The Tardy Cart

The bell rings at LHS and students have five minutes to get to their next class.  Teachers post themselves in the hallways outside their classrooms to make sure students don't get into fights, or at least to make sure they are witness to it if they do, so that the students are sure to get in the maximum amount of trouble.  When the bell rings again, teachers must immediately rush into their classrooms and lock their doors.

LeVon is sprinting to get to class but the bell rings a few seconds before, and he essentially gets the door slammed in his face.

"Please, Miss," he begs.  "Just let me in."

"You must go to the Tardy Cart," the teacher shouts through the door.

LeVon sighs, hangs his head, and shuffles slowly off.  The tardy cart is down two flights of stairs, down the corridor, and into the lobby.  By the time he gets there, a long line of students is already waiting.  Ten minutes later, he reaches the front of the line.  The Dean swipes his student ID and hands him a ticket with a time stamp on it.

"But this says I'm twelve minutes late," LeVon protests.  "I was only five seconds late.  If the teacher hadn't slammed the door in my face I could be in class already."

"That will teach you to get there faster next time, won't it?"  the Dean says.  "Next, please."

LeVon walks back down the corridor, climbs two flights of stairs, and knocks on his classroom door.  The teacher pauses in the middle of her lecture on the slope of a line, crosses the room, and opens the door.

"Do you have your tardy slip?"

LeVon hands it to her.  She checks the time and date stamp, then says, "OK, please take your seat."

"What up, LeVon?" J.C. calls out.  LeVon slaps hands and bumps fists with a couple of his friends on his way to his seat.

"Quickly, please, LeVon," the teacher calls out.  "Now, where were we?  Oh yes, slope of a line is rise over run..."

Knock knock knock.  Chandra is at the door.  The teacher walks over and opens it.

"Sorry, Miss, here's my tardy slip," Chandra says.  Her eyes are red and she's clearly been crying.

"Chandra, girl, you OK?" Damion stands up and gives her a quick hug.  "What up?"

"Later," Chandra mutters.

"Chandra!  Damion!" the teacher's voice has become loud and stern.  "That is enough interruption.  Sit down or I will send you to the office."

Chandra bursts into tears.

"Yo, why don't I send your fat ass to the office?" Damion shouts.

"Damion, no!" Chandra cries through her tears.  "Come on, come with me into the hall."  She tugs on his arm.

"Both of you will be getting referrals!" the teacher exclaims.  "Nobody is going into the hall!  Now sit down, before I call security!"

"Why's Chandra getting a referral?  She didn't do nothing!" Alishia pipes up.  "Can't you see she's upset?  Have a little sympathy!"

"Alishia, you can have an office referral as well," the teacher says.  At this point, the class erupts.  Students get up out of their seats.  The teacher gets on the phone and calls security.  Mr. Mason, the security guard, well-respected and liked by most of the students because of the time he takes to build relationships with them, shows up several minutes later.  The class is in chaos, shouting at the teacher and at each other, and the teacher is standing wide-eyed by her desk, still on the phone with the secretary in case something worse happens.  Mr. Mason talks to the whole class for a few minutes and gets everyone calmed down and back in their seats.  Damion, Chandra, Alishia, and two other students leave the classroom with him to go to the Dean's office.

"Now," the teacher says, clearly flustered.  "What were we learning about?  Oh yes, slope.  Slope is defined as rise over run..."

LeVon had sat quietly in the back while all the commotion had been going on.  He had been late because he had stayed behind in his English class to ask that teacher if he could come in after school for help on his essay.  On his way to class, the hallway had been virtually impassable because of a group of girls clustering around Chandra and harassing her about something somebody had posted on Facebook about her messing around with all their boyfriends.  Chandra was a good friend of his, and he knew that stuff wasn't true, just another girl starting vicious rumors.  He thought about stepping in, but he was afraid of getting caught up in their drama, and he didn't want to be late to class.  Once he got around the crowd, he looked at his watch and realized he had only twenty seconds to the bell.  He began sprinting down the hall but dropped his notebook.  By the time he picked it up, the bell had already rung, and by the time he reached the classroom a few seconds later, the door was already locked.  Now he feels guilty about what happened to Chandra as well as annoyed that he has more demerits on his ID.

LeVon sighs and tries to put all of this out of his mind.  He opens his notebook and begins to write down the stuff on the board about slope.  He has no idea what the teacher is talking about but he doesn't dare raise his hand because she's clearly already mad about him being late.

A few minutes later, the teacher says, "Well, we are still having a test on this tomorrow.  It's not my fault that you guys can't behave long enough for me to teach you this stuff."

