Teacher Misery

by Jane Morris

  The last time I corrected a student was during an activity that is usually reserved for elementary school kids. I had them write their names vertically on a piece of paper, and for each letter, they had to pick an adjective that described their personality in some way. We went around the room and shared. It went smoothly until one student shared his work. He had the letter t in his name, and he wrote “tree.” I told him that he did an excellent job, but I had one question. How did the word tree describe him? He looked slowly from his paper to me, back and forth, three or four times, and then lunged at me from across the room. I was able to move out of the way and run into the hallway before he made any actual contact. The security guard in the hallway explained to me that this student had tried to murder a teacher when he was in public school. I couldn’t believe it. She started going through the case histories of each student. Most were involved in extremely violent crimes.

  “Haven’t you read their case files?” she asked. “What case files?” I replied. “They didn’t show you their files? Oh, I see. Come with me,” she said. She led me to a huge conference room filled with big binders. Each binder was several inches thick and contained detailed histories about each student. Many were born addicted to heroin or crack. They were all severely mentally ill. One student suddenly popped into my head. “What about Roy? He doesn’t seem to belong here. He is polite, calm and does all of his schoolwork.”

  “Roy!” she answered. “He’s the worst one! He tried to kill his mother!” “No way!” I exclaimed.

  “Here look,” she said as she slid his binder over to me. “He claimed that the devil told him to sleep with a knife under his pillow every night in case he had to stab his mother.”

  I opened Roy’s binder. Holy shit. Indeed, he heard the voice of the devil telling him to kill his mother on a daily basis. He stabbed her in the arm once. Then he came up with a more diabolical plan. He put some silly putty on the ceiling in his bedroom and asked his mom if she could stand on a chair to help him remove it. She did, and he kicked the chair out from under her. She slammed down to the floor and severely broke her arm. As she cried out in agony on the floor, he looked down and called her a bitch.

  I closed Roy’s binder, thanked the nice security guard, and promptly left that facility, never to return. I never heard from them; not a phone call or even a paycheck. They were used to this.

  That experience was extreme and not the average experience of a classroom teacher. However, at least these kids had valid excuses for their psychotic behavior- they were actually psychotic. In my “regular” teaching job, I encounter insane behavior on a daily basis, from students, their parents, and even school administrators.

  All I ever wanted was to teach Shakespeare and Orwell, inspire kids to love reading and grade some essays. I didn’t know I would be engaged in a daily psychological battle of wills. I had no idea that everything I said and did had to be extremely well thought out, to preempt any backlash from students and their parents.

  It’s not that all of the teaching experience is so horrible. It can be a lot of fun, and inspiring, and sometimes even downright rewarding. But the amount of bullshit far outweighs the good stuff. You just can’t believe what it’s like, and as you read through my experiences you probably won’t. But I promise you, it is all real. And it isn’t too out of the ordinary either.

  I. STUDENTS

  “One of the hardest things for kids to learn is that a teacher is human. One of the hardest things for a teacher to learn is not to try and tell them.”

  Alan Bennett

  FURRIES

  I have had the interesting experience of teaching “furry” students. For those of you who don’t know what a furry is (I certainly didn’t before I had them as students), allow me to explain. According to Wikipedia, “Furry Lifestylers” refers to a group of people who have “important emotional/spiritual connections with an animal or animals, real, fictional or symbolic.” Being an animal lover myself, this seemed like something I could relate to. But this goes way beyond loving animals. Furries see themselves as “other than human” and “desire to become more like the furry species that they identify with.” I mean, I really love dogs. Some might even say I’m obsessed with them. But I’m pretty sure I don’t want to be one.

  Furries take their furriness very seriously. They feel a deep kinship with a certain animal, and dress like that animal all the time, even at school. Many wear parts of the animal such as the ears and tail, or fake paws and an animal head. Each furry has a “fursona” or set of animal personality traits, which they use to role play in various forms, on the internet or at conventions, for example. These conventions, such as Anthrocon or ConFurence, draw thousands of people who share similar interests.

  My first furry came to school on the first day wearing white ears and a long white tail pinned to the seat of his pants. It was so long that it dragged on the floor, picking up dust mites and other debris. I wasn’t sure what his deal was, so I didn’t ask him about what he was wearing. He offered that information for the class soon after.

  I paired the students up and asked them to interview each other as a typical first day of school activity. The poor girl who was partners with the furry had a hard time keeping a straight face during the interview. Next the students had to introduce their partners to the class. They merely had to share the names, nicknames and hobbies of their partner. When it was time for the furry and his partner to present, they both stood up. The girl turned bright red before she spoke. “This is Herbert. He likes to be called… umm… Zorra. He says he’s a fox and-” Here Herbert interrupted with an irritated clarification. “I’m a silver fox.” She held back a laugh and said, “He’s a silver fox and is also… umm… He’s pansexual? That’s it.” At that point, most of the class was laughing. Herbert was extremely annoyed. I tried to defuse the situation by asking a few clarifying questions.

