Today was my last day with the seniors, as they move on to spend the last few days of their high school careers practicing how to walk across a stage. I’m not really the sentimental type when it comes to my job, but I did feel the need to share some brief parting pieces of advice with my seniors, those things I wish someone had told me when I was their age, before they head off into their idea of the “real world” - be it to college, the workforce, the military, or elsewhere:

1. Remember that credit cards are not free money.
2. Write things down. Your crazy experiences. Your funny moments. Your heartache. Your anger. A disturbing conversation you overhead from the frat boys behind you in Anthropology 101. Your mind is a trap at 18 and you remember everything. That starts to go away pretty quick into your adulthood. So, write it down.
3. Help. Is dad out there working in the garden this summer? Is mom changing your car’s oil for you? Is grandpa putting up a new deck? Pick up some pruners, the oil pan, or a hammer and go help them. Ask them questions about what they’re doing. See if they’ll let you help them with something that you had no interest in doing last summer. It’ll be awkward. You’ll feel weird because it’ll be the most you’ve talked to them in three years, but do it. You won’t regret it for a variety of reasons.
4. Become fluent in another language. You’re almost there anyway after three years of Spanish. Okay, okay… maybe not. I know you swore it off after your last final, but keep up on it. Don’t keep putting off the Spanish elective in college until “next semester” or you’ll never do it. Suck it up and do it. Download a Rosetta Stone to your iPod. Turn on Univision and make a drinking game out of it to see who is the best interpreter (when you’re 21, of course). The future job-hunting you will thank you.
5. Go places. Take every opportunity to travel that you can. Go on adventures. Stop at restaurants that aren’t Taco Bell. Eagerly offer to help your friend move out to Mobridge, South Dakota. Meet people. Eat weird foods. It’s okay if you gag. Take that study abroad, dang it, because those few extra thousand dollars are nothing compared to the experiences that you will have. Go out of your comfort zone, remembering that no one in these places you explore will ever see you again and it’s okay to embarrass yourselves. 
6. Use condoms. Please.
7. Read one book each month. I know, you laugh. You’re graduating high school, why would you ever pick up a book again? Heck, you didn’t read most of them anyway. But it doesn’t have to be a big book. It can even have pictures and no one will yell at you. So, if you don’t have one, go get a library card and look around for a while. You’ll be surprised when they aren’t being assigned to you how many books will catch your eye - and the knowledge you’ll gain with each book you read is invaluable. Besides… reading is sexy.
8. Embrace your mistakes. You are going to screw up. You’re going to do unbelievably stupid things. For most of you, like it was for me, this will happen often. Don’t shy away from these mistakes. Own up to them. Learn from them. Then move on from them.
9. Remember, when your first big breakup comes, it won’t be the end of the world. It will feel like it. You’ll probably rip some of your hair out. Your friends will be sick of your crying. You’ll be disheveled, drinking expired milk out of the carton, and wondering how the world will ever go on. Just remember: it does. And you will too. Instead of moping around, get a gym membership. That metabolism just doesn’t work like it used to anyway. Better yet, go volunteer somewhere. Coach Special Olympics. Have some coffee at the senior home. Give tours to kids at the zoo. Not only will you feel better about yourself, you might even meet a cute dude or total babe. And cute dudes and total babes love people who volunteer. 
10. Budget. Don’t be afraid to spend it, because you have to live a little, but be smart with your money. Remember: stopping at Starbucks before school or work will cost you $900 over the course of a year. Getting the cheap stuff at the convenience store will cost you $500 (even with those buy 8, get 1 free cards they give you). Brewing your own will cost you $150. Keep that lesson in mind for every aspect of where you’re allocating your hard-earned cash.

This is not a end-all list of advice that will lead young people to successful lives. Rather, it’s what I’ve learned along the way, a guy who was there not too long ago and wishes he knew then what he knows now.

My end of the school year reflection.

• Destined to Witness: Growing up Black in Nazi Germany by Hans J. Massaquoi
• Eyewitness Auschwitz: Three Years in the Gas Chambers by Filip Muller
• A Woman in Berlin: Eight Weeks in the Conquered City by Anonymous
• A Terrible Revenge: The Ethnic Cleansing of the East European Germans by Alfred-Maurice de Zayas
• A Mighty Fortress: A New History of the German People by Steven E. Ozment

I received my July reading for my Modern Germany summer course today. I think I’m going to really, really enjoy this class (and will, I hope, have plenty of new won’t-find-that-in-your-textbook material to integrate into my class next school year).

