Shank

I want to understand the thought processes that happen in people’s heads. I understand what my job is. I understand the challenges that occur when a teacher must leave his or her classroom and trust a (sometimes) stranger to take over and make sure that their students are learning. The students that they have spent the past year (sometimes two or three years) nurturing, watching them grow from immature little kids to young adults who are beginning to understand the real world. That (sometimes) stranger is me. I go into classrooms that are often foreign to me, many times not knowing what to expect, what to do, what the children will be like. How are the children going to be today? Will they be respectful? Talkative? Will they do their assigned work? Will I be able to communicate with them? I constantly think about writing a book, or putting together a compilation of my stories: Adventures of a substitute teacher in Compton. But I would probably get sued.

I swear I have a story for every day of the year. Like today…How screwed up is the education system when they keep kids in school who are a threat to other kids and adults? I was TRYING to teach a class. I say trying because some kids decided that school isn’t important so they are just going to talk and distract everyone. All the sudden I hear a boy ask someone if they like his shank. He decided it was ok to make a weapon while at school, right in front of me. Now, one would think that when a kid has a weapon at school that they would get in trouble. Not here though. Not when the district refuses to suspend students because they need every cent of ADA money. What happened to zero tolerance policies? Why are student’s lives being put at risk? Why is this ok with people?

Don’t get me wrong. I love my job (most of the time). I am thoroughly entertained everyday by the lives America’s youth. It is an amazing feeling to be able to share my stories with them about when I was their age (edited of course, because they don’t need to know the details). I see them going through the same exact things I went through, and I know that sometimes I can help them and sometimes I just need to let them figure it out on their own. It is amazing to see them grasp something that they had no previous understanding of.

I think I am burnt out. This writing is out of frustration. Had my class choice today been better, I probably would have remained silent for a day, but I find myself crying out for someone to think about what they are doing to the youth of this world by not teaching them right and wrong. I shouldn’t say my class choice for the day; I should say the choices that the students in the class are making should be better. If only I could understand what they were thinking, then maybe I could reach them.