  “Herbert I think we are just a little confused. What do you mean when you say that you are a silver fox?” He took a deep breath and said, “I embody the spirit of a silver fox.” The class was silent and waiting for my reaction. I calmly responded. “Okay, and what does it mean to be pansexual? I’ve never heard that word before.” He was slightly less aggravated now that he saw I was merely curious and seeking knowledge. “Pansexual means that it’s possible for me to be attracted to anyone.”

  I quickly realized that I had gotten myself into a sticky situation, and I should have just moved on to the next group. But I was genuinely curious. “So it’s like someone who is bisexual?” I said, giving the class a serious look that meant they should not laugh. “No,” he said. “I’m pansexual. I don’t subscribe to labels. I’m just attracted to whoever I’m attracted to, regardless of what gender or species they identify with.” Another kid yelled out, “That means he’s gay!” Before I could answer, another kid said, “No! That means he has sex with animals!”

  “Okay, that’s enough. Thank you for sharing Herbert and for being so open with the class. I appreciate it, and I learned something new today.” Before he sat down he said, “Yeah I’d just like to say one thing. I’m sick of being called Cat Boy. I am not a cat; I am a silver fox! These are two very different animal spirits.” Another kid yelled out, “Whatever Cat Boy!” and Herbert sat down with his arms crossed in anger.

  The next day I met Herbert’s furry girlfriend. Her name was Alice, but she insisted on being called Loculo, which is Latin for “coffin.” She would not answer if you called her anything but Loculo. Loculo wore ears and a tail, but she also wore fake paw gloves. She refused to have anyone interview her, and she introduced herself to the class. She said that she was a wolf trapped inside a girl’s body and that she identified with a gray wolf in almost every way. She also said that she is very selective about her “pack mates” and relates mostly to herbivores. No one questioned her or said a word, including me. Something told me that for this student, her “fursona” wasn’t just a phase.

  A few classes later I gave the stude
nts an assignment to create a fictional, future biography with an illustrated cover. This exercise was meant to be a way for them to picture what they might be successful at and well-known for later in life. I had them share their covers. Many students had silly, unrealistic drawings and ideas, but they had a lighthearted approach when sharing with the class. When Loculo shared her cover, the fear in the room was palpable. She stood up and showed the following drawing.

  She said, “My biography is called die träne, which means ‘the tear’ in German.” That is all she said, as she stood there holding up this horrifying picture. I asked, “What is this picture of?” She said, “This is a victim of rape and murder.” I looked around the room at the shocked faces. I tried to find some normalcy in this while maintaining composure. “And why did you choose to put this on the cover of your biography?” (Why was I asking more questions? This couldn’t possibly lead to anywhere good.) She started to speak and stumbled over her words a few times. Finally she said, “I just find rapists and murderers interesting.”

  “Oh,” I said. “So you are interested in psychology?”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  Thank God, I thought.

  “So you want to be a psychologist maybe? Perhaps work for the FBI as a profiler? Or a criminal psychologist?” I asked with hope.

  “Yes,” she responded quickly.

  “Great!” I said. Then she looked at me as though she saw that I was trying to find some normality in what she was saying and said, “Actually no. No. I just like rapists and murderers.”

  I called Loculo’s mom to discuss her daughter’s behavior with her. She said, “Look, you’re not telling me anything new. My daughter is in therapy almost every day of her life. This is nothing I don’t know. But thanks for calling.”

  I had yet another furry encounter when I covered a class for another teacher. They had a creative writing assignment to complete with a partner. I couldn’t help but notice two students were stroking each other like cats. They were also rubbing their noses on each other’s cheeks very gently. When they began to lick each other, I got nervous. Another student saw my face and whispered, “They think they’re cats. Just wait, they’ll meow soon.” It seemed like it had to be a joke but when I asked the teacher, he confirmed that they take their cat selves very seriously. He had arguments with the parents about whether or not their behavior was appropriate for the classroom. He gave up and just let them do their cat thing.

  I would just like to add that it is perfectly okay for students to wear animal costumes in class, but hats are strictly forbidden.

  THE ENTITLEMENT CHRONICLES

  During my first week of teaching, it was suggested to me that I become an advisor for one of the school’s clubs. When I did not immediately take on an advisory role for an organization of my choice, I was told that I was now the advisor to the school’s newspaper. I thought it was weird that they couldn’t find someone with more experience to run the paper, but I would soon find out why the position remained vacant.