LeVon looks at the clock and realizes there's only a minute left in class.  He feels panicky because he hasn't learned anything about slope and now he has to take a test on it tomorrow.  He thinks maybe after he gets English tutoring he'll call Chandra, who is the smartest girl in the class, and ask her if she will study with him.  Maybe he'll also ask her to Homecoming, and tell her to forget those girls and that stupid stuff on Facebook... then he realizes this latest tardy probably gives him too many demerits to go to Homecoming.

The bell rings and LeVon grabs his notebook and pencil and heads towards the door.

"A moment, please, LeVon," the teacher calls.  Reluctantly, he turns back.

"LeVon, you know you are already failing this class.  If you can't make school a priority, you're never going to graduate on time," the teacher says in a stern but concerned voice.

LeVon just stares at her.

"Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"

LeVon thinks about the extra time it took to talk to his English teacher, which is what made him late in the first place.  He thinks about Chandra and how he should have stuck up for her, especially since he ended up being late to class anyway.  He thinks about pointing out that if she had just let him in, he would have missed only five seconds instead of fifteen minutes.  He thinks about how if she hadn't been so mean to Chandra, the class wouldn't have gotten so out of control and she wouldn't have had to waste all their learning time calling security.  He thinks about all the things he would like to say for himself, and opens his mouth.

"No, ma'am," he mumbles.

"Well, you can still pull your grade up, but you're going to have to pass this test tomorrow and begin putting in a little more effort, including getting here on time."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now hurry to your next class.  You don't want to be late again."

LeVon walks into the hallway and checks his watch.  His Biology class is on the far side of the school in the basement, a three minute trip on a good day, and he has less than four minutes to get there.  He also has to go to the bathroom.  Badly.  He didn't go in the last passing period so he could talk to his English teacher.

LeVon shrugs and sighs.  He goes to the bathroom, then goes directly to the line at the Tardy Cart.

Re-Imagining Concentrated Academic Time

Let's re-imagine CAT.  Imagine two rooms, at opposite ends of the building.  The first is the Interaction Room, and is filled with educational toys, games, programs, and challenges.  Against one wall is a row of computers that don't connect to the internet (no distractions) but instead have a variety of educational games that ask students to solve logic puzzles or build virtual bridges or do virtual experiments or learn to code.  Imagine a construction corner, with toys like Legos and K-nex and materials like popsicles sticks and glue.  There are some challenges and suggestions taped to the wall, such as, "Can you build a bridge so that the matchbox car can drive from Desk A to Desk B?"  (There is also a list of rules, such as "no gluing the Legos.")  In another part of the room, imagine games set up and ready to play, games that require thought and problem-solving, such as Chess, Monopoly, and Risk.  Near these games are a variety of solitaire games and puzzles.  Imagine a "jukebox" - a computer with a library of songs that young people like and have been deemed to be appropriate for school.  Students may request songs off this playlist, which is programmed just like a real jukebox and plays songs in order.  The music is at a set volume, loud enough to be enjoyed but quiet enough to still allow conversation.  Imagine that this room has and needs only three rules:  1.  Take turns; 2.  Honor the rules at each station; 3.  If you have finished interacting with the materials and are merely socializing with your friends, please leave and come back later.

Imagine another room at the opposite end of the school, the Quiet Room.  It is next to the library, and is filled with comfy chairs as well as tables and computers.  Classical music plays quietly in the background.  Students read and work on homework individually.  This room has only one rule:  No talking.  It is a place for individual work and quiet time; group work and conversations take place somewhere else.

Imagine students never being forced to be in either room; instead, they can sign up for CAT in either room.  Each room has a maximum capacity and is first-come, first-served.  Students sign into the room with their name and arrival time; once the room reaches capacity, a waitlist develops.  So that everyone gets a chance to be in the room, once a waitlist develops, time is limited to, say, ninety minutes.  Once a student has enjoyed the room for ninety minutes, he must leave for a while to allow someone else a chance.  He may, of course, immediately put his name back on the waitlist to get in again.  When they sign up for the waitlist, students get a ticket that tells them what time they will be admitted to the room.  Their time will begin at this point regardless of whether they show up or not.  Imagine how quickly they will learn time management.

Imagine teachers taking turns being on duty in each room.  In the Interactive Room, one teacher acts as Bouncer, monitoring students entry and exit, and making sure students follow the rules of the room.  The other teacher is an Interactor, participating in activities and games with the students and asking interesting questions.  In the Quiet Room, one teacher is a Quiet Monitor, who keeps track of entry and exit, enforces quiet and asks students who can't be quiet to leave, and models the expectations by reading or working herself.

In this re-imagined CAT, students Concentrate on their activity of choice.  Nobody is forcing them to be in the room; indeed, it is a privilege with a potential time limit.  Therefore, they are likely to highly value their time in either room and Concentrate on whatever they are doing, whether it is solving a logic puzzle or building a bridge or playing a game of chess or reading a book or typing an essay.  All the activities offered are Academic, designed to get students to think and explore, or giving them a focused, quiet place to read or work.  Finally, there is actually Time involved, at least ninety minutes of it.  Imagine how much more creativity and critical thinking we would foster if we structured CAT this way, as opposed to twenty-five minutes of enforcing that students pretend to read.

