I Hate My Job

I hate my job. I hate the children I teach, collectively. I hate the paperwork. My throat is so dry and scratchy that there were several times today I couldn't even talk. That tells me one thing: I have become a yeller. A voice raiser. A negative person. A mean person. And I hate it!

I know that it's my fault that my students haven't learned anything yet, that they don't listen, that they are never quiet. Other teachers keep saying to me, "Oh, I don't mind a little noise in my classroom." I don't mind noise either, if they are working in groups, or even if they are working alone and they want to ask a friend for help. But when I'm speaking, if your mouth is moving, you are not listening to what I say. And frankly, half the time when they are quiet, they aren't listening either.

Moment: we are taking a spelling pre-test. I have gotten them all seated with pencils. Those who have notebooks, have them out. Those who don't, have a piece of paper in front of them. We get into Listening! Learning! Position! J--, staring straight at me while I do the hand motions, doesn't move. I say, "We're going to do it again because not everyone did it with us. (the class groans loudly). I say, "Listening." They say "Listening." We wait until J-- and E-- put their hands in the air. Finally they do, half heartedly. Finally everyone is in Listening Learning Position. All eyes are on me. All mouths are quiet. A second later, most people are already playing with their pencils. I say, "Write your name at the top of your paper." They pick up their pencils. I walk around. Five of my twenty-two present students have put their names on their papers. The rest are staring off into space, or looking at me for the next direction, or trying to poke holes through their papers with the tips of their pencils. I point to the paper seventeen more times and say, "R--, put your name on your paper. E--, put your name on your paper. Right here. Right now. Write your name." Finally, all names are on papers. Those who listened the first time or I got to early are now divided into two camps: those who are still listening, and those who are daydreaming. Most are in the latter. We get in Listening Learning Position again. Several times. Until all eyes are on me.

I say, "I'm going to tell you a word and then I'm going to use it in a sentence. I want you to do your best to write the word down. If you don't know how to write it, do the best you can. This is called a pre-test. That means that it shows where you started out so that I know how much you've learned later. That's why we put on our stretchy thinking caps, so that our brains can grow! The first word is can. Like in the sentence, "I can tie my shoes." Can you write down the word can?" Nobody moves. I say, "Write the word can on your paper." I know that most of them can sound it out. T-- is absent, so only E-- doens't know his letters. This takes five minutes. I walk around. A-- gets up and comes over to me. I don't notice until she is tapping on my waist. "Teacher, I don't know how to spell that." I send her back to her desk with raised eyebrows, humming the Farmer in the Dell (which has a meaning in my classroom: Do not get out of your seat, Do not get out of your seat, You'll make the teacher CRAZY, Do not get out of your seat.) I review that you should just try your hardest. I ask her to sound it out. I give up.

As my textbook suggests, I write the word on the board. "This is how you spell can," I say. "C-A-N. If you spelled it correctly, give yourself a pat on the back. If you tried but this isn't a word you know yet, that's okay. That's why we're learning it this week. Circle it and copy down what I wrote on the board." Erasers rip at the paper. "CIRCLE it," I say. Chair legs screech. Desks wobble. "Don't erase, circle." My assistant wanders around, too, telling students who misspelled the word to write the correct spelling next to it. E-- has written nothing but his name on his paper. I go over to him. "E," I say, "Can you copy down the word can? I wrote it on the board. You write it. Right here." Meanwhile, the whole class has begun talking. R-- has fallen out of his chair. E-- is wandering aimlessly around the room. I steer her towards her desk. She begins to cry for the third time today. I don't know why.

And so on.

I was a witness to a paddling today, of one of my students. I hate it. He hit another student. I have to show that I'm tough on hitting. It's also a rule that if they hit, they should be sent to the office. He was one step away on my consequence chart. I had him flip his card. It was in line. Mrs. B-- took the rest of the students to the bathroom (they ALWAYS have to "use it") and I took Robert to the office. He got a brief talking to. Mr. R-- had him put his hands on the desk and paddled him 3 times. I looked away.

Michael administered his first paddling today. I am against paddling, personally. But clearly, I do not have control of my classroom. I need a longer list of consequences for the students to work through. Or some other "really bad" punishment. But that would be lower my expectations, which I'm not allowed to do in TFA. My roommates, within the first week of school, all decided that they were wholeheartedly in favor of paddling.

I hate my job because I am not good at it, and I don't know how to get better. I leave for school at 6 in the morning and get home around 5 in the evening. Then I take an hour off. Then I have dinner and work for the rest of the night, get nothing done, talk on the phone a little, and go to bed around 12 or 1, and then I wake up at 5 to do it again.