Student of the Month Nightmare

This is something I wrote for a monthly gathering to honor some of the best students at our school. I figure most teachers will relate:

I was grading papers late last night—and had already polished off my second Twix bar—because I hate grading papers and have to reward myself with sugar to make the process palatable. (I also eat four cookies each day at school for lunch. But this story is not about sugar addiction.) So let’s continue.

Anyway, it was well past midnight and not a creature was stirring in the Viall house.  You could have heard the Twix wrappers rustling if you listened. I was exhausted and needed rest.

Bleary-eyed from reading seventh-grade essays, I threw myself into bed and was soon fast asleep. 

At some point in the night I had a terrifying dream. I found myself in front of a classroom filled with seventh graders. Mist floated across the floor. There was a chill in the air.

Instinctively, I shivered under the covers. 

Then, in my mind’s eye, I looked closely at the pupils in front of me. They looked pale and deathly, zombie-like. I heard myself say, “Time to turn in your homework.”

The zombies chanted, “We don’t have it. We never do homework.”

“We’re all DEAD,” explained one of the corpse-like figures. He waved his ghoulish hand about, as if to indicate his peers, but a finger broke loose and flew across the room, landing on another zombie’s desk. 

A third ghostly figure explained, “I didn’t do the work. I forgot what page the questions were on. My mother says I have A.D.H.D. and can’t be expected to do any homework.”

“You never gave me the assignment, Mr. Viall,” another zombie-student claimed.

“I did. I did too,” I mumbled in my sleep.

“Can I go to my locker? I think I left my homework in my math folder,” said yet another pale dream student.

“Can I go to the bathroom now,” interrupted one of the near-dead. “When a zombie has to go a zombie has to go,” she added rudely.

“I didn’t do my work either,” said a male zombie in the back. “What do you expect? I’m a stupid zombie.”

“Shut up, you retard,” shouted the rude and also politically incorrect zombie girl.

Two other zombies were doodling on their notebooks and not paying attention to a word my dream-self said. 

At that moment Brent, one of the least motivated of the walking dead arrived late for class. “What’s your excuse for being tardy?” I asked with a pained look.

“I’m a zombie,” he replied. “We don’t move fast. We sort of shamble and stagger along, moaning as we go.”

“History is boring,” grumbled another gore-covered student.  “And you’re old and wrinkled,” he added with a leer.

Like I said: it was a bad dream…too many Twix bars…but even in a dream that hurt….

Then I looked again and rubbed my eyes. In the left rear corner of the classroom was a smiling young lady. She had long blonde hair and she looked like she was there to learn. And she had her paper ready to turn in; in fact, she was passing it up to the front of the room now. She handed it to the nearest zombie, who was wearing a cheerleader’s costume, who passed it to the zombie seated in front of her, who passed it forward to the zombie in the Devon Still jersey. (That’s a zombie with a heart right there, my subconscious told me.) Then I did a double take and noticed that the Still zombie was missing a leg. 

I took the lonely homework paper—and looked at the name: Hannah L-----.

I seemed to remember her. Wasn’t she the girl who did a great job in the play, Jessica of Troy? Wasn’t she the girl who exploded with delight when we had a fire drill? I never saw that kind of enthusiasm before! What was she doing in this dream?

The zombies seemed to have the same question. “Homework, hoooooooomework,” they moaned. 

The Still-shirted zombie groaned even more loudly, “Steeeeeers….Steeeeeeeeelers.” He seemed agitated, as if his soul could find no rest.

Then from another corner I heard a pleasant voice, “Mr. Viall, I have my homework, too, but I was wondering if the answer to #48 is right.” This girl had brown hair and glasses, and wore a look of concern upon her face. The zombies groaned in unison and shot her evil looks. But she paid them no heed. She was focused and not to be deterred by a few walking dead. 

I rubbed my eyes—at least I thought I did—and recognized…Andrea D-----!

With a start, I sat bolt upright in bed. “%$#@@& *&(^%$,” I shouted. “Today is student of the month.” I forgot to prepare anything. Now what do I do? 

I’ll have to fake it entirely. 

“Hannah and Andrea! I have to talk about both this morning. *&&^^%, I need a donut.” I stumbled toward the bathroom, wondering to myself: How many days till retirement?

Gradually, while I showered, I calmed down. This would be easy. L----- and D-----?

Piece of cake! Darn. That sugar issue, again. 

Two of the coolest students you could have in class. What’s so hard about talking about them? Darn. I hope I don’t have to follow Mr. Sharpless. His songs for Student of the Month gatherings are hilarious. A cream Danish sure would help....Wait, snap out of it, John, this is going to be easy.

