education students from all walks of life. I was lucky. Still, I began in the usual way by building relationships with kids.
In my classroom I view everything as a learning opportunity and tend to operate a bit different than others in my building.
I allow phones in my classroom and find ways for them to use them with purpose. Where students are distracted I see teachable moments. Most in my district lean on a strict no-cell phone policy. I allow students to sit where they want and have my desks arranged in groups of four to encourage discussion. Many teachers have strict seating charts with desks in traditional rows. Where most teachers have strict no food allowed policies in class, I allow students to eat in class if they are hungry - learning doesn’t happen well on an empty stomach.
Many teachers in my building have a laundry list of rules. I have two: be nice and work hard.
Over the years these philosophical differences have served me well. Regardless of the type of student who enters my room we find a way to work together through mutual respect and admiration.
Due to a complication with scheduling, it was decided to merge another small ELA 10 class with mind. I don’t mind helping out, so I agreed, and we made the change the next hour increasing class size to twenty-eight. No problem. I taught classes larger than that before, so I welcomed them.
When the new students entered the room and saw who was already there, the class erupted into cheers of “Oh, yeah!”; “Bro! You’re in this class! No way!”; and “This is gonna be the best!”
Another group of students reacted quite the opposite. One young lady announced to her friends and the rest of the class that “there was no way she would be anywhere near those kids” and she pointed to a different group already in my classroom.
I knew I might be in trouble, but I have fifteen years of teaching under my belt and consider classroom management a strength. I figured things would work out, but things don’t always go according to plan.
Over the course of the first eight weeks it seemed I was constantly putting out fires. There was a constant pull from one group to another trying to everyone situated. It was like a nightmare game of whack-a-mole and I dug deep into my bag of tricks.
I had personal conversations with students. I stopped class numerous times to talk, in a low and measured tone, about how disappointed I was in them. I added rules like no food and no cell phones. I told the worst offenders they were welcome in class, but their behavior wasn’t and removed students from class. I had heart-to-heart conversations with individuals and tried to create bonds with the most challenging students.
I tried everything short of detentions, because detentions only create animosity - something not conducive to a healthy learning environment.
Things would go well for a day or two, then class rowdiness would rear its ugly head again.
At one point, a colleague saw students coming out of my class and said, “Wow. Administration put all of those students in the same classroom? That has got to be rough.” I merely shook my head and agreed, but said, “I believe they have it in them to do better. I’m just not sure how to get there yet.”
A few days later was the worst day of the trimester. Nobody was listening. Nobody was learning. Students were getting up and moving around. My directions for the day fell on deaf ears. Some students got my attention among the chaos and asked questions privately about what they were supposed to do for the day, and I told them.
As ashamed as I am to admit it, the class was out of control. It was the first time since student teaching I felt I totally lost the battle of classroom management. I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream. I wanted to write detentions until my hands cramped.
But, I did none of that.
Instead, I stood in the middle of the classroom refusing to respond to anything going on around the room and I waited. Soon, someone said, “Shut up! Schoenborn’s just standing there. I think he’s waiting for something,” and the class slowly quieted.
I let them wait in the silence for a few minutes.
When the time seemed right I said, “Folks, we’ve been at this for eight weeks and something has got to change.”
One kid blurted out, “Are you going to give us assigned seats?”
I continued, “I try to honor you and your choices while in class and in that effort, you may have noticed, I do things quite differently from your other classes. Yet, as much as it bothers me, you are teaching me that I need to change my approach. So, for now, please find your seats, put your phones away - I do not want to see them out at all - they are no longer allowed to be in the classroom.”
I pointed out phones that needed to be put away answer questions as they arose: No, they cannot be out to charge; I don’t care if your mom just texted you; No, you cannot listen to music even if you have bluetooth earbuds. Eventually the phones were all put away.
There were only a few minutes remaining in class and a student asked, “Can we have them tomorrow?”
My answer was quick and somber, “No.”
They continued, “What’s going to happen tomorrow?”
“You know,” I said, “I’m not quite sure. I’m going to have to sleep on that.”
The bell rang and students left the classroom.
In the meantime, I had another class of students to teach. Fortunately, we had creative writing time in class and I used it to help me unravel my thoughts.
