As I work on my manuscript I thought y’all might like a sneak peek. My book is at least partially about how the lessons I learned in teacher school were completely un-useful my first year of teaching. Check back next Tuesday for another lesson I learned the hard way, or look at the list compiled in the tab up top.

How to Take Attendance

Attendance was my first problem. People who are surviving day to day in the midst of poverty do not have the time to come pre-register their kids at school. The kids  switch schools from year to year. The numbers and faces of high poverty schools fluctuate constantly. I got my attendance lists the day school began, and somehow “how to pronounce non-white names” was not something it had ever occurred to me to learn.

All cultures have different rules about names and how to go about saying them. This was no exception. I don’t mean to mock any of my students beautiful and carefully selected names. I mean to only mock my own ignorance of the system that was so evident to everyone else in the room.

But there I was, at the front of the room butchering almost every name that came across my lips. Demon has the emphasis on the second syllable as does Terrell and Darrell. C-i-a is pronounced sha in Laquicia, Tamecia, and Quanicia. Also, all three of those middle vowel sounds are a long e. My nasal short a was hilarious to students as that sound comes straight out of my nose.

I only looked more inept when I assumed a boy was a girl based on the name (apparently, Diamond is like Jordan, acceptable for either gender.) Being unable to put names to faces because I could not yet distinguish boy names from girl names was winning me no friends. 15-year-old boys are not amused when you say their name followed by “can she raise her hand?” Especially when he has his hand raised right in front of you.

Every class period I had about three kids who needed to be added to the list. Every class period they would tell me their name as though I would be able to spell it by sounding it out. After about seven painful attempts I learned to let the kids write their own names on my list.

It didn’t even occur to me until about six names into first period that I was in over my head. My first period knew before I got to the second name.

The kids wanted me to call them by their street names. It seems many of the kids had what they referred to as their “government names” the ones that I was bumbling through as I took role, and then they had the names that everyone actually called them (I suppose when your name is Austintavious you sort of need a shorter handle). Now, I know that this is an honor. If the kids want you to call them what their mother calls them, it means that you matter to them. They want you to really know who they are.

All I knew then was that this street name thing might get me fired. Imani broached this subject with me first. “Ms. Norman, nobody calls me Imani. Can’t you just call me Juicy?” I swallowed. Hard. I tried to say it casually. “You want me to call you Juicy?” “Yeah everybody does.” “So, if I called your mom to talk about you…she would say ‘how is Juicy doing in your class?’” She looked at me like I was a complete idiot. “I don’t think that is a good idea. I think I’ll just call you Imani.” She rolled her eyes and sighed.

Two kids later it was Malik’s turn. “Ms. Norman, nobody calls me Malik” “Well then, what should I call you?” “Pappy” I am quite sure my already overly expressive sometimes buggy eyes became even more cartoon like. I literally choked and croaked out “You want your white teacher to call you Pappy?” “Yeah, call me Pappy.” At this point I pictured the principal walking by as I called “hey Pappy, can you get that book for me?”

“Sorry Malik, I have bills to pay, I can’t afford to lose this job.”  The plus side of these sorts of exchanges was they brought me closer to the bell ringing. That term “Saved by the Bell,” I hadn’t realized they were talking about the teacher.