Having regaled you with tales of how my English class tormented our somewhat-ready-for-retirement English teacher I thought perhaps I’d share another little tidbit. Once again, just for the record, what we did to her was terrible, and for any teachers out there in readership land, please know that I did not share those stories because I was proud of them.
Having said that, I’d like to return to my years of high school and share with you a smidgen of hindsight.
I graduated in 1971 and in those days, high school was strictly 10th, 11th, and 12th grade. The school was pretty big, both population and size wise. There were some innovative thinkers within the faculty, school board and others who had a vote.
There were several elective classes available; some of which included attending pop concerts, art shows, theater productions, and even architectural walks ... all during school hours. That was really cool.
In those days the pop concerts weren’t costly at all ... and they were also rather innocuous. Today, of course, the admittance costs are expensive and attendees must ignore smoking, drugs and alcohol activities. Not so back then.
I attended concerts by the Beach Boys, Sonny and Cher, Blood, Sweat and Tears, the Doors, and a myriad of others. Tickets were reasonable and a critique of the concert earned me an ‘A’. Those were the days.
We would take walking tours of the historical areas of Norfolk, VA ... taking notes on the architecture, and again writing a critique on what we observed. I learned more about architecture through those walking tours than through any other class in high school or college.
There were some wonderful theatrical performances we attended. The College of William and Mary in Williamsburg, VA had a very talented group and showed us a wide range of performances ... even some very funny improvisations.
Yes indeedy. That high school had a set of philosophies that were before it’s time.
There was one other thing that was introduced during the beginning of my senior year that changed the way I perceived my last year in high school. Even back then students had IDs ... but that year the administration went just a little bit further.
Only seniors were given the opportunity to show some responsibility, some wisdom, some maturity. A Senior Card was introduced that allowed seniors to come and go from campus requiring only the presentation of their card and their signature.
This was the first time anything like that had been tried there, and I am sure the administration truly believed the seniors would be responsible and mature in the using of their card.
The problem was, there was no system to hold seniors accountable. We drove to school, we drove away from school. We could arrive and leave whenever we chose.
As you have probably guessed, and based on my previous behaviors, I was a senior who was not prepared for that freedom. Along with many others, I came and went as I pleased. Some weeks I only attended on Fridays. That was when I made up big tests and even turned in some work ... just enough to stay on the graduation roles. Yes, I did graduate ... tho probably not in the top ten per-cent of my class.
Can you imagine students having those freedoms today? We did not handle that responsibility well then -- and, we didn’t have the drugs and violence to deal with that today’s students must cope with. I can only speculate on the trouble that today’s students would tangle with.
I am sure there would be some students who would appreciate the freedoms that went along with a Senior Card such as we had. Those who had jobs, doctor appointments, or family emergencies would only have to show their Card, and no questions would be asked.
Just as I am sure there are those who would use it appropriately, I am equally sure there would be students who would view the Senior Card as their ticket to party.
Even though it’s been 31 years since my experience, today’s students are not that much different. Temptations abound today just as they did back then. If they can’t say no after school hours, there would be nothing to encourage them to say no during school hours.
Back then the Senior Card was a ticket to trouble, and it would be the same today. Teenagers need some freedoms ... they have to learn how to monitor their behaviors, how to say no to things that are difficult for them, but giving them a carte blanche pass out the door would not teach them life skills. Those lessons are best learned with a safety net.
Copyright, Debby Willett, All Rights, 2009-2010
Showing posts with label high school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label high school. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Karma & High School ...
Do you ever wonder if your bad deeds come back to haunt you? Now I’m not talking about things that you really never want anyone to know about. Rather, I’m talking about things you did that were just plain stupid and teenagery and supposedly had no real consequences.
I bring this up because I substitute part-time in the Amarillo school district. Most of the time the students are terrific and the problems that I do have with a few students have more to do with disrespect and uncooperation rather than anger or aggression.
