Hella Good

Antonio Martinez was always a frustrating case. Exceptionally proud and defiant, Antonio spent much of the school-year in ISS or OSS because he consistently refused to accept orders. He comports himself like a quiet thug who doesn't know or care about anything school-related. I personally wrote him up a few times for arguments that started over little things like asking him to move to a different seat. ("Fuck off!" was his counter-point to my logic.)

So when he got an 85 percent on the state assessment, everyone was mildly shocked--a bit by the high score, but more by the fact that he sat down and actually cared about a test on three separate days. What does this mean? Well, he's clearly bright enough to succeed, he simply chooses not to.

On the penultimate day of the school-year, I almost wrote him up for being a jerk. (This would have accomplished nothing--trust me.) He was borderline and needed to pass the final exam to pass the class for the year. The following day, after he finished his final, I graded it in class. He came up to my desk to see his grade on SchoolLoop.

Antonio: "So did I pass?"

Me, sighing ominously: "Let me check." Knowing that he did in fact pass, I do my usual "Uh oh, bad news" routine. "After the final, this is what I have you down for." It was an 81% B.

Antonio: "I got a 'B'?

Me: "Yes."

Antonio, shocked, quiet, and smiling: "Damn...that's hella good."

Me: "That IS hella good. Great work."


So we enjoyed one good moment in a year of pain. I'll take it.

The Saga begins

I have been remiss in failing to mention SchoolLoop, a veritable treasure trove of anecdotes.

According to their site, "School Loop is an integrated communication service for all members of the school community." I think of it more as an officially-sanctioned facebook; everyone--teachers, students, and parents--has a profile. Everyone can communicate with each other via "LoopMail," SchoolLoop's version of email. SchoolLoop is also the primary gradebook tool; at all times, students can access every score they want or need. They can also seek makeup work and turn in assignments digitally.

Here's the best part: teachers can set up groups that allow students to respond to discussion topics on a message board. In my class, this allows kids an opportunity to voice their unique perspectives on life and literature. Behold the following, in response to my question, "How does Fahrenheit 451 relate to your life?"


Ben Gorman: "it aint do nutin 4 me....u feo me..book weak/class weak erythang bout vonn iz weak..lol.....an i kno ery1 feo me on dat."

Murray Benson: "I burn books sometimes."

Cynthia Rodriguez: "it doesn't."

Morgan Stevens: "Cynthia you are a retard. Just kidding."


I burn books sometimes. Classic.

iPoint

Last year, our school district shelled out a few million dollars to purchase and subsequently check out a MacBook laptop to every high school student. (If you're curious where the money came from, join the club. We don't have enough textbooks, let alone good literature; one colleague was astounded to discover our library didn't have a single copy of Hamlet. Hamlet!)

In any event, these laptops provided students with new and sophisticated ways of checking email, pirating movies, filming gang signs and fights, and listening to music. Give any teenager a $1200 piece of equipment for a year--'round the clock, not just at school--and one might logically assume they'd screw around with it at some point. And one would be right in this case.

But enough of that, I'm done griping about laptops. Let's talk about the upsides. For instance, you really haven't lived until you've seen Darian Smith sauntering down the hallway, laptop open and held on his shoulder as one would hold a boombox, iTunes blaring.


"All right Mr. Vonn!"

Sing for Absolution

I generally hate making fun of someone who mispronounces a word. After all, there are surely countless terms that I would mispronounce, given the chance; all this really indicates is that one has never encountered the phrase before. There's nothing wrong with that. I make a point of consistently telling my students that there is absolutely nothing bad about pronouncing a word incorrectly.

Then again, though, you really have to reconsider your stance when the mispronunciation is intentional, and proudly so. So for Kaneisha Walker I'll make an exception and share an anecdote.


Me: "OK, Kaneisha, do you want to share what evidence you found?"

Kaneisha, loudly: "Puh...PAL in-dul-GENCE...es..."

Me: "...What?"

Kaneisha: "Puh-PAL in-dul-GENCE-es."

Me: "Say again? I'm sorry, I missed that."

Kaneisha: "Puh-PAL! In-dul-GENCE!-es. It says it right here." She points and I read.

Me: "Oh, OK, OK, good, 'papal indulgences,' good example, yes..."

Kaneisha: "Oh." She laughs.

Me: "It's cool, it's a tough phrase."


By this point everyone was laughing, but then that was Kaneisha's goal. She knew damn well she couldn't pronounce the phrase, but that didn't prevent her from attacking it with the same gusto Don Quixote had for the windmill. Here's the kicker: somehow in the end I look foolish for knowing (caring?) how to pronounce 'papal indulgences.' The students were laughing at me.

