Calling All Goobers!

It's that time of year again: Recruitment.  Every school does it differently, but we all have the same goal: to get kids to join our class.  Correction: to get the smart kids to join our class. (And the dumb ones to take general music... ha, just kidding, but really...)  We want the nerds, the dweebs, the quiet geniuses  the ones that go home and do their homework because they are too smart to relate to their peers so they have no friends.  We want the Goobers.  We of course always end up with a few knuckleheads (thank you Lord that I don't teach percussion!) and the orchestra always get's the special kids with IEP's who the counselors are just too touched by or for some reason believe violin will heal their bullied soul.  But the knuckleheads and IEP's are what give the soup a little flavor as opposed to being too bland. 

The first recruitment step for us is to send Larry around.  Larry is a retired music teacher who we lovingly refer to as "Papa Smurf."  I'm not sure why because he's not blue nor does he wear an abnormal amount of blue clothing at once nor does he wear the color blue abnormally frequently. And he's not bald (I don't think? Was Papa Smurf even bald?) but I guess I don't really know what other qualities Papa Smurf had, so maybe Larry is very much a Papa Smurf.  Anyway, Larry travels around to each of the five elementary schools that feed our middle school and administers a basic music test. I'm pretty sure it's the same one I took when I was a ten-year-old.  They have to say which pitch is higher/lower, match rhythms by ear, etc...  A perfect score is 100, a high score is any wear between 70 and 100, a good score is anything above 60.  Larry then collects the scores, collects comments about each student from both their classroom and elementary general music teacher, and gives them to the music department.  The Papa Smurf goes home and takes a nap in his blue sheets or something, I don't know, his job is over.  

From there, the music department divvies up the data and enters it into a spread sheet.  We put the student's name, their grade on each section of the test (pitch, rhythm, and melodic I think), their overall grade out of 100, and then we put an "X" for every negative comment from a teacher.  If a teacher says something like "No way, total buffoon!" or "This kid will suck the life right out of you" we put "XXX".  (Just kidding, teachers never say anything like that, we think all our students are precious and are "just going through a phase".  Or they're autistic.  Or need heavy ADHD meds.)

After our data is compiled, we go through the lists and pick out who we want.  I just pick kids who got a 60 or higher on their overall music test score.  If they have only one "X", I usually still take them, if they have 2 "XX" I drop them unless they have like an 80 or 90, which is just unheard of.  When we decide who we want, we get a print-out of their addresses on labels and we send them a post card.  My post card was exceptionally awesome and goofy, if I do say so myself.  It said something to the effect of "So you're kind of a smarty pants, huh?  We're looking for your kind in orchestra!  Check us out when you come visit- you will be wowed by the 8th grade orchestra's awesome mad skillz.  That could be you!"  Then I had some pictures and included what orchestra instruments looked like (no guitars, sorry) and then closed with something about our orchestra family.  My honor's orchestra kids helped me create it and they said it wasn't bad, which is high praise from them, so I feel good about it.  The band had something lame with Uncle Sam "We Want YOU" pointing and yelling at them in postcard form.  I told them it was lame.  They will still get twice the number of kids to sign up for band than I do though, so I need all the trash-talking help I can get.  The choir does things a little differently in that they look at the pitch score only.  Sometimes they're post card is the only one that gets sent to a kid.  But choir usually gets the lowest kids in general.  I know, I taught choir.  It's a different world: a lot more drama, a lot more flair, but potentially a lot more fun.  So we stuff the envelopes with our post cards, slap an address label on them, and mail them away.

Throughout February we put on five different performances for each elementary school 6th grade class that comes to visit and tour the building.  They arrive in the morning, about 15-20 minutes after the bell rings.  The band is playing when they enter.  Then the band directors say something about their program, then they play a song while they're sitting and listening- it's usually something flashy with lots of drums and loud noises. The entrance music is often something recognizable from a movie or T.V. or a pop song from the radio.  (We teachers have a good chuckle about the fact that the only time they will ever play such horrid music is for this very concert.)  Then the curtain closes and the band leaves the stage while the orchestra enters from the other side.  We have to be completely silent because while we are entering, the choir is singing in front of the curtain.  They usually have the show choir do something recognizable   This year is was Adele's Rolling in the Deep.  The orchestra kids mouthed the words and danced in their seats to that stupid song all the way down to the fifth concert.  Then the choir exits and we open the curtains the orchestra plays.

