Standing Up For Myself in the Classroom from Hell

Thursday, May 14, 1992. I found the best job ever: to teach English at a local college. I know it will be much easier to teach adults. I taught one day at a high school, as a favor to a friend, and the students were horrible, throwing things, running around, yelling, calling me names.

Friday, May 15. I met earlier with the college administrator, a cute and thoughtful guy. So now I have about two weeks to plan and develop the coursework before I show up to teach class and actually start getting paid. I have so many interesting exercises and assignments planned. I know writing inside and out, so I can teach many important insights.

Monday, June 2. On my first day of teaching, I talked to my students about why it’s important to develop their writing. For example, good writing helps you get a job AND better grades. I asked them to raise their hands if they hate English. More than half the classroom raised their hand.

Wednesday, June 4. Every time I turn my back to write on the whiteboard, someone makes a weird hooting sound, and the classroom laughs. Of course, no one will admit to it. I suspect it’s the short red-haired kid (Napoleon complex?), but have no proof. Come to think of it, they are actually still kids. I’m disappointed. I mean, come on, why be rude to someone who wants to help you learn? It’s not like high school, where you’re required to attend.

Sunday, June 8. I wonder if the few really smart students never speak up because they’d get harassed by the bad students.

Monday, June 9. I told the students that they get points for contributing to the class. So now they’ve been raising their hands.

Wednesday, June 11. I keep telling them to stop talking, to no avail. However, I regretted reprimanding one kid with dreadlocks who’s always on his phone, with his very quiet voice. He’s seems to be selling pot on the phone and isn’t actually hurting anyone. He’s just trying to make a living.

Monday, June 16. The pot dealer didn’t show up today. I wish instead some of the other students wouldn’t show up. Some of the less kind students have a sixth sense on how to manipulate and hurt my feelings. I have to try better to hide my feelings, which is hard for someone like me. I don’t hate them, but I wonder if I might hate them by the end of the semester.

Wednesday, June 18. When I turned to write on the board, someone yelled out, “I don’t respect you”. Maybe they’re right since I can’t keep them in line. And it must be frustrating for the good students who just want to learn. I thought I wouldn’t have problems with adults, but, unfortunately, many 18-year-old freshmen are disruptive. For them, maybe because it’s a confusing, stressful time of life? It’s easy for them to target their hatred on people that aren’t like them—older people and any authority figure they dimly blame for their sucky life or whatever weird notions they haven’t really thought through. For an “authority figure”, I’m not very authoritative. Truthfully, I’m a pushover, so I’m an easy target. If only they could see inside of my mind, they’d know how much I want to help them learn to write well, get good grades leading to a great career.

Monday, June 23. Someone stole my watch that I keep on the desk to keep track of time. It belonged to my mother, who passed away a few years back. I’m beginning to hate some of them.

Wednesday, June 25. I can’t ever turn my back on them so, instead of writing on the white board, now I use the projector for every little thing.

Monday, June 30. I feel sad that the pot dealer never came back.

Wednesday, July 2. Some of the students make faces and talk to me in a rude manner without actually saying anything rude. Trouble is, I’m too nice. They take advantage of that. Worse still, I’m not good at reading people.

Friday, Fourth of July. I can’t stop thinking about whether or not teaching is right for me. I’m really smart and love to teach, but I don’t have good people sense needed to stop the disruptions and disrespect. Mean people really do suck. Nevertheless, I need to finish teaching the semester. But how can someone like me learn how to exert authority?

Saturday, July 5. I’m trying to maintain my integrity and grade the student essays fairly. It’s hard to contain my feelings of hurt and dislike when grading the papers of some of the ringleaders.

Sunday, July 6. I read the book “My Stroke of Insight”. The author has a stroke and loses use of her left side of the brain. After the stroke, she’s surprised at feeling utter blissfulness. Later she realizes that, when she lost use of her left side of the brain, her critical voice also disappeared. Then she figures out how her critical voice had been dominating her personality, while also suppressing other nicer aspects of her personality. I bet I do have an authority figure inside of me, but my dominant self doesn’t want to rock the boat. So I need to find my authority figure!!!! I practiced being authoritative in front of a mirror.

Monday, July 7. The meanest guy in my class—Mr. Napoleon complex--wouldn’t stop talking. I gave him two warnings. The third time, I asked him to please leave the classroom and report himself to the Dean. He retorted, I don’t have to. I could barely get the words out--yes you do or do I need to call security? He left. Afterwards, I realized I was trembling. Part of me—my dominant self--was resisting every single authoritative word that I tried to push out of my mouth; it didn’t like the new me one little bit. I told my dominant self basically to go take a long walk on a short pier, except I used four-letter words.

Wednesday, July 9. Today I asked another student to report to the Dean. This time the student didn’t talk back to me. And I wasn’t trembling, although I still felt like I was fighting for control of myself, for the right to exert authority.

Monday, July 14. This classroom control is getting easier. I might be overdoing it, throwing them out of my classroom right and left. But the good students seem a lot more relaxed and happy.

Wednesday, July 16. Although I have classroom control, many students are still belligerent and seem to want to take their hatred out on me. Plus after I sat down and figured in all the time I spend on class prep and grading, I’m making about $8 per hour. After the semester is over, I’m going back to my corporate job where I don’t have work hanging over my head 24/7 and a bunch of 18-year-olds targeting their hatred onto me. Every time I head for the classroom, my heart hurts and I fear what new hatred is in store for me. I know that some people say they love teaching, so I know that I’m just overly sensitive. But I don’t know how to fix that. Everyone is different.

Thursday, July 17, 7:23 a.m. I’ve sent out three resumes so far this morning. I feel happy and lighter at the thought of not having to teach any more. It feels like my spirit isn’t being crushed any more. I am grateful, though, that I learned how, in the fires of hell, to speak up :)