I had plenty of bad days as a teacher. And most students just weren’t sympathetic. You could be an internal ball of rage because only two of your students completed the homework assignment or the students still didn’t know what they are supposed to be doing even though you had repeated the instruction five times, but you had to keep a calm, cool exterior. You had to be the role model. Being professional wasn’t the hard part, though; it was the fact that no matter how well you modeled that behavior, some kids never picked up on it.

 

In my second year of teaching, Kevin was suspended Monday and Tuesday the last week of January and returned back to school on Wednesday. He was a notorious complainer and had a tendency to get on my nerves with his declarations of “I’m not going to do this.” By January, these declarations were a daily occurrence. They were also said with enough seriousness and attitude that I didn’t feel Kevin was joking. When I threatened to send him to the principal, he would smile and act surprised, playing at innocence.

 

I was already annoyed because so many of my students had neglected my homework, despite plenty of class time to work on it, several nights to complete it outside of class, and numerous reminders. I also had several students asking me to ditch the homework I was allowing them make-up to work on another non-state-tested teacher’s project.

 

So when Kevin declared, “I’m not doing it!” when I tried to return a make-up assignment he had passed onto another student to complete, I turned to bluntness.

 

“You can have a zero, then,” I said, drawing a zero on the assignment. Cue an overreaction with pouting and glaring. He took the assignment back and worked somewhat quietly on a reading assignment for half an hour. Then, he too wanted to go to the library to finish this other teacher’s project.

 

We had a hall conference instead, as I was still irritated by his earlier behavior. “When you tell me you’re not going to do something,” I said, “it’s just disrespectful. It’s a horrible attitude to have.”

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Kevin shifted awkwardly, annoyed at the hall conference and being lectured yet again by Ms. Lindsay.

“I’ve put up with it enough and I’ve reached my limit. I’m to the point that I’m just going to start writing you up.”

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Kevin’s facial expression was defiant now, brow low and eyes unseeing as he continued to fidget.

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“Because it’s not funny,” I said firmly. “There are some things I don’t want to do as I teacher. But I come to work and do my best and I treat everyone with respect.” (Although no student thinks you’re being respectful if you are punishing them, no matter how polite you are or how level your voice stays.) “I really don’t care if you like my class or hate it. I don’t care if you like me or you hate me. You still have to be respectful. Do you understand?”

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“Yes ma’am,” he said.

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Did I help him learn a lesson that day? Definitely not. This wasn’t the first iteration of that hall conference, and it wouldn't be the last. I could only hope the accumulation of hall conferences had some vague effect on his character in the future. And that I was setting a halfway-decent example for how to deal with stuff you don’t like doing … After all, hall conferences were one of those teaching things I hated.