Incidentally...

Here's my impression of every time I try a new seating chart that has Troy within a five-mile radius of Tierra.


Troy: [inaudible comment]

Tierra: "Shut yo' bitch-ass up!"

One word, rhymes with 'joint'

In homeroom on Fridays, we'll occasionally play games as a treat. We played charades once, and I was surprised how excited everybody got. We chose movies as our subject area. Tierra was especially eager to go, but once she got in front of the class, she buckled under the pressure and forgot whatever she had planned to mime. And people grew restless.

Troy: "Come on!"

Tierra: "Shut up!" She begins to act out her chosen movie, but her clues are puzzling.

Troy: "Point!"

Tierra: "Y'all shut up!" She acts some more, and the routine becomes even more confusing. She's drowning up there. Troy goes in for the kill.

Troy: "Point-POINT!"


That's right, a double-point. Game, set, match.

I like Chinese

One day the English department head came into one of my classes with special news: the principal wanted to celebrate our gains on the state assessment, and so had decided to invite all the English teachers out for dinner.


Dale: "Ooh, ooh, Mr. Vonn! Are you going to a Chinese restaurant? You should! Go to a Chinese restaurant and bring us back some of them crab ragooooooooos."

STUDENTS ERUPT WITH LAUGHTER

Dale: "What?"

Kaneisha: "Say it again! Say it again!"

Dale: "What? Crab ragooos?"

Kaneisha: "Look at his lips when he says it! Ra-goooos."

Dale: "Shut up!"


I remember this event exactly, and I have absolutely no recollection what we were reading that day.

Toodle Pip

"All right, Mr. Vonn."

A terse quote that is one of my very favorites; to be sure, I hear this greeting from countless students numerous times a day. What I love about it most is its indisputable Britishness. Here I am, in an urban American high school, and I get to imagine I have scores of Artful Dodgers clogging the hallways.


"All right, Mr. Vonn."

"Righto mate, Bob's your uncle, Becky's your aunt, and is that an iPod I see in your skyrocket? Give over, you little scamp."

Point-Counterpoint

Matt Smith has a way with words, but so does Thomas Henry. I'm convinced that Thomas could legitimately do stand-up comedy and succeed; in other words, he's not just funny to his peers. Anyway, whenever these two battle, it's fun to sit back and watch.

(To grasp what follows, it must be noted that Thomas is a rather portly fellow. I'm no psychiatrist, but I'd be baffled if a learned analyst didn't agree that Thomas uses humor as a defense mechanism. Matt, conversely, is tall and lanky.)



Thomas: "Hahaha--point." [This is common tact; fake a laugh and then sucker-punch your opponent with a well-placed 'point.' Ingenious, I must admit.]

Matt: "All right, Uncle Phil."

LAUGHTER AND 'OOH'S' FROM THE CROWD

Thomas: "All right, Jazz."

Individual Assured Destruction

Few students are downright mean. Though many relish confrontation, more often than not they will wait for the teacher to make the first move. If you're steadfast and fully in control of your emotions, you're often able to avoid catastrophes before they even start.

Then there's George Parson. He's just a nutcase.

This was on day 1:


Student [Carrie]: "But why did you want to teach?"

Me: "I've always wanted to teach. I love kids, I love English. I am psyched!"

George: "Oh don't worry. We will break you."


I'm not a history teacher, but I think Nikita Khrushchev said something like that.

More Matt Smith on race relations

At some point you have to consider race--the kids do, and it's foolish to pretend that social constructions don't exist. Though race and racism are continual hot button issues at our school, I'd say the students self-segregate about as often, or slightly less often, than the rest of America. That said, as a general rule, black students tend to hang out with black students, whites hang out with whites, Hispanics with Hispanics, and so forth. Just like, I'd wager, everywhere else. (For the record, the student body is roughly 70% African-American and 20% white. The remaining 10% is predominantly Hispanic and Asian.)

I suppose it'd be easy to become bitter about the whole state of affairs, but more than anything I'm encouraged. Maybe I'm an optimist, but I find myself focusing on the students crossing racial lines, not those still trying to draw them.

Or maybe it's just that I have devout hero worship for Matt Smith, and do hereby nominate him for president of the universe.

So I've passed out a practice quiz and allowed students to choose their partners and work together. Matt (as mentioned previously, a black student) immediately latches on to Grace Wilson, a shy but intelligent white student.


Matt: "Hey Grace, come on over here and let's do this together."

Grace: "All right Matt."

