A promised entry
May. 18th, 2005 07:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kukla_tkoYesterday I left a comment in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
codeb6's Journal, and indicated that I had a story behind it.
Here's the story:
How I Almost Flunked The Sixth Grade
First one must understand where I came from. I spent kindergarten through third grade going to a Catholic school that was... um... it had problems.
And I became seriously neurotic, and my parents put me in counseling when they discovered that my issues were interfering with my work in school. I had already developed an attitude about busywork. I was particularly resentful over doing math problems over and over. Mom would tell me to do my homework, and I wouldn't do it. She'd lean on me, threaten me, plead with me, but I wouldn't do it, not consistently. I had better things to do with my time than to do homework. She'd tell me that if I didn't do the work I would get a bad grade. She tells me that at one point I looked at her thoughtfully for a moment and said, "Ok. I'll take the bad grade. Now can I go?"
So, in 4th grade, my mom switched me to the local public school. Smart move, but a year too late. See, one of the grade schools was closed a year previous, and the students were redistributed throughout the other schools. As a result, if I had been switched a year earlier, I wouldn't have been the only new kid. As it was, I wandered in after the new social order was set, and the kids who ended up at the bottom were all too eager to find a new Omega Dog.
But I digress.
The schools were good, actually. My school system ranked in the top 20 in the country during the time that I was there.
Every school runs into its own problems, though.
For example, Coaches should really have more to do than run the kids through their paces for the various sports.
So, for my 6th grade math class, my teacher was "Coach" Bryant. He taught remedial math and the "reading" class for 6th grade classes. He was very clear about his job. We came to his class because we needed to be drilled in Math. He was supposed to keep us in line and make us do busywork. Our daily work consisted of worksheets full of math problems. Addition, subtraction, multiplication and division.
Lots of long division.
I had been shoved into the Dumb Class because of my poor work record in Math.
I was bored, outraged, and irritated by the whole thing. Then, due to some kind of sports injury, he had to have his jaw wired shut, and became incomprehensible, too. (Not that it mattered, he wasn't actually TEACHING anything.)
Somewhere along the line I got fed up. I refused to do the busywork. I paid attention in class, and slowly worked a few problems, but I flatly refused to do the homework. Another mimeographed sheet of a hundred problems?
No way.
So, eventually, he took me to the office and wrote me up for failing to do my homework. He patted me awkwardly on the shoulder and told me that I was very nice, and that he didn't want to write me up but didn't know what else to do with me.
Snort.
Not that it made a difference. I was actually somewhat proud of that "yellow slip." It was my only one I received during Middle School.
But, at the end of the year my grade was an F.
And they threatened to hold me back a grade over it. My other grades were fine, but they were going to make me REPEAT the 6th grade over my math bullshit.
The alternative?
Summer school. So I got to go to summer school and learn math while my family went to visit my grandma at her brand new lakehouse for a month.
I stayed with a neighbor, and the neighbor's three boys. Bleah.
But I went to summer school. It was pretty bad, but they were teaching actual 6th grade math.
Which, by the way, was NOT what Coach was teaching in his classroom all year.
I suddenly got an epiphany: Oh. This is what math is *FOR*. You can make formulas, and figure out shortcuts... and hey! Algebraic concepts make SENSE! It isn't just about calculating numbers!
Ah-HA!
And I sailed through that class with a B+.
The teacher told my mom that she thought it was really neat that I wanted to take a summer math class.
Snort. As if I were there by my own free will.
But she was convinced that I was some kind of math nut because I was enthusiastic in her class. I was always ready to come up to the board and work things out, I had reasonable questions, and I encouraged the other kids.
So, what I learned was that if I had a teacher who sucked ass, I could FCC off in class and maybe I would get another shot with a better teacher.
It would cost me my summer freedom, though.
And you know, I was never able to suffer a bad teacher. Bleah.
Footnote: My brother had Coach Bryant for "Reading." Mom was wise to him by then, and when she went for Parents' Night noticed that Coach was probably not very literate, himself.
"What will our children be learning in this class?"
"We're going to read."
"Yes, but is there a structure to it? May we see a class syllabus?"
"Uh, this is a reading class. We're going to read."
"Yes, but read *what?*"
I am so glad that I didn't have Coach for reading that year. I had a pretty decent reading teacher, instead.
