Teach
12-16-2013, 10:35 AM
As I sit here in my "computer room" on this cold, frosty Monday morning just west of Boston, I was thinking back to another cold December morning some thirty-five years. I was then teaching high school history. What would happen that morning would be one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, at least as a member of the teaching profession.
To set the stage. The night before the incident a buddy of mine who had been working out on the West Coast came back East to see his family.
Well, he called me that afternoon. He asked if we might take in the Bruins hockey game that was being played that night at the old Boston Garden. At first I hesitated, but then I said yes. Of course, I knew this would also mean a post-game visit to Boston's Union Oyster House for a "couple" post-game brews.
As I think back, I couldn't tell you if the Bruins won or lost that evening, or even whom they had played; yet, I do remembering my buddy and I "hitting" The Union Oyster House for some "suds".
In any event, I didn't get back home till nearly 1 a.m. Five hours later I'm groggily up and showering for my teaching day; my first class begins at 7:30.
Well, when I arrived at school, I was "half in the bag". It was a combination of being hung-over and lack of sleep. Frankly, I was in no condition to teach classes. But I figured if I can just get through my first two classes I should be able to get through the rest of the day.
My first class that morning was a lower ability history group. I recall that in light of my own state of mind, I decided to do what teachers often call, "Plan B." "Plan B" in this case was a video on the French and Indian War. It lasted about a half-hour. While the kids were watching the video, I would try to "get my head on straight."
Well, after the movie, I had about fifteen minutes left in class-time for discussion.
As I remember, I was hoping there'd be no questions. I figured then I could just say, "O.K., I'm going to let you get started on your homework."
Well, to my chagrin, a student did ask a question. I recall that he asked me to clarify the meaning of the word "scalping" (something that was done by Indians on both sides in the war).
Without missing a beat, I blurted out, “That’s when they cut off their “f*cking heads.” No sh*t! I was as shocked that I said it as the students were hearing it. The kids were dumbfounded. The students in my class momentarily went catatonic. They were looking at each other and were asking, “Whad he say?” It was if several had just seen "Casper, The Friendly Ghost".
In hindsight, I think some of them had wished there had been instant replay. I can just see it today: "Upon further review, the ruling on the field stands. This man has just lost his job!" At that moment, I thought my ass was grass. I wanted to climb under a non-existent rock. I figure one of the students is going to report this. Yet, nothing happened; at least, that day. I literally kept holding my breath. I was walking on egg shells for about a week, but I didn’t crack a one. I had, in the end, dodged a huge educational bullet.
To set the stage. The night before the incident a buddy of mine who had been working out on the West Coast came back East to see his family.
Well, he called me that afternoon. He asked if we might take in the Bruins hockey game that was being played that night at the old Boston Garden. At first I hesitated, but then I said yes. Of course, I knew this would also mean a post-game visit to Boston's Union Oyster House for a "couple" post-game brews.
As I think back, I couldn't tell you if the Bruins won or lost that evening, or even whom they had played; yet, I do remembering my buddy and I "hitting" The Union Oyster House for some "suds".
In any event, I didn't get back home till nearly 1 a.m. Five hours later I'm groggily up and showering for my teaching day; my first class begins at 7:30.
Well, when I arrived at school, I was "half in the bag". It was a combination of being hung-over and lack of sleep. Frankly, I was in no condition to teach classes. But I figured if I can just get through my first two classes I should be able to get through the rest of the day.
My first class that morning was a lower ability history group. I recall that in light of my own state of mind, I decided to do what teachers often call, "Plan B." "Plan B" in this case was a video on the French and Indian War. It lasted about a half-hour. While the kids were watching the video, I would try to "get my head on straight."
Well, after the movie, I had about fifteen minutes left in class-time for discussion.
As I remember, I was hoping there'd be no questions. I figured then I could just say, "O.K., I'm going to let you get started on your homework."
Well, to my chagrin, a student did ask a question. I recall that he asked me to clarify the meaning of the word "scalping" (something that was done by Indians on both sides in the war).
Without missing a beat, I blurted out, “That’s when they cut off their “f*cking heads.” No sh*t! I was as shocked that I said it as the students were hearing it. The kids were dumbfounded. The students in my class momentarily went catatonic. They were looking at each other and were asking, “Whad he say?” It was if several had just seen "Casper, The Friendly Ghost".
In hindsight, I think some of them had wished there had been instant replay. I can just see it today: "Upon further review, the ruling on the field stands. This man has just lost his job!" At that moment, I thought my ass was grass. I wanted to climb under a non-existent rock. I figure one of the students is going to report this. Yet, nothing happened; at least, that day. I literally kept holding my breath. I was walking on egg shells for about a week, but I didn’t crack a one. I had, in the end, dodged a huge educational bullet.