Teachers Will Do ANYTHING to Put Off Grading

Most of the time, the great stories teachers bring home about work are about the students and the shenanigans that go on anytime you bring together large numbers of half-formed humans and attempt to illicit productive behavior from them. However, what most people don’t realize is that there are just as many great things going on in teacher’s lives outside the classroom as inside it.

             Take the end of term for example. End of Term for teachers, especially English teachers, is a (insert sing-songy voice) Na-ha-hightmare. Not only do you get the honor of hearing all the intimate details of students’ personal lives and why they will not be getting their work in on time…again…but you also get to grade a ba-gillion essays because, being the good teacher you are, you know that in order for them to improve their skills as a writer, they actually have to write. And in the ultimate self-sacrifice, you have allowed all 200 of your students turn in a 3 page paper on the last day of the term, giving yourself approximately 144 hours to grade, give feedback and enter these “well-developed forays into the critical conversations of the literary world” before the school registrar’s final deadline. It is during these special times that every English teacher ever takes a moment to reflect on her life choices. And it is during one such time that I am bringing this story from my heart to yours.

            It is about 11:30 at night and I am on my 22^nd of the 30 papers I promised myself I would get done today—so help me—when I finally cannot handle it another moment and slam Sally Whoop-de-do’s essay on the coffee table and march down the stairs to the basement. Now, you may be thinking, there are only 8 left, so come on! You can do it!—And I assure you, these are the very thoughts that my inner cheerleader has been blasting through my brain for the past few hours—but I can’t! Because for the past few hours that cheering has been interrupted by the incessant mewling of a cat. Somewhere, outside, in the darkness of my condo-filled neighborhood, there is, what I imagine, a tiny, obnoxious cat in obvious distress. And though I am absolutely dedicated to my work and could not be pulled away by even the wildest of wild horses, this is a poor, defenseless animal! Saving it is the right thing, nay, my civic duty as an American, to do! (Did I mention I am allergic to the little beasts?) So, shoeless! Braless! Companionless! I trudge out of my garage and into the night, following the desperate meowing that threatens the future of my students’ careers as great American authors.

            Using my echo-locative powers, I am guided through the night, past three other condos (how are they not hearing this?) to the side of a residence across the street. Quickly, to combat the pervasive darkness, I press the flashlight feature on my Nexus 5 and the mysterious scene is instantly brought to light. In front of me is a window-well, constructed to hold back the earth and allow light into the condo’s basement bedroom, and on the sill of that window is perched a tiny, now silent, tiger-stripped kitten.

            “You poor little kitty! Did you fall in?” I croon in the syrupy sweet voice I reserve for babies of all species. “Don’t worry, I will get you out!”

            Now, this well is like six-feet down with that washboard rib type texture, so looking at it, I’m pretty sure I can lower myself down and then stick my bare toe onto one of the ribs to climb out. I look around and then shine the light into the window of the house and decide that the coast is clear. It’ll only take a few seconds to pop down, save the cat and be on my merry way, so no need to wake the occupants when I am completely capable of a quick and easy extraction.  Swinging my leg over the side, hisses of absolute loathing and the flailing of ninja cat claws issue from the bottom of the well. Without even a second’s hesitation my leg snaps back from the well. “Nope!”

            But I can’t just leave it…so I look at the other windows of the house and see that there are a few lights still on. Maybe if I cross my arms over my chest, they won’t notice my lack of bra and they can save the cat by opening the window and letting it inside and then out their door. In fact, maybe it’s even their hateful kitten outside for a time-out…for hours…in the dark…either way, that meowing has got to stop!

I walk around to their door and decide to knock, because you know, maybe they have kids and they may shoot me if I wake them up in the middle of the night.

            Knock, knock, knock, knock.

            My boobs look totally normal with my arms crossed this high over them, right?

               No answer. Whelp…there is no way I am knocking again. They definitely think I am some freaky creeper escaped from a mental institution and will absolutely shoot me on sight if I touch their door again.

            But the cat!

            I walk back to the window well and peer over.

