there and saw the whole thing and wouldn’t do anything but give me the kid’s name and said, “write him up.” The hallways were litered with students who didn’t care to go to class or were thrown out of class, and would roam for trouble. God forbid a teacher, security guard, or whomever would try to discipline them. Students threw stuff at teachers, outright assaulted them and went to juvenile camp, started fights with other students whenever they felt even slightly offended…it was the Wild West without the integrity. The only place I felt safe was in my classroom.
• Veteran teachers would tell me to “run for the hills” as they were only waiting for retirement at East. I was still in the happy bubble of what teaching could be and didn’t know the life of running for your car as soon as the last bell rings and waiting for your pension to kick in. They would tell me to NEVER work there as they stared at my happy-go-lucky face with their own dead eyes and affectless faces.
• The second time that I cried was in the teacher’s cafeteria. I don’t know whose idea it was to give teachers their own space to eat and their own line with their own lunch workers, but they are a genius! It was a great space for us teachers to sit and talk. Of course, I witnessed a teacher argument there, but that was unusual. We saw the union rep sitting with the Superintendent there, too, but that was politics. Another student-teacher, a very dedicated woman, sat with me one day looking like she was going to cry. I asked her what was wrong and she told me about a basketball player she had in her class. Oh, by the way, she was special education concentrated while I was for English. This player had been accepted an Ivy League school already and had been given a full ride. His life was made as he was most likely going to the NBA, he was that good. There was only one thing–he had NO education whatsoever. He would walk across the stage as a graduating senior of Proviso East and go to an expensive, prestigious school, and most likely be drafted in the NBA to live a rich life (if he didn’t get hurt). Sounds lovely. His teacher sat there in tears and showed me his homework, which he couldn’t really do–he could not read or write. She was teaching him to read and spell things like cat, hat, that, etc. This boy would have a diploma and a full-ride to a college most talented students couldn’t get into and he couldn’t read or write. How would he know what any contract said? Even if he had a lawyer or an accountant, how does he know they have his best interest at heart? How can East let a student graduate with a high school diploma when he can’t read or write? Even if he has a modified designation on his diploma, that doesn’t mean he should have graduated. That means he did the work but needed accomodations. He didn’t learn, period! I cried with that student-teacher that day and for other days.
• I was there for Homecoming and it was a spectacle that I would not forget. First of all, they picked the theme Moulin Rouge. I understand that this was a popular movie at the time and had great music, but it was also about a brothel and a burlesque show. Who thought this was a good idea for high schoolers? The Principal, a burly guy with a bald head and Hollywood good-looks, stood by and laughed happily and proudly while the marching band played “Get Your Freak On” and danced provactively (with insturments). The floats were displayed by students in lingerie. They were boys in teddies, by the way. One boy’s genitals were exposed because his panties didn’t fit him correctly. The teachers eyed each other silently, waiting for some type of fall out that didn’t happen.

One girl came into the classroom and her friends were quick to tell me that she had gone to kid boot camp because she had punched a teacher. They waited for my reaction, but I didn’t have one. “Aren’t you scared, Miss?” They asked me with slight smiles and shadowed eyes. “No,” I answered, looking at the girl. “This is a clean slate and I don’t hold anything in your past against you. This is a new start for you with me.”

I never had any issues with her as we started from scratch and learned to trust each other. I tried to approach all students that way. Sometimes knowing a past is helpful as it can teach me how to help students, but it can also be prejudicial. It’s a double-edged sword for sure.

BTW