Teacher Rants

By Vince Alexander

            It’s getting old—very old.

            Please be patient because I’m angry. My problem is that I don’t know who should be the target of my anger. Maybe I should be upset with myself. You see, I’m a teacher—not just any teacher. I’m among a very small number of African American English/Language Arts teachers in the United States.

            Somehow, I’m supposed to have the magic bullet. One shot from me—because I’m a black male with three college degrees—I’m supposed to fire off a shot from my black male experience and cure all of the young black men that sit in my class.

            It’s not just me, but every African-American educator in the country must feel this type of pressure.

            But we are all losing the battle to help African American boys excel in school because of three things:

            First, African American boys are being recruited heavily by the glitz and glamour of professional football, basketball, and baseball;

            Next, African American boys are being heavily recruited by the glitz and glamour of the rap game;

            Last and sadly, African American boys are being heavily recruited by the fast money from the drug scene. Sell this bag of weed or pinch of crack for quick cash. That will give you the allowance your single parent can’t afford to give you. That will pay for those Jordans and that matching outfit that’s craved by young people far and near.

            For many African American boys, they don’t see sitting in a classroom for 12 to 16 years as a get rich plan. But playing in the NBA, rapping in a sold-out concert, or selling drugs to a large clientele is a better route to fame and fortune.

            Think about it. Kids today want to be the next Kobe Bryant, Lebron James, Carmello Anthony, Kevin Durant, Derek Rose, Dwayne Wade, or Dwight Howard. These are all African American men who are making millions of dollars playing basketball. Some of them have TV commercials and their own personally designed sneakers.

            I’ve tried to counter the young men who sat in my classes thinking they are going to be playing “in the League.” I told them that if they are not the best player in the state, the odds are stacked against them. Many of them aren’t even the best player on their middle school teams.

            I’ve even told them how comfortable I live, but I don’t make millions, have a commercial, or have my own personalized loafers. Besides, my loafers have too many creases in them from walking up and down rows of desks in my class, doing hall duty, and from doing bus and cafeteria duty. Black boys don’t see the glamour in that. Most of the time, I don’t either.

            If basketball isn’t their thing, black boys see similar money in the National Football League. Instead of aiming to be an architect or engineer, they want to be the next Cam Newton, Robert Griffin III, Michael Vick, Calvin Johnson, Brandon Marshall, or Adrian Peterson.

            Then there’s the rap game. Because of Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre, Kanye West, Tupac Shakur, and several others, a lot of African American boys have aspiring rap careers. They are in their basements, bedrooms, with their friends, at parties, and places unknown practicing to be a rapper.

            But when those options fail, they turn to the streets and the drug game. They go from user to seller. By this time, life (babies’ mommas, babies, and bills) has a price tag, and an easy way to make a lot of money is to sell dope -- and hope you don’t get caught or killed. That’s supposed to happen to the other guy.

            By the time our young black boys realize that they should have chosen the education route, they have already exhausted option A (professional athlete) and option B (a rap career), and have turned to what appears to be an easy route—drugs.

            It’s a familiar cycle. Our young men turn to using the gateway drug, marijuana. Then they need money to support their habit, and they become sellers. Black boys start out getting high with each other, selling to each other, and of course (one way or another) killing each other.

            And that’s why I’m mad.

It’s getting old. Very old!