I chose to write personal letters to my challenging tenth graders in template form. It is as follows:
“Dear ________,
Thank you for _________. There are moments when I see you shine in class and I enjoy those moments. I remember ____________. I recall ________________. I remember ______________. Memory is such a fine gift and the moments we recall usually center on our emotional experiences. I love those good memories of you.
But, I am tired. I am so tired. No matter what I do it doesn’t seem to make a difference.
Yesterday each of you acknowledged that I have been fair and reasonable with you. You have also acknowledged it hasn’t been returned. Can you imagine how disappointing that feels?
You know I am not one who cares much for rules in the classroom. In fact, I only have two: be nice and work hard. Why those rules? Simple. That is all you need in life to be successful no matter what you choose to do. Opportunities you would never expect open to you merely by staying positive and being kind.
Kindness matters. YOU matter. I appreciate you.
When you work hard you are telling yourself that you care about yourself. Hard work tells others that you are dependable. People rely on you. Be the one they can count on.
If I have offended you in some way, please accept my heartfelt apologies. If you feel you have offended me - I forgive you.
I am sorry that I need to create a seating chart. I am sorry that I have to ask you to put your phones away. I am sorry I am not a better teacher for you.
I hope you understand,
Andy”
Before the next time we met I used that letter template twenty-eight times focusing on the positives I witnessed from each student. Believe me when I say, it was easier to find positives to say for some than others. But, I was determined to focus on the positive.
After third hour the following day, I locked and shut my door - something I never do - and placed envelopes containing their letters on top of each desk. While doing that I heard a tug on the classroom door and a call of, “Hey! Looks like we’re getting new seats!,” followed by peals of laughter.
I went to the door, opened it up, and used my body to block entry into the classroom and said, “Folks, listen please, I have thought long and hard about the difficult day we had yesterday. When you walk into class you will see envelopes with your names on them. Inside the envelope you will find a personalized letter for each and every one of you. Where you find your letter you will also find your assigned seat. Remember you are no longer allowed to have phones in the classroom. All I ask is that you find your seat and take the first five minutes of class to read your letter.”
Students were curious and entered quietly into the classroom to find their letter and new seats. To my surprise they remained quiet as each of them opened their letter and read in silence.
When the five minutes was up I continued, “Now that you know how I feel about each of you, I think it is only fair that you are allowed to respond. Please take out your writer’s notebooks or create a Google doc. You are not required to share your response to me. You are not required to share it with anyone. You may delete it or throw it away when you are finished, but you are required to write an eight minute response to my letter. Are there any questions?” There were none, but students were eager to write.
They wrote and wrote and wrote. Though I did my best to honor their privacy by not looking at their responses, I noticed some students writing more during those eight minutes than they did the last eight weeks. I could sense the tension releasing.
When time was up one student asked if they could give me their response privately. I said it was their choice, but not a requirement. A few students did. I placed them upside down on my desk. A few students shared their docs with me.
With our reading and written responses complete they were ready to begin class for the day. I begin every day with a poem and chose a particularly meaningful poem for this moment: Shane Koyczan’s “Instructions for a Bad Day”
Nothing more needed to be said.
The rest of the class period was, dare I say, fun. We learned a lot that day as we remembered how to smile again.
When the bell rang and students shuffled out of the door I thanked them for learning with me, as I usually do. In return, students took it upon themselves to shake my hand, share a smile, wish me a good day, and one student said, “thank you for teaching us today, Andy.”
It was remarkable.
A few weeks have passed since that moment and there have been some bumps in the road. But, instead of fires to be put out, they are normal glitches that right themselves quickly.
In that moment, students were reminded of the power of the written word. It comes to no surprise to me that even on the bad days, writing heals.
Andy Schoenborn is a high school English teacher in Michigan at Mt. Pleasant Public Schools. He focuses his work on progressive literacy methods including student-centered critical thinking, digital collaboration, and professional development. As a past-president of the Michigan Council of Teachers of English and National Writing Project teacher consultant for Central Michigan University’s Chippewa River Writing Project he frequently conducts workshops related to literacy and technology. Read his thoughts on literacy in the elafieldbook.wordpress.com and follow him on Twitter @aschoenborn.
Wow, Andy! What a brave post to share! We've all been there, but I'm sure I didn't handle the situation as well as you did. Writing does heal, but also when we show our vulnerabilities through writing, we open a door for others to do the same. Your students found a way to respect you through writing. Good luck with the remainder of the semester.
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