lazy 0ch0

A couple of weeks ago, after an ordinary lesson, a student in first period came up to me at the end of class. “Mister, your chair just broke,” he said. In disbelief, I paused. Huh? What? When?

I gather myself and he casually described what happened and proceeded to hand me the flat, top portion of the chair — the seat. Then he showed me the rest:

He smiled and walked out of the room matter-of-factly as if a dismembered chair is an everyday occurrence. Teenagers kill me.

In my illustrious 16 years as a teacher, I can’t recall ever having a chair fall apart during class. This was a first. Instead of laughing it off and leaving it to the mercy of our custodian, I was pulled to hold on to the fragmented piece of classroom furniture. Something interesting could come of it, I thought.

The next day, after relishing in the uniqueness of my newfound treasure with another class, it hit me: the seat could be a memento for the year. Why not keep it? A chair is a defining physical element of any classroom, but is woefully taken for granted and unseen. After being removed from the classroom for so long, the seat could celebrate our return. It was the perfect way to memorialize our repossessing of the physical space we were forced to vacate.

In the subsequent days, I passed the seat around the room with some Sharpies and asked my students to sign it. The result was a keepsake that ensures I’ll never forget this extraordinary school year and how it restored my faith in teaching and learning.

I’m not sure if I want to hang it or simply lean it up against a wall, but it’s going to be around for a while. When I look at it, perhaps I’ll think about all the students who it supported throughout its lifetime in Room 227. Many have come and gone through the years, and this seat afforded their bodies a space to sit, think, and feel. The seat lived a purposeful, yet overlooked life.

Now, thanks to impeccable timing, it has earned itself a second life as a token of our unapologetic reinhabiting of the classroom. Before the pandemic and remote learning, we thought nothing of the everyday support it provided. After a revival year of service to many, the seat made the ultimate sacrifice and will be overlooked no more. Instead, my students and I have immortalized it and shoved it into the spotlight where it will live its remaining days as a cheerful representation of our comeback.

bp

Since 2018, I haven’t shaved once during a school year. What started as a fun pact with a student has since turned into a tradition that I’ve come to be known for. I’m the teacher the building whose face gradually turns into that of a caveman as the weeks and months pass by.

My Paleolithic look notwithstanding, the abnormal growth of facial hair that I call a beard is symbolic. I view it as a physical representation of the growth my students experience in my class throughout the year. Given that my beard is an unmistakable part of me, it’s also a physical expression of the personal attachment I feel being their teacher. My beard travels with me wherever I go and, as it matures, becomes a more significant part of who I am, just like my students. I often extend individual hairs from my face during class and jokingly comment how they resemble my students. “This long one is Tatiana,” I’ll say while tugging on a hair underneath my chin. “This one that’s growing sideways on my left cheek? That’s Raul.” By the end of the year, many students playfully ask which hair is theirs. I always lose track.

What’s really special about my beard tradition is that I allow students to shave it off in June. They’re leaving me, and so must my beard. Thus, I bring in clippers, sit in the middle of a crowd of brazen teenagers, and get shaved by my students. It’s a pretty vulnerable state to place myself in, but also terribly fun. There’s nothing quite like getting my facial hair removed by young people whose grades I sign off on every six weeks. This unique and unforgettable experience has become known as Shaving Day. It marks the informal end of the school year for me and my students.

For the last two years, because of the ongoing pandemic, Shaving Day has been held remotely. The spirit of the annual event has been there, but the vibe has suffered greatly. Every ounce of anticipation and exuberance that it accomplishes is lost on Zoom.

Thankfully, that changed today. Shaving Day was back in Room 227. So was the crowd.

The return of Shaving Day was the cherry on top of what has been a beautiful school year for me. The return of in-person teaching brought with it real challenges, but these have been subdued by the magic that came with being back together. As a teacher, it’s moments like Shaving Day that I live for. The community and love that arise from students passing around hair clippers, rooting for each other to take off every last hair, is special. It’s important to our collective mental health, our sense of purpose and togetherness, and can only be produced by sharing space in the same room.

