Whippersnapper: $80

Hosting a student teacher, like going to work, is something I do for the money even if it is only an $80 token of gratitude, although I appreciate the recertification points, too.

Those recertification points are, I suppose, the state’s way of recognizing that young whippersnappers still in college will bring the latest best practices into old fogies’ classrooms and rejuvenate faded passions for opening students’ eyes to the world of wonderful knowledge. For the most part, however, I just find myself annoyed at the upstart’s intrusion, inhibited by his or her presence, and affirmed in my emphasis on reading and writing at the expense of professorial theoretics.

Now, let me be clear that this student teacher is actually very good. She has a sense of humor and a calm, respectful demeanor that students receive well, she is very intelligent and hard working, she’s more punctual than I am, she’s dedicated to improving and knows she has a lot to learn, if my new baby comes in the next few weeks, I don’t think my classroom will fall apart since she’s there, and so on and so forth.

Really, I have few complaints other than having a student teacher; I prefer to run my own show, not share it. But since it’s often more fun to complain than praise, let me point out a few specific things that are making me eager for March 6 to roll around.

MJ, who impressed me early on as seeming to think she is my co- rather than student teacher, rarely fails to insert her insights and suggestions into conversations with my colleagues and has the exceedingly annoying habit of mentioning whenever possible her supervisory job as a university residence hall director and “my staff” and “my [dormitory] students.” Her literary analyses often include phrases such as “We see that Shakespeare’s beloved…” spoken in crisp ivory tower tones when, um, dearie, you’re addressing twelve-year-olds who just need to know what “To glean the broken ears after the man” literally means rather than hear a feminist interpretation of cross dressing in Shakespeare’s woods. (That’s a conglomeration of horribly mixed examples.)

Next year she wants to teach in Korea where, she says, teachers and knights make up the most esteemed level of society, with the educators definitely bearing more respect than warriors, and from day one she talked about “taking over” my classroom.

This week she began teaching a five-day unit that she designed previously and adapted for seventh grade. As she developed the lessons, I sidestepped my distrust of student group work (otherwise known as “goof-off time”) by stressing the need for individual accountability and letting her do as she wished. This week would be a lesson in itself…for her. Which is, after all, what student teaching is all about.

First block went terribly. The pair-up-and-think-way-high-up-on-Bloom’s Taxonomy-while-doing-a-meaningful-word sort-with-a-partner activity didn’t accomplish much of anything more than–can you guess?–goofing off, so in our planning period she reworked how she presented the assignment. It still didn’t work in the next class, so for the last class of the day she totally scrapped the partner work and everything went much better.

I’ve begun to enjoy being bluntly honest with an affirming smile: “You are speaking at an intellectual level much higher than these kids need. Just help them understand and enjoy the metaphors.” Or, “You’re not enforcing your expectations of quiet when you are speaking” (she’d preferred not to administer discipline; she’s getting over the fact that she can’t always be the nicest person in the world). Or, “When you assigned five minutes of quiet writing time, I think you kept talking.”

And she’s graciously receptive of constructive criticism. One day after a lesson she asked for my thoughts, and I commented that she seemed to be relaxed and comfortable up front.

“I mean,” she said, “actually, I’m looking for some constructive criticism here.”

In my book, that makes her a winner.