You’re like a Vanilla Oreo Ms. Quigley

 Disclaimer: this blog post is a fond and funny teacher memory from my second year teaching in West Philadelphia. It comes from a school where the demographics were and are still Black American. Being a white woman, I am keenly aware of the fact that my experiences with these students for the two years that I taught gave me a sliver of insight into their reality. Just because I have some experience teaching in this dynamic does not make me an expert - it gives me some experience and just a little insight. In other words, I mean no disrespect to the community I served and taught (least of all these lively students I taught and came to love) in this post as I try to convey a fond memory.

It was the fall of 2011 and I found myself in my second year teaching in West Philadelphia. I was still new to the profession - no doubt about that - but I had a few tricks up my sleeve; I had some wisdom. The operative word being: some. In my role at the school I was an English Language Arts (ELA) teacher to all the middle school grades. I provided extra support to 6th and 7th grade students who struggled in reading and writing; and I was (for lack of better words) an honors ELA teacher to the 8th graders. Because I had the luxury of small class sizes, I waited after the first couple of weeks of school before making a seating chart. In this way, I could observe student dynamics. In other words, I watched very carefully who I should sit as far away from each other as possible - for their sake and for my sanity. It was the last day of my “trial period” and I definitely got some clarity about two of my 8th grade boys.

Fifteen 8th grade students strutted into my 3rd floor classroom with overhead notes on the screen, in the front of the room, waiting for them to copy said notes in their notebooks. Most of the students found a seat rather quickly, and without much fuss - except two outspoken boys - well call them Zucchini and Romaine-Lettuce. Zucchini snagged a desk that Romaine-Lettuce apparently had his sights on. Romaine-Lettuce approaches Zucchini’s space (puffed chest and all) and says, “Yo, you be sitting in my desk!” To which Zucchini spits back with, “I don’t see yo name on it!” To which I reply to Romaine-Lettuce: “Romaine-Lettuce, there's an open desk right next to Zucchini. Why don’t you grab that one?” I then start with my lecture, and all is well in the air….for about 5 minutes.

Cue Romaine-Lettuce...“Ms. Quigs, I can’t see the board to write down all these notes, cuz SOMEBODY (as he swerves his head towards his challenger) be in my seat.” Cue another head turn and eye roll towards Zucchini. You don’t think Zucchini was about to take that line lying down do you? Nope!
With just as much aggression in his voice Zucchini fires back, with his arms held out in good challenger fashion, “Say something else and I'm about to pop your head off!” To which I defuse the situation with my mantra for that class period: “boys, boys, boys, you’re in 8th grade, you don’t want Ms. Quigley to solve your problems for you.”

Another two minutes pass before Romaine-Lettuce instigates again, with a similar overtly passive aggressive (if that makes sense) line about not being able to see the screen. And of course, Zucchini is quick with a line that is equally as defensive and aggressive. This was a verbal showdown happening in my classroom, and my patience was thin for this kind of classroom banter. But I am a woman of chances (three to be exact) and we were at strike two at this point. So, I reply the same way: “boys, boys, boys, you’re in 8th grade, you don’t want Ms. Quigley to solve your problems for you.”

And yet, another two minutes pass and Romaine-Lettuce just can’t seem to contain himself. “Oh, Ms. Quigs I wish I could see the screen, if only SOMEBODY hadn’t taken my seat!” I almost wondered at this point if his beef was about the seat, or more about not backing down from a verbal showdown. And in the same breath, Zucchini, hallars back with another hostile line; “Say one more word, and see what happens!”

And that was strike three - and my patience was gone and done!

In a series of swift, silent and stealth motions I shocked these boys and they were rendered speechless - finally! With a stack of papers in my hand and an empty desk in front of me, I slam the stack of papers on the empty desk; this is followed by my high heel shoes click-clacking across my hardwood classroom floor, before I stop dead cold in front of Romaine-Lettuce’s desk and say with a tense whisper: “get up.”

He finches his whole body in his shock and startled reaction before saying, “whaaat?”

“I didn’t stutter Romaine, I said, get, up…”

With more hesitation then I have ever seen in him, he stood up with cautious and apprehensive eyes, (almost tremblingly) not knowing what was about to happen to him. And without a word, I slid his desk down the room before stopping directly in front of the overhead screen; and before doing the same to his chair. As I take a few steps back, I look at Romaine-Lettuce, before looking at his desk that is literally front and center, and say with arm gesture, “have a seat.”

With confused and shocked eyes of what just happened, he takes his seat - front and center, and smack dab in front of the projector screen, as he now has no issue seeing what notes to take down. Actually, he had to cock his head all the way backward to see the screen of notes a mere foot or two away from his face, and transcribe his notes in his notebook. 

“I just solved your problem for you Romaine-Lettuce- you’re welcome.”

In unison, the rest of his classmates, bury their faces in their arms in failed attempts to muffle their laughter from the sight they just witnessed. One of their biggest class clown instigators was just put in his place and silenced. My alter ego was dusting off my shoulder - certainly a proud classroom management moment for me.

Now the kicker to this moment was after the fact as the class period ended, and my students were changing classes. Three other students (neither Romaine-Lettuce or Zucchini) approach me to offer their praises to me.

