On the first day of school he looked me straight in the eye–we’re about the same height–and said that he’s an eighty year old trapped in a twelve year old’s body.

He said our school’s field trip to see a Shakespeare play was his thirteenth to that playhouse; his irony skit adaptation of the play involved a cat and dog marrying.

One of his grandfathers was a confederate soldier.

He reads the Bible during silent reading time.

One Tuesday morning as he passed me in the hallway on the way to first period he blearily said, “I like Wednesdays. We only read from Psalms on Wednesdays, so it’s short.”

At the pep rally on Thursday afternoon he stood in salute all through the national anthem.

And on Monday, after he atypically barely even grunted a greeting, I said to him, “P, something seems to be weighing you down.” He looked at the floor and shuffled past, but a few minutes later said, “I’ll tell you later.” During class he gave me this note:

Dear Mr. CJ:


If I don’t seem like myself it’s no one fault. Last night I had a dream, or a vision of evil not like villian evil I mean pure and unjust evil. lately, I have been trying overcome challenges in life. So I may not seem like my self for a while I will try my best ,but, no promises. 


Your brother in christ, 
P. 


P.S. Please Pray for me.


After class I told him “Certainly,” and he went on his way, and by the end of the day he seemed in much better spirits.

I’ve now called parents of more than two-thirds of my students simply to say nice things about them. Earlier this M– came up to me in the hallway after class and said, “Thanks for the call. I got ice cream.” 


“I think you need to give me half,” I said. 


“Nah,” she said and headed off.


And I received these emails, too:


“My husband and I appreciated the kind words on your phone message yesterday. P– is certainly enjoying being in your class.  He frequently shares news about things you are learning and even the names of your children – which are lovely by the way. He is blessed to have such a “free spirited” and creative teacher this year. Thank you for all that you do.”


“I want to sincerely thank you for your phone call regarding J–.  It’s rare to get a call from a teacher about something positive, and I am so pleased that J– is doing so well in your class.  I am certain that it is related to your teaching skills.  He really enjoys your class.  Thanks again – have a great week!”

My first class of the day is usually asleep pretty much all period, some days. But I’m working on making mornings more exciting for them–and for me, when it comes right down to it.

And I’ve had glimmers of hopeful improvement.

“This is now my favorite class,” a boy exclaimed a few weeks ago after I used Gym Class Heroes’ Stereo Hearts music video to teach about metaphors. “I love that song!”

“You’re my favorite teacher,” another student told me this week. “You called my mom and said nice things about me, and she was so happy she gave me $30.”

(“You owe me half,” I said; “Yeah, right,” she said.)

“I love this class, now,” yet another said just yesterday. We were reading Shakespeare’s Two Gentlemen of Verona and to preempt giggles I had decided to replicate a note-taking activity I’d used a couple years ago when I taught The Wind in the Willows.

Before reading the play’s second act, I told students to write “Vocabulary” at the top of a blank sheet of paper.

“Then,” I said, “write this down. It must take up at least half of your page.” I wrote on the board: “ASS.”

Trying not to smile at my students’ snorting, I explained that while we know multiple definitions for the word, Shakespeare’s “ass” in this play probably meant “stupid, foolish, or stubborn person.”

“Write that definition down, below the word,” I said.

As they snickered and wrote, I moseyed around the room, and stopped at the desk of the best-behaved student in the classroom.

“J– L–!” I feigned shock. “What is this bad language you are writing on your paper! You should be ashamed!”

In my second class, when a student wrote @$$ instead, I said, “R–! You. Are. Cheating!” (She quietly made corrections.)

Another student, one who thanks me after each class and makes a point of stopping at the end of every day to say, “Have a good evening,” pulled me aside. “When we’re reading the play, if it’s our character who says…that word, what should we say? Should we improvise?”

