On distractions

stressed-teacherToday was… challenging.   And I think I actually do mean challenging, I’m not using that word as a euphemism for “awful” or anything like that.  Today was challenging.

I have two students in my first and second hour class with rather profound disabilities.  They’re both well into the autism spectrum but there are other issues with both of them as well; one has some serious physical handicaps and one has a deeply problematic home life as well.  Of the two, one of them– I’ll call him Matt, since without a pseudonym this post is going to be impossible to write– poses a greater challenge.  Raymond, the other, is a lovely kid and a hard worker; the main thing with him is being able to get past his disabilities to be able to give him the education he deserves.  The other child, to put it kindly, must be managed.  There are days where he’s all there and he’s a student.  There are other days where it’s as if someone has unleashed an untrained, 115-pound puppy into my classroom. I know that sounds cruel, and I don’t want it to be, but it’s a pretty precisely accurate metaphor.

Matt was a disaster (again) today.  We had several weeks where we had his behaviors under control but lately he’s been acting up, throwing things, running around the classroom, running out of the classroom, lots of loud outbursts, stuff like that, to the point where I’ve had to have him removed a couple of times.  I don’t like to do this for a variety of probably perfectly obvious reasons but eventually he hits the point where I need to keep the educations of the other 28 kids in the room in mind.  He fled the room twice during my first class period.   The first time was just for a minute or two and he came right back; the second for a longer period.  When he came back the second time, he shoved one of my girls.  Now, my kids know Matt; they’ve been with him for at least three years now and some of them for much longer, so they know what he’s about and they’re not likely to react to him doing things they way they might react to other kids.  There’s a lot of his behavior that I can redirect or ignore.  I cannot ignore him putting his hands on people.  I tell him I’m going to have to write him up for pushing the girl he’s pushed.

“I didn’t push anybody!” he screams.  Screams.

“Yes, you did, Matt, I saw you,” I say.  The girls by this point are back in their seats.

At this point, Matt starts chanting “MORON!” at the top of his lungs.  At me.  Okay, fine, that can go in the write-up too.  Now, keep something in mind, and I hope this is obvious enough that I don’t need to say this:  I’m not mad at the kid.  Getting mad at him is pointless, because when he’s in his unreachable stages it’s just going to make him happy and under any other circumstances it’s just not useful.  But again: if he’s so far gone today that he’s shoving people I need to have him out of my room.  So I write him up.  This takes a minute; while I’m doing this, Raymond, who normally is not a problem at all, gets angry with Matt.  Says to him, in fact, “I’d like to strangle you for what you just said to Mr. Siler.”

This is also not appropriate.  But, again, I’m not mad; it’s not worth it.  I say something along the lines of “Raymond, threatening Matt isn’t appropriate and it’s not helping.  I don’t want you to talk like that.”

Raymond tends to be a crier; have I mentioned that?  He really doesn’t like it when he thinks someone is mad at him, so I have to be especially careful on the rare occasions when I have to redirect or chastise him to keep him from getting upset.  He gets out of his seat and walks toward me.

Oh, hell, kid, I do not have time for you to have an episode right now.

Keep something in mind: there are twenty-eight other kids in the room– well, probably less than that, since it was so cold I had some absences; let’s say twenty-three.  I’m supposed to be teaching them math right now.

Raymond walks up to me and grabs my hand.  Starts shaking it up and down.  Starts to say something.

And goes away.  For, like, fifteen seconds.   He’s still shaking my hand.  A little train of drool comes out of the corner of his mouth.

Oh, fuck.  He’s having a seizure.  I call his para over.  Nurse.  Nurse now.  His para thinks he’s still dealing with Matt’s shit; I no longer give a damn about Matt.

Long story short; they were both out of my class for the rest of the morning.  Matt was moved to an alternate location until he calmed down; I think the nurse checked Raymond over and decided he was going to be okay after talking with his father but I’m not sure.  Raymond has had issues with seizures in the past but this is the first one I’ve seen.