HISSSSSSSSSSS!!!!

Yeah, I missed you too, stupid animal.

Okay, so the cat is like a pound at most. And I am…well, more pounds than that, so maybe I can just grab it by the scruff of it’s neck like mama cats do and get it out? Okay.

Once again I lower my leg into the 6 foot hole and once again the cat does its hissing, karate kitten routine. “Alright, alright! I get it! You are very fierce. I am very threatened. Now, knock it off so I can get you out.”

My feet hit the ground and some half decomposed leaf crap snaps under my feet and I am reminded that investing in slippers could definitely bring some beneficial features to my nightlife. I crouch down and make some popping, clicky, cat-friendly noises towards the miserable cuss and then rub my fingers together in a gesture of peace. No good. The cat’s ears drop and it’s tiny teeth bare themselves in my direction.

“Seriously, cat?” I reach my hand over and it starts flipping out and scurrying around it’s side of the well like a rogue bottle rocket.

“Geez! You are literally the spawn of Satan, cat! I just wanna help you!” At this point it is hiding under this sagebrush thing that has fallen into the well during some ridiculous windstorm recently, and I am trying to decide if I should just leave it to its pathetic fate.

But it will keep meowing! And I can’t grade—let alone sleep at some point tonight—with that crap going on in the background. (Seriously, am I the only one hearing this?!!!) And then it hits me. I just have to cover my hands so it doesn’t go all Edward Scissors paws on me and give me rabies. I can just take off my P.J. Bottoms, drop them on the cat, grab the little furball and lift it out. BOOM. Mission accomplished.

Reaching for ties of my pants, and dropping them to the ground, I can’t help feeling a little, COMPLETELY PSYCHOATIC, about the possibility being discovered in a window well, in my underwear, with a cat, in the middle of the night. But it’s fine. If they were going to hear something going on outside, they would have come down 3 HOURS AGO WHEN THE STUPID CAT FIRST STARTING CRYING OUTSIDE THEIR WINDOW IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!!!

Pants in hand, I reach for the mini-beast and it tries to kill me, but as soon as I drop the pants on it, it freezes.

“Alright. Maybe you do want to be saved after all.”

I grab the cat cocoon and gently lift it over side, releasing it back into the wilds of West Provo. “Be free little devil cat, and remember forever the pantless human who saved your hateful life!”

Donning my pants, I chuckle, pull myself out of the well, and walk back towards my house, where still students' papers await. I renew my resolve to finish this year strong, and I will not let anything else come between me and my commitment to my students…right after I blog about the whole experience in vivid, pictorial detail.

The Wrong Em-PHA-sis on the Wrong Syl-LA-ble

In my Freshman class, we have just started reading Romeo & Juliet, every student's favorite thing we do all year....if by favorite you mean a form rigorous and repeated torture...Anywho, I do my best to inject as much passion and excitement into the play as is humanly possible to make it at least a loud form of torture, if nothing else.

Well, at one point we started talking about what it meant to be a star-crossed lover and I said, "there was nothing they could do! They were FATED to love each other!" 

Three or four students immediately started giggling and I knew in that instant I was experiencing another of what I like to call a "Lesson in Lingo." Basically, as I get older and more and more removed from being a high school student myself, I become more and more out of touch with the new slang words and then get mocked by sassy-pants 14 year-olds. It's awesome.

So anyway, these kids are giggling and I realize it's not going to stop so I ask, "what did I say?" 

They giggle louder.

"Seriously, what did I say?" 

"You said, FADED!" 

"Faded? I said FATED"

"It sounds like faded....snicker, snicker, snicker..."

"Well what the crap does "faded" mean?"

The students looked around at each other hesitantly.

"It means you are high."

"What the crap? Really? You are my only class to say that all day....hmmm....what does that say about you?"

The giggle some more and I roll my eyes.

Punks.   

There's a Miley Cyrus Song for That!

