Bell Lap

It's that time of the year on campus where things get crazy. It's like the bell lap in a crit: a slight lull in action followed by a crazy surge. You go from 5th wheel, sitting in and feeling great, to being swallowed-whole by racers playing a different, and perhaps smarter, card.

November was a bit crazy but Thanksgiving break, coupled with a series of minimum days for parent conferencing, gave me a false sense of security. All of my paperwork looked good, my lessons were solid, and things felt organized.

That's until you get back.

The first week of December was full-speed ahead. Like a punch in the throat, new kids just showed up. 10 students exited the school before break and, when we returned, 10 new students had taken their place. 7 of these students had IEPs. Paperwork death. But, we are what we are. And in that vein, I decided to complain more, eat more, and ride my bike less.

My complete lack of fitness was confirmed by the fact that my front row call-up at the district championships proved useless after the first lap. First lap, heart rate pinned, thinking to myself, "you know, it would've been nice to at least get on the trainer after those long days at work."

I thought about all the weird stress eating I was doing. All the weird foods you pack into your belly when things go wrong, grades get messed up, papers get lost, or when the people living in the apartment above you start acting like idiots. All of those things. They all equal stress. And stress equals cookies. And noodles. And chicken.

I'm still not sure what will come of special education in my future. So as to make things specialized our government created different sections of an Individualized Education Plan (IEP) in order to make sure that teachers personalize each student's education. The problem is, there is no budget to hire the many teachers needed to make education a personalized experience. I have 31 kids on my caseload. There is not enough time in the day to give each student what they need, much less to give these students personalized attention to develop individual skills.

And so all of that means that racing bikes is pushed back. It's just a silly hobby, but at times, competition of any sort is a necessity. I need to feel like I'm training for some sort of athletic endeavor in order to get through these work slumps. I feel devastated at times because, though I'm lucky to have this job, it is this weird American "work 'till you drop" mentality that is slowly eating away at my spirit. We'll see how things end in June.

Where does the time go?

I found where the time goes. It goes out the window.

After getting hired by Synergy Charter Schools to build their RSP program at the brand new Quantum Academy High School, the only mantra I heard by the principal and board members was, "there are never enough hours in the day."

So true. So true.

But you know, we be racing now. And I'm actually getting better. The key to it all is keeping it in your brain. I know the big thing in cross right now is to "freak out" as is popular on the East Coast. I'm the exact opposite: go as fast as possible while still keeping the brain open. When I keep the brain open, the first lap is perfect:

Keep it upright, try not to put too many people in the tape, find the group, go go go.

I try to get a quick head count sometime during the first lap just to see how I fell in the hustle. It sounds lame, but top 16 through the first few corners works for me thus far.

The middle laps are all about finding the tempo, hitting the lines, staying off the brakes, and looking way ahead for the next group to latch on to.

Last lap: redemption. Always redemption. Get it back.

I love cross because it's all about me: about what I can pour into an effort, about how well I set my bike up, about my mental choices, my toughness, and my focus.

People have their niche, and 'cross is mine.

redemption

The Excitement and Danger of the Charter

So it has been awhile, and mainly because a lot has changed since the last post. No one reads. It's okay, this is slowly turning into a chronicle of my life just in case I go crazy enough to lose my memory.

I'm now residing in Long Beach, and it has been quite the move. What a fantastic city.

I've been training pretty hard, and fortunate enough to live in a cycling friendly city (though it is completely lacking in the 'mountains' department).

Interestingly enough, my offer with Celerity was rescinded within a few weeks of it being initially offered.

Remember that whole, "no job with Celerity without CSUDH" deal? That came back to haunt. CSUDH was utterly ineffective in processing my paperwork and, when Celerity called to check on my status, a lady in the department actually said that I didn't exist on paper, and was not even in the program!!

So, yea, they let me go. Unfortunately, it was the way they took back their offer that stunned me. Within a few weeks of being offered my spot, I get a letter with 2 sentences, effectively saying that we're taking back your offer. Unfortunately, instead of saying "we are rescinding your offer," it was instead phrased as, "we are RESENDING your offer."

