The Freedom Writers Diary - Erin Gruwell [121]
CONNIE CHUNG, TRACY DURNING, and ROBERT CAMPOS—who shared our story with millions
MARLY RUSOFF—who believed in us
JANET HILL—who has become an honorary Freedom Writer
And to all our family members, friends, loyal chaperones, colleagues, college and graduate students, and avid supporters who have helped us along the way.
And also to you, the reader—we now pass the baton to you…
Read on for a sneak peek at
Erin Gruwell’s memoir,
Teach with Your Heart:
Lessons I Learned from the Freedom Writers,
available from Broadway Books in
January, 2007.
“Why do we have to read books by dead white guys in tights?” asked Sharaud, a foul-mouthed sixteen-year-old, after he took one look at my syllabus.
Sharaud had entered my class at Woodrow Wilson High School in Long Beach, California, wearing a football jersey from Polytechnic High School. He must have known that donning the rival jersey was bound to get a rise out of the other students. He arrogantly strutted around my classroom taunting the other players, gesturing that he was going to take their places on the field, then leisurely strolled to the back of the classroom and took a seat.
As I started to discuss the curriculum, my students rocked in their seats and played percussion with their pencils. Some checked their pagers, while others reapplied their eyeliner. Some slouched, some lay their heads on their desks, and some actually took a nap. This was not the reception I was hoping for on my first day as a student teacher.
I dodged a paper airplane—made out of my syllabus, I quickly realized—and tried to make myself heard over a string of “yo’ mama” jokes.
I fidgeted with my pearls. I glanced at the polka-dot dress I was wearing—it was similar to the one that Julia Roberts had worn in Pretty Woman—and wondered if I had chosen the wrong profession.
Why hadn’t I gone to law school as I’d originally planned? In a courtroom, a judge would bang his gavel with gusto after the first projectile had flown across the room, and any innuendo about his mother’s integrity would bring instant charges of contempt of court. I needed a daunting authority figure in a black robe to tell these kids that they were “out of order.” I looked around the room, but an authority figure was nowhere to be found. Then came a panicked realization—I was the authority figure, armed only with a broken piece of chalk.
As a student teacher, I should have been able to rely on my supervising teacher, but he had stepped out of the classroom. When I met with him over the summer, he suggested that it would be a good idea for me to begin teaching on the first day of school, rather than easing my way into it. “If you dive right in,” he said, “you’ll establish your authority from the get-go.” From the comfort of his living room, this suggestion sounded great. I had visions of passing out my syllabus and having students stick out their hands to ask for “more,” as they did in Oliver Twist. In reality, the only person requesting more was my supervising teacher, who conveniently snuck out to get more coffee and never returned.
After nearly forty years of teaching, my supervising teacher planned to retire at the end of the school year. He had emotionally checked out and was now simply coasting on autopilot. I’d assumed student teachers were to be handled like timid student drivers, with someone ready to grab the wheel when changing lanes or parallel parking went awry. Since my so-called mentor wasn’t there to put on the brakes or take control, I didn’t know which direction to go, except forward.
To gain my composure, I tried to sound authoritative while reading the school’s “Guidelines for Student Behavior” to the students. I heard some snickering. I stopped reading to see what they were laughing about.
“You got chalk on your ass,” yelled a student from the back of the room.
“Daaamn, girl! Can I have some fries with that shake?” said another.
Somehow the Guidelines weren’t sticking because the class was completely out of control. Even though I had studied classroom management, it was obvious