Harmony

My school day ends with a class called Directed Studies. Think high school study hall and fill it with restless 13-year-olds watching the clock like Cinderella's footmen. In theory, the students are motivated to check their assignments for the day, put pencil to the paper or fingers to the keyboard and knock out their school obligations before the final bell rings. In reality, another truth unfolds. Let me describe a typical series of events in period nine.

Class starts. Students queue up by my desk. "Can I go to the bathroom?" "I left my assignment in Ms. G's room." "Can I go to the library?" "Can I go to the art room?" "I am supposed to meet my mentor today." "My knee hurts. Can I go to the nurse and get an ice pack?" "I forgot to tell my mom I have a track meet tonight. I need to call home."

With Judge Judy decisiveness, I give the yay or nay to each request. The nays grumble their way back to their seats and join the rest of the class in an attempt to settle down for the required ten-minute quiet reading time. As I scan the crowd for malfeasant activity, I watch Lacey turn her chair discretely toward the boy of her dreams. She starts twirling her hair and making googly eyes, hoping he will reciprocate. Dream boy responds with head nodding and enough attention to keep Lacey from ever turning a page in her book. Meanwhile, Leonard has the volume up too high on his audio book and is scraping his chair on the floor just enough to irritate Doug, who hasn't read a book all year but is only too happy to point out the shortcomings of others.  Across the room, Lester is mouthing some kind of message to his buddy across the table. Giggles ensue and the girls nearby give them withering looks. I stoically focus on my book in an attempt to model appropriate reading behavior, with an occasional teacher glare thrown in for the good of the cause. Finally, the reading time is over and the announcement is made, "You may put away your books and work on other homework."

Immediately, another queue forms at my desk with a litany of questions and requests to leave the room for perceived emergencies. A few students pull out assignments and diligently get busy. Jeffrey, whose desk is right next to mine due to his meds wearing off in the early afternoon, begins roaming the room with no particular destination. Lyla starts cleaning her binder and discovers it is more dramatic when you crumple every single paper that needs to be tossed. Buster turns his computer away from my view and begins the single tap staccato required by on-line gaming.  One by one I quash the rascally behaviors and attempt to help those who need assignment assistance. Finally, the bell rings and the students let out a yip of collective relief.

It is truly no surprise to me that my students are restless, googly-eyed and impish during a study hall at the end of a long day of demands and chair sitting.  The diversity of personalities and behaviors is staggering and yet, somehow, someway they push forth and maintain some sense of decorum. I have witnessed the kindness of many students helping others and the sense of accomplishment gained by completed work. I have watched students from different social classes, nationalities and intelligence levels share space and get to know each other. I have seen students bicker and shortly thereafter, make amends.

Perhaps, a few days in my chair would be good for many adults. Tranquility is not a product of uniformity. It is bred by muddling through differences.

And, who doesn't want to be Judge Judy for a day?