Here’s all you have to say: You love having these two young ladies in class. Andrea had a 102 average one quarter but called you at home before a test when she couldn’t find the answer to…#48…on her review sheet. Tell everyone that she is always a hard worker—conscientious, studious, dependable beyond all normal standards, and it’s like having a college student in class. Show the people the puppet of Confucius she did for a project. And L-----?  Explain that she is a young lady who thinks for herself…mature beyond her years…a good athlete…yet hilarious in class, a young lady with a fine sense of humor who keeps you on your toes with her thoughtful insights. L-----…she carries a 100+ average too.

L----- and D-----?  What’s not to like. Just explain that you think both have the talent to become doctors, or college professors, or CEO’s. If either one is valedictorian for this class you won’t be surprised. 

If ever we have a woman president…I’d vote for either one. 

Okay, now I knew I was ready. I looked in the mirror and spoke calmly to my reflection: “Just tell the parents, ‘I love having these two fine young ladies in class.’”

***

I was fortunate to teach for 34 years and liked almost every one of the 5,000 students who passed my way. 

But it is true: not all of them could be relied on to do their homework.  If you would like to read more you might like my book about education, Two Legs Suffice: Lessons Learned by Teaching, available on Amazon today.

P. S.: Devon Still was a player for the Cincinnati Bengals. When his daughter Leah, age 3, developed cancer, the team started selling his jersey and donated all proceeds to the fight against childhood cancer.

Countless fans bought #75 Still jerseys and helped raise more than $1 million dollars for a great cause.

P.P.S.: My friend Jeff Sharpless is still doing the same kind of dedicated work millions of teachers do in classrooms across the nation every day. As a teen, he played guitar in a rock band, and as a teacher managed to create hysterical songs for all kinds of occasions, including a play we worked on together, called Jessica of Troy. (It was the story of how Jessica Simpson beat out Helen to win the title of the most beautiful woman in the world, and how the Greeks and Trojans later rumbled.

Hector takes a spear to the neck (student artwork).

In the Days of Corporal Punishment

Occasionally, I hear someone insist that we must bring back corporal punishment to our schools. I could write an entire chapter on that subject. 

The capsule version would be: I can’t agree.

Early in my career, I did swat, as most teachers did. One day, I gave a young man what I thought was a fairly ordinary swat. But he ended up bruising badly. In days and weeks to follow I heard from other students that other teachers had bruised them, too. I heard from parents that they’d been swatted as kids, bruised, but learned to behave accordingly.

In my case, I had bruised the boy badly. His mother was furious and filed a criminal complaint. I never blamed her for being angry; but I was charged with a felony assault and had to head for court. Lose that case, in 1982, and my teaching career is over. (Some might have said, “And justly so.”)

Someday, I may take the time to tell this story in detail. For now, let’s just say I was found innocent. 

I still don’t blame the mother.

I still understand why mom was angry—and still think I gave the boy only a normal swat. But one detail still amazes me and may prove revelatory to those who don’t know the full story. When the case was decided in my favor I returned to school the next day. My career could continue! That afternoon, Ed Lenney, our wonderful principal, called me into his office during my conference period. He said I had better sit down.

“John,” he explained, “Mrs. ----- [the mother who filed charges] just called.”

My immediate thought was: “She’s going to file a civil complaint [for damages]. I’ll have to go to court and defend myself all over again.”

“You can handle this however you want,” Ed continued, “but she wanted to know if you’d take Carl [the boy; using, here, a fictitious name] back in class.”

(Carl had been removed from my American history class, of course, once charges were filed.)

“WHAT!” I exclaimed. (I don’t recall if I added an expletive. I think I was too surprised.) “WHY?”

“Mrs. ---- says she thinks you’re a good teacher.”

Of all the developments in the story, this was the only one that really surprised me. I thought about it a moment, because I liked almost every kid I ever met, and never had any bad feelings for the boy or his mother. He did bruise badly, after all. That wasn’t a hallucination. Still, I quickly decided that it would be better for all if Carl continued to learn his lessons from another teacher.

I almost never swatted another student again—except in one or two cases where parents actually asked for their child to be given corporal punishment. (Usually, this was chosen in lieu of some kind of suspension.)

And I can assure you that in my experience swatting teens was never enjoyable. You can make the argument, however, that it beats arresting them, which is what schools started doing in the 1980s, and still do today, when school resource officers began to be needed to roam the halls. I am also fully aware that the word “beats” in the previous sentence is loaded with all kinds of different meanings.

(I should also note that today there are 17,000 school resource officers, or cops, to put the matter bluntly, roaming the halls of American schools.

***

Regardless, the argument against corporal punishment is effectively settled in the negative. I never missed using the paddle, myself, and instituted a regimen of Marine Corps pushups as my last line of defense when young men acted up in class. (I explain that whole approach in my book if you’re interested.)