So one of my students walked into class and, as today is end of term, I started hounding him about last minute assignments. Apparently teaching has made me immune to certain details, because as I was speaking he took out his earbuds and said, "don't worry, I can hear you. They're not plugged in." (Clearly I am used to being half-ignored during all interactions with teenagers at this point because I hadn't even noticed). Well, I looked down under his jacket and sure enough there was the end of the cord flopping around and no iPod, iPad, iPhone, iSpaceMonkey contraption in sight.

At this point, I paused my lecture and posed the question, "ummm....why do you have earbuds if you aren't listening to anything?"

To which he responded, "Cause I don't want to talk to anyone, so then they think I can't hear them and I can ignore them."

After locking this technique away for future use on obnoxious students, I delved further into the void, "But you are such a likable guy and people love talking to you!?"

"I know..." (Clearly his anti-social behavior was not linked to any 'my-teenage-life-is-an-emo-tragedy' issues) "but do you ever have those days where you just don't feel like talking to people? It's like....it's like my life is usually that happy Miley Cyrus song and I'm all, 'I put my hands up!' But today....today came at me 'like a wrecking ball.'"

I am so glad my students can pull from the great artistic geniuses of their day to help them express those things that are just too difficult to express in any other way :)

Wrapping up 2013

So I kind of fell off the planet there at the end of the year. But let me assure you...I was laughing my butt off every day of it. Here are a few last highlights of good ole 2013:

1) Age of Accountability:

So in 11th grade we have been reading The Crucible about the Salem Witch Trials. The kids seemed to like it a LOT better than our previous two units. Anyway, one day we were having a class debate on the topic of whether Abigail Williams should be pitied for her actions or condemned. There was a good volley going back and forth on both sides of the debate when one student rose his hand and said, "Ms. Hammer. Abigail definitely knew what she was doing and should be condemned."

"Oh really?" I respond. "And what gives you that impression?"

"Ms. Hammer, she's reached the age of accountability."

"What? No she hasn't, she's not 18 yet."

"That's not the age of accountability Ms. Hammer."

Caught of guard "What?"

With a smirk, "Eight."

It took me a second and then I burst out laughing. So did my professor who was observing that period

"You are a spaz. Moving on..."

2) My Achey, Breaky Heart

So I had been put on this medication that among other things had the side effect of lowering blood pressure. Well, I have a fairly low resting heart rate to begin with, but after a few weeks of taking this medication, I noticed I felt lethargic and that more and more I was getting dizzy and light-headed. Well, finally I decided I should probably get that checked out. So I went to the urgent care, who sent me to the E.R.

Basically...my heart was like barely beating...something like 43 BPM, which is less bueno as far as beating hearts go, unless you are Lance Armstrong...which, CLEARLY, I am not.

Anyways, I went in and got fixed up, but while I was sitting there, from outside my curtain, I hear an all too familiar voice. Uh-Oh. A hand pushes aside the curtain and who should appear but my ex-boyfriend who works as a tech in the E.R...Awesome...I am soooo glad you have come to call when I am lying half-dead in a hospital gown sans bra. Fan-freaking-tastic.

Well, the next day I go to class and I tell my students the awfulness of my weekend and how I almost died and my 8th period (my little cannibals) pipe up and say, "so your heart wasn't beating?! Dude, we saved your life!!!"

"What are you talking about?"

"we stress you out and make your heart beat faster and we saved your life!!!"

"Uhh..."

"You're welcome."

3) Twerking Puritans

Another funny moment while discussing The Crucible went something like this. In Puritanical society, it was considered scandalous to do pretty much anything that wasn't work. So dancing with fellow chicas in the woods, was pretty much the most foul thing these religious fanatics could fathom.

Then a kid raises his hand.

"Yes?" I asked.

"sooo....you're saying, they were twerking in the FOREST!!!!??"

"..uhhh...." I stalled, looking around as people started to perk up in response to a reference they recognized..."yes...they were twerking in the forest"

"AWESOME!!!!" students started murmuring amongst themselves...

"That means Abigail is TOTALLY like Miley Cyrus"

"She be ratchet!"