So you can see where I would be a bit confused. I figured that after driving countless hours and delivering a fantastic demo lesson that I would be at least given a phone call. I can't expect to be hired if i'm technically not even a student eligible for the program (although, if they would have waited a few weeks, they would have seen the opposite). Still, the lack of respect shown to me left my feelings hurt, but it also left me with insane amounts of motivation to show the error of their ways.

After moving to Long Beach, I was given a hot tip about a job from a very grateful professor, and I went after it. Hardcore. I was in the principals face over the phone, via email. No one could shake me. After a series of interviews, I was offered ANOTHER special education job.

What?!?!

So now we got this sweet new pad and I've got myself a sweet new job (though there are still copious amounts of paperwork left) and things seem a bit more stable. very nice.

Why Mark McGwire should not be in the classroom

Is it not 2011? Are we not educating a future generation?

"A child is a person who is going to carry on what you have started...He is going to move in and take over your churches, schools, universities, and corporations. The fate of humanity is in his hands." -Abraham Lincoln

So, leaving out Abe's blatant sexism and issues with slavery and racism, we can still take this quote for face value: This little ones are going to be big ones, and when I'm old and weak, they will be deciding my fate.

So why this?

Forget about the disaster situation that is this classroom. Hand to God, I almost fainted when I stepped into the room. There are random stacks of papers everywhere in this classroom, not one of which is close to neat. There are paper scraps on top of mothballs on top of random geometric figures that were assembled years ago and left to collect dust in the nether-regions of this class. Forget about that.

That's Mark McGwire. Mark FREAKING McGwire. Big Mac. Mr. I plead the 5th. This is the guy that thought it was okay to use a steroid that was banned by the World Anti-Doping Agency, the IOC and the NFL, just because it wasn't banned in the MLB.

And he's taking notes on earthquakes with the kids right across from the Character Counts poster.

I don't expect the students to really know who McGwire is on a social level, they're definitely to young for that, but it would be interesting to hear a student raise questions about why it is that Mr. McGwire gets to hold a place of prestige in the classroom, right next to Griffey and Gwynn.

I'm sure McGwire is sorry, and I'm sure he's a great guy. I bet he even serves as a role model for young players in terms of what not to do. But he has no place here, towering 6 feet overhead.

Hired and "The Intern Situation Explained"

Yes, yes yes....yes yes yes....yes yes yes.

So I have finally been hired.

After a few trips up to L.A. and some demo lesson action, I was left feeling as though all my efforts had been for not. I did my demo on a Monday, and was told that I would hear the verdict by the following Monday. After two weeks had passed, I naturally assumed that they had passed on me, and that it would be more grinding for Mr. Smith.

Another week passed by before I got word from some of my professional references that the school, Celerity Charter, had actually been conducting a background check! This was good news that became nervous news when I received a call from Celerity asking for MORE professional references (I had listed a principal and two guide teachers). After giving contact information for two teachers that I have subbed for, another week passed before hearing anything again.

It wasn't until the following Friday that I received a call from the Board of Directors offering me the position contingent on my placement in the Special Ed Mild/Mod program at CSUDH. And this is where it gets confusing.

In classic Mr. Smith fashion, I have to delay my true enjoyment and celebration until CSU Dominguez Hills says it's okay for me to have a job.

It seems that, while Celerity Schools has offered me employment, CSUDH has to verify that this is a proper teaching job (it is), and more so, that it fits their description of a proper Special Education class. The bottom line here is that, even after earning this job, CSUDH has the final word.

There is no job with Celerity without CSUDH. There is no program with CSUDH without Celerity. And the biggest issue is that all of this is out of my hands.

Oooooooooh well....

Sometimes you need to make some changes...

Okay. Take a look at this picture. Ask yourself if you see anything wrong. Anything at all. Go ahead. I dare ya.

Anyone see it? The whole thing about having "electricity" in your pants? And how big is that charge that you're hiding in there?

Oh, it sure is big. Is that a light bulb or are you just happy to see me?