The first thing that everyone noticed about the orchestra is that I made them wear their uniforms.  All the other groups just wore their school clothes.  The orchestra looked a lot more clean and put together, which will appeal to some and not to others.  I don't care, I liked it and that's how it's going to be.  We're the orchestra and we're classy, got it?  We opened with The Lion Sleeps Tonight which, I realize, is not exactly an up-and-coming tune.  However, we incorporated some shtick and it ended up being pretty fun in the end.  We bobbed back and forth in the "A weem a wup, A weem a wup" part, which is all pizzicato, and I would turn around and try to get the 6th graders to sway, and none of them would sway, and so I'd say, "Come on now, stop acting like you're too cool to sway!" then they would smile and reluctantly sway, then I'd turn back around and all the orchestra kids would be grinning because they feel like dorks swaying back and forth but they actually love it.  The shtick got old by the fifth concert, let me tell ya.  After that song I'd introduce the next song and make a joke about it being on Sponge Bob (it's actually "What Do You Do With A Drunken Sailor" but the title on our music is "Variations on a Well-Known Sea Chanty") and we played a couple flashy parts of that which involve a bunch of different bow and plucking techniques so the kids can see how string instruments can sound.  

After the Sea Chanty we play our finale, Fiddles on Fire, which is fast and loud.  We broke out the electric instruments for this one and my 8th graders who wanted to play on the electrics had to memorize the whole song and audition.   While the electric solo players are walking over to the amp, I introduce the different instruments (violins, hold them up, ooooo, violas, hold them up, they're like fat violins haha, cellos-lift them up as a joke- they ate like 2 violins, haha, basses, ya, rock on cool  yadda yadda yadda)  then I have any 8th grader who went to this particular elementary school stand up and we applaud them, then I quickly explain that string instruments go out of tune rather easily because they're made of wood and wood expands and contracts with the weather, so please be patient and give me a minute to tune the electric instruments.  This tuning wasn't originally planned because I have to keep my portion to about 7 minutes, but at the first concert I had to cut the song off after about 5 bars because the electrics had gone so badly out of tune between when I'd tuned them at 8:15 and when we performed an hour later.  They're not of the greatest quality, but they're flashy so we like them.  Other than the tuning glitch, the only other problem was my "tech crew", consisting of a bass player and a cellist who I could afford not to play part of the first song while they plugged everything in, plugged both ends of one cord into the amp leaving one electric violin unplugged.  Luckily I realized what happened pretty quickly and we recovered, but I made sure they didn't do that again.

So after all the groups perform, the counselors give them little slips of paper with "Band" "Orchestra" "Choir" "None" written on them and the 6th graders have to list their first and second choices.  Then the counselors give us a list of the students who chose our group. Then after that they come to instrument tryout night and get fitted for an instrument and we give them information about the summer program, and we hope they remember to show up and rent an instrument!  And that's recruitment.  We get that list of our 6th graders very soon.  My excitement is mounting...I hope I get some dorky goobers!   

February's Noteworthy's

In my February post, I began by saying how January was blah blah blah busy yet I was still unable to motivate myself to write something up and post it.  Now that February has come and gone, I have failed again to write about my teaching life.  I'm the worst.  I am going to try to sum up the whole of February in this sitting because once I stop, who knows when I’ll write again? I must try not to become too long-winded yet still recall the important events that happened.  I’m referring to these as the Noteworthy’s.  

- A teary ISSMA Solo and Ensemble

- Famous Americans Day

- Angry Parent Conference, an annoyed outline
- A Reflection on Valentine's Days past

- Snow Day woot!