"Yup, they are totally the same..."

I am so sorry Arthur Miller...

Ms. Hammer is OLD SCHOOL

I have recently discovered that I am from the stone age. I had my Juniors teach each other about literary devices and I wanted them to be able to point out instances of these devices in poetry. As I am not cool enough to have a smart board or an apple TV, I logically decided the easiest way to do this was to use an overhead projector. I have an epson projector in my classroom that I can hook up to my computer, so I up to this point my overhead projector has just hung out in my dark and gloomy office. I went to my office and brought it in and then showed my students what they would be doing.

When I turned it on, they stared at it...you could hear crickets chirping...then one of them blurted out, "what the crap is that?!"

Me: It's an overhead projector.

Students:...more blank stares...

Me: Haven't you ever seen an overhead projector?

Students: nope...
              no...
              what?

Then one particularly savvy student piped up...Wait! I used one of these when I was little. All I know is you get those clear things and a marker and you draw ALL over it.

Me: Well sort of.

So I gave them their transparencies and they created their presentations. The first group got up to present.

Student from the group: Uhhh...what do I do.

Me: Turn it on.

Student from the group: uh....

Me: The big button

The student stands right behind the lens and flips it on...and...instantly blinds himself as the light flashes on.

Student from the group: AHHHH!!!! What the crap! This thing is messed up!

Me: BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA....Breath...BAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Awesome...

And to add the cherry on top, the stupid fan was broken inside and so the overhead was getting super hot and smelled like it might blow up the entire class period. Scrumptious.

Starting Younger and Younger

On Halloween my Freshman were totally insane and stoked for the evening's festivities, so rather than fight them, I decided to join them and we wrote scary stories and read them to each other. During the reading we turned off the lights and used various cell phones as flashlights to read them to each other. It was really fun and many of the kids got very creative.

Well, at one point a counselor came into my room to get a student and I had to go over to the door and talk to her. On my way over I noticed that one of my Freshman boys was sitting with a girl on his chair and his arms around her. So I gave them a look. The boy replied, "she was scared!"

Only 14 years old and already a player... aye!

Penslaughter

So, I had this pen...I say had, because the pen is no more...but a few days ago I had this pen. It was a BYU Cougars pen I had bought at the BYU Bookstore one day when I found myself penless. It was the cheapest pen there, so not all that exciting, but a faithful pen nonetheless.

Well, a few days ago, I found this pen in a box in my desk drawer and I was like, "hey, I forgot about this pen." So I used it...this was the beginning of the end.

I used this pen the other day to take roll and then left the pen on the computer lab cart that was in my room and promptly forgot about it. At the end of the period I am sitting at my desk getting ready for my next class, when I look up at the last student who is leaving my class. This particular student sleeps through my class EVERY BLASTED DAY and so EVERY BLASTED DAY I have to kick his desk to wake him up for a few minutes before he resumes his REM cycle. Well, on this day as he is leaving I say, "see ya later," and I actually get a response of "see ya later" in return. Just as I look down at my computer again I notice his hand move toward the cart of computers and grab something. My pen. I turn my head back and see that indeed, he has picked up my pen and is readying to exit the room and I say, "ummm...is that my pen?"

This is the EXACT pen

He says, "yeah."

I ask, "Sooo...are you stealing my pen?"

To which he responds, "Well...but it's such a nice pen."

To which I counter, "yeah...that's why I bought it. Put it back."

So he chuckles and leaves the room.

SERIOUSLY KID?! You were going to full on steal my pen?

So the next day I am in a different class and I am circulating and checking to make sure they understand their counterclaim assignment, when I notice one kid has my pen...AND IT IS BROKEN IN HALF!!! I was like what the crap is with this pen?!

So I ask this kid, "why did you break my pen?"

To which he responds, "It was already mostly broken so I just broke it some more."

WHAT!!!?? So besides almost being pen-napped, a second student semi-destroyed it and then a THIRD student finished it off??! WHY MUST MY STUDENTS BE BENT ON DESTROYING THIS PEN?!