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Today, I have HAD MY FILL of being judged by people who don't know me. One of my darlings told her mom (incorrectly) that I "don't like her" and that I "pick on her." From my point of view, this means that I make her quit chattering and pay attention, and punish her when she hurts another kid's feelings by making derogatory comments. I told her that if I didn't think highly of her, I wouldn't be trying to get her grade above a D, and I wouldn't care if she were developing a rep for being cruel.Her mom wants a conference with me because I gave her a detention. Couldn't be bothered with MY conference request when her kid pulls a D in my class, but makes a federal case out of punishment that her daughter deserved, and that probably did her some good. Aargh. I've mended fences with the child, and she understands where I'm coming from. At least there's progress. As for my guestbook signer who didn't understand my use of "punk," I didn't mean "punk" as in "someone who likes punk music." I meant "punk" as in "criminal,petty gangster, ruffian, hoodlum."(Mr. Dictionary is your friend!) That's what lives in Blackbear's neighborhood. They're a pretty rude bunch of kids.You could put 'em in three piece suits and they'd still look at you like you're meat. I don't judge kids on the way they dress or what music they like. I go strictly by their actions. Some of my most sensitive, sweet, polite students are frightening to look at and listen to horrifying music, but they are great kids. What I want to know is why some folks assume that because I'm a middle-aged teacher, I must be/think/do certain things. I like music that makes some folks puke. My favorite outfit is jeans and a t-shirt, but I wear dresses to work. I read comix and cuss a lot, outside of school. I quote Shakespeare and correct grammar at school. These things are not contradictions. They are just different facets of my personality. I just don't understand why I'm expected to conform to some stupid generalized idea of what a teacher lady is supposed to be. Prejudice sucks. Let me be myself, fer cryin out loud. |
 
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Adolescent angst, part deux