Go ahead; ask how much math teaching I got done during that period.


Later in the day; fourth hour.  You may recall some posts about the twins.  Originally the twins were both in my third and fourth hour block; it’s been decided since then that it’s best for them to be separated, so I have one first and second hour and one third and fourth.  It was explained to me (and not unreasonably, mind you; I didn’t fight this plan) that the theory was that this would aid in both of them developing some independence from each other, which they badly need.  What it has actually resulted in is that I get to have this conversation four times a day instead of only twice:

(Twin brings me a paper.)

TWIN:  I’m done.

(I look at paper.  It is covered in writing and arcane symbols that resemble no known form of human mathematics in any way; it has no obvious connection to any assignment I have given.  I have had the “I’m done” conversation before giving assignments before.)

MR. SILER:  Did you hear even a single word I said about how to do this?

TWIN:  Oh.  I messed up.  (Turns to leave, without asking or staying to hear what he did wrong.)

MR. SILER:  (Physically stops Twin.)  You need to <insert lesson here.>  Do you hear me this time?  Repeat my instructions back to me.

TWIN:  I need to do it.

MR. SILER:  What do you need to do?

TWIN:  My assignment.

MR. SILER:  And how will you do your assignment?

TWIN:  I don’t know.

Understand, please, that this is not exaggeration, that I have this precise conversation nearly word-for-word at least once daily with each of the boys.  Today we were working on creating bar graphs; a simple, one-off assignment that I can toss in on a Friday where we had a math test yesterday and I thought we weren’t going to have school.  (Yes, it’s connected to my current standards, boss.)  Here was the assignment:  1) Pick a theme; I suggested “favorite X”.  2) Poll all of your classmates on their choice to collect data; 3) Turn data into a bar graph and either a histogram or a pie chart; extra credit given for accurate pie charts since they’re sorta complicated compared to the other two.

Both of the boys, entirely independently of each other, brought me a piece of paper on which they had recorded hundreds of votes.  Both of them attempted to walk away immediately when I pointed out that there were not hundreds of students in the room with them.  Later, one of them attempted to turn in only one of the two graphs, which he’d stapled to his data (which they were supposed to do.)  I pointed out to him that he owed me the other chart as well, at which point he shoved the stapled corner of the pages into his mouth and bit the staple out.

What is this I don’t even.

This is the job, folks.

Here’s why standardized testing doesn’t work

original-1First things first:  I’m pretty convinced there’s not gonna be school tomorrow.  Again. The prediction for tomorrow morning between five and seven AM has windchill temperatures in between twenty and twenty-five degrees below zero.  It’s supposed to warm up quickly after about nine or ten o’clock, and be almost civilized by the end of the day, but I just don’t see any way that they’re making kids walk to school/wait for buses in that kind of wind chill.  Twenty below has been the trigger for the last several school closings and there’s no good reason to assume tomorrow will be any different.

I had tests planned for today for both of my seventh grade groups but the eighth grade test was scheduled for tomorrow.  I spent most of my time in the gym before school grabbing my algebra kids and saying things like “Hey, remember how I said there was a test tomorrow?  I lied.  It’s today.”  It is either a sign that my kids really like me or that they just don’t care that much about their grades that none of them bothered to gripe about not having time to study.

My seventh graders, though, knew that there was a test today.  We’ve been talking about it for a week and reviewing for a couple of days. And for both of my goddamn groups today they knew what slope was and how it worked during the first class period and then bombed the shit out of what should have been a pretty easy test during the second.  And I have no idea why.  I bet if I give it to them again tomorrow or Monday they’ll do goddamn fine.  But not today, for whatever reason, even though I was getting correct answers to everything I threw at them during the first period of class when we were reviewing.

