Learn Me Good

by John Pearson

  Learn Me Good

  Learn Me Good is available in print online at Amazon.com and www.lulu.com/misterteacher

  Please visit my blog at www.learnmegood.com

  Copyright © 2006 by John Pearson. All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4116-6589-7

  This one's for Grandpa George

  Introduction

  On August 23, 2001, I was laid off from the small thermal design firm in Dallas, Texas, where I had worked for almost four years. I know it was ALMOST four years, because those few weeks made the difference between three weeks of severance pay and four weeks.

  Now let’s be clear on this. I was laid off — not fired. While the end result may be the same, this is a case where semantics DO matter. At least in respect to my continuing emotional well-being.

  I had been one of the top guns in the division serving the telecom market, which had boomed about two years prior, causing my company to grow considerably. In early ’01, however, the market sank faster than a gold nugget in chocolate pudding.

  So there I was, out on the street with no job, and only a ridiculously small baguette to placate my growing hunger. (cue the heart-rending violins.) OK, so maybe there was no baguette. As I recall, I had a fully stocked pantry back home. But still no job (I never told those violins to stop). I suddenly had plenty of time on my hands, and a life to reassess.

  I had always been really good at math and science. That’s the big reason I got my engineering degrees in the first place. That, and I had heard that engineering classes were a great place to meet girls. (Thanks for NOTHING, Dad!) But while I excelled at my job for those four years — sorry, those ALMOST four years — I soon realized that it just wasn’t my passion in life.

  So I decided to join the circus. No wait, that was just a bad dream I had. Rather, I decided to become an educator. I’ve always enjoyed working with kids, and I have always admired teachers. Especially that teacher in the Van Halen video — OH, HELLO!!

  I took the classes, passed the tests, obtained all of the necessary certifications, and got hired at the school where I did my student teaching. (Incidentally, teaching classes ARE a great place to meet girls.)

  Now I’m a teacher, and I face a whole new set of challenges. Conference calls have been replaced with parent conferences. Product testing has given way to standardized testing. Instead of business cards, I now pass out report cards. The only thing that hasn’t changed noticeably is the maturity level of the people surrounding me all day.

  In the pages that follow, I share some of the experiences that I’ve had while teaching third grade math. The stories are told through a series of emails running from August 18, 2003, through May 26, 2004 — my first school year. The person on the other end of these emails is “Fred Bommerson” (not his real name), who is a buddy of mine and a former coworker at “Heat Pumps Unlimited” (not the real name of the firm).

  This book was inspired by real experiences. A few details have been altered or embellished, and some of the events have been reorganized for the purpose of pacing, but very little has been made-up, in regards to the kids. Nearly everything that I write about did actually happen at some point.

  No children (or animals) were harmed in the writing of this book. Doctors take the Hippocratic Oath and swear they will not hurt their patients. As a math teacher, I have taken the Pythagorean Oath, and part of that entails keeping my kids’ identities safe. All of the names have been changed to protect the innocent, the guilty, and the marginally involved.

  Date: Monday, August 18, 2003

  To: Fred Bommerson

  From: Jack Woodson

  Subject: Opening Ceremonies Hey Fred,

  School is in session! No doubt, everyone will be pleased to learn that I am finally once again among the gainfully employed. And now that my first day as a teacher is done, I can officially send a status report to the Duke Alumni office for them to put in their next magazine. It will read as follows:

  Jack M. Woodson (Duke engineering, class of ’95) is currently living and working in Dallas, TX. He has forty children, and all of them have different mothers.

  I know what you’re thinking — FORTY KIDS???!?? How do you have room for them all? And do you get paid on a per-child basis? Well, no. Let me explain the system to you. I teach two classes. Here in the Dallas Independent School District (motto: We hire our teachers in mid-August!), we partner teach. I teach math and science, while my partner teaches reading and social studies. So no, since I don’t teach language arts, we will not be reading The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy or The Shining in class. It’s a shame, but sacrifices have to be made. However, mathematics-inspired books such as Agatha Christie’s Ten Little Indians (with its valuable, realworld lessons on subtraction) are fair game.

  Back to the system. I have a homeroom with eighteen kids. Each day, I will do my best to mold them into respectable citizens, learned scholars, and all-around math nerds from the time the bell rings until approximately 10:30. At that time, my partner and I will exchange classes, and I will repeat the morning’s work with her class. She, in turn, will spend the day instructing both classes on the ways of the written word.

  My partner’s homeroom has seventeen kids in it right now. Eighteen and seventeen don’t quite add up to forty, I know, but I’ve used a little trick we in the third grade like to call “estimation.” It’s akin to what Larry does on his timecard. Work for thirty-five minutes, log an hour. Be sure to tell him hi for me.

  I’m lucky to have a really cool partner. Her name is Kelly Swanson, and though she’s taught before, this is her first year in the third grade. She taught second grade previously, and from what I hear, she’s a great teacher. Her husband, Frank, had been in her third grade position last year, but this year he’s teaching first grade. They both seem like my kind of people. At least neither has any readily apparent ear fungus or reptilian traits, which, as you know, can be so distracting when meeting someone for the first time.

  There are seven third-grade classes here; it’s a rather large school. As such, my section of the grade is 3E and Kelly’s (my other class) is 3F. I am the only man on the team. No, before you ask, they’re all spoken for. It’s a pretty good team, I think. Because of the odd number, there is one self-contained class (no partner), but the rest of us are paired up. This means there is a math subset of the team, which is really quite a blessing because we can plan our lessons together. I’ll be working with Mrs. Bird and Mrs. Fitzgerald, who have both been teaching for a number of years. It’s always good to have someone with experience showing you the way, right? Wait, wasn’t Tom Winter your mentor when you started? Oops. Sorry.

  Ok, now that I’ve given you enough generic information, let’s get to a few things that happened on my first day. After a restless night, I arrived at the school at 6:45. This will NOT be a daily recurrence. Even though the district's “summer dress code” allows for golf shirts, I opted to dress very professionally and wear a long-sleeve shirt and tie. I figured I ought to make a good impression on the first day. So no hockey mask or red tights.

  Shortly before school started, I saw a couple of kids that I recognized from my class lists. Carlos in 3E and Juan in 3F are best friends, and they were waiting with Juan’s mother. Juan’s brother was in the fourth-grade class I student-taught last year, and his mother was hoping that I would be Juan’s teacher as well. She speaks limited English, and Juan is the shy type, so Carlos translated for her. She was upset because Juan was not going to be in my class; he was in “Miss Kelly’s” class. I explained to her, through Carlos, the partner teach system and how Juan wasn’t in my homeroom, but that he would still be in my class. Hopefully Juan will be more motivated than his brother, whose greatest feat last year was crafting the simile, “My room
smell like pee-pee.”

  When the bell rang, I was standing at attention at my doorway. The third grade classrooms are in portable buildings out behind the school, and I guess it took a while for the kids to find their way back there, as GPS navigation systems were not included on this year’s list of school supplies. After a while, the kids started filtering in slowly, most of them being accompanied by at least one parent. One boy’s father approached me with a twenty-dollar bill in hand, and for a second there, I thought I was going to receive my first bribe. “I know they’re just coloring today, but an A would be appreciated,” as he surreptitiously palms the money to me. But of course it wasn’t a pay-off, it was for a set of school supplies, so I directed him to the office.

  Another little boy, Alex, came in with both mother and father, and once he was seated at a desk, his father asked if he could videotape his son. He had a little hand-held camera, and he shot a couple of minutes of his son hard at work. This being the first day of class, the kids were perfectly behaved. I only hope Alex’s father has no reason to come back in two months to film “3rd Graders Gone Wild.”

  I think that Alex’s father was happy that his son would have a male teacher. Several other parents made comments about that as well today, along the lines of “My child has never had a man teacher before.” In most cases, I couldn’t really tell if they thought that was a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, I’m sure their child has also never had a three-headed Martian teacher with no ears.

