This is what bliss feels like:

So we're reading Of Mice and Men in my Communications I class. The thing about this class is that it is supposed to be a modified version of American Literature, although very few of the kids actually need the mods. Most are there simply because they failed Am Lit due to excessive absences and or poor choices. Don't get me wrong, I have 5 IEP students who have pretty low reading levels, but overall these kids are capable. When I started at my school last year the class had been taught from the standpoint that most of these kids are going to go on to do one of three things:
1. Go on to tech school
2. Go on to work as a mechanic
3. Drop out

Not a good way to approach an American Lit class, in my opinion.

Most of these kids don't belong in a class where they are coddled, and most have been told they're not smart for far too long. The book was called Literature for Work and Life and it included sorry-ass, watered-down versions of stuff like the Constitution and chopped up crap adaptations of stories about runaway teens, mechanics and farmers. It was a serious slap in the face to not only the teachers (in my opinion), but also the kids. According to the curriculum the only thing we "have" to teach them is Huck Finn, which is arguably one of the most difficult pieces taught in our entire curriculum.

I taught the course in this manner for 1/2 the semester last year, and then I decided to try out Of Mice and Men just to see what would happen. The kids ate that shit up, and so this year I decided from the get-go that I was going to change the way this course it taught, and that if it went well, that I'd re-design the entire curriculum for next year.

See, I never really wanted to teach mod classes - I LOVE my Pre-AP 10 classes (which I totally lucked out in even having as a 1st year teacher last year, and which I have again this year as well). The lit is just so great – we’re talking Catcher, Mockingbird, Lord of the Flies (not Am Lit, I know, but still taught in the Am. Lit course, weird), etc. and since it's mostly the stuff the Am. Lit kids get as Juniors, I decided to simply transfer much of the stuff I do in Pre-AP 10 into Communications (mod. version of Am. Lit). I think I raised a few eyebrows when I declared this at the last department meeting of the year, but they let me and my idealistic ways skip off into the never-never land of summer. These kids deserve to read great literature, too!

So, fast forward back to my classroom yesterday, Friday. It is difficult day to teach much because the homecoming pepfest was after 1st hour - everyone knows the rest of the day is pretty much shot and that next week, Spirit Week, is a lost cause, too. Our school has an INORDINATE amount of school spirit. Seriously.

Anyway, so the kids, 25 boys (mostly corn fed gear-heads, who are a ton of fun to work with, BTW), and 6 girls, know that their assignment is to finish chapter 4 by Monday. This is a pretty big assignment for most of them (around 60 pages), considering over half of the class has admittedly never technically finished a novel. Since the block was cut short by about 10 minutes due to pep fest, I told the kids that after the reading minute that they'd have 40 minutes of SSR and if they were on task and reading/working on study guides, that we'd have a surprise for the last 1/2 hour of class (watching the most excellent film version of OMAM). I told them that at 2:00 we'd come back together for the surprise if all went well.

Expecting whining about 40 whole minutes of SSR, constant vigilance on my part, and about 15 bathroom break requests, I settled into prowling about the room and the plaza area just outside my room where kids were sprawled about with their books open wide. After a few minutes, things seemed decently under control, so I let my Para do the prowling while I sat down to send a few e-mails, do attendance, and key in some grades.

At quarter till 2:00 things were still totally silent. I was in shock. I continued to work at my desk, and my Para ran upstairs to make copies of her weekly reports. I became engrossed in a long e-mail and when I looked up at the clock, it read 2:05. I scanned the room for signs of packing up, but the kids were all reading silently, wrapped up in George and Lennie's mishaps on the ranch. I got up, called in the few kids reading in the plaza area and grabbed the film, ready for a rambunctious response to a film on a Friday, but was instead shocked when about half of the class moaned that they wanted to keep reading instead of watching the film!

H, a beautiful Somali girl asked, "Is it alright if I keep reading while the movie plays?"

A, the IEP student who has been a big problem in the past, but who has totally shaped up since I made him sign a contract for me, asked "Do you mind if I work on my study guide while the movie plays?"

I can barely keep the grin off of my face.

I tell them both that I don’t mind at all and pop in the film.

Twenty minutes later I stop the film and ask them what they think so far, and they shout out various comments that tell me they are really soaking up the lessons on plot and character we've studied so far.

WOW.

They’re comparing and contrasting their ideas of character and the actors’ versions of Lennie and George.

Then comes the kicker, that orgasmic teacher moment:

I tell the kids that I'm going to ask them to do something that an English teacher will probably never ask them to do again: not to read ahead. See, I have this sweet station activity that we'll do on Monday that requires that they do not know the outcome of the book. They can't know what happens to Candy's dog or Lennie. It simply won't work.

When I ask them not to read ahead I hear another set of moans. What the hell is going on here?

J says "But I already started chapter 5! For once I'm ahead!"

M asks, "Is it OK that I just read ahead, like, 10 pages?"

WTF? I smile, and tell them to enjoy their weekends and to be ready for the quiz on Monday. I let them go a minute early, which I NEVER do.

As they flood out, I wonder what is going on here? These moments are supposed to take years of practice. These moments are not supposed to take place in the classroom of a 2nd year teacher. These moments are reserved for master teachers, not me.

But, do you know what? I'm going to take it and run. I'm going to remember that moment when the going gets tough and I'm being shit on, because it will surely happen, but I'll always have this moment.

Thanks, 4th hour.