And in case you were wondering what level class that this screenplay was written for, that would be 2nd grade. Yes, 2nd graders came very close to talking about having a big huge electric charge that turned into a big long electric snake that suddenly jumped out of their pants.

And that is why, as a teacher, you need to preview EVERYTHING that comes your way. You can't even take a corporate prepared play about electricity for granted, because clearly there are some jokers in the lot.

What to make of getting crushed...?

There is this one thing about bike racing and the attempt to become a professional teacher, the one golden, great equalizer amongst both: as an individual, you really, really put yourself out there.

There is no one to blame when I fail. There are never excuses, only the hard truth that today, yesterday, I was not good enough to succeed.

Will I be good enough tomorrow?

I am expecting good things both on the bike and in the classroom. For now, I will keep the details close to heart in an attempt to shield myself from the possibility of allowing my hopes to reach a new high.

I have visions of personal achievement, a larger bank account, and that sense of accomplishment. They dance through my mind like the apparitions in Disneyland's Haunted House Ride.

They're there, I'm not sure how, I can't touch them, but they're there.

serving out of body, searching in a mind.

I jotted most of this down in between tables at the Boathouse on Easter Sunday.

An out of body experience. I don't believe in them, or at least I didn't believe, because of the sheer impossibility that is, 'being out of my body.' To me, 'out of body' seems like a near death experience, not a surreal or visceral or whatever you want it to be experience.

The journey at a higher altitude is unique. I'm caught looking at my unkempt hair, the (hopefully not growing) bald spot on the top of my head, my table manners, my serving etiquette. I have never noticed, until yesterday, the way that sarcasm has snuck it's way into my professional demeanor, every table greeted the same, served the same. I reuse the same jokes. I try to say 'dubious' to as many tables as possible. I'm usually successful, rarely a stretch.

"what's your soup of the day?"

"today we have french onion, and it is delicious."

She looks at her husband with an unsure glance, turns to me and orders the french onion.

"No need to be dubious, ma'am, you'll really like the french onion."

A stretch?

Dubious.

This isn't a bad thing, as the tables leave happy. No complaints to the manager. Excellent tips to me (37.5% of which will later redistributed to my coworkers), and it's been a full calendar year since any old people have burned themselves on the hot water in which they steep their teas. Things go as they do, and I go as I do, to and fro. I feel like a dropped document or letter on a windy day. Blown down the street, hurtling end over end until resting, waiting, for the next gust to send me on my way.

Up the stairs. Grab the pitcher, return to table, refill beverages, up the stairs, return pitcher, return to resting place by the bar window. Stand.

I stand in silence, and I listen. I listen because, as is the case in most places I've worked, it's far more beneficial to listen to what others have to say, than to speak yourself. I know who drinks, who drinks too much, I listen, not just hear. I listen because I learn about everyone around me. I know who to trust. A glance around the corner. Plates to be cleared. Grab, carry, scrape, drop, repeat.

And so goes the rhythm of the shift, not unlike a road race, pedal stroke after pedal stroke, up and down across the land, hugging her curves, for better or for worse, unending and, as unsettling as it may be, unrelenting until the finish line.

The last table leaves, the bill is collected, and I can feel myself slowly deflating. Almost on cue, my position 5 feet above my head returns to that space 5 millimeters inside my skull. I can think. I look around. I am aware of what I've done today, what I will do, and where I will go. As I drink with my friends, listen to the jokes, and discuss poor tipping, I realize how unique this job really is. I realize how fortunate we all are to be in the position to have such a job, as auto-pilot as it may be. I can't explain why I feel this way all of the sudden. I've long been trying to coin this term (maybe it still needs time to be defined by others):

Server Euphoria : a state consciousness, post-shift, when a restaurant worker takes a quick moment to analyze, synthesize and evaluate whatever the hell it was that just happened, counts her/his tip money (good or bad), and smiles.

Implementation of Checklists for Off Task Students

So this may very well be my thesis (assuming prior research hasn't been conducted already), or at the very least, a great teaching tool that I will use. In any event, it got my out of a jam when cornered with four students with learning challenges in the most recent sub'n venture.