So, on a lighter note, let me share one funny story from the Dark Ages, as some might call it, of corporal punishment. The rule in my class, when I was first teaching, was simple. Skip an after school detention and you earned a swat the next day. 

(Most kids who had detention after school had failed to complete several assignments and I preferred to keep them after rather than give them zeroes and let them waste their talents.) 

Beyond question, the award for creativity in such a situation goes to a young man named Ken 

----.

Ken was a good-old-fashioned boy at a time when Loveland was a country district, not the affluent suburban community it would later become. Ken’s only problem stemmed from lack of motivation. He didn’t complete his work and earned a detention. Unfortunately, he failed to make his cameo appearance. 

As expected, Ken entered Room 207, at the start of sixth bell the next afternoon. “You know the rule, Ken,” I said almost immediately. I put the rest of the class to work and told him to step out in the hall.

He looked worried but made no excuse for skipping.

I asked another teacher to witness, as required, and when Ken bent over as ordered I gave him a moment to collect his thoughts. Then I gave him a swat. 

Normally, a swat made a cracking sound. This time it was more of a thump. Something was wrong.

“Ken, what are you wearing?” I inquired.

He looked embarrassed. But he was quick to admit the truth. “Eleven pairs of underwear, four pairs of gym shorts, two pairs of shorts, and sweat pants,” he explained sheepishly. 

I had to laugh. “Well,” I explained, “you out-foxed me this time. Just don’t skip detention again.”

Ken went back into my room and I followed, tossing my paddle on my desk with a clatter. Then it was back to teaching.

There are other ways to discipline children. This one: for arguing siblings.

The Case of the Missing Homework

MANY OF THE BIGGEST NAMES in education reform insist that the only sure way to improve what happens in schools is to “hold teachers accountable.”

I worked with a few bad teachers during my day. Nevertheless, I don’t think I ever looked down the long hallway at school and thought, “You know, the main problem here is all the bad teachers.” 

There was never any real evidence that educators were the main obstacle in the path of true learning.

Student reluctance to do the work necessary to earn a quality education seemed to be a far more important factor. And I don’t mean my students were all lazy. Not at all. Not at all. I was fortunate to teach thousands of hard-working kids. Still, I also discovered that a significant minority had a tendency to coast along, unless some teacher fired them with a desire to learn that they might not already have. 

            Or gave them a push.

            I knew what that was like when I was young. I knew a push is sometimes required.

Indeed, somewhere around the age of thirteen, my brain ceased functioning in any meaningful fashion and I spent my time in junior high and high school doing the least possible work I could manage. I was oddly proud of myself—to finish in the bottom half of my Revere High School graduating class. 

            I had a perfectly good mind. I just didn’t care to use it. (See proof below.)

At least I was doing well in American history and gym.

Fortunately, I discovered the great powers of motivation in 1968, at Parris Island, after dropping out of college to join the Marines.

When I became a teacher in 1976 I made it a point to make it difficult for kids to loaf in my class and hard for them to fail. I set high standards. But if students failed tests, I called home and asked parents to ensure their children studied and retook the test after school, or before school, or during lunch.

I didn’t average grades, the first F, and say, a B+ on the second try. 

           If a young man or young woman got a 92 B+ on the second test that was the grade that was inked in the book. 

I USED A SIMILAR APPROACH when it came to homework. I used to round up kids who owed me work, at lunch, or during study hall, like a cowboy roping strays. I’d bring in “failing” (i. e. not working) students and put them to work. I would agree to stay after school, or come in early, any time kids fell behind in class.

What I would not tolerate was lack of effort. (See my grades, above.)

In any case, former students might agree, I probably got mad more often if they didn’t use their talents than for all other reasons combined.

In third period one morning I called for everyone to turn in a set of questions that were due. Before I could manage to collect, Mrs. Kemen, one of the best young teachers I ever met, appeared at my classroom door to ask advice on some minor matter. I stepped into the hall to answer her question. Then I returned to class. When I asked again for homework not a single paper came up from the left side of the room. (I had student desks in a horseshoe seating arrangement. (See below.) Even Kyle, the most dependable kid in the class, said he forgot the assignment.

Seating chart used in my class. My post was at the open end of the horseshoe.

The middle section likewise produced zero papers.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered darkly.

When the right side of the room failed to produce a solitary paper, I slammed my grade book to the floor like a football coach who had just watched his defense give up a 99-yard touchdown pass.

“YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING!” I growled.

With that I stomped out the door for effect. (I could always act mad with ease; I rarely was, in truth.) Like an actor considering how to do the next scene, I could reenter angry, or hurt, or adopt my cold, assassin’s voice. The only issue: Which reaction might convince a few teens to move in the desired direction?

To use their talents—not loaf.

I stepped back into the room and for a hundredth time tried to impress on my young charges that they needed to learn as much as they could, for their own good. I insisted that true learning required true effort. I went on in this way for two or three minutes, trying to stir a sense of resolve.