Every once in awhile I get a kid who tries everything s/he can do to push my buttons, and while I manage to keep my pushed buttons to myself, sometimes I just can’t help it. Sometimes my choice is to get a little loud (I know, who’d have thought), and let myself be understood a couple of decibels higher than I intended.
It is then that I wonder about my past deeds and if I am reaping the harvest that I sowed when I was in high school. Back when I was a teenager, the biggest problem we had was smoking in the rest rooms or behind the school. Drugs were almost nonexistent. Teenage pregnancy was a condition that was quickly sent away, and school violence just didn’t happen.
So what was it I could have done back then that could possibly be coming back to haunt me now? Well, as I tell you a little about that, keep in mind that it was 30+ years ago, and I’ve grown up just a little bit since then.
Her name was Mrs. Hall and she was overdue for retirement. Her hearing was bad, her eyes were covered with thick lenses, her support hose sagged around her knees, and her short brown hair was curled just a wee bit too tight. Probably, she would have been a great grandma, but she was our literature teacher, and her favorite author was Shakespeare.
As so many classes today do, our lit class was divided by lunch, and the door to the classroom was locked to presumably keep our items safe. There was a window about a foot each way that sat just about nose level for most of her students. That becomes important later on.
It was during lunch that my class would conspire and develop the plans for the second half of lit class and poor Mrs. Hall. Spools of thread would be brought from home ec; green peas and tomatoes or ketchup packets would make their way from the cafeteria, and gum was the starting ingredient.
Remember the window that was nose level? That became very handy for the janitors because their arms could sometimes reach through the hole in the door when the window was removed, and ... if they were lucky ... they could unlock the door from the inside. You see, the gum was chewed, and mixed with just a little bit of paper, and the key hole was deftly filled with the substance. Poor Mrs. Hall would try to unlock the door only to find the key couldn’t get through the gum and paper combination.
The janitors would then be called and they would either have to remove the window from the door or take the door off it’s hinges. I cannot begin to tell you how funny we thought that was. And of course, we always managed to cut about 20+ minutes from class by our antic. It did no good for the principal to threaten us. Detention wasn’t so popular then, and AEP had not been thought of. Sure, we’d back off for a few days and then return to the torment of this poor woman.
While I do not in any way shape or form think Mrs. Hall was in any way responsible for our bad behavior, she fanned the fires of our delight by telling us about her friends ... her little friends ... her little green friends. These were not friends that anyone else saw, but were friendly little green people from Mars who inhabited her classroom.
That was the purpose of the peas. As she railed at us for jamming the door lock, we would spread the peas on the floor and pretend to step on her little green friends. I don’t know if she ever figured out the green gunk was just peas. I do remember how upset she used to get when she thought her friends had been hurt.
The thread from home ec was wound around the legs of the chairs and desks, forcing us to pick our feet up high to walk down a row. Because her eyes were so bad, she couldn’t see the thread. The howling of laughter as students sometimes tripped and fell was lost on her. We, however, were entertained.
We emptied the ketchup packets and smashed the tomatoes on the walls, telling her the walls were bleeding. From little green men to bleeding walls, we tormented that poor woman with every conceivable trick.
Poor Mrs. Hall didn’t even finish the first semester, but took an early retirement and relocated to a rest home. I never knew what became of her.
We were bad. No, we were very bad, and we should have gotten into some really big trouble. I’m confident that if students tried these same things today there would be no patience and no discussion regarding punishment. And that is as it should be. Times were different then, but bad behavior is bad behavior.
Mrs. Hall, if you’re out there somewhere, somehow, please know how sorry I am for all those days of jammed key holes, all those smashed little green peas, and all those tomatoes and ketchup packets smeared on the walls. Please accept my apology ... and please, have a talk with the students I will be facing tomorrow. As attractive as an early retirement might be to me, I don’t think any rest home would let me bring my son.
Copyright, Debby Willett, All Rights, 2009-2010
I bring this up because I substitute part-time in the Amarillo school district. Most of the time the students are terrific and the problems that I do have with a few students have more to do with disrespect and uncooperation rather than anger or aggression.