These kids were having difficulty wrapping their minds around a, some would say, simple "brochure" project, in which the students create a travel brochure that advertises a city, settlement, time period, or event.

A bit flustered, I decided to create a checklist for each student, laying the exact steps that must be accomplished in order to successfully complete the assignment. Keeping it short (3-4 items per list), I was able to designate each group member with a role by simply creating a checklist that would accomplish said role (i.e., the communicator should probably have a short speech prepared, the illustrator should procure paper, markers, and pictures ideas relevant to the topic, the research should...).

Of course, the students have no idea that they're being assigned roles, much less that I'm the one delegating. While it is unfortunate that more time wasn't spent actually COMPLETING this assignment, teaching in the Special Education setting requires this patience and approach that is often overlooked when making comparisons to what might be considered a "normal" (is there such a thing? nope) classroom.

Back to the checklist. Each time a student was successful, I gave that student a bright pen and had that student check off the list. Success!!! Each check was a success, and in this way, students feel as though they are making progress, no matter how large or small the gains.

It is wonderful to have the opportunity of working with experience special ed teachers in a real setting, as opposed to observing and classroom lecture. I really cherish all of it, in hindsight at the very least.

The applications to CSU Dominguez Hills are off and away! Fingers crossing...

The velodrome has started. As usual, my bike is far from being ready. Give me a few weeks and I'll be out there...haven't quite caught the track bug yet, but it might show up sometime. I think cyclocross is where it's at when the dust settles. The big draw for many people to track racing is that it's cycling perfection, especially considering that there are no cars to avoid. Well, that's what cross is, except for the hour in pain part. You can spare me the nostalgic glamorization of the fixed gear bicycle, I don't really care. If it has two wheels and you can pedal, I'll enjoy it someway or another.

Musings of a broken voiced Sub

My voice went completely hoarse on the first day of a three day run at the local middle school. Both days were mainly focused on 6th grade math and science, though I was pleasantly surprised to do some commentary on endangered species and, more importantly, why people love to shoot animals for fun.

Aside from the topics, the real kicker of this week was the voice issue. I was given the opportunity to call out of these assignments, but I love the money and I really wanted to see what it would be like to teach without being able to talk. I was limited to roughly four addresses to the class each period. After four times talking in whole group, I began to sound like a freakishly high-pitched Italian mob boss.

Wednesday was smooth, the kids found it funny (as did I), and not one student tried to take advantage of my voice issue.

Thursday played out initially in direct contrast to Wednesday. My voice was worse thanks to a rough night serving tables (yea, I still do that. sigh.) and the students caught on to the fact that I was unable to address them with a simple, "Good morning everyone."

One of the best tricks I learned from my 6th grade guide teacher was to simply, sit, wait, stare, whatever, until the kids quiet down. Granted, this ONLY works if you have either A) a credible character and rapport with the students or B) the ability to strike great fear and doubt into their young hearts. Just kidding.

But not really.

Fortunately for your humble narrator and sub, I have a great rapport with the kids. I'm known as "Mr. S!!!!" or "The COOL sub" or "Mr. Smith has the coolest sunglasses!" And yes, they're Penguins, and no, they can't be purchased anywhere.

It was at this moment that a girl walked up to the desk, leaned over, and pumped a giant dollop of hand sanitizer onto her outstretched tongue.

Now, I know you can reread that, but I'm going to copy+paste that last sentence right back in this text box. You know, for the effect.

It was at this moment that a girl walked up to the desk, leaned over, and pumped a giant dollop of hand sanitizer onto her outstretched tongue.

If I could've yelled, or screamed, or done something involving a vocal outburst, I would have exercised that ability in spades. I could only gasp, with the wide eyes of someone who just witnessed the supernatural.

"Why?" I asked her in a squeaky, crackling high pitched chirp.

"To clean my tongue. It feels....aaaaaaa it burns."

"No kidding? Well at least it's clean." And it was off to the nurse with her.