- The Cancer Graduation

ISSMA Solo and Ensemble was held at our very own Ninth Grade Center building.  The facilities were great for it and everything went smoothly minus one saxophone judge who ran over an hour and a half behind, holding up every teacher who had a saxophone student playing a Group I solo.  Oh and also ISSMA shorted us about 200 Gold solo medals, so our poor parent volunteer had to tell students that they didn't get their medal today, they had to wait until next week when ISSMA would ship it to their school.  I can't imagine there were many happy parents at her table.  My kiddos all got gold’s, yay!  I cried during my honor's orchestra performance.  I just couldn't hold it in; they did exactly what I taught them to do and without me up there yelling directions at them!  It made me very proud.  Of course they all reacted appropriately awkward and cute toward my crying: kind of nudging each other and pointing and grinning sheepishly.  All the girls gave me hugs.  The boys lingered, shuffling their over-large feet, not knowing what to do.  A few made dumb jokes.  Their reactions just made me cry more!  I love those goobers!  And that is why I don't let myself cry in front of people: I can't make it stop.  I had to sit in the library and soak up several Panera napkins while I composed myself and soggy-ed my sandwich bread.  "You got me on the crescendo! " I said to them later.  Consequently their dynamics have rocked lately.  I think they are all secretly hoping they'll make me cry again.  I said not to count on it.  

"Famous American's Day" = the new name for President's Day.  What the what?  I decided on my day off I would boycott that decision and only reflect upon our Presidents, no other famous Americans.  Actually I read an US Weekly and got a pedicure, soooooo...

Angry Parent Conference was fine.  My general take-away: annoyance.  Here's the summary, as it is with most angry parents who request a conference: Student gets F.  Parent contacts Teacher with a condescending e-mail.  Teacher calmly explains why Student is getting F and explains what Student can do to raise grade.  Parent is not satisfied because Heaven forbid their baby is earning that F, and requests meeting with Teacher, Student, both Parents, and Counselor.  Meeting date gets pushed back further and further because of schedules of all 5 parties.  3 weeks later, Parent is 7 minutes late to meeting, Sudent has a C at this point, but every finally sits down at a conference table.  Angry Parent talks for 20 minutes.  Teacher listens and nods understandingly.  Student sulks in corner.  Teacher calmly explains again why Student has the grade she has and explains what she can do to bring it up.  Parent skeptically nods and "mm-hmm"'s while writing down information Teacher is giving (which is, coincidentally, the exact same information Teacher e-mailed Parent 3 weeks ago.)  Parent requests all sort of extra information via e-mail.  Parent requests daily updates on her daughter's progress.  Parent drops one last condescending comment about how teacher's class, "Is not like English or science or Calculus or anything..."  Teacher smiles and nods understandingly, comments on the potential of Student, shakes Parents' hands.  Counselor does nothing.  Everyone leaves.  Teacher rolls eyes.

Valentine's Day is way bigger in middle school than I remembered.  I had two different girls carry into AIM over sized stuffed animals.  There were a variety of roses and gift bags exchanged as well.  Everyone was giddy and giggly and annoying and just a little bit cute.  It made me remember my first Valentine's Day with my current husband.  We were in 7th grade and went to the dance together.  I wore a navy blue dress.  He bought me a generic wrist corsage from the drug store.  He brought his twin brother I brought my best friend, who his brother had a crush on but who decidedly did NOT have a reciprocating crush and in fact I think gave him a polite yet quick handshake at the end of the night.  She may or may not have also patted him on the head at some point during the dance- she was like 6 inches taller than him.  Poor guy... My husband and I's second Valentine's Day was when we were in 8th grade.  I don't know if there was a dance that year or not.  I bought him these awful black silk boxers with lips and hearts all over them and also a rotating light-up disco ball on a stand.  Don't ask me why.  Probably so we could make out with the lights off but still be able to  have a seizure, I don't know.  He wrote me the most beautiful love notes and poems.  I couldn't even read through them all the way without taking a break to giggle or blush.  I still have them in a shoe box somewhere.  I wonder if I could get through them even now...  Anyway, thinking back at my own middle school Valentine's Days made me a little more empathetic toward my little goobers' over-the-top reactions and emotions.  I roll my eyes and I want to just tell them to wait until their older, but then again, I didn't.   