[They work unnoticed by their peers for a good 5-10 minutes. And when I say "work," I mean Actually Accomplishing Something, unlike everyone else. Then Ramesha notices Matt working with Grace.]

Ramesha: "Hey Matt, what you doin'?"

Matt: "I'm gettin' my work done!"

Ramesha: "Come work with me."

Matt: "I'm cool."

Ramesha: "Why don't you wanna work with me? Is it because I'm black?"

Matt: "Um... yeh-h-h, it might be because you're black."

Darian waxes historical

Even for Darian, this one defied explanation.

The scene: in between classes, I am setting up a PowerPoint presentation on the overhead. Darian walks up to me, grabs my arm, and gently shakes it.


Darian: "You need to put some meat on them bones. You skinny, like those people in the Holocaust."

Me: "Um, no, actually I think they were a lot, A LOT skinnier than me. I'm not even that skinny, Darian."

Darian, walking to his seat: "A pound of food a week--whoo! That'll make you skinny."


Apparently he had been studying the Holocaust in World History. Or maybe he is actually a professor...

I have a dream

Matt Smith is African-American. Ethan Kham is Asian-American.


Matt: "Hey Chinaman, you wanna come here and work with me on this?"

Ethan: "OK, Zulu Man."


"Chinaman"? I think I've figured it out; Matt Smith talks like he's prematurely old, like he's a 70-year-old man trapped inside a 17-year-old's body. You feel yourself wanting to forgive his awkward parlance, the way you would an elderly person. And hey, Ethan wasn't offended, and neither was Matt--both laughed. Perhaps we are progressing as a society?

Aw bet!

Picture Book

Like I said, on the last day of school we took lots of pictures in homeroom. To lighten the mood (i.e., to try desperately to be funny at least once), I jumped into the background of Tierra and Alexis's picture.

Tierra: "Aw Mr. Vonn tryin' to be childish!"

As a colleague pointed out, I love the word "try" here--as if it's impossible for me to be childish.

Point!

Jerk

Kids can be so cruel. So cruel, in fact, that they bring out the worst in adults. Case in point:

Dan Webster is a natural comedian, revered for his acid tongue and his adept way with words. (He is also a 17-year-old freshman, but that's beside the point, apparently.) One day he was teasing a girl for her weight problem. Rather than simply writing him up, I got angry--you know, like you're not supposed to--and instead tried to destroy him.


Me: "You're not funny, Dan."

Dan: "Haha--point."

Me: "No, I'm not talking about your behavior, I am saying that what you are saying is not funny. It's just stupid, not intelligent, cheap humor."

Dan: "Then how come he's laughing at it?" Dan points to another student, Thomas Henry.

Me: "Yeah. He's a 10th grader. Good work."


I try not to be mean. But on the other hand, screw it.

Matt Smith on Darian Smith

Me: "Hey, Matt, I think I have your brother in my homeroom... Darian, right?"

Matt: "Yeh-h-h, he my brother." ::shakes head:: "He stupid."

I laugh.

Me: "Come on, you don't mean that, I like Darian."

Matt: "I like him too, but he stupid. Got the biggest head you ever seen."


It didn't occur to me until then, but now I can't help noticing the Macy's Day Parade that is Darian's head, every time I see him.

Why this book so borin'?

The book in question here is Fahrenheit 451. You also need to know that Howard Stanwick is a senior in a class full of sophomores. Woe be unto him.

Mandy: "Why do we have to read this book?"

Katie: "Yeah! This book sucks! No one wants to read this!"

Howard, angry, stands up and proclaims: "Hey, don't include me with y'all! I love this book!"

To be fair he has read it a couple times, but still--well played, sir. If I had a cap I'd doff it.

Know-It-All

In one class I had a fairly intelligent kid (Arnold Maine) who relished playing the role of Know-It-All. He would not only try to answer every question, he'd try to challenge every answer I had--and the other kids hated him for it.

Unfortunately, there was one kink in his design; for whatever reason, Arnold was not a very good reader. I remember the first time he read in class:


Arnold, slowly and with difficulty: "Bring me all of your dreams, / You dream-er, / Bring me all your / Heart mel...mel-oh-dees..."

Student [Jim Stanley], loudly: "I thought you was smart!"

Kids can be so cruel.

Matt Smith, Part Deux

This was last September. Classic.


Matt: "Yo Mr. Vonn, come on over here and help me out with this."

Me: "OK Matt, what's up?"

Matt: "I don't understand this, I need some help on #2."

MR. VONN READS OVER MATT'S WORK ON QUESTION #2

Me: "Matt, this is good. See, you got this."

Matt: "It's good?"

Me: "Yes, exactly right. Good work."