Aside from this class, and the mix-up with alcohol sanitizer, the majority of the kids were fantastic. I'm really a very lucky guy to have the opportunity to sub for kids that are so well-behaved. It makes the job easy, and it makes the paychecks even more sweet. It's only a few notches short of glorified babysitting, but I'll take the experience, and the money, any way that I can get it.

music should challenge you, bike riding shouldn't hurt all the time, teachers should tackle pop culture

If any of these things confuse you or strike a chord then I'm sure, at the very least, I would be a great song title writer. Minus the Bear should hire me even though I can't grow a 'great northwest' beard to save my life. You know the beard, it's the one that looks like the only moisture it receives is a thoughtful combination of Portland rain and overpriced craft beer.

The whole bike racing thing bothers me every now and then because it seems to me that if the actual organized, official, licensed racing was taken out of the picture, most of these grown men wouldn't even ride. This isn't to say competition is a bad thing, but it shouldn't be the mess that it is. If I feel like training, I'll ride myself into the ground. If I feel like riding my bike to the Lyons Valley General store for a High Life, I'll do that too. As much as I enjoy competition and racing, any amateur glory that may or may not await me in my future is not nearly as tempting as a good meal and a few drinks with friends.

Over the past few weeks, I've spent some more time substituting in the classroom of Alpine, and I've noticed one interest that seemingly connects and levels the student population as a whole: Lady Gaga, Katy Perry and Jersey Shore.

Here is where I need to be careful with what I say, because the aim here is not to offend musical or entertainment preferences. The aim is, however, to illustrate how entertainment and music without a point, or goal, is not only pointLESS to our society, but perhaps destructive and stifling.

These kids, specifically the girls, LOVE this stuff. They eat it up with an oversized spoon and come to school singing the lyrics and recapping the stories of the previous night's adventures on the town. They don't even know why. All they know is that the it's in their faces, and that if it is constantly in their faces, then there must be some sort of redeeming value to the content.

The problem with all of this is that there is no passion, no soul, no creativity, and certainly no inspiration behind any of this junk. Ask yourself: What is the point of jersey shore? What is the point of much of the mainstream pop music? Where is the love? Where is the passion? Katy Perry wrote a song about kissing girls. Fine, save for the fact that a song by the same name came out already in 1995. Forget about the fact that Katy's song has nothing to do with the liberation of gays whatsoever, and you have a song that was written by a team of suits, aimed at adolescents, with the sole purpose of making money through the sale of sex. There you have it, a somewhat bitter story of modern day pop culture. Most importantly, none of this music challenges young middle school students who are literally 4 years away from being fully active, voting citizens of this country.

And this relates directly to teaching because it is the role of the teacher, not to block our students from accessing these forms of social media, but to expose students to more things that they would have access to in their everyday lives. Teaching is tough, even as a sub, because a teacher is confronted with all of the modern day issues that young people face, and they are confronted with these problems 5 full school days a week. There is no other profession that is faced with these challenges, as it is the only profession where loving, and sometimes unloving, parents send their kids to be with other adults. Alone in a room. With the (usually) one door locked.

Teachers are alone in a room with students, and these students want, as do their parents and guardians, to be taught, nurtured, and developed into thoughtful citizens. As lofty a goal as any, but a good question to be asked here might be: How does modern middle school curriculum tackle the challenge of popular culture misleading our students?

Our students (some, most, you decide) look up to the cast of jersey shore. Shouldn't they be told that they, in fact, look down on them?

I don't know.

What have I learned about sub'n for 2nd graders?

Every day I sub I try to at least write down a few musings regarding my experiences in the classroom. As a 'temp,' you really get the opportunity to experience student life from a number of different standpoints: some classes treat you like a superior, while other classes might treat you as a peer. Some classes might treat you like a play buddy, while others might look at you as an enemy from the first moment they see you. Here are some of my remarks, usually written on post-it notes, about sitting in on 2nd, 6th, 7th, 8th and 12th grade classrooms.

1.) Second graders. They're so damn cute. Seriously. Giving these kids a high five for completing a worksheet might as well be giving them $1 million dollars. I feel like I want to hold them up to the world, like Simba, and scream, "Nobody ever hurt this child! Be pure my little one!" But then, somehow, they manage to fill you in on the latest MTV reality show. Sigh.

