This week, about eleven ninth graders waltzed into my classroom. And by "waltzed" I mean "ran in screaming/crying/kissing/talking on their cell phones/punching each other on the arms". It's the third week of class, but these students are part of a new ninth-grade intervention program; the idea is that a combination of tutoring and reading classes will help these adorable little ne'er-do-wells to catch up with their daytime work.

I was happy enough to get these students, especially considering my low numbers this term, but I wasn't really expecting all of them to come in at the same time, without registration forms, about fifteen minutes before class ended on Monday. Thankfully, my regular students were quietly doing groupwork, so I had a little bit of time to get the new students' names, give them their contracts, and do a short Getting to Know You exercise. Even so, they were unruly and quite unhappy about being there. Here was one of our first conversations:

Me: "Hi guys! I'm Mrs. Williams, and this is the Reading Lab. First thing's first...please turn off your cell phones and iPods."

Male student: "Awww, f***, miss."

Me: "Watch the f-bombs, too. Go ahead, turn them off."

Female student: "She means, just turn them down."

Me: "No, I mean, turn them off. I will always be respectful of you, but I need the same respect in return. Turning your electronics off is part of that."

Male student: "Awww, f***!!!"

Sigh. I knew I had my work cut out for me.

The students who have been with me since week one--who were initially shy and/or surly, but are now delightful--immediately hated the newcomers. I tried to assure them that the new students were just uncomfortable and would fall in-line after a week or so, but my old students only shook their heads doubtfully. They are used to a quiet, orderly, and friendly classroom environment, and they are extremely unhappy about the new energy.

That night, I had a dream that I was teaching two classes...at the same time. They were held in two different rooms, so I had to keep running from classroom to classroom to lecture, and after about five minutes of this, both classrooms were totally out of control. Students were making out, destroying materials, and fighting with each other. And the worst part was that I was teaching math--a subject I have always hated and still can't execute correctly, even with a calculator. When I woke up, I was crying.

The next day, half of the ninth grade intervention students didn't even show up for class. Those that did came in late and then informed me that they were leaving after the break--giving me a total of about twenty minutes with them in the classroom.

Yesterday, a few more showed up. On time. And I felt I was able to make some kind of progress with them before they left after the break again. Some of them even laughed as we learned our eight new vocab words. The F-bomb-thrower even started saying "fudge" instead of "f***".

The thing is, I'm not stressed about their bad attitudes or the fact that they've missed two weeks of instruction. I've tamed wilder beasts than they. We can always review. And I can work around their weird schedules, too. No, the hardest part is that the students who have been with me longer have just started to trust me. They've just started to open up and even work with other students who aren't in their clique. And now this just throws a monkey wrench in the whole works. The new students look at me as if I'm a prison warden, and the old students act like dogs I've just kicked. All that trust-building and goal-setting and procedure-practicing we did the first two weeks has to be done all over again.

Double sigh.

Well, don't cry for me, Argentina. I think I can get this all under control. It's just going to take a lot of patience and a little time. And, hey, it's great blogging material!

art: Lichtenstein's "Girl Crying"