Road Trip to Bellingham

The following trio of blogs describes a road trip with a small group of theatre students up to Bellingham for a theatre conference. During this trip, I was confronted with several uncomfortable situations involving student crushes and inappropriate student behavior. For better or worse (ultimately for better), the trip forced me to take a good hard look at The Line that should exist between teachers and students... And to evaluate whether or not I had it!

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Road Trip (posted 3/19/2009)
So here's the story.

Tomorrow (Friday), I'm driving to Bellingham with [my mentor] Viola, the theatre teacher Jane, and about 11 of the students. We're going to a high-school theatre conference to perform a cutting of our school musical, Oliver. Today, after our final rehearsal, we figured out which kids would drive with which teachers. Jane and Viola claimed kids first.

I got all the boys.

This is my car:

Aaron: Our tech guy. 18, tall, one of the star basketball players, handsome, volatile, troubled, easily angered. But smily.

Leon: Playing Mr. Bumble. Also a Senior. Square, swarthy, and typically wears long jerseys, baseball hats, and big gold chains with fancy medallions. Speaks with a lisp; sings like butter.

Lincoln: Playing Oliver; our little one. Absolutely adorable. Just on the verge of puberty, which terrified Jane during casting since she worried his angelic high voice might drop mid-quarter. Long lashes around sweet blue eyes, and some of the biggest feet I've ever seen.

Dylan: Playing Fagin. Dyed black hair, long long skinny legs, wrapped in long long skinny jeans; giant gauges in his ears. Has apparently been a model for "edgy" publications. The best actor in the bunch, and when he rubs his hands together as the avaricious Fagin, and unfolds his long legs in giant, cartoonish steps, he's absolutely hysterical.

That's sort of my school in a nutshell. Or-- a Honda Accord, rather.

I'm actually really excited for my carload. I hope we have fun!

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Road Trip Recap (posted 3/23/2009)
Other possible titles for this post:
"Too Young to be Old; Too Old to be Young."
Or, "Big Ball of Awkward."
Or perhaps, "Student Teacher Temptress." Please God, no.

Gah. I'm still cringing.

The boys talked about their drinking stories the whole way up. Little Lincoln ended up going in a different car so they had no incentive to censor-- apparently, I wasn't reason enough. I told them, "I'm going to pretend you're talking about Koolaid." Tried to distract them with traveling stories, but as soon as they had a chance to talk again, we were once more talking about inebriation and destruction of property.

My friend Annie texted me in response to this report: "Haha! I love how comfortable they are with you!"

Well... or not. Told Viola about the car ride and she said, "You really shouldn't let them talk about that stuff-- it could misconstrued as you, like, encouraging them to do that. You just have to be careful-- make sure you tell them that they can't talk about that anymore with you."

"Right. You're absolutely right," I nodded. Thought: "Stupid. Stupid. How did I not figure that out when they were talking about it?"

Then she said, "I have to tell you what the girls told me in my car: apparently Dylan has a HUGE crush on you!" She laughed.

"Oh nooo..." I said.

I tried to act normal about everything though. The boys rode in my car the whole weekend, so I tried adjusting my demeanor to a more ADULT, PROFESSIONAL, I-am-NOT-in-fact-closer-to-your-generation-than-to-my-middle-aged-colleagues kind of attitude. I think I was kind of awkward about it though. I ended up being mostly sarcastic and grumpy.

Friday afternoon, I heard one of the girls, Kimberly-- a chatty, brash, self-identified lesbian say, "I want Greta on my team!"
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing!" she grinned.

I found out that the boys-slash-Kimberly called out "My team" whenever they saw someone that they wanted "dibs" over-- that they were attracted to. I reported this finding to Viola.
"Wait-- didn't someone call you for THEIR team?" she asked.
"Yes," I said grimly. "Kimberly." And she laughed again.

The worst was Friday night though. Jane, the theatre teacher, had to go tell the kids to be quiet. She'd mentioned earlier in the day that she felt like she always had to be the bad guy, so I decided to go stand beside her in solidarity. She was standing in front of the guys' room, and when I stood beside her and looked into the room, I saw Aaron in just his shorts. My eyes opened wide and I turned right around to walk back to my room.

This was a mistake. Because by LEAVING, it meant Aaron was able to CHASE AFTER ME. Which he did. Naked chested. And then tried to thrust his naked-chestedness into the room as I tried to shut the door on him.

Are you cringing? Because WOW, I am.

This is what I should have done: I should have been stoic and aloof in the first place, and staid the course beside Jane as she told them to shut up, never mind the scantily clad high-schoolers. OR, if I couldn't have done that, I should have turned around on Aaron and unleashed the wrath of a thousand furies by roaring, "THAT IS COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE AND YOU NEED TO STAND DOWN SOLDIER!" Instead, I freaked out, tried to run away, ended up batting him away like a stupid teenager, and just about burned up in blushingness.

The whole weekend was a miserable confrontation with THE LINE. I feel like "the line" has been well-established with my freshmen and sophomores. They KNOW I'm their teacher, and they treat me as such. None of them would ever even THINK of chasing me down a hotel hallway, and if they did, I KNOW my first instinct would be to ask them incredulously, "What the H are you doing??" But I haven't practiced being a teacher to seniors yet-- and they haven't seen me as the up-front teacher of a lesson, or as the governor of a classroom. To them-- I'm the exception. I'm the cute young intern who lets them get AWAY with stuff. Of course they do: kids are always pushing boundaries; it's MY job to assert myself and make sure they follow them. But when a 6'2" mostly naked 18-year-old is chasing me down a hallway, my instincts kick in, and unfortunately: my instincts in those situations still say RUN.

