Me, the Student, Teacher, Student-Teacher

Today I was confronted with two experiences that were both strikingly different and also, somewhat parallel. Still sorting out a sort of bombardment of thoughts that attacked me on the metro ride home...

Well first of all, today was the first day in which I taught three full lessons without any other teacher supervising or contributing. I've been anticipating this day for awhile now, and for once was eager to wake up at 6am and start the day by strapping on my newly-purchased "teacher shoes" and reviewing the day's lesson plan — a cultural lesson on Halloween customs, as well as a guided story-writing activity, and an opportunity for students to discuss their own customs around this time of the year.

The day went beautifully — all of the students laughed at my stupid jokes, and seemed to find everything I presented to them comical, if not enriching. And I've never seen a group of high-schoolers so excited about Mad Libs before. Some of my favorite moments occurred in the last group I taught — a class which is often the most difficult for me to teach; there are about ten boys and three girls in the group — and we veered off topic quite a bit, but our tangents led us to a really good discussion about education policy and The English Standard. It was also really rewarding to see one of the students, who had always struck me as someone who didn't care too much for school, fervently defend public education and its benefits. Really, really cool.

I took the metro from the high school to my own classes, pleased and warm from the morning's rewarding work, and couldn't stop thinking about how much I had underestimated the good nature of my students without realizing it. It's easy for them to goof off in class when I'm around, not just because of my inexperience and tendency to let things slide, but mainly because of my sheer inability to understand Catalan, allowing them the luxury of side chatter and "jokes behind the teacher's back" that I have no access to... but I'm seeing how quickly I have jumped into defense, without needing to... more on that later.

Switching gears, after work I put on my student hat and made my way to one of my favorite literature classes, a class in which I truly enjoy the reading we're assigned and look forward to attending. Like I have so often in my classes at my home university, and like I do so often during many random occasions (e.g. movies, lectures, bus rides), I fell asleep. I just fell asleep. I wasn't even bored! I just felt my eyelids getting heavier, and I gave in. Some people don't struggle with this, I know, but I can't explain enough how hard it is for me to fight my eyelids sometimes. I really, really can't. I have never fallen asleep in class on purpose, but clearly my body doesn't really care about my intentions. I just fell asleep. I woke up ten minutes later, as my professor had paused the movie we were watching, and like always, I felt the burn of the moment's shame creep up my neck and into my cheeks, my heart racing from the realization of my blunder. I will never get used to that feeling. Blech. I shuffled things around on my desk, took a drink from my water bottle, shoved a piece of gum in my mouth, twiddled my pen around and took notes feverishly — anything to stay awake and be attentive. It might seem foolish to try and garner sympathy for my own obvious neglect to let my body rest, but if you don't know me, you have to understand — I, and the rest of my family for that matter, probably have some mild case of narcolepsy/am making up for years of sleep debt that I've racked up since age 11. We just fall asleep. Everywhere. No idea why, can't help it, no matter how good our sleeping habits are during the week.

Needless to say, my professor pulled me aside after class and said, "Falling asleep in class is absolutely unacceptable. Absolutely." She spoke harshly, talking with her hands and making slicing motions in the air, adding emphasis to the second "absolutely." I hurriedly tried to mumble an apology, but she cut me off saying, "Next time, I will ask you to leave. It is completely disrespectful, and I will not tolerate this sort of behavior." Again, I tried to explain myself (which failed mostly because I don't have any real excuse other than that my body SUCKS), but she interjected saying, "Just do what you need to do. Drink coffee, get more sleep, whatever. You can go now."

I packed up my things and left as quickly as I should, and for some reason, felt the undeniable sting of tears swell behind my eyes. How ridiculous! Was I really going to cry about this? Professors at my university back home have commented on my sleeping habits before, and not once had I reacted as strongly as I was now! As the swell of emotion calmed, I realized why I had felt so offended. Keep in mind, that I am a words-person. I care about words. It was that word — disrespect — that wrecked me.

My professor had deemed me as disrespectful, a term that implied I didn't care about the class, I wasn't considerate enough, that I had been careless in my actions. Okay, I know, a tsunami of conclusions from one comment — but as a student, and a student who cares a great deal about that class, I felt helpless and misjudged. I care! I wanted to scream. I care about this class! I couldn't stand the idea of a professor that I'd respected so much thinking that I wasn't the least bit interested in the class. I made ten thousand mental notes to drink five shots of espresso before I ever enter that classroom again. Then, I made a note to never assume of my future students what was assumed of me today.

As a teacher of high school students, sometimes you're called upon to make certain disciplinary decisions, decisions that are intended to not only shape your students' behavior, but hopefully their character in the long run. The teacher's guidebook says that we should never tolerate behavior like sleeping in class, that it is (as my professor said) disrespectful and unacceptable. We should respond immediately and correct the behavior.

The Book that I try to live by, the one that says we must live in love, says that behavior doesn't matter nearly as much as identity.

When I think about it, the people in my life that have been the most influential, the people whose principles I want to live by, are the people who have believed the best of me, even if they haven't seen it. The friends and the family who have responded to my qualms by saying, "Joanne, you don't have to worry about that. I know who you are." Isn't that what we all want? For the best parts of us to be understood and known? For our identity to be prioritized before our behavior?

Translating this to the classroom, I hope to always make my students believe the best in themselves. This starts with me revising my disciplinary policy. I think I saw teaching in two camps — the teachers who are good with classroom management and the ones who aren't. I had always sorted myself into the latter, seeing as I usually run away from most conflict, and tend to put fun before productivity. I'm seeing now that there are ways to discipline without attacking the students' character, without embarrassing them, without making them feel guilty or less-admirable because of their behavior.

Rather, I hope that I can approach them with servitude first — assuming the best until proven otherwise, making sure they feel free and safe in the classroom before they feel threatened about "breaking rules." If a student falls asleep in class habitually (well, I can already relate to this one too well), I will not consider it as a move of disrespect, but first be concerned with how the hell they're doing. If they're not getting enough sleep at home, then something needs to change. God knows I needed someone in high school telling me to do less and sleep more. If a student is habitually late, or always disrupting class, I should be helping with the why before I hound them for the what.

The conversations I had with my students today proved that students really do rise to the challenge when it's presented to them. If I hold students to a certain standard, and make "good" classroom behavior and work performance as the norm, then "bad" classroom behavior is not a punishable act, but simply a deviation from the standard that might need to be improved. Reflecting on my own reaction to one of my teachers also taught me that there are better ways to teach than to simply "correct." As teachers, we must have servants' hearts. We must put the students first. After all, that's why we signed up for this whole gig, right?

So enough with the worrying about what I'm going to do in the classroom. I've got to shift focus to who is in the classroom. And also, drink more coffee on Tuesday/Thursdays.