In the end, my students did a masterful job cleaning me up. Other than an excited few, their hands were calm and steady. They weren’t as smooth as a barber, but they took care of me.

Looking in the mirror, it’s no doubt refreshing to be able to see my neck again, but also sad that I can no longer extend a hair from my face and give it the name of one of my students. Being back in the classroom added weight to my students’ development this year and made Shaving Day 2022 particularly meaningful. My students’ growth this year was like no other. So was that of my beard.

bp

During the 2021-22 school year I’m having weekly co-generative dialogues (or cogens) with my students. In an effort to help me process these talks and document progress, I summarize and write reflections after each cogen. This is the 27th post in the series.

Closure
After my last cogen on May 19, it didn’t feel right to onboard another cohort. There were just four weeks remaining in school. At the same time, it seemed unnatural to finish there. Thus, right after May 19, I began planning an end-of-year cogen reunion. I wanted to bring back all the cogen students from the entire year for one last cogen. Over the course of the year, our half-hour cogens resulted in over 13 hours of talking and generating ideas to improve the class. If for no one else but myself, the reunion was a way to bring closure to this unforgettable experience.

Of course, the last cogen of the year had to be celebratory. These students stepped up for me in major ways. While most of my colleagues have cursed this year up and down, I found myself in a great mental space all year. Undoubtedly, my cogen had a lot to do with this and I’m grateful to them. To show my cogen students the love, I made party bags, ordered pizza, and set up a raffle for our last gathering. Two weeks before, I gave out invitations.

Pizza, trivia, and a raffle
As the students arrive, they walk into the room and find a large table with seating for 23 (the number of cogen students this year). They also see the party bags, pizza, and drinks. Music fills the room with rhythm and melody. I welcome each student individually and hand them a raffle ticket.

After everyone gets settled around the table, I utter some opening remarks, but mainly just thank them for coming. I spent a lot of time this year scared to death that my students would forget to come (or come back) to our cogen each week. With 21 smiling faces in front of me today, I’m relieved that I’m only missing 2, and 1 of them is a senior who isn’t in school because of prom. I don’t talk long because I see their eyes eagerly shift from me to the unopened pizza boxes in the center of the room. We eat.

In addition to eating pizza and enjoying party bags filled with candy, I want our time to be reflective. It should afford us a chance to think back on the year through our cogens and remember how far we’ve come — in a fun way. I’m the king of boring and almost make today’s reunion dull and uninspiring, but at the last minute I come up with an idea to do trivia and a raffle.

Everyone earned one raffle ticket simply by showing up. I decide that additional tickets can be earned by answering trivia questions based on the cogen. In re-reading my cogen summaries, here are some of the questions I tapped out one day during lunch:

• What is “cogen” short for?
• Who can name all members of their cogen?
• Who were the only cogen students to continue to attend after their six-week tenure was complete?
• Which group of cogen students was the only one to meet on Zoom?
• Who first mentioned the idea for bingo?
• Who attended basketball practice and the cogen on the same day?
• Who first mentioned the idea for DeltaMath review for exams?
• Who created the game board for Infinite Levels?
• Who designed the opening slide for the lesson on fractional exponents?
• What fruit did I leave in the snack box over-ripened during a school break to make everything in the box smell like it?

I’m generous with the raffle tickets and dish them out to anyone who comes close to a correct answer. It’s lighthearted and fun. Good memories and laughter abound.

For the raffle prizes, I picked up several inexpensive party favors from Five Below. I also raffle off two cans of Pringles and a bag of Takis. We even raffle off the last three slices of pizza. I’ve learned that it doesn’t take much to make a raffle exciting; the rush that comes with winning something is usually enough. This proves true with my cogen students. Ticket after ticket, we have a blast.

It’s a wrap
We call it a day and depart from the table one final time. The students leave enthused and fulfilled. So do I.

bp