Nope, not Karma
I will break from my usual topics of goats, soap, animals, my exasperating husband, and farm life and tell you how excited I am for this school year to be over. Seriously, I cannot wait for this year to end, close the chapter, lock it in a box, and never return to it. This year with my daughter was HARD. You know the Taylor Swift song, Karma? Yeah, Karma is not a cat sitting in my lap because it loves me. It's more like a saber tooth tiger biting me on the ass.
I taught seventh through ninth grade for five years. During those five years, I learned that ninth graders are my least favorite group to work with. I watched as children I adored as charming, cherub-like, polite, respectful seventh and eighth graders who would race to my classroom to be the first one to talk to me, make me gifts in art class, bring me Cadbury eggs for Easter, write me notes of admiration little darlings turn into mutants. I know it sounds harsh, but it's true. The adorable children I enjoyed having in my classroom turned into rude, moody, ill-behaved, borderline disrespectful, don't-give-a-sh**-about-anything subhumans. I dealt with more behavioral issues with ninth graders than I did with seventh-graders.
I have so many stories from my days in the classroom, but a few are outrageous enough to stand out. Every year, my department would grapple over who got to teach the advanced students. Everyone loved the advanced students. My peers firmly believed that advanced kids were harder working, more serious, better behaved, and less inclined to make one want to pull their hair out. This was not my experience. I found the advanced kids to be arrogant, entitled, whiney, grade-grubbing, competitive pains in the ass.
I loved my basic ability students. I had the same group of kids in my first-period class from seventh grade through eleventh. Kids who gave other teachers nightmares were absolutely delightful to me. They were interesting, diverse, and just really neat kids. Kids are human beings. Treat them with respect, compassion, and understanding, and they will return the favor. I had an incredible repertoire with them. Even as ninth graders, these kids were enjoyable.
I had an advanced class in my first year as a ninth-grade teacher. I dreaded this class. I would brace myself for snide comments and eye rolls. I would listen to them argue amongst themselves, brag, and put each other down. Gah! These kids would fight tooth and nail over half a percentage point to keep their class status. I found them absolutely exasperating. One day, as I was handing back papers and listening to groans of complaint, one of my favorite kids in this class looked me square in the eye, then dropped his eyes to my chest and said, "Nice tits." My classroom seats were set up in a half circle at the time. I chose this arrangement for discussion purposes, but it put me at the front and center stage in this scenario. I was unsure if I had heard him correctly at first. However, once the room erupted into laughter, I knew I had heard him correctly.
I ordered him out to the hallway immediately. As he smirked and strutted out the door, I addressed his comment with genuine anger. I told him I could not believe he had disrespected me and humiliated me in my classroom. I informed him that objectifying women was a severe thinking error, antiquated and boarish behavior, and I expected so much more from him. I asked him if I had ever humiliated him or treated him as less than he was worth. His smirk faded, the bravado disappeared, and he looked like a kid who had really screwed up. I asked him how his mother would feel about his behavior. With this, he looked like he wanted to cry. He apologized profusely and told me he didn't know why he said it; it had just come out. He asked if I was going to write him up. I told him no, I don't write students up unless it is a physical altercation. He looked relieved for a split second, then asked if I would tell his mom. I replied no, I would not tell his mom. Again, he looked relieved for a split second, and I finished with an ominous "You will." At that, he looked like a kid about to face a firing squad.
I marched into my silent classroom, instructed my students to make the necessary corrections on the papers I had just returned to them, got my box of parent information cards, pulled the offending student's card, and marched out the door. I overheard someone say, "Oh, shit! She's calling his mom." Oh, shit, indeed. I dialed the number and took the phone to the hallway. I had to interrupt his mother's work day. When I was finally connected to her, I explained who I was and that there was a situation in my classroom. I was going to let her son explain. I could hear everything his mother said. The conversation began with "What did you do?" He responded, "I said something inappropriate to Mrs. Smay." Of course, his mom asked what he specifically said. He replied, "I don't want to tell you. Mom! I told her she had.... " He looked at me pleadingly and mouthed, please don't make me do this. I merely nodded my head like, get it over with. He then blurted out, "I told her she had nice breasts. No, those weren't the words I used. Mom, I'm so sorry. Please... I know!"
After listening to his mother unleash a barrage of threats, including going to military school, she asked to speak to me again. I calmly took the phone, listened to this outraged, disappointed, and humiliated mother apologize for her son's rude and disgraceful behavior, and was told to do whatever I needed to do. I asked if she would be alright with me having him remain after school for a week and work on three essays with topics I had not decided upon yet. She agreed, thanked me for my patience, and apologized again. The offending student wrote three five-page essays on the topics of societal harms of objectifying women, the importance of respect in all relationships, and the importance of and how to exercise self-control. I never had an issue with this young man again, or any young man for that matter. Word travels like wildfire in a high school, and I was put on the do-not-mess-with list. The consensus was that taking the write-up was easier than dealing with me.