  The other teachers and I had put together little packets for the kids to work on while we spoke with the parents. These were really “profile” pages — name, age, favorite TV show, that sort of thing. There were also a few pages of very basic addition and subtraction problems, and then some coloring pages. One of these coloring sheets had detailed instructions on how to color it. “Color the flowers near the house blue.” “Color the roof black.” And so on. As I walked around the room, I saw several batches of red flowers near green-roofed houses.

  As their new teacher, I wanted to make an impression on the kids, so after the parents left, I felt I should give a short motivational speech. Something to tell them how much I love math and science and how I want them to feel the love as well. A speech that would open the floodgates of their desire to be the best mathematicians and scientists they could possibly be. I combined the most rousing catch lines from movies such as Mr. Holland’s Opus, Stand and Deliver, and Animal House. I even ended with a hearty “Hi-yo, Silver!” Some might have read the look in their eyes as dazed, confused, even frightened, but I know I touched some souls.

  Well hey, today was a full day on hardly any sleep, and I am exhausted! I will write more soon and tell you about more of the kids.

  Say hi to everyone there at dear ol’ Heat Pumps Unlimited for me. And tell them that I have a new credo in life now:

  I teach, therefore I am... poor.

  Talk to you later,

  Mister Teacher

  Date: Thursday, August 21, 2003

  To: Fred Bommerson

  From: Jack Woodson

  Subject: The Devil went down to Dallas

  Hey bud, Yes, I know that it’s awfully early to be starting school. But you can’t expect everything to be exactly like it was when YOU went to school. No more waiting until after Labor Day. No more spankings in the corner. Oh, and did you hear that there are FIFTY states now?

  Today went pretty well, and I’m close now to having a full week under my belt. This first week is going to be more about getting rules and procedures put in place than hardcore teaching. They say the first few days of school set the tone for the entire year. Come across as too soft, and the kids will walk all over you the whole year. Act too strict and their spirits will be broken and they won’t be productive. So I’ve tried to arrive at a happy middle ground by starting each day with group pushups, but also letting the kids refer to me as “Your highness.” We’ll see how it goes.

  OK, I promised that I’d tell you all about my kids. I should first let you know that going from a group of engineers at Heat Pumps Unlimited to a group of third-graders was really not that big a step down the maturity ladder. Sure, it’s tough having to put up with all of the cries of “Why do I have to do this?” and “Isn’t it time for lunch YET??” not to mention the daily temper tantrums. Frankly, I’m glad I left those behind.

  The children are, of course, shorter than me. Much, much shorter. I feel (and look) like Gandalf among the hobbits in Bag-End. They range in size from barely over three feet tall — like adorable little Chita, who walked into class yesterday, looked straight up at me with a grin, and said, “Wow, you’re tall... Can you see the top of a refrigerator?” — to around five feet tall, not much shorter than Ron Philby. Does Philby still drive that huge pickup truck, the one that requires a stepladder to help him climb into it?

  This being a public school, there is no uniform here, so the kids mostly wear T-shirts and shorts or sweats. So far, the only standout from a fashion sense has been a little boy named Thomson, who obviously sees himself as a baller. Today he came in wearing a Boston Celtics jersey, green Celtics shorts, a green headband and green socks — all with the NBA logo — and green Chuck Taylor Converse All-Star sneakers. When I asked if he was a Larry Bird fan, he replied, “Who’s Larry Bird?”

  These are eight- and nine-year-olds, and as such, most of them have rather high-pitched voices, but none more so than a girl named Tereelia. Imagine what Rocky the Flying Squirrel would sound like if someone were squeezing his nuts. It’s like she forces all of the air out of her lungs, and then tries to talk.

  Many of my students have interesting names (ex: Tereelia), but one in particular takes the cake. This morning, Miss Marsh, one of the other third grade teachers, brought me a homework folder that she had found on the ground. She knew it was mine because it had 3F written on it. As she handed me the folder, she asked, “You have SATAN in your class?” At first, I didn’t know what she was talking about, but then I looked at the name on the folder and it all fell into place.