2.) For some reason, giving elementary students permission to use markers is like giving a science geek permission to enter Area 51. It's just too cool.

- Kid: "Can we use markers???!!!"

- Me: "uhh....yea, sure. Why not?"

- Class "(mixed reactions of gasping, shock, awe, etc.) We can use markers!!!"

3.) Clorox wipes are the key to cleanliness. To middle and elementary school students, Clorox wipes are akin to Catnip. Distribute with caution.

4.) To 2nd graders, that pull-down map that rolls in and out of itself over the chalkboard is the most amazing magic trick....ever.

5.) Most female high school students are ready to get into some kind of altercation with the sub. I'm still not sure why, but it seems like every class I go into I'm met with some kind of hostility right after the bell.

-Me: "Happy Tuesday everyone, let's go ahead and find our seats."

-Angry high school girl: "Uhhhhh. (eyes roll as she whipser to her friend) Is this guy serious?"

6.) Most students have absolutely no sense of age. 24 years old is ancient. As for their real teachers? Well, to most of these kids, they seem to be under the impression that their teachers will be passing away at the old age of 35-55 at any moment.

Mr. Substitute.

Teach for America didn't fly.

And here's the worst part: They give no reasons to any of the applicants as to 'why?' Though it's true that, as time passed after the interview, I contemplated pulling my application so that I could re-enter the university system, I still hate not being picked for things. This was a frustrating time.

What can I assume about my interview? I created a laundry list of reasons for why I might not have been picked....

1) I said I could quit.

Well, not exactly like that. In my one-on-one interview, I was asked if there would be any reasons for quitting the job. I said that, of course there would be numerous reasons, both foreseeable and unforeseeable, that would cause any human being to quit a low paying teaching job. I sighted physical violence and weapon use and/or intimidation as a perfect example: why would a teacher go to work in fear of her or his life?

2) Social Studies was not needed in this most recent rotation of job hiring.

Sad but true. As much as we live in an educational contradiction, both in this state and country, we live in a contradiction with the Social Sciences, or History. Americans want their schools and students to be the best, but we don't want to pay for it (that's why education is ALWAYS the first to be cut in budgets). As much as we want students to know US History, we don't want students to know everything. Just look at the numerous flaws, oversights and omissions that can be found, or not found in American textbooks (All men were created equal, right?).

The good ol USA doesn't compete with other countries in the category of US History knowledge. The same fact applies for Geography and other Social Studies subjects. We do, however, compete with countries all over the world in math and science. Math and Science are the two most easily relatable subjects worldwide, as, for the most part, the same rules apply. 2 + 2 = 4 in any language. Similarly, the composition of DNA is mostly agreed upon world wide by scientists from most all nations.

The history of say, the formation and expansion of the United States, is most definitely NOT agreed upon in any one country. Go ahead and ask around, I think there's some type of war going on or something.

3) I was over-qualified.

I know that's a huge boost to my ego, but let's face it, I was. I interviewed against zero candidates with any teaching experience whatsoever. As far as pay scale goes, most of the poor schools that teachers are sent to in TFA accept TFA Corp Members because they are, for lack of a better term, cheap labor. No teaching credential = a working contract that can be negotiated to lower wages for the teacher. Furthermore, TFA Corp Member teachers cannot join unions, which means that an uncredentialed teacher lacking union membership demands a very, very low salary which is coincidentally perfect for an inner city school in need of teachers.

Oh well. Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter. And yes, my laundry list is usually only three deep.

For the past few months I have been substituting at my old stomping grounds, Joan MacQueen Middle School in Alpine, California. It has been a blast working with young 12, 13 and 14 year old students, and even more so when you include the fact that I have been substituting for many of my old teachers. The cherry on top is that they are very excited to see a former student return as a teacher. Now if I could only talk some of them into retiring...

Aaaaand at some point I finished 4th in a bike race. A road race, that is. 58 miles worth of road racing. With over 4,000 feet of climbing. Wait, what?

This fool won...then crashed himself out. You can see him saying, "oh s#%*!!!"

He was DQ'd and bumped me from 5th to 4th.