Finally, Kyle could stand no more. He yanked his homework out from under his notebook and waved it in triumph. Papers appeared from all directions and cheers filled the room.

“We love you, Mr. Viall,” Courtney called out merrily.

When everyone stopped laughing, including me, Kyle admitted having masterminded the ruse. 

Almost everyone had their homework; and as was so often the case, I was proud of my kids. 

Creative Discipline for Middle School: Angie Collects Belly Button Lint

EARLY IN MY CAREER I came up with a humorous approach for dealing with minor violations of classroom decorum. 

I realized essay punishments could be humorous and effective. 

In most cases, I simply wanted kids to quit goofing around or talking too much. No sense treating breaches of etiquette like criminal infractions. Stick them with a 150-word essay as a simple reminder. Making it comical allowed peers to share a laugh and showed students you wanted to have fun in class, while still expecting everyone to abide by the rules. When Kayla was tardy too often, I had her write about how she became a fashion icon by inventing concrete shoes. On another occasion, Josh seemed to be writing a love note instead of doing his assigned reading. I had him write an essay about falling asleep in class and getting his history book stuck to his face for a week. 

As you might expect, he explained in his essay how his rare affliction made it impossible to flirt with the girl of his dreams.

One day, Angie got in trouble for some minor matter. I had her write: “I Collect Belly Button Lint for a Hobby.” Angie didn’t stop at 150 words. She was a collector in the truest sense. Her essay filled five pages. She had lint from actors, from every president in the last twenty years, and dreamed of finding the Holy Grail of lint—from the belly button of Elvis Presley (assuming Elvis was still alive). 

In most cases punishment fit the “crime.”  One day, Rob came flying through my door, with a friend in hot pursuit. Before I could tell them both to slow down Rob tripped and somersaulted across the linoleum. He dusted himself off without injury, but I made Rob write about his life as “The Human Cannonball.” 

Wendy R. (a straight-A student) had to write an essay after laughing once too often and disturbing class. I forget the title; but she pinpointed her friend Wendy M. as the source of all her difficulties “At times Wendy’s nostrils will go in and out as if they were controlled by a motor.”

That was her reason for laughing.

Max tended to turn around too often and talk to friends. One day I grew tired of viewing the back of his head. 

I HAD HIM WRITE about having a giant tongue. In his essay he called Landon, the friend who had lured him into sin, to inform him of his tragic condition. The essay followed the conventions of a popular Budweiser beer advertisement:

“Hello.” [Landon answers.]

“Wattttttttthhhhhuuuup!!!”

“Hey, man.  I would finish the lines in the commercial but I just gotta ask. What’s wrong with your voice?”

“Miy tung.”

“What?”

“Miy tung iz big,” I said angrily.

“Oh, I see.

“Wat sod I du?”

“Gee, got me.”

“Tanks, yor no hep.”  Then I hung up…..

ONE LAST EXAMPLE deserves mention. One day a young man got in trouble for talking during detention. I asked him to write “The Life of a Cucumber.”

His story began: “I started out the first part of my life in a little cold plastic bag. The bag sat on a shelf in the store, for a long time before some one decided to buy the bag of seeds.”

This essay was not particularly funny, but carried the name of the author, Brian ----.  Only Brian’s handwriting was unusually good.  

Normally, Brian’s handwriting was abominable. 

I still have my notes describing the incident:  “Caught Brian ----lying today because his mother wrote his punishment essay. Brian claimed, in declining order:  

1) he wrote it; she corrected it 

2) okay, no, mom wrote part 

3) well, yes, she wrote it all.

I called Mrs. ---- that evening and she offered lame defense: “I don’t see anything wrong with a mother helping a child.”

“Nor do I,” I responded. “But you weren’t helping. You did the essay for him and let him off his punishment entirely.” 

I told her Brian would have to write a different essay entirely; but if it had been in my power I would have given her a topic all her own to do: “What Happens to a Boy when Mom is an Enabler?” 

For more discipline tips you should buy my book!
Also: I loathe standardized tests and explain why in my work.

E. T. and the Teacher Phone Home

As many of my former students will fondly remember, I was always kind enough to call home if they fell behind in my history class.

(You don’t have to thank me! I did it for your own good!)

It didn’t always help. Still, it almost never hurt.

Eventually, a friend convinced me to start making positive phone calls home too. This turned out to be a pleasure, as much fun for me as it was for parents who received the calls lauding sons or daughters.

One evening, however, I placed a memorable call to A----’s parents. In this case, mom and dad had been born in India. I simply wanted to tell them their daughter was one of the best students I had ever had. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I know I raved. I told Mrs. J. that A---- was one of the hardest workers I had ever had in my twenty years [at that time] in teaching.

