This Is Why I'm Like This: First Period

   8.31 a.m.
   Attendance, blah blah blah. A few more "What are we doing today?"/"Whatever I say" exchanges.


   I have been teaching ten minutes when the social studies teacher aka our union rep aka former football coach aka Big Foot Fan, walks into my room. He takes up most of the room  upon entry. His size is one reason I love that he is our union rep. I can tell by  his face he is not here on business, he's here to harass. I love it when he does this. He begins immediately:
    "The hell is that smell? Potpourri? Why is it so dark in here?Do you know what kind of germs are on that couch? What's that music? Yoga? Hippies.  Why aren't these desks lined up in a manner in which these kids should be trained? We need workers who can sit in rows and do what they're told, Comrade. Where am I, a classroom or Michael's craft store?" Having delivered his theme, he smiles, high fives me and exits.
    He hates my air wic, and admittedly it is strong. But it has to be stronger than the smell of teenager, so there you go.  I play Zen music most days, as music with words interferes with the writing process. My desks are in pods. As indicated before, I do not use my fluorescent lights, I use the windows and the ambient light of my four lamps.The kids tell me his desks are in lines, his florescents are on and his walls are bare. And they love him. He is a massive human being who is truly big hearted. He is also crazy smart and the guy you want on your side if you are ever sideways with admin. Trust me, I know from whence I speak.

      When he exists, a voice speaks up from somewhere in the classroom, sounding very informed and conspiratorial. They're annoying when they're like this. "Did you know you can get him off topic if you ask about Big Foot? My brother told me. "
      I reply, "Did you know he is manipulating you into believing you are getting him off topic?"
      Blink blink.
      I shake my head, smiling. Freshmen are so gullible. And these guys are supposedly Honors.

    Back to class. OK. The Hero Hall of Fame Speech. They have to nominate someone from their life.  They've just watched Finding Joe about Joseph Campbell,and heard how so few people have traversed a real hero's journey, yet I'm asking them to identify someone from their own life. I may be watering this down a bit, and I am getting a lot of cancer stories, "My mom got her Masters Degree" stories, "My dad started his own business", etc. But these count, and at minimum the kids had to spend time talking with their parents. Maybe some good speeches will emerge. Maybe not. Who cares? They had to have a conversation with someone face to face, Immma call it a win. I'm starting to think this is a bad unit, but I can't not do it as it's a pilot for all 9th grade, so I must follow through. But how many speeches can I hear about graduate school? I feel like I've failed, these kids have missed the point. Sigh.

      One of my students, Ali*, approaches wide eyed, which is just how she is. I know her father is from somewhere in the Eastern block, he has that delightful accent I love so very much. Our custodian, Selena*, is from somewhere in the Eastern block also:old Czech republic, Kazakhstan, Bosnia, Croatia...that part of the world changes hands a lot, I'm not racist I just can't keep up. She has this magnificent broken accent that I have always adored.  Ali's dad  had the same accent and I kept him on the phone a bit longer just so he would talk to me. Anyway,  years ago, Selena, the custodian, came up to me in the hallway. 
    "You are teeter?" she looks up at me, she is fairly short     
     I smile "Yes, I'm theatre." I've had enough exchanges with her I can understand her when she talks to me. All theatre teachers are tight with the custodial staff.
    "Richard tell me about piano. I no clean teeter. Is ghost." I nod and tell her that's fine. She presses on "Richard no clean teeter.  Is Ghost," she repeats, emphatically, as if we are in a Wes Craven film and I am the idiot who walks into rooms without turning on the lights, regardless of the warnings I have received from friends and colleagues.
     I guess I should explain.  Many years ago Richard came into the theatre after 10 pm one night and heard the piano playing. The piano is stored under the stage. At ten pm it is not possible that a student is down there practicing in the dark ---in what we call The Pit Of Despair. Being a brave, combat veteran kind of man, he marched down the aisle to the stage itself to investigate. When he got to the front row of the house, the piano stopped. He paused, and in his words "turned and high tailed it out of there." Of course he shared his story with his colleagues, thus prompting Selena to inform me that she won't be cleaning the theatre. Is ghost. And I love that accent. So when I called home to talk to this student's father, and I discovered he had the same accent, I was delighted.
       Ali is standing in front of me, wide eyed, wishing to ask about her topic. "My dad is from Bosnia. He was there during the genocide. Can I do my Hero's Journey speech about that?"
        Blink. Blink.
        "Umm....."
        "He's had at least three Hero's Journeys. He had to get here, and he had to learn English. Also...he was forced to fight in Bosnia...."
         Blink. Blink.
         Oh man, that got real quickly, didn't it?
         So while I may have failed at this unit, this girl is gonna bring it all home with her speech about her father's struggle during the Bosnian war.
          I suddenly hear Hudson from Aliens in my head "Why don't you put her in charge?"



*All names have been changed to protect my ass.