“Teaching Nirvana”

 

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  1990's Me!

            I am a Psychologist certified in the state of Texas to teach Psychology and English. When I began my career in 1980, no other teacher in Bexar County had my credentials. For my first six years in the classroom, I taught seventh, eighth, and ninth grade English. In 1986, the principal from our campus shifted to the high school and took along some of the best and brightest teachers within our district. He wanted me on his campus to design and implement the first course in Psychology offered at the high school level within our Region. I had one stipulation to making this move—that my classroom would be open to all topics initiated by students with his support.

            That first year, I experimented freely with my curriculum utilizing a couple of old textbooks, my own personal library, and the professional journals available through the APA. During the next decade, my principal sent me to training on Critical Thinking, Cooperative Learning, and Multiple Intelligences with David Lazear. My education included Gifted and Talented certification and Advanced Placement training. Within all of that, I also continued refining my skills as an educator for teaching writing, which I integrated into my Psychology curriculum. The course I developed became one our district offered to other campuses throughout Texas with my availability for in-services and workshops. Because few high schools offered Psychology at their schools, I became the main teacher for student teacher training. Over a few years, I trained seven student teachers from Trinity University, UTSA, and Southwest Texas State University (now Texas State University). My reputation within not just our District and Region, but throughout the state was impeccable.

            You can imagine my surprise when one October morning, one of our counselor’s tapped on my classroom door and said I needed to report to the principal’s office immediately, and that she’d be taking my classes for the remainder of the day. My students did their “Oh, Miss, what you do now?” quarry as I grabbed my purse and headed to the administration building. As they knew earlier in the week a very frank and open discussion on masturbation had been brought up by a student, we all figured we knew why I was heading to the office. Mentally, I began my reminder to the principal that he’d agreed that my classroom was open to ALL topics brought up by students.

            When I entered his office, he waved me to a chair as he finished a phone conversation. His expression stern, he leaned forward and stated, “I’ve been running interference with District Office over a parental complaint. That was the parent. Apparently, you are ‘endangering the students and faculty of this campus by opening the door to Satan.’”

            My jaw dropped. “What?”

            “She says you have your classes sit in the dark and open their minds and thoughts which allow Satan to enter. When I told her that her son’s enrolled in an elective, and we’d change him to a different course today, she refused because it’s her duty as a Christian to make certain evil doesn’t get an opening at this school. Her son’s not the only one at risk. So . . . what have you done that would trigger this woman?”

            “I have no idea!” I began. “Last week I did the heart rate activity. Could that be it?”

            This multipronged lesson integrated demonstrating gathering data (heart rates) after students first entered the classroom, walked the stairs 3 or 4 times, took a second pulse reading, and then did a guided relaxation activity with a taking their pulse rate a third time. I’d done it for several years to teach mean, mode and median with the data derived along with giving my high anxiety students fairly fast method of relaxation that they could do easily at home.

            I explained that the final step to lower student pulses involved multiple steps once students stretched out on the floor, sat at desks with arms and feet uncrossed, or lay across a few desks. With lights off and Pachelbel (usually) playing softly, students tensed every muscle in their bodies. Then I’d instruct them to relax and focus on breathing in a steady, even rhythm with me repeating softly, “In through the nose. Out through the mouth.” Next, I’d have them think of a favorite place and “see it, hear it, taste it, feel it. A warm sun, feathery breeze.” After about fifteen minutes, more heart rate data would be collected.    

            He asked a few questions, jotted notes onto a legal pad, and said he’d take care of the problem. By the end of the day, someone from the main office scheduled an appointment for the next day to observe the activity with one of my classes. Obviously, no gateway to Satan opened through this lesson. I don’t know the details for how the parent backed down, but I never heard another complaint.

            Educators today often ask how I survived for thirty years in education. My years really were different than what the classroom teacher faces today. That one rare incident of a parent challenging my instruction occurs constantly now. The support I received from my principal and the district office personnel doesn’t exist for the teacher today. They face out of control parents threating their safety. They combat dick-less men who fear anything that doesn’t teach that white, Christian males are superior to women and minorities. Their censored bookshelves sit bare in some states.

            The war against public education started while I still worked in the classroom, but the conflict grows daily into open hostilities against every teacher who enters a school. I don’t have any answers to my friends currently teaching except to chant “in through the nose, out through the mouth” as they prepare for a long, hard battle.

 

Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

                              

             

"A Mess"

            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.

     

 Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

“Classy Classrooms?”

            My adventures as a substitute teacher mean I find myself visiting many different schools and spending my days slipping into someone’s personal space for eight hours at a time. I can’t help but notice the different atmospheres teachers create within their cinderblock walls.

            When I taught, my classroom became an extension of my personal taste. I usually had a corner designated for reading. For many years, a small couch with a pole lamp squatted in one area next to bookcases loaded with my favorites. Atop these shelves I’d place philodendrons in jugs of water, pictures of my son and pets, and sometimes fresh cut flowers to brighten the room. I always loaded a huge wicker laundry hamper with an assortment of pillows for Pillow Days. If my classes behaved, on Pillow Days, the students could grab their favorite cushion from the pile, retreat under desks, to the couch, or to a private place in the room, and read or write without the constraints of iron-hard chairs and desks. Whether I taught seniors or seventh graders, having days to stretch out with a pillow and a pencil or book became a special treat. Some days, I’d add to the atmosphere by having a “fireplace” by putting orange paper over the overhead projector to cast a warm glow into the room.

 

            As a substitute, I’ve learned that not all teachers spend as much time or energy on their classrooms as I did, and I have definitely noted the difference between male and female teachers. If I enter a man’s classroom, I find very little personal items on display. Some may have a photograph or two back by their desks, tucked in next to their computers, of their wives, children or pets. Some may even hang their diplomas along one wall. However, the classroom décor ends there. The posters, if any are on the walls, demonstrate functionality—equations or formulas, copies of historical documents, or a list of literary terms and definitions. My recent encounters with these male educators still have more in their rooms than my first department chair. His sparse room contained absolutely no posters except for a leggy pose of Jennifer Beals from Flashdance.

            Women educators utilize their classrooms as an extension of their personal taste. Instead of one or two personal pictures tucked discretely on a corner of their desks, they plaster photographs down entire file cabinets—attached to the metal furniture with frog magnets (or flowers, pigs, roadrunners, shoes—whatever fancy catches the woman’s attention and displays her passions). Personal furniture crams into the room, too. Women teachers tend to have bookcases and brightly painted hutches along a wall. Their cinderblock barely peaks out from behind a multitude of posters—some professionally printed, others work from current or past students. Nick-knacks clutter these women’s desktops and spill onto any open surface. Tape dispensers, staplers, little storage boxes—all color or theme coordinated!

            I doubt decorating a classroom impacts student learning directly. Studies probably show little correlation between the posters displayed in a room (or lack thereof) and student performance. However, I believe that the more “at home” a teacher feels within his or her space, the more that educator will enjoy the time spent in the classroom. Whether the utilitarian and uncluttered, streamline masculine décor or the colorful embellishments of the feminine influence, if an educator’s classroom becomes an extension of personality, everyone benefits.   

 

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman