I want to take the time to shamelessly promote my self-published book entitled, Getting Schooled: The Lessons, Plans, and Life of a Teacher. It is a collection of humorous stories from my years in education, from student teaching, to my time teaching overseas in the Peace Corps, to my time at three different small Christian schools. If you are a teacher, or if you are someone planning to go into teaching, this book will be a humorous and realistic look at the day to day experience of teaching that all teachers can relate to.
You can purchase it at either createspace or on Amazon. The paperback is $7.99 and the Kindle is $2.99. Here is an excerpt from the book.
Freshmen Elections
My first year of teaching in California almost ended before it really began; at least that is what I thought at the time. Before the school year began, the principal had convinced me to be the one of the advisors for the class of 2001. The principal assured me that the “real work” of being a class advisor didn’t really happen until their junior year, when they had to plan the Junior-Senior prom. As far as the freshman and sophomore years were concerned, all I really had to worry about was electing class officers and assisting the class during “Spirit Week” that took place in late February. “It’s a pretty easy way to make an extra $1000,” he told me. So, for an extra $1000, I held my breath and took the plunge…
…And almost never came back up for air. The event that almost caused me to suffocate and drown was the dreaded freshman class elections at the end of the first week of the 1997-1998 school year. Not only did I almost sink deep into the depths that all first year teachers know all too well within my first week of teaching, I almost dragged down every single student in the freshman class with me.
As every first year teacher knows, there comes a time, normally early on in that first year, when you realize that you have absolutely no control of the situation; that the students have your entire fate as a successful teacher in their hands, and are madly bouncing it around like a rubber ball. And since you are an inexperienced novice of a teacher, you do what comes naturally—you panic…and scream at the top of your lungs, thinking that such an outburst will frighten the unruly mob, only to come face to face with the realization that your outburst just adds to the day’s entertainment.
The fateful day started ominously. We were going to be on a special schedule that would allow one full period for each class to have their elections. The class advisors would run the elections and allow the students who wanted to be class officers to give their speeches. After that, the class would then cast their votes. I had to somehow conduct the elections alone and corral 90 freshmen during class elections in the gym. The equation went something like this: me + 90 freshmen + the school gym + 45 minutes = impending chaos. Picture the students as hurricane Katrina, the school gym as New Orleans, and me as the levees. It would be just a matter of time until the levee was going to break.
The bell rang and the freshmen made their way to the gym. Amazingly enough, within 10 minutes I had actually gotten them seated together on the bleachers. Score one for the new guy! The next challenge would be to make sure the aspiring student officers would stay within the five-minute time limit for their speeches. This would not be a problem at all. In an ironic twist of fate, though, this turned into an even bigger problem.
I don’t know what it is like in most high schools, but it has been my experience with the schools I have taught in that there are not exactly a lot of willing candidates for class officers. First, there is the president (normally 2-3 candidates); second, there is the vice-president (2-3 candidates); then there is the secretary (i.e. the friend of one candidate who got talked into doing it); finally there is the treasurer (another friend who acquiesces to be the treasurer the morning of the election). One might think that this would be ideal; after all, that means about 5-8 speeches. That would mean about 30 minutes of speeches and about 20 minutes for voting—perfect timing! That should take up the full period!
Well, not necessarily. Freshmen speeches for class officer can be categorized in one of three ways. First, there is the typical freshman class speech: “Hi…I’m Mike…uh, you know that….Well, I think it would be cool to be class president cuz…ah, I don’t know…just because. I want to help the school…maybe get more snacks in the cafeteria…and… um…yeah, that’s about it.” WOW! That took all of 45 seconds! How long did this aspiring bureaucrat work on that tremendous feat of oration? Granted, these are freshmen, but you’d think one would come up with something more than more snacks in the cafeteria. Second, there is the speech of the one running unopposed: “Hey, I’m Julia! I’m the only one running for treasurer, so looks like I’m it!” WOW! Ten seconds! That must be some kind of record! And let’s face it, it’s kind of gutsy! After all, even psychotic dictators like Joseph Stalin and Saddam Hussein at least would play along and actually give speeches to at least put forth the illusion of democratic elections.
Finally, there is the speech of that one eager beaver who would talk for the entire period if she could, going on about how she really wants to make this year the best ever, and how she has a laundry list of reforms and proposals that, if the class would get behind, could really make a difference. Unfortunately, it is precisely this kind of student who is not well-liked by most of the class and who doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell to win.
Total those riveting freshman speeches up together, and what you have is a lot of extra time on your hands. In my case, even after I passed out the ballots, had the students cast their votes, and had collected them, I realized that we still had 30 minutes to kill. So, what do you do? I announced to the students that they could sit on the bleachers for the next half hour and talk with their friends until the bell rang. It was at that point that one student raised his hand and asked, “Could we stand up and just walk around in the gym?” I responded, “Sure!” After all, what’s the harm in that? I thought everything would be cool.
Well, it wasn’t cool. What I learned very quickly is that absolutely NOTHING freshmen do is EVER “cool” …or calm…or relaxed. Within the first few minutes, a few freshman boys got into the basketballs and started shooting baskets. Yet within the next few minutes, they had started to play impromptu games of dodge ball with the basketballs. So I went over to them and said, (no, I had to yell a bit, due to the rising decibel level of the freshman noise), “Hey guys! Don’t be throwing the basketballs at each other, okay? I’m not even sure we’re supposed to have them out! So just shoot baskets, or we’ll have to put them away!” Then, since I assumed that they would actually respect my authority, I simply walked back to the other end of the gym to chat with some other students who wanted to hear about my time overseas.
Now, please note a few things about what I said. Virtually everything I told them was wrong. Note first the “okay?”—it doesn’t really evoke “teacher authority” now, does it? It sounds like I’m asking their permission to allow me to tell them to not pelt each other in the head with basketballs. Then, note my second blunder: “I don’t know if we’re supposed to have them out!” That tells the students, “This guy thinks what we’re doing might be wrong, but isn’t going to do anything about it!” This then plants the thought into their brains, “What else can we get away with?” Finally, I simply walked away, without making sure they actually did what I told…no, politely asked…them to do.
This kind of insight only comes after the kind of experience I endured that day. Five minutes after I walked away, the levee started to break. As I was talking with a few students on the other side of the gym, I happened to look up to see what was going on. By now it had gotten really loud, to the point where I was thinking I needed to tell them they should probably sit down and just talk a little more quietly. To my horror, I saw something I never thought I’d ever see as a teacher: a large group of the freshmen had assembled at the base of the bleachers and had their hands up in the air. They were awaiting the arrival of little Michael Nolf, who had just jumped off from probably the fifth row of the bleachers and who was, at that very moment, flying through the air….getting ready to bodysurf across the gym!
My very first thought screamed through my brain, “I AM SO FIRED!” My very first action was to proceed to scream my head off and possibly do irrevocable damage to not only my vocal chords, but also to the eardrums of the innocent girls who were unfortunate enough to be standing right next to me at the time. Even though we still had about fifteen minutes before the bell rang, I fully intended to keep screaming until the bell rang: “HEY!!!!!! ALRIGHT! EVERYONE GET BACK IN THE BLEACHERS AND SIT DOWN! SIT DOWN! SIT DOWN! GO! GO! GO! RIGHT NOW! SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP! NO TALKING! I MEAN IT!”
The problem with this sort of wild-eyed crazy approach to discipline is that, although it understandably terrifies the more timid and “good” students, it actually backs you into a very small corner—you’ve unloaded your discipline clip and your discipline gun is now empty. And the kids know it!
As I was screaming for all the students to get back in the bleachers, there were a handful of boys who were not intimidated in the least. In fact, they viewed the whole scene as an opportunity for the spotlight, and proceeded to mimic my actions and laugh at how ridiculous I looked. Well, this was something I simply could not tolerate, so I unloaded another salvo of anger: “THIS ISN’T FUNNY! GET BACK IN THE BLEACHERS! SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!!!” But, as I said before, my discipline gun was out of bullets. Their leader, Marco, was not intimidated at all and aped a few more gestures aimed to humiliate me. And so…. “MARCO! COME HERE!!!” (What was I going to do? I hadn’t thought that far ahead! I was too blind with rage!) “MARCO! GO SIT IN THE CORNER OF THE GYM! GET THAT CHAIR AND FACE THE WALL!”
The reason that was a mistake was that now I had literally given Marco the entire gym floor as a stage. He sat down in the chair next to me, beaming. “NO! OVER IN THE CORNER!” So he started scooting his chair along the gym floor as he remained seated. “GET UP AND WALK OVER THERE!” So he got up and started walking to the corner…. “NO MARCO! TAKE THE CHAIR!” Finally he made his way to the far end of the gym and just continued to make faces when I wasn’t looking. I felt like a helpless fool.
The ironic thing about my horrific baptism into the world of high school elections, though, is that over the course of the next four years, that class and I developed a real bond, and that day eventually achieved iconic status in our collective memory as a class. In fact, the students and I realized it was going to be something memorable by the following Monday. You see, the one thing about that whole event that I did right really was how I handled it after the fact. When those students came back into my class the following Monday, many of them apologized for acting so crazy. I in turn apologized for temporarily morphing into Satan…and then I couldn’t help but crack a smile and laugh.
Soon we were all laughing about it. After all, the whole scene really was funny! A sense of humor goes a long way in teaching. It helps smooth out the rough edges and sooth hurt feelings and potential festering resentment, and in cases like the freshman class elections of 1997, a sense of humor, coupled with a little bit of humility, has the power to transform the panicked thrashings of a first-year teacher drowning in despair into an endearing and fond memory of a miraculous walk on the sea.
In fact, when I e-mailed some of my former students from the class of 2001 for ideas for this book, almost all of them insisted on me telling this story. Make no mistake though, even though I can laugh at it now, at the time I suffered a horrific baptism in the life of teaching. Baptism signifies a death—it is going down in the waters of chaos, and coming up born anew. And on that day of the freshman class elections in the fall of 1997, the levee broke, and prayin’ did me no good. I was going down.
