A Whole New Game

The last time I was in a high school, I was happily leaving it – with grad cap on, a dream of traveling the world and absolutely no clue. 15 years later, I’m back. This time with degrees and diplomas in hand, a wealth of experience from international travel and definitely more of a “clue”. I am the newest high school teacher in Vancouver! Although my education training has been entirely in the elementary school setting, I didn’t hesitate to accept this job (as all TOCs in the Metro know, you take what you can get when you’re a newbie). So I’m back amongst teenagers, teen angst, teen anxieties, teen egos, teen apathies and teen enthusiasms. Like a traveler who has spent years away and is trying to find that once well-trodden road, I’m discovering this sect of society has changed, but not unlike the persistent threads of a recent nightmare, frightening familiar. Their vernacular, always on the move to keep abreast of uncool adults, has mutated and I’m making daily entries to my secret “teen slang” dictionary just to keep up with the conversations. Their hemlines on skirts have shortened to the point of looking like headbands gone AWOL; their necklines on lacy singlets have plunged into embarrassingly adolescent décolletage, their Emos are the modern Mods, their black metal is way heavier than heavy metal, their Starbucks coffee cards have replaced loose change for the pop machine and their in-school plumbing programs are popular electives with girls. While it may be cliché to feel thankful that I’m a teenager no longer and a cliché to believe incredulously that these people are our future and a cliché to write that the more things change the more they stay the same, all of the above are… like, oh my god, so true.

Having survived my first week and glad for the chance to look back with an adult eye, I’m can honestly say, that I’ll enjoy this new teaching position – at least until the end of June!

Staff Room from Hell

Being a TOC, or substitute teacher, means I get to teach in a lot of different classrooms, in a lot of different schools. And each school comes with its very own staff room complete with its own atmosphere and politics. Most schools have a very friendly staff room – you can choose any coffee mug you wish, the tables are not designated by seniority and no one has precedence over any particular chair. In most schools, the staff will smile and ask, “Who are you in for today?” or “Do you want to join us?” or comment, “Hey, looks like a great lunch!” In most schools the conversation is open, usually boisterous and often engaging. But there are those rare occasions, where I happen upon the staff room from hell.

Reaching up for a nice, cozy blue mug, I notice too late that the shelf is labelled STAFF MUGS ONLY – “That’s my mug you have there, do mind if I use it?” Mortified, I turn to see a woman, with perfectly coifed hair and arched eyebrows giving me a curt and not too friendly smile. “You can use those mugs – over there,” my eyes follow the trajectory of her long, polished finger. “Thanks”, I manage to mumble as I find a suitable VISITOR MUG. Although this mug is old, cracked and stained, I’m just happy I didn’t loose a hand for it. Grabbing my tea and my lunch bag, I now have the daunting task of trying to choose where to sit. In this staff room the tables are clustered together in small groups. There are four or five seats at each table. And, so far, there is nobody sitting at any table. I’ve got a clear run at it and I make my way to the table in the far corner, the one with the newspaper on it. Settling in, I’m joined by a male teacher who introduces himself as he takes out his lunch. “You know,” he says casually, “intermediate teachers usually sit at this table. Over there is where the primary teachers sit.” Unsure of how he knew I was in for the grade 2 teacher and not completely confident he wants to share his intermediate table for lunch, I smile and open the paper. As another, apparently, intermediate teacher joins the table, the two immediately engross themselves in a conversation about the math quiz they are going to give this week. Thankful for somewhere to put my eyes and pretend like I’m not there, I sink into the newspaper. I quickly finish off my lunch, place the VISITOR MUG in the dishwasher and head for the computer room – looking forward to spending the rest of the lunch hour comfortably alone in the friendly glow of the computer screen.

A thought: as teachers, aren’t we expected to live up to our own rules for the classroom? Doesn’t “Be Nice and Share” extend beyond the life of elementary school students? Unfortunately, in some staff rooms, it feels more like navigating the unknowns of a kindergarten class rather than having lunch with other professionals.

Go With the Snow

Last Friday, the 28^th of March and just into our Spring, Vancouver had a mid-morning snow storm. The snow started falling at ten minutes after nine, precisely the moment I began to introduce the new unit on Frogs. Sitting adjacent to the windows, I noticed the first few flakes, but tried not to draw any attention away from our lesson. “What happens after the frogs hatch from their jelly-like eggs?” I ask. But I only hear the first whispers of “snow” among the students. Ploughing forward and trying to ignore the distracting rustle, I prattle on about the tadpole stage. Giggles, bursts of laughter and surprise, and flailing gestures toward the huge windows pull all eyes to the wonderous display of a springtime winter-wonderland. My hopes of discussing the froglet stage are diminishing. By this time, it looks like a veritable blizzard outside and there is no way that my students are able to contain themselves. To be truthful, I’m having a hard time staying focused myself –the sight of the beautiful spring storm is incredible. “Class,” still trying to maintain a semblance of order, “it seems that the snow is falling quite heavily and many of you are very excited.” Cheers of agreement arise from the eight year olds, the boys race to window. The final threads of interest in the frog lesson have been irrefutably broken and the kids are in near snow-fervour. Thank goodness for classroom doors that lead directly onto the field. “Okay everybody, outside for a quick snow dance!” With squeals of delight and amazement and without jackets, mittens, hats or scarves, we dash about in the falling snow. It is an amazing scene. The kids are beautiful with red cheeks, big smiles and fat snowflakes caught in their hair. I chuckle to myself, in spite of the frog lesson, and take heart in the warming experience. With the first proclamations of cold hands, we are back inside. The students are still excited and many gather around the windows chattering happily. A few wander back to their desks. One by one the snow-wowed kids dispense to their seats, the chatter quietens and the industrious sound of pencil scratchings and thinking begins. Soon, the whole class is fully engaged with The Life Cycle of the Frog sheet that I have placed upon their desks, and the snow outside is temporarily forgotten. In this moment, I have time to reflect: being a teacher often means going with the flow, on this particular Friday, I chose to go with the snow.