“I’m sure you must be very proud,” I added.

Mom admitted she was.  

I laughed and said A---- wasn’t perfect, just your typical teen. “I had to get on her a little yesterday,” I laughed once more. “I think she likes one of the boys who sits beside her in class.”

“Wonderful girl,” I concluded, “I just want to tell you I love having your daughter in class.”

The next day, at the start of history, A---- exclaimed, “Mr. Viall, you got me grounded last night!”

“WHAT!” I said in disbelief. “I told your mom you were one of the best students I ever had!”

“I know,” she smiled resignedly. “She said it was because I was flirting with a boy.”

Coming soon, whether the world is ready or not.

The Class of 2000

As many of my friends (and my long-suffering wife) realize, I’ve been working for a long time on a book about teaching. If I had earned minimum wage for all the hours spent tapping at the keyboard I’d already have $50,000 in my pocket.

I tell my wife that when they make my story into a movie, Brad Pitt will be tapped to play me. For some reason she scoffs.

I’m a decent writer, I tell myself. (And let me assure former students, who will remember my writing rule, that the words “things” and “stuff” do NOT appear in my book.)

I loved teaching and loved working with kids. I wish I could explain to readers what those kids were like, by the hundreds, by the thousands.

I felt lucky. I felt like I was part of a noble profession.

Still, no one should imagine that teaching is easy. Teachers face all kinds of problems and deal with serious issues every day. At the middle school level I saw kids wasted by drugs, kids who were bullied, girls who turned up pregnant, and one poor young lady who, it turned out later, was being sexually abused by her father. One year I had a young man in my sixth bell class who had the longest juvenile criminal record of anyone in Hamilton County.

In other words, some kids were hard to teach or reach or help.

In one early version of my book I tried to pick one class, the kids I had during the 1999-2000 school year, and use them to explain what it was like to be an educator. I wanted to see if I could say something positive about every kid I had that year. As I suspected, it was, with perhaps exception. I decided the section didn’t quite work for my book; but here’s what I wrote about a fairly typical group of middle school students in Loveland, Ohio:

Class of 2000

(They would have graduated from high school in 2005.)

Had I known I would try to write a book about teaching someday, I would have kept better notes. Today I recall hard times in a classroom like a combat soldier recalls traumatic events. The good moments, the good days, the good students number in the thousands but don’t always stand out to the same stark degree.

Had I kept notes I could have filled volumes with stories about wonderful kids: but they often blended together, like a series of beautiful spring days. I can mention stars in the class of 2000, however, because I did take a few brief notes during that year.

I started to anyway; but like any good teacher, I never had enough time.

I wish I could say more about all these young people—about all the kids I had other years, too—but this will have to do for a sampling. Chris had failed the seventh grade the year before and got off to a poor start in my class. I finally convinced him to stop making excuses and start working. And once I realized he had a good sense of humor we hit it off fine. I found with Chris (and many others who had failed over the years) that he had a little extra maturity in how he thought. I encouraged him to speak up in class and he turned out to be a leader in discussion. I loved his effort in his second time around in seventh grade. He was still only a “C” student but his attitude was excellent.

Robert (pseudonym’s used where examples might embarrass) was an interesting young man, filled with good ideas and a desire to please. Unfortunately, he had a knack for going too far when he spoke his mind and often antagonized peers. He would stick it to them, verbally, and they would stick it to him back, and I would have to cut off the insults as quickly as I could. Often it was Robert against the world. So I spent time trying to convince him to ease off and did what I could to protect him from attack if he forgot. I liked Robert and hated to see him get bullied. 

I can’t highlight every student I had that year; but I can give you a quick idea of how much potential there was. My Class of 2000 included Michelle, who spoke up for justice in every discussion we ever held.

There was James, who worked hard like his father, who had been seated in one of my chairs a generation earlier. James could do a perfect imitation of a cricket, something none of his teachers had ever heard before and I suspect have never heard since.

Ellie had the same smile her mother brought to my history class two decades before. When I met her mom at Open House she was—of course—smiling as she always had before.

Most of these kids made my life easy. There was Laura, talented, positive and mature. One evening I attended a school musical and had trouble imagining a better voice coming from a young lady her age. (And let me note:  that Loveland had an excellent choir and drama teacher at the time, Mr. Shawn Miller, and a band instructor, Mr. Bruce Maegly, without peer.)

Mitul and Zac are forever paired in my mind. Top students, they worked together on a history project and built a Nazi death camp to scale. (Zac is now an architect.)

Joe had grades that were…um...somewhat lower. Still, he was one of the funniest kids I ever taught. He reminded me of me at the same age. I told him so and think he took it as a compliment.