So, I am loath to do some things, and "Bad Consequences" don't always deter me. There are plenty of times that I look at a situation and say, "Gee. If I fail to do X, then I will have to put up with Y. Hmm. Can I tolerate Y? Is it more annoying than trudging through X? Ok. Hit me."
codeb6's Journal, and indicated that I had a story behind it.Here's the story:
How I Almost Flunked The Sixth Grade
First one must understand where I came from. I spent kindergarten through third grade going to a Catholic school that was... um... it had problems.
And I became seriously neurotic, and my parents put me in counseling when they discovered that my issues were interfering with my work in school. I had already developed an attitude about busywork. I was particularly resentful over doing math problems over and over. Mom would tell me to do my homework, and I wouldn't do it. She'd lean on me, threaten me, plead with me, but I wouldn't do it, not consistently. I had better things to do with my time than to do homework. She'd tell me that if I didn't do the work I would get a bad grade. She tells me that at one point I looked at her thoughtfully for a moment and said, "Ok. I'll take the bad grade. Now can I go?"
So, in 4th grade, my mom switched me to the local public school. Smart move, but a year too late. See, one of the grade schools was closed a year previous, and the students were redistributed throughout the other schools. As a result, if I had been switched a year earlier, I wouldn't have been the only new kid. As it was, I wandered in after the new social order was set, and the kids who ended up at the bottom were all too eager to find a new Omega Dog.
But I digress.
The schools were good, actually. My school system ranked in the top 20 in the country during the time that I was there.
Every school runs into its own problems, though.
For example, Coaches should really have more to do than run the kids through their paces for the various sports.
So, for my 6th grade math class, my teacher was "Coach" Bryant. He taught remedial math and the "reading" class for 6th grade classes. He was very clear about his job. We came to his class because we needed to be drilled in Math. He was supposed to keep us in line and make us do busywork. Our daily work consisted of worksheets full of math problems. Addition, subtraction, multiplication and division.
Lots of long division.
I had been shoved into the Dumb Class because of my poor work record in Math.
I was bored, outraged, and irritated by the whole thing. Then, due to some kind of sports injury, he had to have his jaw wired shut, and became incomprehensible, too. (Not that it mattered, he wasn't actually TEACHING anything.)
Somewhere along the line I got fed up. I refused to do the busywork. I paid attention in class, and slowly worked a few problems, but I flatly refused to do the homework. Another mimeographed sheet of a hundred problems?
No way.
So, eventually, he took me to the office and wrote me up for failing to do my homework. He patted me awkwardly on the shoulder and told me that I was very nice, and that he didn't want to write me up but didn't know what else to do with me.
Snort.
Not that it made a difference. I was actually somewhat proud of that "yellow slip." It was my only one I received during Middle School.
But, at the end of the year my grade was an F.
And they threatened to hold me back a grade over it. My other grades were fine, but they were going to make me REPEAT the 6th grade over my math bullshit.
The alternative?
Summer school. So I got to go to summer school and learn math while my family went to visit my grandma at her brand new lakehouse for a month.
I stayed with a neighbor, and the neighbor's three boys. Bleah.
But I went to summer school. It was pretty bad, but they were teaching actual 6th grade math.
Which, by the way, was NOT what Coach was teaching in his classroom all year.
I suddenly got an epiphany: Oh. This is what math is *FOR*. You can make formulas, and figure out shortcuts... and hey! Algebraic concepts make SENSE! It isn't just about calculating numbers!
Ah-HA!
And I sailed through that class with a B+.
The teacher told my mom that she thought it was really neat that I wanted to take a summer math class.
Snort. As if I were there by my own free will.
But she was convinced that I was some kind of math nut because I was enthusiastic in her class. I was always ready to come up to the board and work things out, I had reasonable questions, and I encouraged the other kids.
So, what I learned was that if I had a teacher who sucked ass, I could FCC off in class and maybe I would get another shot with a better teacher.
It would cost me my summer freedom, though.
And you know, I was never able to suffer a bad teacher. Bleah.
Footnote: My brother had Coach Bryant for "Reading." Mom was wise to him by then, and when she went for Parents' Night noticed that Coach was probably not very literate, himself.
"What will our children be learning in this class?"
"We're going to read."
"Yes, but is there a structure to it? May we see a class syllabus?"
"Uh, this is a reading class. We're going to read."
"Yes, but read *what?*"
I am so glad that I didn't have Coach for reading that year. I had a pretty decent reading teacher, instead.
So, I am loath to do some things, and "Bad Consequences" don't always deter me. There are plenty of times that I look at a situation and say, "Gee. If I fail to do X, then I will have to put up with Y. Hmm. Can I tolerate Y? Is it more annoying than trudging through X? Ok. Hit me."