“Dreams. Dreams. Dreams. Wake up!”

Bill Cosby’s speech to the class of 2012 at Temple University’s 125th commencement.

See that bump in the web of my right hand? It’s a BB. Because I was once a stupid 13 year old. And my friend was an even more stupid 13 year old. And we thought playing with a BB gun in the house was a good idea. Apparently, we didn’t watch A Christmas Story enough.

So when my students tell me their stupid stories, I show them this and tell them, hey, I get it - but they better be careful or they’ll end up with something permanent like this. Or worse. Then they say how cool it is that I have a BB in my hand and I’ve realized, despite my intentions of instilling fear, I’ve now given them more incentive to play with guns. So it goes.

A lot of my education major friends from college are still hunting for that elusive permanent teaching job. When we talk, I recognize how fortunate I am and I do my best to remain positive as we speak, despite a job market outlook that is drearier than ever. 

“All you can do is keep applying,” I say, and those words are meaningless, perhaps insulting coming from someone who has a permanent position, but I don’t know what else to say. I am one of the lucky ones. Who am I to comment at all?

When we began our majors in the education field, we were told many things that happened to be true at the time: the baby boomers are about to retire! Demand for teachers surpasses the supply! This is a hot field to get in. Little did we know that when those baby boomers were to retire that their positions would be cut right along with them - large in part due to a lack of funding brought on by the Republican war on public education.

Like I said, I was one of the lucky ones - but not at first.

When I graduated from college three years ago, I had never felt so optimistic, so free, so excited by the endless opportunities presented to the young, energetic, slightly crazy 22 year old that I was. Without hesitation, I began applying all over the United States (and even in quite a few other countries). I figured if it were May, I would easily have a job lined up by June, which meant plenty of time to prepare myself for the big move and have fun in the meantime.

Then June came. Then June went.

I was still optimistic. Oh, people don’t even hire until July, I told myself. Then July came. I kept applying. I drove to Chicago without telling a soul at a last minute’s notice for a series of interviews (something I couldn’t remotely afford - thank you Mastercard), only to lose out after it came down only to me and a nice fellow who had been teaching in the Dallas area for three years. I broadened my search to states outside my preference area. I began to email principals directly after applying, attaching my resume and glowing letters of recommendation. I spent money getting certified in the states in which I was applying in order to demonstrate how serious I was about each job.

I applied for over 300 jobs that summer. I still have all the automated response emails in my Gmail, as some sort of relic reminding me of what it was like to sit at a computer from 10 AM to 10 PM entering the same information over and over and over. Some of those initial prospects came with interviews in which I felt confident afterwards. Most I never even received an email saying the position had been filled.

By August, I had ran out of money despite serving tables full-time.

Soon, I applied to sub in a more upscale school district about 10 miles outside of Erie.

That year passed and I learned a lot. I learned that subbing was a great experience in classroom management, quickly adapting to situations, and learning techniques to remember students names quickly. I also learned that with subbing came a culture of irresponsibility among myself and the other subs in the district, as we frequently closed the bar after a long day in Miss B’s or Mr. K’s or Ms. G’s  (spending money that I didn’t have because I was a sub and this angered the younger, more arrogant me). We’d show up for work the next day looking fresh without anyone every suspecting our previous night’s ventures. Work was steady. There was rarely a day that I wasn’t in the school. Despite being a sub, I became a fixture in the school. I knew the kids and the kids all knew me. Despite switching up classes every day (until the last six weeks of the year, where I filled in for a teacher who went out for medical reasons), I really started feeling like a teacher. It was quite an interesting year - and despite the immaturity of my nights, the substitute teaching truly had a lot of value, both in learning the trade and growing up.

The next spring came and the application process started again. I hated the idea of going through it all again, but I started early. I applied for another 300+ jobs beginning the process in April… and then June came and June went once again. I remember going out to the bar with a group of friends, getting drunk, that stupid kind of drunk fueled by stress and bitterness, and for the first time angrily saying to them, “What the hell more do I need?” And my one friend replied without hesitation: “Experience.” The rub, of course, being that no one wanted to give me any.

I was still angry. I didn’t understand how my resume could be any better - stellar grades, great references, head coaching a state-winning Special Olympics basketball team - what the hell else did I need? Just experience, that bastard experience. The word echoed in my head, a demon hanging over my shoulder at all times. 