Concentrated Academic Time

For twenty-five minutes every day we have Concentrated Academic Time (CAT).  This concept is one of the most baffling I have come across in education.  First of all, the name implies that during this brief period of time, we are concentrating on academics.  What is it, then, that we do for the remaining seven hours and thirty-five minutes of the school day?

Secondly, the only option during CAT is to read a book.  Therefore, I conclude that whoever created this rule believes the only way to concentrate academically is to read.  If students ask me if they can work on homework, I must say, "No, please read a book."  If the only way to concentrate academically is to read, would students not be better off alone in their own bedrooms, without other people to elbow them in the ribs when the teacher is not looking?  I mean, really, if we must concentrate academically only by reading, why come to school at all?  I know I, as a youth, would have loved nothing better than to stay at home and read a book all day.

Finally, because it is impossible to actually force anyone to read, my job as a teacher during this time is to enforce silence and ensure that every student has a book open in front of them.  Some of my students enjoy reading and thus are happy when CAT rolls around.  It gives them a welcome break during the day.  I myself fall into this category; most of the time my students are quiet and I actually look forward to this chance to sit and read.  However, many of my students do not like reading.  Some of these (high school) students choose one of the numerous books with pictures I keep in my classroom so they have something better than the wall at which to stare.  Some open a book and daydream, or try to annoy their friends without getting caught.  Some fall asleep.  The lack of both concentration and academics during CAT for at least half of my students each day leads me to begin this time with the tongue in cheek, "Everyone grab a book and pretend to read."

If a student who is reading, say, my picture book on sharks, exclaims loudly, "Did you know sharks have seven rows of teeth," I am supposed to chastise him for breaking the silence.  If another student says, "No way, let me see," and grabs the book, and then another chimes in with a fact she already knows about sharks, my classroom is now considered to be in chaos.  I have failed at classroom management, and if my principal were to walk by, I may also be publicly chastised for failure to comply with CAT policy.

At other schools I have experienced periods of similar ineffectiveness, such as SSR, which stands for Sustained Silent Reading.  When I had to supervise SSR at SCS, my students could not handle staying silent for thirty minutes, and I had to patrol the classroom making shushing noises and confiscating potential projectiles.  In my mind I renamed this time SSA, Sustained Silent Agony.  I once observed a school that called their version of this DEAR, Drop Everything And Read.  It seemed to me that they should rename it DEATAN, Drop Everything And Take A Nap.

As for CAT, I think I'll go with its antonym, WAT.  "Sit down and pretend to read, please.  It's time for Wasted Academic Time."

Introduction

Broken

I am an octagonal peg trying to fit into a round hole.

I am not square;

there are more sides to me than that.

Too many sides for my own good.

So when they hit me on the head, I go in a little.

I am still mostly octagonal, except for my bottom, which is now closer to round.

Sixteen sides, jagged and rough and sharp.

But above the hole I am still myself.

So they hit me down again.

 And soon I will be within their circle, with my original dimensions doubled and rough,

trying to make sense of my new broken self.

At which point they will make the hole smaller,

doubling my sides again.

Breaking every corner because they don't like things that are edgy.

They will take the integral of my shape until I become the circle they originally intended.

It is important to beat me because they are frightened by math and poetry

and I can do both at once.

Re-Imagining the Classroom

My everyday struggles as a public school teacher.

This is a blog about my personal struggle to keep creativity and critical thinking alive in my classroom, in the midst of a system that attempts, in ways both planned and inadvertent, to beat both of these things out of teachers and students.  It is not meant to be a criticism of any particular school, but of an entire system that is failing because it is being used for a purpose for which it was not designed.  As such, although my goal is to illustrate this failing system with anecdotes about the daily happenings in the classrooms and schools in which I currently and have previously worked, it is very important to me to preserve the anonymity of these schools and the people in them.  Therefore, I will never mention locations by name and all people mentioned in the stories have had their names changed and, in some cases, identities merged and details slightly altered to preserve their privacy.  My intention is not to tell the exact truth, but to communicate the essence of what happens in our public schools.

I will be telling stories that have taken place in the five educational settings in which I have worked:  an environmental education non-profit, hereafter referred to as TES; a small 7-12 charter school, SCS; a juvenile detention center, JDC; a large urban public high school, LHS; and a tiny rural K-12 school, TRS.  I tell these stories in no order other than the importance they have in my own mind at any particular moment.  All stories will be told in the present tense, regardless of the order in which they happened.

After each story, I will re-imagine what school could be.