My Students Think I'm A Serial Killer

Too many times when I write about school it's negative. Part of it is that writing is a form of on-the-fly therapy for me. It's easier and cheaper than paying someone, that's for sure. Writing gives me a chance to reflect and react to what's happened while helping me "clear the chamber." I thought I'd change that around a little bit today and talk about something that happened in my class that was pretty positive.

I have a pretty good rapport with my students despite myself. I'm big. I'm loud. I'm abrasive. To some, I'm remarkably (and inexplicably) intimidating. I can be overly demanding. I preach a degree of independence that many of them aren't prepared for. I praise begrudgingly, a product of my own upbringing that I'm working hard at changing for the sake of my own children, who respond vastly better to positive reinforcement than negative. However, once they "get me," they are almost always all in with what I'm doing. Sure, I still frustrate them, but as time goes on it is more of an amused frustration on their part at my own foibles and my exasperation at their's. I've joked with one administrator that I'm an acquired taste that isn't usually appreciated until a year or two later. This week that connection felt really strong.

We're doing a second research paper in class. My students need the practice, especially considering so many of them intend to go to college in the fall. Their first research projects were mostly mediocre, occasionally good and largely horrendous. (At least the ones that were actually submitted...what were you DOING in the library? Wait, that's another blog!) Inspired by the story behind Jeff Pearlman's brilliant FOOTBALL FOR A BUCK, students are allowed to research whatever the want, however they want. Yes, I'm opening a Pandora's box, but I think the students need the help.

As part of my introduction to the unit, I talked about two things that I'd recently researched: knives and how to tie knots.  My first period, a relatively quiet, intelligent and kind of nerdy group, said nothing, but certainly side-eyed me. My next class, a more vocal, rambunctious group, didn't hesitate.

"Yo, Z, that's super creepy," one announced alongside a chorus of affirmations concerning my sudden interest in knives and knots.

"No,no," I said, more nervous than I would've liked as the realization dawned on me. "It's only because I was cleaning out my shed over break."

"Z, you just made it creepier," another student said to uproarious laughter. I lost the room. And I was okay with that. There was a joy in listening to the students detail how they now had it in their mind that I was some kind of serial killer. They proceeded to ask really good questions, which I've been told is the sign of good teaching.

"What's in your shed that you need a knife for?"
"Z, who's watching your kids while this is happening?"
"What do you need to tie up in your shed?"
"Why knots?"
"Where is your wife?"

I only made it worse while explaining that I needed a new knife because I hid my previous pocket knife from my niece, who had found it in the basement, and couldn't find it. I needed it because I had several "person-sized" cardboard boxes in my shed that needed breaking down. Questions turned to good-natured but harsh ribbing about me potentially being a serial killer. (I mean look at my white board, for crying out loud):

All that's missing is a cipher....

Moments like there are part of teaching. What did my students learn? I'm not sure, but for a few moments, we were bonding, laughing and talking about how funny language can be. Three days later, students are still asking me if my new knife came (it did) and was I having any luck taking care of my "boxes" or if I'd learned any new knots. I smiled. Maybe I'm getting through. I mean it's almost May.

For now, this is Zodiac speaking.