July came and went. I had accepted the fact that I would be substitute teaching and waiting tables for another year. I considered going back to school full-time. At least my loans would be deferred then. I considered teaching English in South Korea as a friend of mine was, despite this being financially implausible due to my debt. I considered packing up all my shit and splitting town to move in with my cousin in L.A. to do who-knows-what.

Then the call came. Then the second call came.

It was August, I was serving tables and nearly broke, and I finally had two job offers. The journey had been rough. There was a lot of anger over feeling so completely lacking in control over the situation, despite feeling that I had so much to offer as a teacher, that I had so many great ideas if someone would just give me a chance - but then, in some surreal way, it worked out. I even had options. I was in control again.

So, if you’re about to begin the painful process of looking for a teaching job, know that it will not be fun. Know that it might not happen this year. Or even next. But like I tell my friends, all you can do is just keep applying. Eventually, it will work out and you will look back on those stressful, angry years certainly not with longing, but with a strange sense of nostalgia and satisfaction.

A student teacher in my building told me about www.teacherspayteachers.com today and after checking it out, it seems like an interesting concept and a more active community than most lesson sharing sites I’ve been on.

Most of the lessons, projects, handouts, and other resources on there seem to be offered up for free, which, of course, is the best part about it. On the other hand, it offers the ability for every teacher to offer up their own “store” to post their own original teaching materials for free or a fee (most seem to fall in the $1-3 range).

I am an outspoken critic of most American-made textbooks, particularly in my subject of history (I do not use one at all in my course). I do not like the way in which they choose to interpret American history, I do not agree with the way that most are developed, and I do not like the way that the profits are distributed.

So, instead of wasting district money on 100 awful textbooks for a course at $150 each, I will gladly drop a buck or two here for materials created by other ACTUAL educators, knowing that my money will go directly to them, and that I will not have to worry about the wear and tear of aging since the files will be electronic (which also means I can edit them to my liking and to fit my curriculum). This could also be an awesome resource for student teachers needing ideas or inspiration.

If any teachers out there create a store with their stuff, be sure to send me a link. I’ll probably dabble and upload some of my bigger, more ambitious assignments over the next few days.

My contribution to the education tag videos. Apparently, I talk too much, because my first attempt was eight minutes and Tumblr yelled at me. Here’s try number two.

Regardless, I’ve enjoyed this project, as it’s been nice putting a face and voice to some of the great teachers who I follow.

My insistence on not getting a flu shot each year in order to “save it for the children” is really just a ploy to get out of having to get a flu shot. It’s never really been an issue though, because my superhuman immune system has made it so that I’ve only had the flu (at least to my memory) twice in the past fifteen or so years.

Last time I had the flu, it hit with such ferocity that I can only assume it was making up for lost opportunities… and it happened to strike on the night before my very first day of student teaching field experience during college. It was to be the first time I would introduce myself as “Mr. James,” and it would also be my first opportunity to meet the teacher and the eighth grade class that I would be taking over for four weeks.

Despite having vomited the night before, I assumed that I would be better by morning. When I woke up in the morning to make the nearly hour drive to my placement, I was cold. Feverish. Weak. But I can’t miss the first day, I told myself. They’re expecting me. I have to make a good first impression!

What followed, I can’t completely recall. I remember driving the school. I remember listening to an audiobook of Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms. I remember walking into the school and I remember shaking the hand of my cooperating teacher - but my memory of the hour or so that followed is hazy.

I ended up going home early. I do slightly remember driving home and thinking that I might die, so I pulled my car over halfway home and curled up in my backseat to take a nap. After I woke up and finally made it home, I took my temperature: 104 degrees. I passed out and slept for 16 hours straight, missing the next day.

When I returned back to my placement, I apologized, slightly embarrassed of the whole ordeal, and the teacher had a great sense of humor and understanding about the situation. He told me that when I introduced myself in front of the first class, he had thought that I was either on drugs or severely hungover. I had no recollection of standing in front of the class. It was as if I were meeting the kids for the first time all over again.

As it would turn out, the field experience would be an awesome placement with an even better teacher whom I still email and call for advice to this day. But what a bizarre way to start my teaching career.

This is my third cold of the year and this sucker has me nearly out of commission. I’m groggy. The coughing is getting tiresome. The chapped nostrils are far from enjoyable. It all makes me a little cranky. If I wait up at 5:30 AM and am still feeling this crummy, I’ll be taking a sick day.