  This kid has been here since the first day of class, but I had never done more than just glance at his name in print. His name is Sa’tun, and spoken aloud his name doesn’t sound like Satan, it’s more like “suh-ton” with the emphasis placed on the “ton.” Don’t ask me why someone would give their child a name that is so... inexplicable. But who am I to judge? For a long time, I was set on naming my first child Optimus Prime.

  Sa’tun is really quiet. I don’t mean he sits there and does no wrong — he definitely has a mischievous side. But when he speaks, he speaks incredibly softly. You remember how frustrating it was to have a conversation with Latya, back when he worked with us? Even from five feet away, you’d see his lips moving, but no sounds were coming out. And then he’d accuse us of being “loud American blokes” when we talked in our normal voices!

  Sa’tun is like Latya. Except for the chubby, goateed, British, or Indian parts. When he says something to me, I have to bend over so my ear is right next to his mouth, and even then I have to strain to hear his voice.

  After Miss Marsh’s visit this morning, I had to concentrate not to imagine horns and a tail on the poor kid. Or to call on him in class in the voice of Dana Carvey in the old Saturday Night Live skit. “Who knows the answer? WHO should I call on? Oh, I don’t know... maybe... SATAN?!?”

  I just hope he’s smart and I don’t have to fail him. Imagine the headlines — “Teacher Rejects Satan!”

  Talk to you later,

  The Church Lady

  Date: Monday, August 25, 2003

  To: Fred Bommerson

  From: Jack Woodson

  Subject: Lay of the Land

  Hey dude, Thanks for relaying all the good thoughts from everyone there. Tell Carol I think she’s right, the kids probably ARE a little bit intimidated by my size, but I’m sure that won’t last long. It’s not like I’m Chippy the Terror Clown of Doom or something. What, you weren’t scared of clowns when you were little? Y
eah, um, me neither.

  I realized that I haven’t told you much about my classroom itself or the work environment in general. I can sum up the joy of it in two words — NO CUBICLES!! No more cramming my lanky frame into a 6X6 cell every day. Of course, it WAS fun to stand up in the center of my cubicle and be able to look over the wall into everyone else’s cube.

  This school is huge. Not only is the building full, but there are over twenty portable classrooms in the back. Here in Trailer Park City, as I like to call it, is where you’ll find the first, second, and third grades. Somehow, I lucked out and got the largest classroom out there. The portable itself is a “double-wide,” and I share it with the head Special Education teacher. Only a thin wall with a door in it separates our rooms within the trailer. So far, I haven’t heard any screams coming from the other side of the door. No doubt Ms. Hamm, the Special Ed. teacher, is thinking the same thing regarding MY class.

  In addition to the large class space in my room, there is a walk-in storage closet and a small entrance where the kids can hang their backpacks. Turning left, we come to the gym, and just past the concession stand is the restorative sauna and lap pool. OK, maybe not, but only because the good folks from “Pimp My Classroom” haven’t come calling from MTV just yet. Until then, I’ll have to be content with the fact that my portable is the only one with its own bathroom and water fountain. One of the other teachers suggested that I could keep the kids in line by threatening to make them clean the bathroom if they misbehaved. I may have to consider that.

  In the week before school started, I looked in on a few of the other teachers’ rooms, to get some ideas for how to set up my own. The first room I looked at had most of the desks and dry-erase boards up at the front of the room, and games, craft materials, and a computer at the rear. That’s right, my friend — learning up front, playtime in the back. It’s the mullet of portable classrooms!

  I finally settled on my own room design. I arranged the student desks into groups of four, so that each child has his or her own desk and chair, but pushed together, they form five “tables” around the room. With this grouping, I can say, “Table One, line up for restroom break,” or “Table Four, you’re being too loud,” or “Table Three, what on earth is that smell?” There is a cylindrical plastic container to hold pencils and red pens at each table, and each container has the table number on it. The five tables are in turn arranged in a horseshoe pattern, with the open end facing the overhead screen. The overhead projector is the most complex piece of technology in the classroom (unless you count my geek calculator watch). There is an Apple computer in the room, but it’s about as old as I am, so I don’t think I’ll ever use it unless I need something heavy to hold open my door.