A Pleasure to Have in Class

By Cindy Reitzi

February 2004

In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity. – Einstein
Nothing is good or bad but thinking makes it so. – Shakespeare
Hope springs eternal. – unknown

We all have difficult students whom we mentally calculate as “not a pleasure to have in class”: they challenge everything you say, get “involved” every time you redirect another student, and need to be told five times to do anything.

Initially, “Nate” radiated “hapless slacker.” His long-term plan for life constituted charming manners substituting for actual hard work, thereby allowing him to get by smoothly on minimal effort and earning maximal grades. It wasn’t working. His personality was neither adept at charming nor brilliant enough to get by on minimal effort. His “suave” conversation was sprinkled with expletives. Swearing was not verbal assault; it was punctuation. And in high school, that’s a qualitative difference in cussing. He wasn’t mean, just frustrating.

He also had the unfortunate habit of discussing drunk driving, crack and drugs in a positive, joking manner which tended to alienate teachers who were, in his mind, overly “touchy” about such subjects. With all of his referrals to the office, Nate and his principal, a forbearing man, were becoming close personal friends. Other teachers usually offered some caution or warning when they saw his name. The image “conniving weasel” emerged among these various brush strokes.

But as it turned out, Nate had many redeeming qualities that actually contributed to his resilience. He had an all-or-nothing personality (all-slacking or all-out work) that came in handy at crunch time. He had a good sense of humor and enjoyed sarcasm (even when he was the target), respected effective use of authority (people who saved him from himself), never suffered from denial of his “crimes” (once caught), and most of all, didn’t hold a grudge (at least with me).

This was workable pedagogy since his bad habits weren’t so entrenched in blaming others that he couldn’t improve. Still, Nate started a pattern of coming in late without passes and leaving class without permission. I politely told him to desist; he ignored me. Finally, one day while I was conferencing with another student, he left again without permission. This time I confronted him angrily. Up to now, Nate was affable enough; suddenly, his evil twin emerged. We had words. He offered lame excuses: another teacher gave him passes to the LMC during my class, and the most absurd, “All my teachers let me leave without permission.” I was steamed.

Later, I also noticed missing passes (Nate sat next to my desk). So, I got creative and communicative. I got his schedule, and wrote a note to all his teachers. Since he had no study hall, he needed no passes. I also mentioned “coincidentally” that passes were missing (in diplomatic passive voice). I also alerted the library. Teachers stopped giving him passes. The library became wary. I closed off all exits at school. Nate had to stay in class.

Afterwards, he skipped. Since I didn’t want him going down the bathroom drain grade spiral, I called home. His dad mentioned Nate came home early that day because of our school assembly. There was no school assembly. I, in turn, relayed the missing passes coincidence and Nate’s seating arrangement. His father informed me he’d take care of it; he sounded convincing. Now, Nate’s exits were blocked at home.

Some students would be furious. Not Nate. After all that, Nate didn’t hold a grudge. In fact, I heard him semi-bragging that I had kicked his butt, so to speak. Nate’s psychology was puzzling, but it probably went something like this:

• Ms. Reitzi caught me, so she’s not stupid.
  
• She busted me with everyone. She takes no prisoners. I can respect that.
  
• She cares enough to bust me.
  

Shortly afterward, I was doing grades. Out of pique, whimsy, evil humor, or even, wish fulfillment, I filled in the comment: “A pleasure to have in class” for Nate. Days later, Nate came to class laughing.

“Man, Ms. Reitzi, you said I was a pleasure to have in class. My dad laughed his butt off when he saw that.”

Even when reminded of the “passes debacle,” Nate was good-humored. In a fit of twisted humor, I taped a note in my desk drawer that said, “Nate, stay out of my desk!” One day I opened the drawer and he saw the note.

“Man, Ms. Reitzi . . . That is so funny, man.”

As the semester progressed, Nate attempted to surface from the ocean bottom of F’s he accumulated from late papers. When we started research papers, I told Nate I didn’t want a late paper riddled with mechanical errors.

“You’re a hard grader, Ms. Reitzi.” Hand over heart, I replied dramatically, “I have standards.”

Then, one day the light bulb blinked. “You’re dyslexic,” I said.

“Well,” he replied in true Nate fashion, “would my papers look like hell if I wasn’t?”

“Good point, but then get help BEFORE you turn it in. I’ll help you. Go to the Writing Lab. There’s no reason why your final draft should look like a train wreck. Everybody needs editors.”

As it turned out, Nate’s passion was history. Not surprisingly, he wrote about Attila the Hun. He posited the sunny side of “The Scourge of God.”

Turning in his paper before winter break, Nate gave me presents and a card. Inside he wrote, “Remember Ms. Reitzi, ‘F’ stands for favorite student.” I laughed aloud. Maybe he was becoming a pleasure to have in class. …

After break, Nate crunched the numbers to determine his grade. Between an A research paper and rewrites, incredibly, Nate had slogged from an F to an A. Ecstatic, Nate loudly cussed his grade, “(Expletive), I got a (expletive) A!” The other students looked at him with renewed respect.

“Gee, Nate,” I commented, “you’re my greatest success story.”

“Hey, Ms. Reitzi,” he replied, “maybe you should write about me.”

Posted February 3, 2004