I had the pleasure of having many of the same students in my classes from seventh through eleventh grade because I would move up as departmental openings developed. When I left the ninth-grade classroom and moved to tenth grade, I was astounded at the change in my mutant-like ninth-graders. When the kids returned as tenth graders, they were miraculously human beings again. They weren't just human beings; they were decent human beings. I have held on to this experience like a life raft throughout my daughter's ninth-grade year. I continuously tell myself she will become my sweet, loving, honest, hard-working, wonderful girl once this year ends.
In the grand scheme of things, her behavior is normal for kids her age. She has pushed boundaries with us, told small lies, and gotten caught almost immediately. She has taken a devil-may-care attitude about her grades. She rolls her eyes, makes snide comments, spends much time in her room, puts her friends first, and sometimes acts like a self-centered and entitled subhuman. Her behavior would not be so hard to handle if she hadn't been a practically perfect kid before this year. I know no one is perfect. However, I would have said The Bean would fall into the Mary Poppins category of kids; she's practically perfect in every way. Sigh.
I think about everything I did as a kid; I know this is Karma. I am now paying for every lie I told; every skipped school day, every prank, rotten attitude, entitled behavior, and all the snotty and arrogant things I ever said or did. As a kid, I was so very far from perfect. However, I hold onto hope. Eventually, I grew up, gained perspective, worked on myself, found a good therapist, found my way, and I think I turned out okay. I'm still so far from perfect, but I make every effort to do better and be better than I was the day before. I have a long way to go, but I've come a long way from where I was as a kid or young adult.
I tell The Bean that screwing up, making mistakes, and cleaning up messes is how we learn and grow. I also jokingly tell her that as a kid, it is her job to make mistakes, but she doesn't have to become an overachiever at making mistakes. I know that this year has been a challenging year for a lot of reasons. She is changing faster than she can keep up, and it's scary. My parenting style is a lot like my teaching style. I am direct, forthright, respectful, empathetic, fair, and no-nonsense. I try not to yell, lose my cool, or hold onto anger. I don't use guilt or manipulation to achieve the results I desire. I try to give her room to grow, experiment, and make mistakes. I also try to be proactive rather than reactive.
This year, I am just done. I simply want the year to be over so we can put this behind us. I already have a plan in place for next year. I have five trusted women in my life whom I admire and consider extraordinary. I have asked Jenna to hang with The Bean and, hopefully, transfer some of that magical Jenna-ness to my kid. Jenna is considered young, fun, and cool by The Bean. Jenna has agreed to take The Bean to Penn State to hang out and show her around for a weekend. Hopefully, Jenna will also discuss the importance of doing well in high school so that one can choose their ideal college and path. I've also asked my dear friend Janet to work with Jordan once a week, beginning in late summer and continuing through the school year. Whether tutoring, goal setting, test prep, or study skills, Janet will positively impact Jordan. We will have the pleasure of hanging out with Abby for one more summer. I hope Abby will hang out with Jordan this summer. Abby and Jordan have a lot in common. They both love Taylor Swift, theater, performing arts, and music. Abby just graduated from college, is going to England for a year, and has done amazingly well. I also know that my friends Tricia and Christina will take every opportunity to imbue their wisdom and life experience into conversations with the Bean. I believe it is essential for Jordan to surround herself with women who are strong, independent, successful, capable, and brave.
I have tried to talk to The Bean about school, grades, friends, and her future, but at this point, I am merely her naggy mother. She views our discussions as punishment or judgment, although I consider them neither. Someone else can communicate the same messages I try to convey, which is better received. This hurts. However, I know it is a phase that, hopefully, she will grow out of sooner rather than later.
We have two and a half days left to bring grades up to an acceptable level, and no D is not for diploma. Sigh. I believe she will pull off bringing all her grades up, but it will be a white-knuckle ride to the very end. She has been working like a fool to do make-up work and extra credit, and some teachers have graciously offered a do-over on some assignments. I am hopeful this white-knuckle ride to the end will not be the new norm. I don't think I can handle it. I understand that everyone struggles. We all go through a bad patch and must hit bottom before pulling ourselves out. I hope this is The Bean's rock bottom, and it will be smooth sailing in the future. I'm also realistic enough to know that rough waters are merely a part of life, and we will weather many more storms. However, we will weather them together. The Bean has two parents who are thoroughly invested in her happiness, well-being, and success. As with everything, we will get through this together. Hopefully, this will make all the difference. I also understand that Karma is indeed a bitch. I am deeply regretful for being such a pain in the ass when I was a kid. I believe my dad is looking down from heaven and laughing his ass off. Sigh. Thanks daddy.
On this overcast Thursday, stay safe and be smart. Karma is real, and it is not a cat sitting in my lap because it loves me. (If you're a Swifty or a mom of a Swifty, you know) Teenagers are not for the weak. Stick together, and everything can be overcome. Surround yourself with amazing people who love your kid. It really does take a village, and keep washing your hands.
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