Jan 18-24: End of the Quarter; Beginning of the Season of Sickness

Andrew and I came home to Utah from our wonderful weekend in California, and found our lives even more busy and stressful than when we left.

For starters, the end of the quarter at school is always a mess. I always have death-bed repenters knocking on my door, begging for me to give them a way to change their D to a B. Their insistent mothers pester me with emails, "Oh, he will do whatever you ask. He can stay late on the last day of the quarter. What can he do?", they plead. The student who rolled his eyes at me when I told him he needed to pay more attention in class now grovels, "My dad will be really upset. I wont be able to play soccer. I need a C, at least!"   The answer to all these petitions: you should have done something about it sooner; it's too late.

A Central Utah Writing Fellow wrote the poem to the side, and I laughed as I read it. I totally connected with it; it seems to be every teacher's experience. This is definitely one of my least favorite parts of being a teacher. But as I look over my grades before the final submission to the office, I can honestly say that each one of my students earned the grade they received. Those A and B grades (of which I do have many) have worked their tails off. They have studied and focused in class; they have redone low assignments and have asked questions. And those students who earned a D or F in my class showed me little (if any) of the dedication and care demonstrated by those students with higher grades.

This is the problem I have with low grades: if you work your hardest and get a low score on a test or assignment, I am ok with that. I'm ok because I know that the low grade represents something you didn't understand, and I can now work on reteaching and reassessing you on a more personal level. That is ok. But I am not ok with the low grades that are based on you failing to even submit the assignment. These low grades show a lack of effort, and grades should be showing what you know or don't know. 

I'm sorry. I've gone into a little rant. If you cant tell, this really bothers me. It really bothers me because I care about my students, and I want to see them succeed (which I know they all can if they would put their mind to it). Anyway, rant over.

I also may have needed to rant a bit because Andrew and I have been stuck at home for the past 3 days. I had Friday off from school, but Andrew woke up with a killer sore throat and called in sick to work. Friday and Saturday we stayed cooped up at home, me trying to cure him with nasty-salty gargle concoctions and plenty of sleep. I think he is starting to feel a little better, but it has been a slow and boring process for me. I think last night he could tell I was going a little stir crazy, so he insisted that we go out if only for a little bit. We ended up at Dick's where he proceeded to buy me a new shirt because, "It's a screaming deal and you look so cute in it." Haha. He is so sweet. Then we rented a movie and went home. 

Andrew is wonderful (sorry, I have to gush once again). Here he is not feeling well, and his thoughts still turn to how he can make me happy. Yup, I truly don't deserve him, but I am mighty grateful he is mine. 

“To the Student Asking If He Can Improve His Grade Two Days After Report Cards Have Been Mailed Home”

No,
you can’t
have extra
credit to supplant
the work
you never pretended
to care about
until judgment day
came
and sentence was
passed.

The fruits of your
incubated inattentiveness
and insistent procrastination
have matured,
and it’s time to harvest.

A crossword puzzle?
to replace
the argumentative essay
we spent four
weeks constructing in class,
you ask?

Are you serious?
Or do you struggle
in math, too?

I don’t toss
around points like
confetti;
class is not a party--
show up to be entertained;
it’s not Oprah--
you’re not going home
with an A,
or even a B,
just because you woke up
long enough for roll call.

No ice cream,
no presents,
no participation trophy
grades are awarded
for simply showing up
and depleting
the oxygen supply of my classroom;

no cake,
no microscopic cookie crumbs
fall to anyone
but the red hens who know
that life
will not be served
on a silver platter, or even a plastic tray
from the dollar store,
and who are willing
to scratch
and sow
and sweat
and tend
and reap
and create a future for
themselves.
​
--Joe Anson (April 2015)