During
the last few weeks, I’ve substituted for teachers whose desks and classrooms
qualify as disaster areas. In one classroom, for my own personal safety, I
cleared a path through junk strewn on the floor between the carpet where the students
sat and the teacher’s desk and computer section. I shifted teetering towers of
books, realigned precariously stacked papers, and swept away slippery empty
baggies all to guarantee I wouldn’t trip or fall as I went about my day.
In
the back of my mind, I wondered about the impact of this level of disorder on
the students. I always wanted my classroom to be inviting. My high school
classroom included a reading nook with a small but comfortable couch, tons of
pillows for around the room reading, and even a few throws in case the air
conditioner chilled the room to subzero temperatures. Pole lamps in the corner
offered extra ambiance. If I had a mess from ungraded essays or projects, I hid
to out of sight from my students—usually in large plastic stackable crates that
took up a corner behind my desk. Because larger students need room, I often
tucked my desk tightly into a spot that took up as little space as possible,
giving as much square footage as possible to those who stood over six feet and
weighed close to 200 pounds. I rarely had discipline problems, and I’d like to
think that most of my students enjoyed spending time in my room.
In
my current occupation, I work in dozens and dozens of different classrooms.
Rarely do I encounter the chaos that I’ve witnessed in the last couple of
weeks. The disarray bursts beyond the messy space and overflows into
disrespectful student behavior. In every disorganized classroom, the students
struggled to pay attention. Their own personal space (cubbies or desks) erupted
with scrunched old classwork and cover creased library books.
By
day’s end, my head pounded. I can only imagine the impact the anarchy must
cause on all of those young, developing brains.
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