Complicating things further is the fact that, under normal circumstances, I WOULD probably pal around with these kids. When we dropped them off at the dance on Friday night, I started getting into the music and thought it would be fun to go in and dance WITH them-- but realized, of course, that I couldn't. I "got" all their pop-culture references, and all their jokes. They're all cool, interesting people-- and being with the boys put me in the same frame of mind as being with my little brother, who's their same age. I realized that my reaction to their stories in the car-- laughing and chiding them-- was the same kind of reaction I have when my little brother tells me a story of misbehavin'. That was the instinctual response. But the response that I must learn is not the "big sister" response. It is not the "25-year-old" response. It is not the "friend" response. It is the TEACHER response.

"Teacher response" hindsight is 20/20. And makes me feel incredibly foolish when analyzing the actions that actually occurred.

Viola returned to the subject today, saying that I should have distanced myself from Dylan as soon as I realized that he had a crush on me, and went on further to say that running away from Aaron seemed flirtatious. I spent the rest of the day feeling horrified and mortified. Morhorified. Though she told me she knew I didn't mean to come across that way at ALL and that I clearly wasn't doing anything wrong intentionally, I just had to be very careful with these boys. Her ending disclaimer didn't make me feel much better.

I know I'm learning still. I know I'll have a brand new slate next year. I know that the next time any one of these situations happens I will KNOW how to respond. But in the meantime...

Gah. I'm still cringing.

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Are. You. Kidding Me. (posted 3/24/2009)

Viola started the day off with more talk about the weekend and the boys being crushified, and me being, apparently, the anti-ice-princess. We spent almost our WHOLE prep period talking about it-- and she kept saying, "I know you didn't mean to, BUT..." And I kept saying, "Lesson learned, I feel mortified, I will be a firm, stern teacher from now on, I get it." I was really hoping to just move on from the whole thing, so to spend almost an entire HOUR talking about it again was so not a fun start to the day.

Then this weird situation came up with a girl who had come in to talk to me before school-- she had some heavy stuff on her mind, and then she ended up crying during 4th period... When she tearfully left after class, she lingered outside our door, and mentioned to several of her friends that she had talked to me about things earlier in the day. I was torn-- should I have gone to talk to her? Or should I be the Teacher-With-A-Clear-LINE, and just let the girl fend for herself?

I was all stressed and bothered and worried.

Finally, 6th period-- musical-- rolled around. Jane and I took most of the high-school kids into the auditorium to start working on "Who Will Buy," one of the show's big songs. As she was standing up front, I noticed Aaron-- the naked-chested-hallway-chaser-- madly texting from his seat on the edge of the auditorium. I walked up to him and held out my hand for the phone.

"Why don't I hang onto that for the rest of the class?" I asked.

He pulled up the waistband of his sweats and threw the phone into his pants. "Whoops! How'd that happen?" he said. Then his phone dinged and vibrated with a return text. He closed his eyes halfway and grinned. "Ooooh..."

I was FLOORED.

ALL the pent up furies from the weekend and the subsequent talks and lectures rallied together in one single furious expression on my face, and one single enraged tone of voice.

"Aaron that is UNBELIEVABLY inappropriate!" I hissed. "I don't EVER want to hear that kind of crap from you again!!"

He looked surprised, and chastened. Then he grinned and said half-heartedly, "Sorry."

"No. I can't believe you just said that Aaron, SHAME on you. Don't you EVER pull that crap with me again." And I walked away, still fuming.

After class, he walked out in front of me, Leon tagging along at his heels. I called after him with a voice full of nails. "Aaron, I really hope I never see anything like what you pulled in class today again," I said.

"Greta, I'm sorry," he said, looking genuinely apologetic.

"That was so rude," I said.

"I'm sorry Greta!" he said. He sounded upset. I'd really made him feel bad!

"That was unbelievably rude," I repeated.

I told Viola about the interchange and she gasped. "Yaaaaaayyyy!" she crowed. "That was EXACTLY what you needed to say! I'm glad you came down so hard on him, he NEEDED that! And he wants you to like him, Greta, so I bet he feels really bad-- he'll probably never do anything like that again! Good jooooob!"

It was another prickly day all around, but I felt like I'd gotten one thing right. At least the teacher instincts are closer to where they need to be than they were this weekend.

Still-- at this point...?

I AM SO READY FOR SPRING BREAK.

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Reflection:

However awkward Viola's long talks had made me feel in the moment, my excellent mentor once again helped me reach the next level of professional maturity as a teacher. The moment with Aaron where I took his cell phone signaled the beginning of a new up front demeanor that has made "The Line" infinitely clear to both myself and my students. Since taking over our classes full time since Spring Break, Viola has commended me multiple times on my classroom management and commented that it's clear that the students see me as their teacher. "Greta, I think this is the smoothest a transition has ever gone with an intern, going from me to all YOU," she has said to me. "The kids are great for you!" Showing kindness, compassion, and genuine care for my students is still a priority, but I am also now completely comfortable telling students "No" when I need to, and feel at ease practicing the professional responsibilities and demeanor of The Teacher. Although the trip to Bellingham was a cringing pile of awkwardness, it was the lesson needed to create that Neon-Blinking-LINE between myself, as the teacher, and the kids as the students!