Every once in awhile I get a kid who tries everything s/he can do to push my buttons, and while I manage to keep my pushed buttons to myself, sometimes I just can’t help it. Sometimes my choice is to get a little loud (I know, who’d have thought), and let myself be understood a couple of decibels higher than I intended.
It is then that I wonder about my past deeds and if I am reaping the harvest that I sowed when I was in high school. Back when I was a teenager, the biggest problem we had was smoking in the rest rooms or behind the school. Drugs were almost nonexistent. Teenage pregnancy was a condition that was quickly sent away, and school violence just didn’t happen.
So what was it I could have done back then that could possibly be coming back to haunt me now? Well, as I tell you a little about that, keep in mind that it was 30+ years ago, and I’ve grown up just a little bit since then.
Her name was Mrs. Hall and she was overdue for retirement. Her hearing was bad, her eyes were covered with thick lenses, her support hose sagged around her knees, and her short brown hair was curled just a wee bit too tight. Probably, she would have been a great grandma, but she was our literature teacher, and her favorite author was Shakespeare.
As so many classes today do, our lit class was divided by lunch, and the door to the classroom was locked to presumably keep our items safe. There was a window about a foot each way that sat just about nose level for most of her students. That becomes important later on.
It was during lunch that my class would conspire and develop the plans for the second half of lit class and poor Mrs. Hall. Spools of thread would be brought from home ec; green peas and tomatoes or ketchup packets would make their way from the cafeteria, and gum was the starting ingredient.
Remember the window that was nose level? That became very handy for the janitors because their arms could sometimes reach through the hole in the door when the window was removed, and ... if they were lucky ... they could unlock the door from the inside. You see, the gum was chewed, and mixed with just a little bit of paper, and the key hole was deftly filled with the substance. Poor Mrs. Hall would try to unlock the door only to find the key couldn’t get through the gum and paper combination.
The janitors would then be called and they would either have to remove the window from the door or take the door off it’s hinges. I cannot begin to tell you how funny we thought that was. And of course, we always managed to cut about 20+ minutes from class by our antic. It did no good for the principal to threaten us. Detention wasn’t so popular then, and AEP had not been thought of. Sure, we’d back off for a few days and then return to the torment of this poor woman.
While I do not in any way shape or form think Mrs. Hall was in any way responsible for our bad behavior, she fanned the fires of our delight by telling us about her friends ... her little friends ... her little green friends. These were not friends that anyone else saw, but were friendly little green people from Mars who inhabited her classroom.
That was the purpose of the peas. As she railed at us for jamming the door lock, we would spread the peas on the floor and pretend to step on her little green friends. I don’t know if she ever figured out the green gunk was just peas. I do remember how upset she used to get when she thought her friends had been hurt.
The thread from home ec was wound around the legs of the chairs and desks, forcing us to pick our feet up high to walk down a row. Because her eyes were so bad, she couldn’t see the thread. The howling of laughter as students sometimes tripped and fell was lost on her. We, however, were entertained.
We emptied the ketchup packets and smashed the tomatoes on the walls, telling her the walls were bleeding. From little green men to bleeding walls, we tormented that poor woman with every conceivable trick.
Poor Mrs. Hall didn’t even finish the first semester, but took an early retirement and relocated to a rest home. I never knew what became of her.
We were bad. No, we were very bad, and we should have gotten into some really big trouble. I’m confident that if students tried these same things today there would be no patience and no discussion regarding punishment. And that is as it should be. Times were different then, but bad behavior is bad behavior.
Mrs. Hall, if you’re out there somewhere, somehow, please know how sorry I am for all those days of jammed key holes, all those smashed little green peas, and all those tomatoes and ketchup packets smeared on the walls. Please accept my apology ... and please, have a talk with the students I will be facing tomorrow. As attractive as an early retirement might be to me, I don’t think any rest home would let me bring my son.
Copyright, Debby Willett, All Rights, 2009-2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
