The Frustration of a Wimpy Parent

A few days ago, my students and I were reading.  One student asked if I could explain the word, "threatening."  

"Well," I began, "The word 'threat' implies harm or damage." 

"Oh," interrupted a student, "I think threaten is the same as "intimidar."

"In English, we say, "intimidate," I explained.

I allowed a few seconds of silence.  Then, the type of moment for which teachers live occurred.  

"Ms. Minihan," ventured another student, "I think maybe there's a difference between 'threaten' and 'intimidate.'  Can you explain?"

"Sure!" I said.  I explained that the mere presence of me, a teacher, was intimidating to some students.  But, I could threaten a student by telling her that if she didn't stop talking I would lower her grade.  I then sort of fluttered around the room saying something about how for me, personally, these subtle differences between words are what makes language so vibrant and exciting, and couldn't everyone see how language has shades just like a painting has hues?

The students exchanged looks that meant, "the teacher is crazy," and turned back to their reading.  I proceeded to have one of those strangely clarifying moments as my personal and professional lives collided.  Intimidation!  That's what has been frustrating me so about Cassie's angst at school.  The students so often feel intimidated by the staff members.

Cassie is really sensitive.  She frequently complains that teachers yell.  As a teacher, I am quick to defend my peers.  When she complained about a teacher who made her remove a flowered headband, I explained that well, the headband probably prompted a flashback to an embarrassing moment from the sixties.  And, although it wasn't a dress code violation, we let it go.  When Cassie complained about being yelled at during lunch, I just sighed and listened.

About a month ago, the fire alarm went off during the sixth grade lunch, catching both students and staff by surprise. The situation became chaotic as frightened students ran for the doors.  The next day, students were informed that because of the way they had responded to the alarm, they would have to sit with their homerooms during lunch rather than with their friends.  For days, I listened to Cassie complain because lunch is the only period of the day that she gets to see her best friend.  Cassie decided to write a letter to the principal.  In her letter, she said that the students shouldn't be punished at lunchtime for acting out of ignorance.  Cassie suggested that the school have fire drills during lunch to teach students how to respond safely.  And, Cassie suggested that colored symbols be placed on the tables that would correspond to symbols on doors so that students would know where to exit. 

Cassie hand-delivered her letter.  The following day, an assistant principal seized the microphone in the cafeteria and advised the students that being made to sit by homeroom was not a punishment for running to the doors but a punishment for talking.  This was the only response Cassie received to her letter.  I was probably more disappointed than she was.

About a week ago, I took birthday cupcakes to the cafeteria.  The non-punishment had been lifted and students were once again allowed to sit with their friends.  I was surprised by the pleasant environment.  Students were happily chatting.  There was no yelling, shoving, wrestling, or food throwing.  But, apparently, they were talking too loudly because an assistant principal took the microphone and began bellowing at the students.  Although his physical presence should have been intimidating enough, this wasn't working for him.  He threatened that if they didn't quiet down, they would again be required to sit by homeroom, as was the apparent fate of the earlier lunch group.  (Pause:  what message are staff members sending?  What is it about the mere mention of "homeroom" that is supposed to be so dreadful?  Are kids supposed to hate their homeroom classmates and therefore, not want to talk during lunch?)  The assistant principal concluded by yelling that he didn't want to hear one more word!!

Then, for just a few seconds, this frustrated mother lost control.  I glared across the cafeteria at the assistant principal and uttered "WORD!!"  As the girls seated with me gasped and winced, I continued, "WORD, WORD, WORD, WORD, WORD!!"  I looked at the wide-eyed girls and said, "What?  Do you think he's going to suspend me or something?"  I then gently apologized but added that I hoped they all knew it wasn't okay for anyone to yell at them like that.  

On my way out of the school, I had to pass by the main office.  I could still hear this guy yelling at the students.  If I could hear him, everyone in the main office could hear him.  Because nobody was running down the hallway to stop him, I assumed that this was just the norm.  Wow.

I don't want to be too critical.  I'm far from perfect.  As a teacher, I'm sure that I make mistakes every day.  I'm sure I've hurt students' feelings.  Once, while I was scolding a chronically late student, she produced a bouquet of flowers from behind her back, explaining that she was late because she had stopped to buy them for me.  Now, every time I need to talk to a student about tardiness I remember those flowers.

I understand that students can present any manner of annoying behaviors.  You could pick any day during the school-year and I'd be able to describe something a student did that drove me crazy.  Let's start with today.  After disappearing for 20 minutes, one girl felt compelled to explain to the entire class exactly how she had spent each of those 20 minutes in the bathroom.  Another student interrupted class to repeat a story she heard from a coworker about how a woman who was crossing the Mexican border died because a snake that was 18 inches in diameter had  crawled inside her mouth and strangled her.  As if these two interruptions weren't sufficient, there are other students who simply never stop talking.  Sometimes, I feel like yelling.  Heck, there are a lot of times when I feel like yelling.  But, for me there is a difference between students breaking the rules and just being human.  I hold my breath and then I breathe deeply.  I pace the classroom.  I stand still.  I pray.   I count.  I laugh.  Above all, I reflect on what I might do differently to resolve the problem.  For example, my students now understand that some information, such as how one's stomach responds to green tea, should be private.  They could all tell you what "TMI" means!  The story about the snake gave us an opportunity to review the difference between fiction and non-fiction.

If I resorted to yelling at my students, I would first question my classroom management skills.  Then, I would question my choice of professions. Moments of frustration can be turned into teachable moments.  They can remind us why we felt compelled to teach.  And, they can become the episodes that most endear our students to us.