In one year I had Becky, a brilliant young lady, and Greg, who excelled at skits. Becky went on to Ohio State and Greg called years later to thank me for all I had done. (I meant to call him back but erased his message by mistake.) Elizabeth looked like the studious young woman she was and had the ability to go on to be a college professor if that was what she desired. Kelly was talented and vivacious. My wife and I used her to babysit our two youngest daughters. In my notes, I said Kelly was “argumentative;” but by that I meant she was always ready in class to express opinions and knew how to think. Kristina, a sweet young lady, wanted to be an actress. Kelly #2 was an avid reader. Kelly #3 was one of my absolute favorites. I described Lindsay as “my HARDEST worker.”

That’s the highest praise I can give.

Then my notes fizzled out. I probably got busy on one of a thousand tasks that every teacher juggles. I did jot down a few words about every member of the class, however. Jessica was tall and a dependable hard worker. Brad did wonderful projects, combining historical themes and modern tunes, including Brittney Spears songs. Lura was smarter than me and if I remember rightly she did an art project, a series of water colors on the Holocaust. One showed a hand clawing out from under a pile of dirt, as a stream of blood ran to the corner of the picture.

One year of teaching—and so much potential. There was Neilo, enthusiastic and brimming with ideas. Her parents fled from Afghanistan during the Soviet occupation, and came here to make a better life. She lit up a classroom with her enthusiasm. Jillian was daughter of one of our high school teachers, a basketball star, and rock solid in her efforts. Brad #2 was from a Mormon family, with the good values we tended to see in almost every Mormon kid.

Allan (pseudonym) had glasses and often wore a sad look on his face. He told me he was getting bullied. So, I talked to him about how to avoid getting picked on by peers. He had a tendency to fly off the handle when teased, even in cases where others meant no harm. Other times he blew up and cried when the jerks targeted him in the hall or cafeteria. 

I taught him the virtues of the “poker face,” how to ignore barbs, which took away the jerks’ fun. I was proud of how he responded and never once found him to be anything but a kind-hearted young gentleman.

I would have been happy to have an entire class filled with kids just like him.

I can offer only a taste of what this banquet was like. You probably have to be a teacher to fully appreciate Patrick—not to mention his love for Duke basketball and all things Duke. I think he probably owned Duke underwear. He never made it to his dream college on a basketball scholarship but did go on to play soccer and basketball at the Division III level. Tom was another star and later enlisted in the Marines. And there was Katie, who convinced me to allow seven students to take part in the same skit about women in the 1800’s. (Skits in my class were designed to last the entire period if students were doing them right.) I told her that with seven, someone was almost sure to be squeezed out and not get enough chance to talk. She had a plan—and it worked just as she promised. I remember the girls sat around, as if at a sewing circle, but I’m sorry to say I don’t recall who the other six participants were. I do know that within minutes I was sure all seven were going to earn A’s.

Although Kimball came to Loveland in the middle of the year, I somehow managed to take notes on what he did. His handwriting was “almost impossible to decipher” and he lived in California before coming to Ohio. That spring, Becky (already mentioned), came to me with a fantastic idea: Why not do a skit on the three branches of government? I told her I could have scratched my head a thousand years and not come up with that idea, but I could see the possibilities a soon as she broached the subject. The next day we put her idea out for every class to consider.

In seventh bell, Kimball immediately volunteered. When I called him back to my desk to discuss the idea he asked if he and three friends could be involved. My first question was how he intended to use four people in a skit about three branches. He explained: he would be Executive Man, Evan would be Legislative Man, and a third friend would be Judicial Man. The fourth would be People Man, representative of the citizens of this great land.

I could see how his plan would work and gave approval with a laugh. What I could not predict was the brilliant fashion in which the group put the skit together. The day they were set to perform they wore capes and t-shirts with appropriate letters, a huge P for People Man, an E for Executive Man, and so forth. I remember one of the boys had on gym shorts over a pair of red tights. Evan played Legislative Man as a schizophrenic. If he answered for the Senate he turned one way, and turned back to speak for the House, alternately arguing or explaining ways the two houses worked (or didn’t work) together to pass bills into laws.

I’m sorry I don’t remember who the other two in the skit were. All I can say is that we were working from a list of 150 questions which would be on the next unit test. Not one of the four young men messed up a single fact during their performance. 

It bothered me that I could not recall who the other two boys were. So I pulled out an old class roster and tried to figure it out. I think Jason (who went on to play baseball at Michigan) was one. Or it might have been any of these gentlemen: Dave, Charlie, Charles or Dmitry. All had talents of one kind or another and all were fun to have in class.

(Charles recently spoke to students at Loveland Middle School about his combat experiences with the U. S. Army in Iraq. He did a wonderful job, too.)

I scanned the roster for seventh bell and noticed Mandy’s name. She was a star in my class, like her brother two years before. I see in my grade book that she had a 93 on the first test of the year, a 90 on the second test (her friend Sarah, another star, scored even higher) and a 96 on the Samuel Sewall story.