With books in their hands, and raised eyebrows, they say with a sigh, “Ms. Quigs, we gotta tell ya something. We weren't sure ‘bout ya. Ya know, ya be white - no offense or nothin’ - but ya know? Anyhow, Ms. Quigley, ya got a lil ghetto in ya! Ya be like a vanilla Oreo - white on the outside, but there be a lil chocolate ghetto on ya inside!” I chucked with a grin as I corked my head to the side, “I’ll take that as a compliment- I suppose - thank you.”

And I still (to this day) take that as a compliment.

There Was a Teacher Who Swallowed a Fly

In an art classroom not too far away, 

a room full of 4th graders lay victim and prey; 

to a redheaded teacher; 

who wasn't in the mood to play.  

She grew tired of their tomfoolery as they yarn weaved, on a beautiful Tuesday.  

Turning her facade over, 

to a side that was intimidating and less than okay, 

she quieted them down 

before she could say; 

And just then as she had her lecture on play, 

a fly flew in her mouth and she went grey! 

Gagging and hacking through her throat, 

she put up quite the display! 

The children were a riot 

as they almost hollered hooray; 

as their redheaded teacher became the victim (not them), 

and saved and made their day!  

And then they recited to me: "There was an old lady who swallowed a fly, my oh my, I think she might die!" 

***insert eye roll***

“Well, excuse me kids, but I’m still well into my heyday,  

Now get back to work on your art projects okay?!” 

Timeout

I reached ten years of teaching last spring, and never did fathom I’d be in the middle of a pandemic where I couldn’t even hit up a bar and raise a toast with a room full of friends and family to memorialize the milestone. It goes without saying that these times of COVID-19 are truly historic and unlike any other pandemic in history. I can’t stress how humbling (in the worst way possible) it’s been as a teacher to navigate a virtual classroom. Instead of my school days filled with recess duty, making copies, and dealing with 10 kids at a time needing a potty break; instead my days are filled with zoom meetings, reminding kids to stay muted, blindly teaching to a shared screen as I run the risk of not gaging their understanding by sheer facial expression, and talking them through a litany of online platforms all for different uses, and begging them (sometimes threatening them) to keep track of each username, password and codes. “Ask me one more time for your username and see what happens to the marble jar kids.” Little do they know is their precious marble jar they fill to get an ice cream party, has a direct correlation to my metaphorical mental marbles. But I digress. 

Like all teachers out there I’ve been faced with a different kind of classroom and the challenge of how to manage said challenges. I don’t worry about a kid getting out of their seat without permission, or side conversations while I’m teaching. But now that unmute button has become my demise. My patience for this reached it’s boiling point back in May. We were three months in the stay at home order and it was all I could do to just push through the last month of school. 

Make no mistake, I like to think of myself as a fairly modern teacher, and I never thought I’d go “old school” and put a kid in timeout.  But you know, desperate times call for desperate measures; and I’d venture to say these COVID times are fairly desperate. Insert shoulder shrug. 

It was the afternoon zoom reading session when we were doing a read aloud of our class book we were on. Like all zoom sessions, I started with the golden rule of zoom: don’t unmute yourself unless invited or called on. Well, most kids got this golden rule: don’t unmute yourselves. Alas there’s always that one; we’ll call him Grap. Oh Grap was attention starved. And don’t get me wrong, this kid is a sweetheart through and through with a heart of gold, but he is a kid who loves attention, who was also stuck at home, while every other member of his family navigated their own zoom schedules. Poor kid, my heart went out to him - just not this day. 

So our reading time starts, and not 5 minutes in (in the midst of reading) we all hear a voice that must’ve been the twin of Mickey Mouse. Yes, image a high pitch friendly voice that just blurts out “HI EVERYONE,” just for kicks and giggles. Me: “Grap, you have to stay muted.”

Grap: (in a sweet voice) sorrrrrrrrrry

We proceed to read, and not 10 minutes later I swear we’re getting a guest appearance from The Mickey Mouse Club again with the same line. And I tell this kid again, (now with a tinge of annoyance), to stay muted when it’s not his turn to read. The sweet apology comes shortly after. “Sorrrrry.” 

He strikes again, now not 7 minutes later, and...I...was...done! Without a single word, I hit my book down on the table in front of me, I told the student who was reading to stop as I sat in front of the screen and crossed my arms complete with a glare that would cut anyone in half. My father told me I have eyes that could kill, and those dagger eyes were out.  All of a sudden this sweet Mickey impersonator went silent, and cut his video. He could feel the heat from the zoom screen and he was in the hot seat. All the while, all his counterparts knew it too, as the 10 year old OMG faces graced my zoom screen, complete with their hands over their mouths. 

“Oh no, don’t you dare hide behind a no video!  Show your face now Grap. He timidly starts his video again, as he shows half his face in the screen, proceeding with another but more sincere “sorrrrry.” 

Oh no, we’re wayyyy past sorry dude! I told you twice before this last time to stay muted while someone else is reading. So ya know what Grap? You see your bed behind you? Go sit on your bed, and read along from there. And don’t you dare get up; don’t you dare raise your hand; you will not be called on to read; and you have no questions. If I see you move from that bed; if you move from sitting criss cross applesauce; if I even hear you breath I will call your mother on the spot in front of all your friends and let her know how disruptive you’ve been and how a virtual timeout on your bed wasn’t enough to keep you quite. Do you understand me Grap? *Cue terrified face and nodding head.* “Good, now go sit in timeout.” 

Now the one thing I appreciated from this was the handful of parents who happen to hear this and get a chuckle outta my virtual classroom management skills. Oh, you can bet I love a good dust your shoulder off, teacher victory moment.