What do I do with this notecard?

Okay, so I'm quickly realizing that I am making promises on this blog that I'm not keeping. Here are a few:

1) To discuss restaurants, cafes, and places that cater to people who want to be warm
2) Including bits about "warm" fashion, e.g. my promise to roundup rain gear
3) Not talking too much about my students.

But...here's the thing. I have to talk about my students. I need to cleanse each day; wash the good and bad off my skin, so I can start back the next day feeling like I didn't just camp out for a night with 3 bottles of wine and not enough water. And, well, when you have to hike out feeling like that, it's just not a good thing. So, to put an end to that metaphor, I'd just like to wash up a little here from time to time.

Here's today's laundry: I call this one "What do I do with this notecard?"



"What do I do with this notecard" affects approximately 3 in 25 students. You know these students, you went to school with some and you probably had to sit next to one at some point in your academic career. These are the students who want to throw their pencil into the ceiling (to see if it sticks) when the teacher has turned around. These students are also very likely to sneeze obnoxiously loud, because clearly that is funny. "What do I do with this notecard" affects students who display attention-seeking behaviors like comparing the illegailty of marajuana to the institution of slavery or changing the clock while you lean down to help a student. Additionally, "what do I do with this notecard" does not get good grades. "What do I do with this notecard" is secretly ashamed of this, but doesn't know what else to do, so he or she is constantly asking the teacher, the person next to him or behind him: "Wait, what am I supposed to do with this notecard?"

Common responses:
"Oh my god, she's told us 3 times."
"Are you kidding, just write your name on it."
"I don't know. Why do you even have that? She didn't pass them out."
"Leave me the f--- alone!"

So today, "what do I do with this notecard" struck. It seized one of my students by the neck and shook him for all he was worth. At close to the end of class students were instructed -- after we had spent about 20 minutes discussing the steps and norms of a Socratic Seminar (a graded, student-led discussion) -- that they were to create 2 questions of their own to contribute to the discussion for the next day. We brainstormed what made a good discussion question (the answer isn't "in" the text, it's not a yes or no, the answer can be debated, etc.) and then I passed out notecards for students to begin thinking about their questions. They had 10 minutes. The lead up to this activity had taken approximately 30 minutes. I began to wonder the room, helping students with their questions, reading great ones, pushing other kids to ask something deeper. And then there was a voice, soft at first, ignorable even. But, then, then I heard it. It was a sort of high-pitched, strident but controlled yelp coming from across the room. As the pitch registered and its composer became clear, my heart found its pace: fast, faster, faster. An internal chant came galloping from the bottom of my throat, "no he didn't, no he didn't, no he didn't. Not again."

And then I heard it again. Undeniably clear. And this time, the hand shoots up, straight up, reaching for his pencil, maybe, still stuck in the ceiling. No, reaching for me. Freaking out, in fact, bleating a plea for mercy. I'm looking across the room, glaring, his hand waving back and forth like an anxious kindergartner who is literally about to load his pants when IT happens a third time, his last time. He says,

"Hey, what the hell do I do with this notecard?"

Aggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggh! The internal teacher finds her rage and pounds it out against her rib cage, rage that pushes its way up to the bottom of my throat. It feels like I'm going into anaphylactic shock. I can't speak, my tongue is swollen. I want to take the notecard and give myself a papercut. I want to take the notecard and rip it into a thousand pieces and tell him to tape it back together again. And all of these thoughts occur in the 4 steps it takes me to get to him before I say, "What do you do with this notecard? Sure, I'll tell you. You take this notecard and you write 2 questions on it."

"What kind of questions?"

"Whatever kind you want to write, based on the book and what we've been talking about today" I offer.

"Well, I don't know. What have we been talking about? Which book?"

"You tell me which book, John." To keep myself calm, I'm now using my mom's recommended 4-count breath in and out.

"No, you're supposed to tell me."

And at this point, I take the card and I write a zero on it. I ask him to write his name on the first line and then I scoop up the card and walk away, hearing him ask the student next to him, "Hey, why did she put a zero on that? Was she grading those? What was supposed to be on that?"