Every teacher knows that a day in the classroom is always full of surprises, successes, failures, and inspirational moments. In the poignant memoir School House Diary, longtime educator shares anecdotes-both tragic and humorous-that detail his nearly thirty years as a social studies teacher, coach, and student advocate in Cincinnati, Ohio. Jerry Roberts began his career as a high school history teacher not as a green twenty-two-year-old recent college graduate, but as a four-year Army veteran and father of two young children. As he details the antics, humorous incidents, and human tragedy that often unfolded on a daily basis in his classroom, Roberts offers an eye-opening glimpse into the life of a teacher-a life that often includes switching roles from history teacher to surrogate parent to armchair psychologist. From the helicopter Mom who had difficulty letting her daughter grow up to the pregnant twelve-year-old student to the driven high school student who learned that leadership requires building trust in others, Roberts shines a fascinating light into the challenging world of an educator. School House Diary is a compelling collection of essays that prove that teachers truly make a difference every day in the lives of their students.

School House Diary

Reflections of a Retired EducatorBy Jerry L. Roberts

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011 Jerry L. Roberts
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4620-0816-2

Contents

To the Reader...........................................viiAbout the Author........................................xiAcknowledgments.........................................xiiiA Vicious Cycle.........................................1A Couple of Pricks......................................5American, Please........................................8Classroom Humor.........................................11Does Anyone Hear Me?....................................14Drive-By Staring........................................17The Day the Fish Died...................................19Give Me the Bat, Mom....................................25Got Ya..................................................30Helicopter Mom..........................................34Hello, I Am, Like, Socrates.............................39I Survived To Tell the Story............................43Jimmy, What If?.........................................48Keep Them Calm..........................................53Make Him Stop!..........................................56Okay, I Get It, Finally!................................59Oops....................................................63Our Dear President......................................65Stressful Meeting.......................................70Survival of the Feces...................................74The Melee...............................................76The Colonel.............................................82The Good Die Young......................................86The Intervention........................................90The Klan................................................93The Sirens' Call........................................98The Vendor..............................................101This One Is For You.....................................105Touchè.............................................110What Are You Doing, Man?................................112When Was Color Invented?................................117Here's Johnny!..........................................120Keeping Score...........................................122Is That Mine?...........................................125Please Love Me..........................................127You Can't Judge A Book By Its Cover.....................133Final Thoughts..........................................136

Chapter One

A Vicious Cycle

Reducing teen pregnancy and birth is one of the most effective ways of preventing poverty in America.

Jordan Brown

When I first heard the bad news, I was both shocked and dismayed. I was shocked that this could happen to a twelve-year-old girl, a girl who in an ideal world should be laughing and playing with her favorite Barbie Doll. Kiani was a girl whose only concern should have been what outfit she was going to wear to school, or if she was going to get a love note from the boy who smiled at her in the hallway the day before. I was dismayed; I feared for her future. Honestly, I feared for all our futures, because this phenomenon was occurring with extraordinary frequency across the country and still is. Yes, you guessed correctly—she was pregnant.

As the girls huddled in the back of the room to discuss the "good news," I was fighting back an urge to vomit. I wanted to run back to those girls and scream, "What in the hell is the matter with you kids? Have you lost your minds? Don't any of you understand the implications of this irresponsible behavior? Who is going to raise this child? Oh, I know—how about your crackhead mom? Or perhaps your dad will step up. Oh, I forgot. He is still in prison for whatever. And what about those two drug-dealing brothers of yours who kick your ass every day and terrorize you and your mother?" Of course, I held my tongue; other folks like counselors and social workers were already involved. Maybe the "experts" could put the genie back in the bottle.

But I knew there would be no miracle; no divine intervention was in the making. Life doesn't work that way. The rules of life are often cold and hard; second chances are rare. Life is more existential than righteous. This poor girl had been handed a life full of people who died in the streets. For her, and the girls who supported her, sex equaled love, and a baby was evidence that someone, even for a brief moment, loved them.

She gave birth to a boy that August. By then, I had been transferred to another school within the district. I lost track of Kiani for four years. In 2001 she enrolled in the vocational high school where I was working as a student advocate. She entered into the Early Childhood Learning program. The irony that this sixteen-year-old abused child, already the mother of a four-year-old son, was entering into a program for early child care teachers was not lost on me. But as someone once said, sometimes irony keeps the heart from breaking.

I made it a point to speak with her during the first week of school to see how she was doing. On the surface she seemed fine. She had learned to camouflage her feelings quite well. She was like an actress playing the role of a normal adolescent while simultaneously hiding heartbreaking, devastating emotional pain. She had learned to be a pretty good actress—to those who did not know her, that is.

During the first two weeks she seemed positive and ready to be a good student. She came to school every day. She took her young boy to the school day care center. (He was already exhibiting severe behavioral problems.) For a while things went fairly smoothly for her. But then little fissures began to appear. First she began to miss some school; nothing significant in the beginning. But as time passed, the absences increased until they became a problem. Her attitude began to decline. She began to refuse help or advice. I learned she was involved with an older boy. The short-term thrill of drugs and sex were preferable to some abstract ideas of hard work and the future. After all, she had no frame of reference for such ideas. "Fuck the future," she once told me. "What future do I have?"

I decided I could not give up on this girl. I began talking with her teachers. We tried to offer support, to help her feel connected. I also contacted the principal from her previous school. She had worked very closely with Kiani. The two of them had formed a strong bond and developed trust during the previous three years. She gave me some ideas on how to help Kiani. We spoke to each other on a regular basis. But the situation continued to deteriorate.

I discovered she was living with her boyfriend. He was a high school dropout and a drug dealer. To make matters worse, her young son was living with them. She was living the only life she knew. As Shakespeare so profoundly observed, "the wheel had come full circle."

Her attitude continued to deteriorate precipitously. She refused to talk about her problems or accept strategies for dealing with them. She had given up any hope of changing the course of her life. The notion that she would climb the proverbial mountain to success was proving to be a cruel illusion.

Witnessing this human tragedy unfolding before my eyes was devastating. Her young life was spinning out of control. But the problem was not just Kiani any more. I accepted that her son will be the next victim of this vicious cycle of human destruction. Who would be...