Janie Slaven: THE TEACHER'S DESK: The End is Nigh
Apr. 25—Last year, my Creative Writing students gave me a gift. It was a plush, bean bag chameleon. As far as stuffed animals go, with its bulging eyes and multicolored surface, it's pretty ugly. I call him Bob and proudly sit him on my podium.
Often kids will ask if Bob can sit on their desk during class. Other times, I will look up while explaining Bradbury's explication of censorship or some other relevant concept and find one of the sillier students has placed Bob's bean bag body comfortably atop their head while they dutifully take notes.
Consequently, it is that time of year. The end grows nigh and students are a little more rambunctious. While this is common, the degree of disorderly behavior varies from year to year. Regardless, here at the end, it feels like a dash for the finish line. With state tests, graduation prep, prom, and final grades, the end of the year is more than a little overwhelming for teachers and students.
My fourth block class harbors thirty seniors, some taller than I. At times, it is my most challenging class. We are currently working on a seven-page research paper, and with the end of the year mere weeks away, it is a formidable hurdle we have to jump.
I have learned not to go to the bathroom before this class starts. I have come back to find my room in disarray and several of the boys throwing Bob like a football across the room. Indeed, he becomes a plush bullet of color in the arm of one of those former football players. Poor Bob.
Regardless, once I get them in their seats, those intrepid youth dive into their work with passion and resilience; for this essay, this seven-page monster that taunts them at the end of their senior year is an important grade, and they know it. So, somewhere in that teenage-laden mind, the adult emerges and reaches for that sense of responsibility that I think this paper teaches more than anything.
Imagine a room of thirty seniors sitting quietly, typing away, the sound of some inspirational classical music playing in the background as the clatter of computer keys marches along. Eventually, I will grade their essays, and I will be disappointed and impressed, but it is moments like these, when I see them trying, see them working diligently that I am proudest of them.
Maybe I feel this way because this challenging work is just a taste of the world they are about to enter, and I feel like they are handling it well. I feel their effort is sincere and they care about what they are doing . . . to an extent.
As I finish this editorial, I look across my empty room to find at some time in the past few classes, one of them stuck Bob in the ceiling. Yes, they moved back one of the ceiling tiles and put him in the ceiling. He's resting there now, those bulging eyes looking down at me. I will have to stand in a desk to reach him. Poor Bob.
Brian Theodore is a language arts teacher at Corbin High School and lives in Corbin with his wife, who is also a teacher at CHS. He can be contacted at Theteachersdesk.theodore@gmail.com.