We finally got a snow day, woo-hoo!  It was the most unnecessary snow day I’ve ever experienced, but I’ll take it.  And we have two days built into our year already, so we don’t have to make the day up!  Unfortunately I had already woken up, done my Bible study, taken the dog out, dressed, and done my hair and make-up before I realized I didn’t have school.  My husband actually caught it for me on the news, or else I would have hopped in the car and gone to school!  He took the morning off and we got pancakes.  It was fun.

Today reinforced my certainty that God guided me to the right place to teach.  (To be honest, today is technically the first weekend in March, but I’m logging it as a February memory for convenience.) Abby, a senior violinist in our high school orchestra, had her very own formal graduation today.  Me and the other orchestra ladies and three high school students played as a small ensemble for her prelude, postlude, processional, and recessional music.  I have to admit, I was a little more than begrudging to be there on a Saturday morning, but I’m glad I was able to appreciate firsthand just how special our community it.  Abby’s mom had been diagnosed with terminal cancer over a couple years ago.  I don’t know Abby very well and I don’t know her mom at all.  What I have heard is that Abby’s mom was one of the most involved orchestra moms we’ve ever had, even as she was fighting cancer.  Last week the doctors gave her a week, at the most, to live.  So the district pulled together to throw Abby a formal graduation so her mom could watch her turn her tassel.  The superintendent spoke, members of the school board were there to award her her diploma, her high school principal spoke, her middle school and elementary principals were there clicking pictures right and left, the counselors printed formal programs, several orchestra students showed up to watch and take pictures with her (I think more came to her reception later in the afternoon, but I wasn’t there so I don’t know) and there I sat in the back of the auditorium, just amazed at the generosity and sacrifices everyone made for one student.

Despite the depressing gray weather outside, February has been a month full of growth.  I’m growing as a teacher, my students are all growing as mini musicians, and we’re all growing closer together as a happy orchestra family.  Imagine what spring will bring…!

The Driver, The Scrotum, and The Fight

The following are three stories of varying length and hilarity that all occurred just this past Friday.  Enjoy.

The Driver

As one of my 8th grade orchestra classes was unpacking and getting tuned, one of my violinists, Susan, popped up, and said, "Oh! Mrs. Martin! I'm writing a story for English and you're in it!"  Naturally I asked, "Am I the good guy or the bad guy?"  Susan joyfully exclaimed, "You're the driver!" I'm not sure how to take that one...  I just laughed and told her I wanted to read it when she was finished.  I am embarrassingly curious about my role.  What kind of vehicle do I drive?  Is it a limo?  A cab?  A bus?  Is there a heist? Am I assisting in a robbery?  And if so, am I being tricked into it or something like that one Jesse Eisenberg movie, or am I more criminal like in The Dark Knight? Who am I driving around? Could it be the modern leader of the Aryan race who recently wrote an alarmingly hateful book against the Jews like that one Seinfeld episode? Or is it a bus load of people I have to keep alive by driving a bus above 60 mph and I'm a beautiful brunette? Am I like Ranjit from How I Met Your Mother where I know everything about everyone's lives and am a lovable Pakistani/Indian/(Iranian?) jokester?  Or am I more like Mr. Big's driver from Sex in the City who you never see but who is always there when you need him?  I am truly curious as to why Susan cast me as the driver and I want to know what that means she thinks of me...  Also I watch too much T.V.

The Scrotum: (This wonderful story come secondhand, courtesy of one of my colleagues.  I just had to share it because who doesn't love a good scrotum story?)

