To Teach or Not to Teach, That is the Question!
by Jeff Allen
How best to begin our first Career and Technical Education Blog? This problem plagued me for weeks until the following story was shared with me. As I recalled this story, the question came to me “how could I resist?” It had to be the first blog of our website.
This blog is the reflection of a 10-year classroom veteran: It was my first year to teach in a public school as a Computer Literacy instructor. I was about 21 at the time and full of college ideas about how to teach a class.
The computer lab was “U” shaped with slightly outdated but serviceable computers lining each wall. For about every four computers there was one printer. You ever hear of ADD? One of the triggers is noise. Six printers banging away for an hour would drive most people over the edge, for a roomful of 12-14 year old kids it was a huge problem. However, we managed to get through most class periods without major migraines.
Fourth period was a wild bunch. The room had a diverse mix of students, the typical Good, Bad and The Ugly. Bad had all outnumbered. As I recall, there was a group of six to eight boys that had formed their own “gang”. They were constantly finding new ways to disrupt the class. They rolled tennis balls across the room to each other… I collected enough to fill a small truck that year. Small pranks, little jokes, and gags were their calling cards. Nothing that they did was particularly malicious, but they were persistent. There was also a vicious female “clique”. These girls were vicious to each other. They never really bothered anyone else, and each day they seemed to pick, at random, one of their own to torture. It was a constant insult contest.
As soon as the five girls started, the “gang” snickered and giggled - since this, of course, added to their own efforts at disruption. Flowers can cross-pollinate, kids can cross-instigate. A real “Ying and Yang” kind of relationship existed between these two groups. You never knew what was going to get things going, but once it did, watch out.
In the middle of these two groups were the “others.” They were fresh meat for the amusement of both “gang” and “clique.” As a new instructor, I tried the techniques I had learned, but none of them seemed to work with fourth period. I used positive reinforcement, various reward structures…I used anything I could think of to try and mold this group into a class. Would they ever be a cohesive group of students capable of completing their portion of the school newspaper?
You may have figured out by now that I dreaded my fourth period class. If I dreaded it, I can only imagine how the “others” felt about it.
I did not want them to see that they were getting under my armor, so I made a point of not losing my temper. It became a daily power struggle. I doubt there is a Vegas bookie that would have given me fair odds. I was the dark horse in this race. I seriously considered that I might be a failure after all.
Then, one day, as I began my standard “Dog and Pony Show” they listened. . .
The dull roar that accompanied fourth period died away. Tennis balls were not rolling. Insults were not flying. They were listening. They were paying attention. They were making eye contact with me.
I gave my instructions, they listened diligently, and I dismissed them to start their assignments.
Once they were seated at their computer, a hand belonging to one of the “gang” rose from one side of the room. I knew this class, this was a setup. I knew that he was going to ask something so ridiculous that the spell would be broken and the class would return to the normal state of disorder.
I acknowledged him. He asked his question. It was a computer question! Alright! I answered him and noticed that the kids near his seat also listened attentively and made solid eye contact as I explained how to make their computer complete its task.
I smiled.
This time it was one of the “clique”. I knew she was going to tell me something designed to humiliate someone.
I acknowledged her. She asked her question. It was also a computer question!
The Heavens opened and I faintly heard the sound of praise raining down around me. I won. I used enough Voodoo from the College of Education to win over this bunch of miscreants.
For that period, I never touched the floor. I floated two feet off the ground. I circled the room, moving from station to station. They listened! They asked follow-up questions. They asked follow-ups about follow-ups. I won. I was a teacher. Exhausted and elated, I could almost hear the principal announcing, “Presenting the Teacher of the Year . . . !” The crowd was going wild! Students would devote pages in their class album to Yours Truly!
I rubbed my forehead in amazement as the students filed out... and reality fell into my hand. Reality was a booger the size of my thumbnail. I can recall with great clarity every detail of that booger: the faint shades of yellow and brown, the thin wispy tendrils, the size.
My brain acknowledged the horror. I knew then why the students had asked so many follow-up questions. Each wanted a chance to examine the beauty of this booger. They needed to see for themselves that their teacher was actually walking around the room with this monster, this thumbnail-sized booger right between his eyes.
I looked up from the creature in my hand and made eye contact with one of my best students, Katie, one of the “others”. I knew that she knew.
I asked her, “Katie, why didn’t you tell me?” Really, I knew it was not her fault.
Katie’s departing response was honest, truthful and realistic. “They would have killed me.”
I had to admit she was right. It was fourth period after all. I walked to my desk and sat down. It is not often in life that a man has a chance to talk philosophy with a booger. The booger and I reflected on the moment and we came to this conclusion: it really can’t get any worse than this.
They say that, “Teaching can change your life.” Well, let me tell you, teaching with a booger on your forehead can change it even faster!
We both decided I should continue to teach, without a booger on my forehead, of course.
Contact the author, Jeff M. Allen: Jeff.Allen@unt.edu