Lesson is: sometimes kids don’t know shit, even if they knew shit before, and you can’t always predict when those days will happen.  My first and second hour kids got the worst results I have ever seen as a math teacher on their window test today.  And again: it was not a hard test.  That record lasted an hour and forty minutes, until my third and fourth hour kids took the same test and did even worse.  If today had been ISTEP day they’d have fired me already.  And the next test we take they might get the highest scores in the seventh grade.  What happened?  Hell if I know.  They knew it and then they didn’t.  And that’s just the fuck how it works sometimes.

We’ll post-mortem it on Monday, I guess. Er… well, maybe tomorrow.  But I kinda doubt it.

In which I mostly talk about gross stuff


First things first, a question for the WordPress folks: are you seeing a new big “Go Premium” button showing up constantly when you go to your dashboard?  Or am I just special?  I’ve hit a few traffic/followers/number of posts milestones recently, right around when I started noticing it, and the timing seems suspicious.  I’m wondering if they figure I’m a good target for the advertising.  (They’re right, and I’m probably doing it soon.)

Today featured projectile vomit.

That sentence originally had a comma and some follow-up afterwards, but really, whenever I can start a description of my day using the phrase “projectile vomit,” I probably really don’t need to elaborate a whole lot further.  It also featured a case conference for one of my massively autistic students (as opposed to my mildly autistic ones) that took place while the student in question went AWOL from class and spent the entire conference merrily roaming the halls and fleeing from security.  Which, honestly, ended up being rather convenient, as Mom was in the midst of proclaiming that she didn’t believe he really did that when I walked into the conference and let everyone know that I had no idea where the hell he was.  He’d fled the room when my back was turned.  He’s done it two or three times this week.  We thought we’d gotten the behavior under control over the last couple of months but it’s returned with a vengeance over the last couple of weeks for some reason.

I’ve already inflicted this on both Facebook and Twitter, so you may as well see it too:  PornMD has decided for some reason to give the world a webpage that does nothing but display a constant live-scrolling list of all the searches their website gets, which is twenty times more horrifying and engrossing than it sounds.  Especially great are the misspellings:  my favorite is “amiture deapthrought.”  Which was right before “grandpa fuck young guy” and “Italian feet,” which are spelled right but startlingly specific.  I saw a search yesterday for “Salieri”– just that word– which led me down a mental road where I was trying to figure out how classical music porn might work before discovering that both Mario and Kitty Salieri (no idea if they’re related) are porn stars.  I’ll, uh, leave it to you guys to Google that.

(Also, hilariously, PornMD’s Twitter account favorited and RT’ed my tweet about the site.)

But, yeah, right.  I was talking about projectile vomit.

(I’ve never typed that sentence before.)

It’s actually not much of a story, but one of my kids was being sluggish and sleepy all through class, which caused me to go over and make him sit up a few times.  To my detriment, I didn’t remember that his little brother, who is in my first and second hour class, was out sick today.  In my favor, the dummy coulda told me he was sick at any point during class and I’d have remembered his brother was out and I’d have sent him to the nurse immediately.  He got up at one point and got the trash can and brought it over next to his desk; I told him to take a walk, which is generally understood by my kids to mean “keep the damn trash can and head for the bathroom.”  For some reason he chose not to do that, instead going out into the hallway, without the trash can, which he set down by the door, waiting for me to have a perfect moment of attention and silence from my class, and then noisily and spectacularly upchucking in the hallway outside my room.  Go home, foolish boy, and if you come back tomorrow I’m going to be terribly annoyed with you.

Also, Jihad’s expelled again, for good this time, I believe.  He will not be missed.


So, quick true story, because I was just reading my post about Harold Ramis and I remembered this: I’ve been to New York City once in my life, right?  I was there to see somebody, and not to sightsee, and I think she was a little frustrated that I hadn’t come with a list of things I wanted to see.

One place.  One only.  I wanted to see the hotel and the church from Ghostbusters.

And here it is:

100_0741Greatest. Movie. Ever.