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.