Marilyn M. Buda
Dr. Chandler
English 5017, Section 01
December 6, 2010
Middle School Morph
The movie “To Sir With Love” debuted in 1967. If there was ever an inspiring story to lead you to become a teacher or not, this was it. Even though I was only twelve, I recall sitting there with tears in my eyes through most of the viewing, being even more sure now that this was what I wanted for my life’s career. Sidney Poitier portrayed an out of work engineer, who took a teaching job, just until he gained employment in his area of study. The setting was in an urban, low socio-economic area of London
This neighborhood school and its students can be found pretty much anywhere in the world, where children live under some less than acceptable conditions. I know because I work in one of them. In the urban areas of New Jersey, every year, the kids come plowing into the classroom, anxious to start their new school year of learning – but alas, that is just the dream of their teacher! They come for many different reasons, least of which is their education. They come for the social life, for time to hang out with their friends. They come in hopes of potential personal relationships, to become a part of a couple or a family. They come to get away from their home life, this for a variety of disturbing and emotional reasons. The teachers, who have chosen to be here with them, don’t quite realize the baggage the students carry with them right away, but I promise, you can be sure it’s there.
They begin to strategize on getting the kids into a viable routine, and the students fight them every step of the way, because routine is not something they are accustomed to. The teachers later find out that their classes, and follow-up on these kids, may be the sole bit of consistency that a good number of them have in their lives. We begin with a kaleidoscope of a few tradotional ways to get the students motivated and engaged, mixed in with the type of creativity we have been instructed to use by those who mentor us. Unfortunately, our frustration in using these strategies is often demonstrated by an occasional fit of rage and disbelief in the apathy of our children’s minds and spirits. The teacher turns into a screaming lunatic, every once in a while, but after observing my scary monster self in a mirror and taking my blood pressure, I soon come to the realization that this, too, is not effective.
The days, weeks and months drag on, but teachers never give up. We have brainstorming meetings to share ideas of our colleague “family” members, to see if they have come up with anything novel. We call their homes to arrange parent conferences, most of which never pan out. There are too many issues in the home including multiple jobs, and even the responsibility of at least a few younger siblings, which is what I like to refer to as “job security”, no disrespect intended. Further, when you begin to wonder why a particular student acts the way they do, meeting and understanding their parents and family frequently provides the answer to all those questions. Finally, just when I think I can’t make it through another day, I start all over and continue to teach them from books and life’s experiences, in spite of themselves. Real teachers have the genuine insight to see in their students, what their students can’t yet see in themselves.
They call us “Miss” or “Mister”. That’s it, no surnames. When I first encountered this pseudo-greeting, my reflex reaction was that these kids were even too lazy to use your actual name. The accurate justification for this shortcut was actually cultural – in the many Latin countries their families emerged from, this was a sign of respect, the opposite of what calling someone by their name indicates in the United States. I soon realized that my small world was about to be broadened in a significant way. We, too as teachers, were in for a very special learning experience.
“Let’s start with an ice breaker!”, the results of which are meant for the children to get acquainted, but are truly to give the teacher a pathway to their individual needs. Teachers, then assess their academic needs, because they need to understand the learning styles of the kids, and instruct them accordingly. You see, they are not just teachers in these neighborhoods. They are parentis in absentia, social workers, psychologists, nutritionists, and on and on. There is no end to the special needs of most urban students. Teachers have to learn to communicate not only in their native languages, which are widely diverse, but must also become a quick study of “street” language and the “urban dictionary”. They come from many countries, and are labeled as “bi-lingual”. But their languages are attained in this order: Native language, which they speak at home, English, as they learn it in the street, texting short hand, and finally the real English, or whatever of that is left anymore, what with e-mail and cell phones. Of course, the miracle that these teachers are expected to perform, is to take them from here, to writing a five paragraph, logical and coherent, persuasive argument. The students must use proper English, so that the state will continue to fund the school and supply teachers with the tools they need to open the following year.
Teachers can’t do this job unless they love this job, along with the stress and frustration, but even more, they must love the children. In addition to their diverse backgrounds, their hormones are raging, so the assignments they are given are obviously not very high on the priority list of these early teenagers. Middle school students don’t believe that their teachers expect them to actually study, nor can they be convinced that teachers’ aspirations for their success, is truly for their own good. But they are in middle school.
At age eleven or twelve, children are promoted into the grades called middle school. They have completed their elementary education, but are not yet ready for high school, so they cautiously move into this transitional middle, with the weariness of that of a middle child in a family. As sixth graders, they meekly arrive onto the scene, where they become holders of this square piece of metal, called a locker. While it is surely a status symbol, it is not something they can actually use, for there must certainly be a gremlin hiding inside which prevents the secret combination from opening the door. Therefore, these children remain the tested weaklings of the middle school. By the end of this year, however, if they have survived, and have been able to open the locker for at least one month, the power that begins to grow in their body and minds is overwhelming. They are now fighting the takeover by the battling hormones, which leaves them with little left to focus with in their studies…..but their teachers still do not give up. From September through December, they still feel like sixth graders, but once their winter holiday is completed, they return to the classroom with a focus and vigor, not to see what can be learned from their books, but what they can learn about how much they can get away with. It is surely their turn to test their teachers beginning in January until the end of the school year. They are now also very strong, as they will soon become the upper classmen in this kindergarten through eighth grade facility. As a seventh grade teacher, January through June can be death-defying. These facts teachers are divulging, are the results of both keen observation and highly developed teaching philosophy on the adolescent brain.
Finally in September, the frightening seventh graders return as the leaders of the school. They are powerful and their teachers continue to push on, for now they must prepare them for a more significant transition to high school. There, every choice they make will have more critical consequences, so no matter how much they fight against it, we, their teachers must persist on this starship, flying through the educational stratosphere. The eighth grade teachers know a secret about these new students this year, which the students themselves are not yet aware of, for they have seen many children come and go. It is for this hope and light at the end of the tunnel that they hang on. They know the light is not an oncoming train, but an ebbing tide of hormones and power that is approaching. For when an eighth grader returns from winter break, their teachers begin to see an awakening. While earlier in the year, you witnessed a rare sparkle from a child, as rare as a shooting star, the illumination of recognition is beginning to burn brighter. If you have ever seen the blooming process of peonies, a flower whose outside must be eaten off by insects before it can fully bloom, this is what a latter year eighth grader resembles. This tough exterior of their personality begins to dissipate, as they realize their time here is growing short. The comfort and safety net that was built for them is about to change, and they suddenly feel the need to hold on for dear life to what they have been pushing away for the last eighteen months. They cling to their teachers in middle school to fight off the fear of moving on to the overpopulated, overwhelming high school campus, where they will become more of a number than an individual who needs help. They say words like “help” and “thank you”, and my heart, what’s left of it, becomes light and warm, and begins to regenerate. It is when the teachers of these middle students finally see this scion, that they know they have done the right things. It is now, in this metamorphous, that they are certain it is all worth while.
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