  The role of newspaper advisor had me babysitting sixty extremely self-righteous teenagers from three to midnight every other Friday night so they could finalize the paper. While the advisory role included a stipend, after all was said and done I was making about a dollar an hour. The worst part about my advisory role was that students received grades for their work on the paper, but the editors were the ones who assigned the grades, not me. I was tortured over grades that “technically” I assigned, when their classmates were the ones doing the actual grading. The editors often assigned grades for arbitrary reasons, and I would be left to defend those grades to the students and their parents.

  For example, a few days after the first report card went out I received the following email:

  To: Newspaper Advisor

  From: Rolf’s Parents

  Subject: Grade

  Dear Ms. Morris,

  Why did you give our son Rolf a C in your journalism class? Clearly you cannot recognize the makings of a brilliant writer. When re-calculating Rolf’s grade, we came to realize that most of the weight of his grade rested upon a single writing assignment. We read Rolf’s article carefully and were impressed with what we saw. His work, which you gave a C, undoubtedly merited an A. We took it to a friend of ours who is a Global Distinguished Professor of Journalism at Some Fancy University and who formerly worked for a very prestigious newspaper. He agreed that Rolf’s article merited an A.

  With this in mind, we request that you complete a grade change form for Rolf as soon as possible to give him the grade that he unquestionably deserves.

  Thank you for your attention in this matter,

  Rolf’s Parents

  I read the article several times and did not feel it deserved an A. Perhaps the article would have earned a low B using a standard writing rubric, but definitely not an A. I asked various administrators for advice on how to handle this situation. After careful consideration, I decided to avoid the anguish of Rolf’s parents complaining to the school board about my careless handling of the grading process in my class. After Rolf had apologized for his parents’ email, I gave him the grade change they wanted. At least Rolf had manners.

  But that was only the start of my newspaper miseries. A few weeks later I received the following email from an anonymous sender:

  To: Newspaper Advisor

  From: Anonymous Student

  Subject: Thought you might want to know

  Ms. Morris,

  Just thought you’d want to know what your students think of you.

  From,

  A student on the newspaper staff

  The following is a transcript of an instant message conversation that was cut and pasted into the email:

  4U2NV: So what do you think of the new newspaper advisor?

  DragonGrlZ: I think she’s kind of dumb

  4U2NV: I know! I can’t stand her

  DragonGrlZ: She never has anything useful to say about the paper

  4U2NV: I feel like she’s going to ruin the paper. We didn’t work our asses off and win all those awards to have some idiot come and destroy it with her incompetence

  DragonGrlZ: Yeah I hate seeing her sitting there rambling about random stuff

  4U2NV: Do you even know where she came from or how she got this job?

  DragonGrlZ: Who cares she’s a moron

  4U2NV: Seriously, we should talk to the principal about getting someone more capable

  DragonGrlZ: Perhaps we should talk to the staff when she’s not there

  4U2NV: I gotta go ttyl

  Admittedly, I was unprepared to advise the newspaper. I had little journalism experience and almost no teaching experience. But I have advanced degrees from prestigious universities and can certainly teach about the writing process and properly edit an article. Looking back on it now, I should have deleted the email and pretended it never happened. But it hurt, and my boss had already seen my reaction and was on the case. Now I desperately wanted to know who had sent the email, and I wanted there to be consequences.

  We had every computer expert in the building working on tracing the email. When they couldn’t figure it out, we took it to the district’s central office and then the school board. The person who sent the email was smart and left no tracks behind. So instead of punishing the kid who sent the email, the administration chose to focus on the kids who discussed my lack of competence in an online chat.

  I had to attend a meeting with the two students, both sets of parents, the head of my department, and two assistant principals. We all got transcripts of the conversation. I had to endure the reading aloud of the conversation. After that the Ass. Principal asked the two students what they had to say for themselves. “4U2NV” said he was sorry, in a rather unapologetic way. “DragonGrlZ” launched into an angry diatribe about how she didn’t feel she needed to apologize because she has a right to free speech. The head of my department said that she should be ashamed of the way she spoke about her teacher and that she should sh
ow more respect. The girl responded that she did nothing wrong. She didn’t say these things to my face. It was a private conversation that was stolen, and she has a right to her opinion. Her father said, somewhat respectfully, that his daughter was right.

  The girl said that there was nothing we could do to punish her. She was correct. Then she took the opportunity to start a discussion about my so-called incompetence. She said that the school should take this incident as an opportunity to investigate my performance and that there was truth in her opinion. I started to wonder if she was the one who sent me the anonymous email.

  Interestingly, a few weeks later, another teacher had gotten into a huge argument with the same student over her arrogance. He pretty much tore her down in front of the class and made her cry. The next day his fiancé called him at school crying. She had received an email from him saying that he no longer loved her; he was cheating on her, and he wanted to break up. He did not send the email, but someone sent it, posing as him, from his school email account. When the school tried to trace where the email was sent from, it was the same IEP address of the email that I had received. But this still didn’t prove anything. The teacher whose email was hacked quit at the end of the year.