So one of my colleagues, Debbie, and I are sitting by each other at our monthly all-staff breakfast meeting and one of the Jaguar teachers approaches us and says to Debbie, "Can you come to our table and tell the scrotum story?  No one can tell it like you!"  Debbie laughs and says she'll be over in a sec.  I of course turn immediately to her and demand to hear the scrotum story.  Here is what she said:

Debbie teaches HOST, which stands for "Helping One Student at a Time", which is basically a mandatory elective for students who are behind in reading.  She gets a wide variety of personalities in her class.  The other day, two of her Jaguar students, Dontell and Javon, were horsing around, kind of wrestling with each other, before class.  Debbie was helping a student at her desk and her back was to the boys.  At some point,  Dontell shoved Javon playfully in the back and Javon howled dramatically, "Ow!  My scrotum!" and clutched his back.  Debbie whipped around and said sharply, "Javon!  That is not an appropriate thing to say!"
"But my back really hurts!" responded Javon. Debbie took a pause.
"Do you mean your spine?" she asked.
"Oh, yeah, I guess.  Then what's a scrotum?"  Debbie could guess where this was going.
"It's a body part," she answered.  Now Dontell was now intrigued.
"Is it a bad body part?" Dontell asked seriously.
Debbie answered back seriously, "Yes."
"Does everyone have it?" said an impish yet obviously genuinely curious Javon.
Debbie had resigned at this point. "No."
Dontell could tell they were getting closer.  "Do girls have it?"
Debbie sighed. "No."
Javon and Dontell, who had finally figured it out, both breathed, "Ohhhh..."
Debbie, her human anatomy work done for the day, turned away and gathered herself before she had to begin class, thinking this gem of a story could not get any better when she heard one of the boys say,
"Huh. I guess that's why in that one song he goes "I gotta scrotum like a saggy bag of skin"

I want to know what kind of music that kid is listening to...

The Fight:

As I've lamented before, I have the misfortune of serving lunch supervision duty.  Yesterday I had the privilege of witnessing a fight up close.  There were many slow motion moments that I've reflected on and have come up with a million things I should have done.  It was all over in about 20 seconds though, so maybe next time...

So I'm making my rounds up and down the rows of lunch tables on the Panther side of the lunch room (they have blue lanyards, by the way) and from across the cafeteria I see a kid in a blue sweatshirt standing up.  I wait for a few seconds for him to sit back down, and he doesn't.  So I sigh and start making my way over to him to remind him to "stay in your seat..." when I see another boy in a grey sweatshirt actually get up from his table and start walking over to the blue sweatshirt.  I still didn't know exactly what was about to go down though because the demeanor of each boy was not angry or aggressive.  I figured I'd have to make them go sit on the wall and eat their lunch or something, a common punishment for getting up out of your seat and visiting other tables.

I say neither boy looked angry or aggressive, which is true.  In retrospect, knowing what was about to happen in about 3 seconds time, I can say exactly what they looked like.  Blue sweatshirt had a glint of excitement in his eyes; they were smiling but not in a friendly way.  His whole body seemed to be asking, "Is this going to happen?  Am I going to get in my first fight?"  Grey sweatshirt had this slow plod of a walk, which spoke, "I really don't want to put this much effort into anything, but I know this is what I'm supposed to do when someone says something like that to me..."

So I'm still about 3 tables away when I start to sense that they're not just going to illegally share some hot cheetos and rag on each other's girls.  Grey sweatshirt had stopped just a little too close to blue sweatshirt and blue sweatshirt, with that excited glint in his eye, had just said something to him.  I was 2 tables away. This is when I shouted out, "Hey!"

Grey sweatshirt threw the first punch.  It was the lamest punch I've ever seen in my life.  The rest of his body was still stooped in his "Well, I wish I could just finish my lunch but I guess I'm gonna fight now..." posture, and only his sad little right arm came up to tap Blue Sweatshirt on the jaw.  And it was so slow!  That's why I know Blue Sweatshirt wanted to tango because anyone under the age of 90 and below the blood alcohol level of .05 could have dodged that wimpy punch.