Knowing the possibility of this, I told my students today that I may Skype them over the projector during their class, so they better behave for the sub or they’ll feel the wrath of Mr. James while he is curled up from the couch with a box of tissues watching reruns of No Reservations while eating a pot of cheap macaroni and cheese. And that wouldn’t be a pretty sight.

As for colds, when I get one, I fight them off pretty quick - and it’s a rare year when I have more than one. Actually, I can’t think of a single year in my life when I have had more than one cold.

My grandfather was a dairy farmer and my father is a sewer plant operator, so I’ve always made the claim that all the time I’ve spent around cow manure and human waste has given me an almost superhuman immune system. Which, really, is true. I rarely get sick. This year has been the exception and it’s probably a combination of a lack of sleep, not exercising like I should be, and being around all those sick kiddies who think running their hand under the sink of cold water for two seconds is the proper way to wash their hands. 

So it goes.

“That classroom can be your battleground or your playground,” Frank McCourt said is his memoir Teacher Man. That sentence has stuck since I first read it, embedded deep into my mind (and, in fact, I have the words hanging on my classroom wall), the thought reemerging almost daily when I feel my blood pressure begin to rise, when my hands begin to sweat with frustration over whatever it is that the students are resisting or complaining about on that given day. Make this our playground, I remind myself. Don’t fight them.

“Why don’t you want to read this?” I remember asking the students against my better judgment. What are you doing? I then asked myself, immediately regretting that I had taken the bait that was the collective groan of the class. You’re the teacher. Don’t ask them. Don’t enable this defiance. Just do it.

“I’m sick of reading,” one student finally chimed in.

“How could you possibly be sick of it? You don’t even know what we are reading yet,” I responded - and they didn’t know. This was the Roaring Twenties that I was teaching the class. Gangsters! Gambling! Moonshining! Violence, guns, prostitution, and lawbreaking! It was everything that would quench their thirst for chaos. If I couldn’t get these fifteen year old kids interested in this, then what hope could there possibly be for me?

“The only reason we even bother to read any of this is because there’s going to be a stupid test on it,” the same student added without a hint of condescension. “It’s all we ever do in school. Every single block. Read. Test. Read. Test. Read. Test.”

I considered what he was saying and stood quietly in front of the class of twenty-nine freshmen, unsure of what to say. All eyes were on me, waiting to see my reaction. Yet, I had engaged this conversation and another preaching session on the value of reading wasn’t going to cut it… and I couldn’t simply end it. I had to find a way to put a positive spin on it. In my mind, I pulled up a task list of options, looking desperately for a solution that wasn’t in any of the educational theory books that I had read in college. Where do I take this conversation from here?

“Well, I’m still pretty new at this teaching thing, you know,” I said. “So fill me in here. What don’t you like about reading?”

“Tests, man,” the student told me and his classmates nodded along, as if I were now in on some ancient secret that they all knew.

“Tests.”

“Tests. It’s not the reading for most of us. At least I don’t think. I’m just so sick of filling out stupid tests. First block, second block, PSSAs. Can’t we just read something for once and enjoy it without having to fill out all those stupid questions afterwards?”

I again considered this. “Point taken,” I replied. “But in the meantime, let’s get reading.”

The class groaned again and we began to read.

I learned a lot during that brief conversation. I hadn’t quite been sure how the handle it at the time, but I did realize one important lesson: I need to let the students talk. I need to let the students explain to me their frustrations and why they are groaning instead of simply telling them to knock it off. I learned that if the classroom is a battleground, the tests are the landmines that the students want so desperately to avoid. They want the classroom to be a playground just as I do.

I remember going home that night and laying on my couch and thinking the conversation over. Tests, man. Who could blame them? 

The next reading assignment that we read as a class was an excerpt from an F. Scott Fitzgerald story. When we finished reading it, I told them that I didn’t have anything to go with it, but I wanted to know what they had thought. There was silence for a moment. Then the student who had spoken up in protest of testing chimed in.

“It was pretty good, I guess,” he said. 

That was the only response volunteered by the students, but as the class ended, I still felt pretty good about the whole situation. It may not have solved anything. Most would probably never remember the story. And I just may not have had the most effective solution to the problem right then and there. I realized in that moment though that if I just learned to listen sometimes, the students had some pretty good ideas.

I challenged a student to a “map off” set for the last day of school and he eagerly accepted. The goal is that we both correctly identify every country on a world map. He doesn’t want a prize or bonus points if he beats or ties me - he just wants to learn them all. I like that, although he would gain major hallway cred if he could stomp Teach on his own challenge. If only all my students were so motivated.