Seventh bell—one class—one year. You had Kelsey, a bubbling fountain of enthusiasm. You had Jessica, who never missed an assignment and Amanda, who never ceased smiling. Chris #2 was brilliant as a Pilgrim “granny” in one skit. Stephanie scored a 60 on one test, retook it (because, as my students remember, I always made those who failed retake tests), and raised her score to 100. I thought the second grade was in keeping with her true potential.

Finally, you had Karlie (pseudonym). Karlie was a solid writer and excellent in skits. Still, her grades were poor and she had already failed once. One day, I took her and three classmates out in the hall and read them the Riot Act. I warned that they might not graduate if they didn’t turn it around in school. I’m afraid I made her mad when I said that. Regardless, she proved me wrong. Or, perhaps she proved me right. One way or the other she got herself going in the right direction. Five years later she stopped by room to hand me an invitation to her high school graduation.

***

That’s as far as I got on this post a year ago. Then, by chance, I was working on this same post yesterday when I received a Facebook “friend request” from Matt, a member of this same Loveland class. He mentioned my writing rule about “things” and “stuff” and seemed to hint that he tried to follow it.

So I checked a database I keep to remind me about who all my former students were and what they were like in class.

According to what I had recorded Matt was “very bright” and “I liked him.” Not a bad way to start. I decided to check out every other member of this group and here’s what I said about other students, all in one year:

Matt #2 had a fine attitude and was a wizard with computers.

Sara was “a hard worker” in my class and when the stock market took a dive she told me her mother, a broker, suggested I buy P & G stock. (I should have listened!)

Sara #2:  “very funny; big smile and always helpful.”

Sarah (already mentioned above):  “first class worker; great in skits; could act.”

Danielle had a “dry wit” and was “talented” without doubt. She was from England and I describe her as “a fine kid to have” in class.

Mike was always funny and did some great work when prepared. Brad #3 was a nice young man—and I think liked basketball.

Geoff was always pleasant and polite in my class—sort of what you expected from all members of his family.

Molly was very smart and did great work in skits. Theresa was a great worker and a favorite student of mine.

Jessica #2 was “highly creative” and wrote some fine poetry for a history project.

Jessica #3 followed her own drummer—never easy for a teenager to do.

Dan was witty and for a project “interviewed” famous Americans in heaven.

Adam had a great Southern accent and was very serious about his religion. I’m not religious myself but I respected his viewpoint.

Zac (girl version) was sweet and smart, too.

Misty was a fine student and I use the word “perky” to describe her in my database. I’m sure my former students will remember how perky I was, too!

Ha, ha. No.

Brendan was a big kid with curly hair and learned how to handle teasing from his peers. You could see him mature. I liked seeing that.

Justin:  “very nice; quiet but good worker.”

Stefanie could be extremely funny; when we were talking about a Native American culture that flattened babies’ heads for beauty she said, well that wasn’t any dumber than women in our culture who pay for “fake boobs.” That comment made her class erupt in laughter. I did too.

Jeremy was “a good artist.”

Christina:  “artistic and nice.” Laura #2:  “smart” and “nice.” Tony had red hair and I found him to be a good thinker.

Alex:  I’m going to say he reminded me of myself in seventh grade and I liked him a lot.

Alex #2: “talented.”

Alex (the female version) was very creative and I think liked my class. (Hard to believe but not everyone did. Ha, ha, former students, my great jokes are as funny as ever.)

Sean:  “wry sense of humor; a lot of fun to have in class.”

Michelle #2 was quiet and shy but a very strong worker in my class. I’m willing to bet she went on to college.

Christy was “good for me.” Crystal was excellent in skits. Roger was a young man I liked.

Amy:  “always nice, did a good job for me; big smile.”

Angie “worked well for me.”

Amanda #2 was “quiet and nice.”

Amanda #3 had a “sweet personality” and was always “a good worker.”

Brian:  “great humor and creativity.”

Drew:  “very bright; creative thinker; wry humor.” 

Neil was never serious in class but I “liked him” and couldn’t entirely blame him if he spent time flirting with the ladies. We will not mention which ladies.

Eric was “bright” and from what I could tell several girls thought he was handsome. Eric #2 is listed as “a good worker” in class. You can never have enough of those.

Jake was funny—as so many kids are—and also a “star worker.”

Ashley was sometimes hard to motivate but clearly had “college potential.” She was nice, too.

Chris #3 had also failed the year before; but in my class he had a good attitude and I remember he torched the other side in a debate we held on some topic. He kept puncturing their arguments with funny comebacks and they never knew what hit them.

Chris #4: “always polite and pleasant.” He was quiet in class. 

Chris #5 did “great drawings” in history.