The reaction was instantaneous.  By this time, I had bounded the three-stride-lengths to the table at which they had been standing.  None of the other kids were really into the build-up, because, like I said, it was pretty lame.  But as soon as Grey Sweatshirt tapped Blue Sweatshirt on the chin and the two boys had kicked into turbo gear every kid in the joint was on their feet either sliding out of the way or pushing closer to see.  Blue Sweatshirt launched himself at Grey Sweatshirt, punching him as hard as he could with both fists.  Grey sweatshirt, who was bigger but slower, eventually got himself positioned above him and they danced their way to the ground, punching and punching as they circled.  The kids had formed a sort of chair barricade, a chairicade if you will, in front of me as I screamed, "Stop!  Stop it!  Get off!  Stop right now!"  My training told me not to step in between them or try to pull one off the other.  My common sense also told me not to step in between them or try to pull one off the other, because even though both 7th grade Panther boys still had that baby-boy-round-face look and their voices hadn't yet changed all the way, they both still probably had at least 5-7 inches and 20 pounds on me.  And they were  pounding away as fast as they could at whatever their fists would hit.  What I did was drag the students sitting in the chairs directly next to the brawl back (so I guess I reinforced their chaircade in the end...) and screamed for Ooley, the 6'5" 250 lb music teacher who served lunch duty with me.  Unfortunately I don't think Ooley could initially see what was happening nor would he guess because it escalated so quickly and the surrounding kids didn't start yelling until the Sweatshirts had been beating on each other for at least 5 seconds.  But what he could see was a bunch of kids on their feet, which usually means someone spilled/threw chocolate milk or red fruit punch all over the floor, but could also sometimes mean someone is hurt, or, the worst option, that someone is fighting. So his first few steps were a little slow and questioning, then when he saw what was happening he ran up to the boys and shouted, "Get of of each other!" and gruffly grabbed Blue Sweatshirt around the torso, pulling him back.  Duana, the other music teacher on duty, had made it to the scene by then, approaching from the non-chairicade side of the fight, and pulled the hood of Grey Sweatshirt backwards.  The boys immediately let go of each other: not a tug or a lunge back at the other, which was another sign to me that they were both nubes and didn't really have any issues with each other but just had to initiate themselves into the world of man by banging their baby fists into each others baby flesh.  There was also this air of pride in themselves and each other when the teachers pulled them apart; it was as if they were two stunt doubles in a T.V. show who had just finished a scene.  I was half expecting them to shake hands and say, "Well done, bro."

I have a twinge of regret after witnessing my first fight as a teacher, as someone who has the authority to make them stop.  I wish I would have stepped between them and tried to pull one off the other.  They are my kids and they were hurting each other. (I think Blue Sweatshirt ended up with a minor split lip- I've had worse when mine are chapped- and Grey Sweatshirt had the makings of a pretty sweet black eye- I am slightly jealous, I've always wanted a good shiner.)  It is my responsibility to take care of them and make sure they leave school in the same condition, hopefully better, than they entered.  So by putting my own safety first, I feel like I showed my true "fight-or-flight" (or in my case, "fight-or-stand-and-scream") colors.  Wasn't it selfish of me, or lazy of me, or something of me not to have stepped in?  I can think of at least a dozen different things I could have done, what I should have done, what I would have said I would have done to anyone else with a similar story: "Well, I would have..."  The chairicade was only one or two students deep in the beginning, I could have easily shoved my way through, Les Mis style. (Every song from that musical has been belting through my head since I came up with "chairicade".) And what was the worst that could have happened?  I could have gotten punched?  And shouldn't I have risked that for my students? So what does that say about my personality?  What does that say about me as a teacher?  What does that say about me as a future parent?  Yeah, yeah, they weren't my real kids. They weren't even my orchestra students.  I don't even know their names.  Which is why I said I have a twinge of guilt.  I'm not beating myself up over it.  And hey, who knows?  Maybe at the next fight I'll get to try out one of my other ideas from the dozen I came up with after this one.  Or maybe I'll just stand and scream again while I wait for the big strong man to step in.

Ah, the life of a middle school teacher is never a dull one.  I am so happy I have these stories to ponder, laugh about, and retell at parties.  Seriously, how are teachers not the hit of every party with all this raw material?