entry thirty-one

 Friday, April 25, 2025

    Today was one of those days that left me shaking my head. I caught a group of eighth graders sniffing hand sanitizer during class. It wasn’t subtle. It was blatant, like they had no care in the world about how inappropriate it was. In the middle of a lesson, they were more focused on getting a whiff of the sanitizer than on the work at hand. I was taken aback, so I immediately approached administration. When I explained the situation, she just laughed. Laughed. I wasn’t sure whether to be frustrated or just give up at that point. She told me to simply tell them to stop. That was it. I was then asked to bring the students down to her office. As we walked there, one of the kids actually asked me, "What did we do wrong?" I couldn’t believe it. How do you even respond to that? They genuinely didn’t understand the seriousness of their behavior. I didn’t respond.

    It feels like this is becoming a pattern. Misbehavior isn’t just about the actions anymore. It’s about the indifference to the consequences. It’s about the lack of respect for authority, and the system that doesn’t seem to know how to handle it. What message are we sending to students when we don't take their actions seriously? The behavior I’m seeing lately goes beyond typical adolescent mischief—it feels like a lack of any real investment in their future. The students aren’t concerned about grades or graduation. Many of them expect to be passed on to high school regardless of their effort. They cheat on assignments, lie about their work, and steal without a second thought. It’s almost like they believe the consequences won’t catch up with them. The focus isn’t on what they can learn—it’s on who’s in the hall, what’s happening after school, and how they can get through the day without putting in real effort.

    

    In class, I watch them goof off, making jokes or whispering to each other, while assignments and quizzes—open note—are in front of them. And still, they take failing grades. It’s baffling. They have all the tools at their disposal, yet they choose not to use them. It’s frustrating, especially because several of these students have an IEP and modified grades.

    I’m left wondering: Are these modified grades a crutch or even a gift? Are they just a way to get through, or are they meant to give students a real chance to succeed? The lines are blurry, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m doing them a disservice by letting them slide. It feels like we’re not preparing them for anything real, just making it easier to get by. Deep down, I fear this will catch up with them in ways they’re not prepared for.

Fighting a Losing Battle

They sit slouched,
Mouths tight with defiance,
Eyes glazed but sharp,
Ready for the next fight.

"Shut up, I don’t care,"
One mutters under their breath,
A sneer playing on their lips
Like it’s the only weapon
That matters.

I speak,
Trying to weave words
Into something meaningful—
But they cut through the air
Like broken glass,
Landing nowhere.

Homework?
“Don’t need it.”
Grades?
“Who cares?”
The world is an obstacle
Meant to be ignored,
And I’m just the teacher—
A joke to them,
A nuisance in their day.

I ask, "Why don’t you try harder?"
A shrug,
A muttered curse,
As if the idea of effort
Is some kind of joke.

Tests?
They barely look at them,
Scan the questions,
Write something down,
Anything to fill the space—
They don’t try,
But still expect it to pass.

They know the rules,
They know the game—
But it’s all a waste of breath.
I’m too old,
Too tired to fight anymore,
And they’re too young
To understand
That this resistance
Is a dead end.

Still, I stand,
Trying to pull them
Out of this apathy,
Even though they’ve already
Chosen the path
That leads nowhere.

It’s not about the grades,
Not about the work,
It’s about respect,
And it feels like
That’s what’s truly lost.