By Vince Alexander

         I still think about it today. When I think of poor parenting equating to student failure, I ask: How can something be sad yet humorous? But at the time, it was.
        A few years ago, I was teaching my class. Everything was going great – I had a good lesson, the students were engaged, and the morning was going quickly. That’s when my classroom phone rang.
            “Mr. Alexander, there is a parent in the office who wants to conference with you,’’ the secretary said. “Can you meet with her next period? We can have someone cover for you. It shouldn’t take long.”
            She also told me who the parent was. It was John’s mom.  John is not his real name, but I immediately looked at my class list on my computer, clicked on his name, and clicked on his discipline report. I had written a discipline referral on him the day before. I had written him up three times in three months.  The shocker is that he was written up more than 90 times in two years–three times by me.
            His academic and attendance record was worse. The previous semester, he made all F’s, and he is frequently absent. Within 10 minutes, I found myself sitting in my principal’s conference room.
            “Mr. Alexander, why are you picking on my son?” John’s mother said.
            I paused. Within seconds, I thought, “She doesn’t want to talk about his failing grades, she doesn’t want to talk about his many absences, and she doesn’t want to talk about ways to improve his grade.”
            I told her I was more than patient with her son. I told her I could have written him up more than that. I told her in class, I have to constantly remind him to take his hat off in class, stay in his seat, leave the other students alone, and quit talking when I’m explaining a lesson.
            Then I challenged her, and her eyes bugged out of her head.
            “Do you realize that your son has been written up 94 times in the last two years?” I said. “Do you realize that some teachers have written up your son more than 10 times?”
            This is where I was conflicted. I saw my principal smile slightly. I wanted to laugh, but it was too sad to even crack a smile. It was a learning moment. For anyone who cares about students, teachers, and education in general, I think the ultimate blame for student success or failure can be tied to parenting. Rarely, in my view, can a student overcome an absentee, excuse-making parent.
            Here’s my solution, poor parents like John’s should be fined. They should have to pay some sort of fine that would be collected by the school district or a court when a student has excessive F’s, excessive discipline reports, or excessive absences without some sort of reasonable excuse – like a medical problem.
        Make them pay.
        These parents will get it when they have to pay.
        Poor parenting – not poor teaching – is the primary reason students fail in school.
            It’s sad but true: John has problems because his mom has always defended him when he misbehaved.
            If you want to improve education -- that should be a fineable offense. Until these incompetent parents are fined, good teachers will have to continue to leave the classroom to deal frivolous accusations.
            And that’s not funny.


By Vince Alexander
            The Japanese wouldn’t do it. The Chinese – another world academic leader – wouldn’t lower their standards for their students by changing their writing to make things easier and more convenient for their lazy youth.
            So why are we?
            But we did.
            Indiana recently passed a law that won’t force students in grades 1-3 to learn cursive writing – something that has been required of all American students for generations. Instead, our government wants educators to teach keyboarding at the elementary level.
            In my humble opinion, that’s a mistake. They should learn both.
            The state of Indiana just lowered the standards of education, again, because our students and their parents aren’t requiring our kids to put in the work necessary to be successful. Instead, by passing such a law, we’re feeling sorry for students and saying, “Poor baby, that’s too much work. You shouldn’t have to learn cursive any way -- just print. As long as you can read it – who cares?”
            I do!
            As a longtime English teacher, as a parent, as a taxpayer, as a U.S. citizen, I think we need to be tougher on our students – not easier. If we don’t, our future leaders are going to really disappoint us by cutting corners and taking the easy way out. And because some public school students are devoid of consistent parental discipline, they will argue and won’t follow simple instructions. Then some of our weak educators will give in.
            Enter my world. I have taught at some of the toughest public schools in Indianapolis – including Indianapolis Public Schools and a stint in Lawrence Township’s alternative school. I had a student who wrote some of her letters upside down. That’s right -- upside down – and the student didn’t have any kind of physical or mental handicap, unless you count stubborn, undisciplined, and disrespectful as illnesses. When I confronted the student, this was a typical response.
            “I ain’t changing it.”
            “Why not?’’ I’d ask.
            “That’s how I write.”
            “You weren’t taught to write like this, so you have to change it or get an F,” I’d say.
            “I guess you have to give me an F.”
            When educators put assignments on the board, students say, “What that say?”
            That’s right, they can’t read cursive. I usually force my students to read my cursive, which is pretty good because my parents wouldn’t have it any other way. But this past school year, I printed a lot more assignments on the board than I should have. That won’t happen this year.
            The first day of school, I will write on the board, “My name is Mr. Alexander.”
            It’s getting pretty bad, folks. For example, some students think they can randomly use upper and lower case letters. Everyone knows that you are supposed to start sentences with capital letters, meaning you have to know the difference between a capital B and a lower case b. If your name is Billy, obviously you need to use a capital B. Well, some students would argue, “What difference does it make?”
            The difference is between right and wrong, especially if you are writing sentences for standardized tests. You’re not getting graded on how cute or creative you can make your letters. Too many students are obsessed with trying to be cute over being correct. In other words, they’ll say I won’t write in cursive “because my cursive is ugly or that’s just too much.”
            Yep, America, in my view as a teacher, we are lowering the bar. Next, to appease the failing students, we are going to allow texting styles to enter the classroom and the work place.
            Hopefully, I’ll be very old and retired “LMAO.”