Matt: "Yeh-h-h-h, Matt Smith is smart, Matt Smith is a lot smarter than Matt Smith thought he was!"

All the Young Dudes

OK, so I am relatively young for a teacher (24). That said, I'd like to believe I look like an adult, and thereby a disciplinarian. Wrong.

One day, I was rushing down the hallway to get to class on time. I was wearing a polo shirt--given, it was un-tucked--and khaki pants. I passed Stephen Keplar.


Stephen: "You a teacher?!"

Me: "Yes."

Stephen, expressing disbelief to a friend: "He a teacher! I thought that nigga was a student!"


Oy.

Bet!, or, The Chronicles of Matt Smith, Part I

Like "point!," I feel that "bet!" must be explained. To offer a loose translation, "bet" roughly means "you bet!" or "hell yeah!" or "sweet!" (Incidentally, don't say that last one in front my students unless you want to be sharply mocked; it's beyond passé.) Also like "point," "bet" has firmly lodged itself in my everyday lexicon.

My wife: "I'm going to make chicken curry for dinner."

Me: "Aw bet! I love chicken curry!"

...

Me: "Bet! Diet Coke 12-packs, two-for-five!"


I wouldn't say "bet!" is on the wane, but it is certainly not as prominent as other expressions. Certain students, though--a steadfast bunch of vernacular warriors--do keep the word alive in all its glory. Hence the introduction of Matt Smith, Protector and Custodian of Bet.

I feel remiss that I've not mentioned Matt yet. Matt is Darian Smith's older brother (by one year), and like Darian, he is one of my favorite students. Also like Darian, he is hands-down the owner of some of the best lines ever uttered by my students anyone in my presence. (In retrospect, I really need to meet the parents/guardians responsible for these two gentlemen.)

According to a colleague, Matt is a reformed troublemaker. He ran into problems earlier in his academic career and was sent to the local alternative school (the place for "bad kids"). He's back here now, and talkative as ever--but friendly, hilarious, and devoted to listening to orders and completing his work. Here's an honest-to-God example:


Matt: "What are we going to do after lunch, Mr. Vonn?"

Me: "We're going to do a graphic organizer, Matt."

Matt, in earnest: "Aw BET! I LOVE graphic organizers!"


Let me clarify: no student in America, and quite possibly no teacher either, loves graphic organizers. Except Matt Smith.

Bet!

Speaking of history

The first unit we did focused on the Harlem Renaissance.


Me: "These writers are writing in the 1920s and 1930s. When did slavery end?"

CAVALCADE OF ANSWERS, FEW DISCERNIBLE BUT NONE CORRECT

Me: "Stop, stop! OK, Amelia, what year do you say?"

Amelia: "Hm... Nineteen--"

Me: "STOP!"


The closest anyone got was 1840.

The Great War

Another of my favorites, Jay Johnson, owns one of the smartest--and most random--references any of my students has ever said. During state assessments, we read Hemingway's "The End of Something," one of the Nick Adams stories that features a disillusioned protagonist recently returned from World War I.

Me: "OK, Nick Adams was in the Great War. Does anyone know which war that was?"

SILENCE

Me: "Anyone?"

Student: "World War II."

Me: "Close, it was actually World War I. They called it the "Great War" because they couldn't number it 'one'--there was no second world war yet."

SILENCE, BLANK FACES

Me: "...You guys know about World War I, right?"

Jay, nodding head in earnest but quiet agreement: "Right, right, World War I. Germans. The Lusitania and all that."


Stop. THE WHAT? The Lusi-freaking-tania? I'm trying to get kids to stay awake through what I now know to be one of Hemingway's more boring stories (read: no one has sex, gets killed, or contracts venereal disease) and Jay is referencing the attack on the Lusitania?!

In moments like these, it's probably best to play it cool; acknowledge and commend the student's excellent response, but don't go overboard lest they become overconfident. Here's my take on that:


Me: "Jay, did you just say the Lusitania? Dear Lord! I'm going to make up a quiz grade for "Brilliant References" and pass you on it for that."


I'd say I pretty much nailed the proper response, how about you?

Gimme a head with hair

I have long hair. I am also white; these two facts have led my students to draw some pretty ludicrous comparisons. To wit, I have been called: Jim Carrey, Tom Brady, Prince Charming (specifically, the one from Shrek), and Jeff Daniels (thus completing the Dumb & Dumber duo), among others. But my favorite comparison, hands down, comes from D'Andre James.


D'Andre: "Hey, you look like that guy... from Scooby Doo."

Me: "Oh, Shaggy?"

D'Andre: "No, the other guy."