Chris #6:  was funny, quietly good in his work and fun to have in class.

Randall was very quiet but a “good worker.” A nice young lady at all times. She did twenty-five full-page color pictures for a project on the Iroquios people.

Dillon:  “great in participation; always fine attitude.”

Jenny liked to talk and my notes say she was “a good kid.”

Caroline did a Pilgrim skit and even faked an English accent to make it more fun.

Taylor, I noted, was “a great kid; very funny” in class. Bessie was just plain “bright.” Heather “did her best.” I was always happy to see that.

Joel:  “creative thinker; loved his attitude.” I said almost exactly the same about Andrew, but added “star student.”

Lauren was nice like every member of her family that came through my classroom door; she often scored A’s on assignments and tests if I made her do them over. 

Shannon: “always liked her; great effort.” Great effort was the real mark of a great student.

Melissa was “sweet” and a “hard worker.” I think she was serious about being a Girl Scout. (She probably sold me cookies since I’m kind of a pig.)

Buchi came to Loveland from Nigeria. I thought all year she kept improving in her work; that was always a pleasure to see.

Brian had a good attitude and I liked him a lot. Chelsea was a good athlete, smart, quiet and I liked her a lot, too. Kayla was fun to have in class and a good student, one who loved to talk. Ann was “super dependable” and a “nice girl at all times.”

Ashlie was a quiet young lady but a good student.

Mike had failed the year before but did a phenomenal turnaround—so much so that we moved him up to be with his regular grade at midyear. I was proud of that young man.

Devon wore glasses and did a “great job for me.” Evan #2:  I have him listed as a “super student” and also a “good basketball player.”

Maranda was present in our school only briefly that year. Jeremy was also present for only a part of the year.

John was a nice kid with a funny streak, too. Raymond was funny and creative and in my notes I say he was a “piano star.” (I must have seen him play with the school band.)

Gerri:  I thought she was wonderful to have in class; she was always lively and worked hard.

Melissa #2 was “a great kid” in my class. I remember when we read a packet about the Holocaust it made her cry.

Jessie was “a favorite” of mine, a personable young lady and a strong student.

Jessie #2 was a “nice writer” and I “liked her a lot.”

Jessie #3 was “a good B student” and a good soccer player, too.

Jessie #4: “Sweet and dependable; very lively.”

Jessie #5:  Okay, we had a lot of “Jessie’s” that year; this one was a good kid and liked to share ideas in discussion.

Kristin was another soccer player, a young lady with a sweet disposition, and a hard worker.

Jon was a “super talent, a creative writer, and a good athlete.”

Jon #2 was another funny kid and I liked having him in class.

Reid was “the funniest kid of the year.” Steve is also called “funny” in my notes; and I remember he liked to answer questions in class.

Kyle is described as “a good guy” in my brief notes. You can never have too many students like that.

Kyle #2 is described as “bright” and an “excellent student.” You can never have too many students like that, either.

Aaron: also described as “very funny; a favorite of mine.”

Erin was “sweet” and  “smart” and another favorite.

Josh was funny in class and very creative at all times.

Josh #2 sounds almost the same:  “about as funny as you can get; fine in skits.”

Josh #3 had some brains and started the year well; let’s just say he got in a bit of trouble later.

Tyler was a kid I liked. I tried to help him learn how to get along with peers.

Margaret was “absolutely wonderful, creative,” a thinker in my class and a star in school drama (and naturally in any skits).

Tim:  “funny” and “talented.”

Tim #2: did “great art projects; fine attitude.” All his siblings worked hard in my class over the years.

Graham:  “good worker; creative projects.”

Brent moved away early in the year. I didn’t get much chance to form an opinion. Kevin was “funny” but also moved away midyear.

Lindsay #2:  “diligent and dependable.” Loved having her in class.

Lindsay #3 I remember as “a great kid all around.”

Eric:  “a fine worker.” You have to be a teacher to realize what high praise that is.

Amy was “a good worker” just like her sister two years before.

Katelyn was another good student who moved to Ohio from Colorado midyear. A very polite young lady, as I recall.

Samantha was talkative and artistic and fun to tease in class. Samantha #2 was also fun to have and I could tell she was bright and had great potential. Samantha #3 had reddish hair. She was funny and a good student, both.

Andrea was very artistic and a very fine student.

Bryan had, I thought, more ability than he realized. I hope he’s doing well.

Elizabeth #2:  “great effort; cool to have” in class.

Carrie:  “fine artist, nice young lady.”

Katie was shy at first in class but a good worker. My notes indicate that a young man in her class (who shall not be named) was “in love with her.”

We did have one young lady expelled that year. So, I guess I’ll pass over her name.

And that, in an educational nutshell is what teaching is like. I made it a point to try to like every kid; and with rare exceptions during my career did.