“You’ll be okay,” I told him, and in fact none of my students had to say “ass” at all, because whenever relevant lines neared, I edged over to my computer and clicked dictionary.com’s audio for the word. Sometimes, for effect, I clicked it lots of times.

I was a bit worried that my excessive enjoyment of the whole ordeal would net a less-than-desirable response from disturbed parents, but so far I’ve received just this email, music to my ears: “Loved your AS_ exercise you did with the class yesterday. We all hooted with laughter when she recounted it. :)”

Money.

This year I am contributing to our school’s atmosphere of fun and appreciation for teachers by heading up a morning announcements “Two Truths and a Lie” game. Each week a different employee is featured; by the end of the week students have learned who the teacher is and what the truths are.

This is my week; I don’t think anyone’s yet figured out the lie (they still have until tomorrow morning to puzzle…):

1. I have an uncle-in-law who is a vice presidential candidate.
2. I have a scar on my neck from being attacked by a lizard in Nicaragua.
3. I played with a country band in medium security prison.

I am continuing to call the parents of my students to make a positive comment or two about them. Usually I say something like, “So-and-so seems to be a great kid and I’m eager to get to know them better.”

Yesterday I left a message with one mother, whose daughter had brought each of her teachers a humongous apple from the orchard where the mom works. She emailed back: “Thanks so much for the thoughtful things you said of M–… She likes having you as a teacher n she thinks your so cool… I hope she continues to well in ur class… And by the way your welcome for the apple…. There will be more to come…”

Another mom of a quite bright student was thrilled; she told me that her daughter dreads school every day. “I think it’s the getting out of bed part,” she said.

Another call, however, to the Russian parents of one shining star, caused grave concern. His mom, who answered the phone, clearly didn’t understand what I was saying; she gave the phone to his dad.

“D– is an excellent student,” I said, “and I’m very glad to have him in class.”

“D– accident?” the dad sounded worried. “In hospital?”

Uh-oh.

I quickly said things that I hoped would sound reassuring, like “very good student” and “no accident,” and then rushed to pull D– from his current class so that he could call home and explain that he was fine.

I listened to his side of the call with his dad and then walked D– back to class.

“My dad said that usually when someone from school calls it’s because something happened,” D– said.

“Not this time,” I told him. “I just wanted to tell him I think you’re an excellent student.”

Yesterday, a week into our school year, a student I’d seen around but didn’t know showed up in my classroom. She seems bright–she passed advanced on the state reading test last year–but for some reason it took her (and our guidance staff) eight days to figure out that she was enrolled in a second math class instead of English.

On Friday, day three of this school year, I assigned my first discipline consequence, for what I perceived to be an act of flagrant disrespect.


But that wasn’t how I wanted to start off the year, and so on Monday I talked to the student before class:


“D–, I want to call your mom or dad this afternoon after school. Who’s the best one to reach?”


He shifted on his feet and looked anywhere but at me, and then finally said, “My dad.”


“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to call your dad after school today, and tell him something good that you did in my class today.”


Another pause, then: “Oh. But my dad’s working today. Call my mom.”


(When I told my principal this story, he said, “Now we know who to call when we need to!”)


I did call D–‘s mom, and it was textbook case of surprise that a teacher called just with something good to say (that D– had helped another student with a classroom procedure).


A couple days later, in a moment of down time and torn between working on my band’s new CD and sticking to school related tasks, I called more parents. The first one I reached was the mom of a set of twins I teach.


After introducing myself and saying that her children seem like great kids, and I’m honored to have them in class, she said, “You mean they aren’t in trouble? Every time a teacher calls home, I say to myself, ‘What did one of them do now?'”

The retired coach who mans our after school detention and night school programs boasted to me today that he doesn’t take any crap in there. I’d stopped by to drop off some work for a student whose parents had arranged with the principal for him to serve time until he got his work caught up.

“They drop a pencil on the floor,” he said, “I tell them to pick it up. And then I tell them if they drop it again, they’re going to pick it up with their teeth.”