Me: "Um... Shaggy is the one with the long hair."

D'Andre: "No, the other Scooby Doo guy."

Me: "Fred? The leader?"

D'Andre: "YEAH! Fred!"


"Fred" did not stick. However, "Scooby Doo Man" has. This is how our meetings usually go now:

Me: "How's it goin', Dre?"

D'Andre: "What's up, Scooby Doo Man?"

Figurative Language

Jim Angley had been bothering the bejesus out of me all class--constant talking, refusal to do work, stupid sarcastic comments, the usual.


Jim: "What, why are you standing there?"

Me: "I've handed you your work and you need to do it."

Jim: "All right, I will, I will."

I continue to stand there.

Jim: "What?! Aw come on man, you been ridin' my nuts all class!"

Me: "Jim!"

Jim: "What? Oh. Not literally riding my nuts, it's a metaphor."

[Was it wrong to be proud at this moment? Jim here correctly used and identified a metaphor. In any event, here was my sincerely adult, stern response.]

Me: "AHA! AHA! You know what a metaphor is! Haha!"

Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner

Walking down the hallway during passing period, I see my student Gill making out with his girlfriend. In the middle of the hallway. In the midst of steady student traffic. So I do the sensible thing: I smack his backpack.


Me: "Hey, knock it off."

Gill: "Hey, kiss my ass!"


Ah, young love.

Scandalous

Reading Fahrenheit 451 before class, I happened upon a particularly ironic moment that I wanted to bring up with my students. I made a note of it in the text and stopped class when we got to the part.


Me: "Stop right there. Let's re-read those last lines again...

'And he [Montag] remembered thinking then that if she [Mildred] died, he was certain he wouldn't cry. For it would be the dying of an unknown, a street face, a newspaper image, and it was suddenly so very wrong that he had begun to cry, not at death but at the thought of not crying at death, a silly empty man near a silly empty woman, while the hungry snake made her still more empty.'

So why does Montag cry? Stephanie?"

Stephanie: "Um...because he's sad that his wife almost died."

Me: "But he says that he wouldn't have cried if she died. And then he ends up crying--why?"

SILENCE

ME: "So Montag loves his wife completely and is completely happy with their relationship, right?"

Ramesha, angry: "No, Montag wasn't going to cry if his wife died, that's scandalous."


It's student observations like these that make me truly content as an educator. Montag not crying at his own wife's death--that DO be scandalous. Hecka scandalous, even. Point Montag!

Good question

"Why this class so borin'?"

Repeat. Ad infinitum.

Cogito ergo sum

Overheard in Ms. Williams' classroom.


Ms. Williams: "Frank, it's freezing out today, why didn't you wear a jacket?"

Frank: "I forgot."

Ms. Williams [in jest]: "See, Frank, you need to think before you do things."

Frank: "Aw Miss Williams, I don't be thinkin'!"


Truer words...

Mug

I suppose it would help to define "mug" for anyone unfamiliar with the slang term, as now I've used it a few times (see previous post). I turn once again to www.urbandictionary.com. As they say in Old School, "Earmuffs!"


"mug, noun

1. Slang or euphemism for 'motherfucker.' Example: 'Man, I am drunker than a mug!'

2. A nonexistent object against which the qualities of another can be compared and elevated. Examples: 'These fries are cheesier than a mug.' 'This dude's crazier than a mug.'"


You know, "mug," as in, "Urban Dictionary is resourceful as a mug!"

OK, carry on.

The Simpsons

I showed an episode of The Simpsons to teach plot elements. In one scene, Patty and Selma are smoking by a newborn baby.


Student [George Gonzalez]: "Man they is cheefin' like a mug!"


I hope someday to become fluent.

Scrabble

I can pinpoint the first time I had a real So-This-Is-What-I'm-Up-Against Moment.

Last September, at the end of one school day, there was an all-student dance during 7th period. To go to the dance, students had to pay $1.00--a seemingly nominal fee that is anything but for kids below the poverty line. Thus, I had five kids who stuck around and hung out with Mr. Vonn during the dance. Teaching a lesson to 20% of the class would have been foolhardy, so instead I broke out the Scrabble board.


SCENE: Mr. Vonn helps Chris Willard with a makeup quiz while four other students play Scrabble on the other side of the classroom.

Student [Jose Rosa]: "Mr. Vonn! Mr. Vonn! What are those things... those round things... like, balls, balls in the sky?"

Me: "Um..."

Jose: "You, know, balls... in the sky?"

Me: "Um... planets?"

Jose: "Yeah! Planets!"


Despite my intergalactic aid, Jose did not win.