But in the classroom – or my classroom, anyway – it was like he wasn’t even here. He performed well on take-home assignments, but he never participated in discussions and he did poorly on quizzes and tests. Anything that took place in the classroom was unsuccessful.
I’d tried talking to him, but I wasn’t getting anywhere, and I was going to have to come to terms with the options I was left with to help him.
Like calling his father, which I should’ve already done but hadn’t found the guts.
I turned back to the class, refocusing my attention. “Congratulations, Mr. Matthews.” I nodded, teasing Marcus. “While your question was meant to be funny – no doubt – it did spark some interesting comments about the history of attire.”
I rounded the front of the classroom and leaned back on my desk. “Since fashion is a very popular topic, we also delved into the history of women’s fashion, and that led to a debate on feminism,” I reminded them. “Now, of course, fashion wasn’t a topic I was supposed to teach you this year.” I smiled. “But you were critically thinking and you saw how topics like these are interrelated. You were discussing, comparing, and contrasting…” I sighed, eyeing them with amusement before I continued. “And it certainly wasn’t boring to read your responses, so good job.”
The class cheered, and Marcus shouted out, “So do we get Song of the Week?” He lifted his eyebrows in expectation.
“When your team has earned fifty points,” I reiterated the rule. I rewarded them individually, but I also had a team incentive, which allowed their group to pick one song to play in class once they’d reached fifty points, if all work was turned in and they demonstrated good citizenship online and in the classroom.
I walked to the Smart Board – today’s version of a chalkboard – and picked up a stylus, tapping the board to activate it. The projector fed the image from my computer, and all of the students’ numbers appeared on the board, ready to receive their responses.
“Don’t forget” – I glanced up as I replaced the stylus – “group five is sending current-events tweets before seven p.m. this evening. Once reviewed, I will retweet them for you,” I told them, seeing Christian talking to the girl next to him out of the corner of my eye.
“You are to pick one, read and reflect, and turn in your one-page, typed assignment – twelve-point font, Times New Roman, not Courier New,” I specified, knowing their trick of using a bigger font, “and have that to me by Friday. Any questions?”
Mumbles in the negative sounded from around the room, and I nodded. “Okay, grab your responders. Pop quiz.”
“I have a question.” I heard someone speak up. “When are we going to use the textbooks?”
I looked up, seeing Christian’s eyes on me as the other students switched on their remotelike devices, which I used to record their multiple-choice answers instead of paper and pencil.
I stood up straight, inquiring, “Would you prefer to use the textbooks?”
But Marcus blurted out a response instead. “No,” he answered, turning his head to Christian. “Dude, shut up.”
Christian cocked an eyebrow, keeping cool as he ignored his classmate. “The textbooks are provided by the school. They have the curriculum we’re supposed to learn, right?” he asked almost as an accusation.
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“So why aren’t we using them?” he pressed.
I inhaled a long, slow breath, careful to keep my expression even.
Kids will challenge us, test boundaries, and throw us curveballs, I was told. Keep your cool, treat every kid like they’re your own, and never let them see you falter. Christian certainly challenged me on all those levels.
Not only was he not performing up to his potential in class, but he also challenged me on occasion. Whether it be tardiness, flippant behavior, or distracting other students, he seemed to have a penchant for disobedience.
And as much as he tried to hinder me from doing my job, the person I was outside of the classroom couldn’t help but admire him a little.
I knew from experience that misbehavior came from a need for control when you lacked it in other venues. And while I sympathized with him – and whatever he wasn’t getting at home or elsewhere – he clearly thought he could get away with it here.
“That’s a good question,” I told him, walking around my desk. “Why do you think we don’t use the textbooks?”
He laughed to himself and then pinned me with a look. “What I think is that you give me more questions when I just want answers.”
I stiffened, my smile falling as students in the room either tried to cover their laughs with their hands or stared between Christian and me wide-eyed and waiting for whatever would happen next.
Christian had a self-satisfied look on his face, and my blood heated with the challenge.
I swallowed and spoke calmly. “Everyone open up to page fifty-six.”
“Ugh.” Marcus groaned. “Nice job,” he shot over his shoulder, not looking at Christian.
Everyone dug their books out of the compartments under their desks, and the sounds of pages flipping and students grumbling filled the classroom.