Crazy Is Normal Guest Excerpt
Crazy Is Normal Guest Excerpt
In English, we started John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. The book has twenty-nine thousand one hundred sixty words in it. Generally, a novel runs forty-five thousand to one hundred fifty thousand words, so, technically, Of Mice and Men is considered a novella.
According to Scholastic—an American book publishing company founded in 1920, known for publishing educational materials for schools, teachers, parents, and children—this book’s reading level is grade 8.1, making it appropriate for a ninth-grade college prep English class.
Scholastic says, “This classic novel tells the tale of an unusual friendship between two very different men: the mentally challenged and sometimes violent Lennie, and his loyal yet reluctant caretaker George. Finding comfort in one another’s company, George and Lennie travel from farm to farm looking for work in pre-Depression Salinas, California.”
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In every class, I said: “While you’re working on the vocabulary Of Mice and Men’s chapter one, I want you to know that this Friday, you must have another book to read for silent sustained reading. The SSR book will be what you read for your first book report, and it must be at least one hundred seventy-five pages in length—not counting pictures or photographs. It must be fiction, autobiography, or biography, and it must have my approval before you turn in the book report, or no grade.”
In every class, someone complained that I was treating them as if they were college students.
Next, I went from student to student collecting the course description letters that had been sent home the week before. I told the students they were to have their parents read it, sign it, and then bring it back today.
Many students didn’t bring the course description letter back. In fourth period, only five of twenty-five students turned it in signed.
When I announced that the final draft of the paired interview essay would be collected on Tuesday, one student asked, “You mean we have to turn it in?”
“Yes,” I replied, “but first you will read your essay to the class.” It wasn’t like I hadn’t told them this already, and more than once.
“What, an oral presentation!” one shocked voice exploded.
“What if I don’t do it?” Another irritated voice asked.
I peered over the top of my glasses at the class, and said, “Anyone who doesn’t do the oral presentation will earn a double zero. Think of it as two failing grades, because I will not grade the essay. The oral presentation is one grade, and the essay another, but they are linked.”
In third period, Alonzo asked, “Why do we have to do oral presentations? This isn’t supposed to be college.”
“Doing oral presentations,” I replied, “is part of the state of California’s course curriculum for high school English. If you don’t do it this year, you will have to do it as a sophomore, as a junior, and as a senior. Doing oral presentations in this class prepares you to do them next year.”
In fourth period, Paco, in his gangbanger uniform, came to class without the textbook, the three-ring binder, paper, a pen, or the assignments that I was correcting and collecting.
When I reached his desk and asked for the work, he said, “You didn’t tell me it was due today.”
“Paco, I told the class, and the due date has been written on the board since last week. I don’t walk around the room and repeat myself twenty-five times to each student. It’s your responsibility to listen to me and remember what I say.”
“You didn’t tell the class!” He said, the anger in his voice growing. “You didn’t tell anyone.”
I held up the few assignments I’d already collected. “Then tell me why some students turned the assignment in?” This ought to be good. I hoped he would be creative.
“You’re mean,” he said.
“Thank you,” I replied, and moved to the next student.
Behind me, Paco made a gurgling, baby sound deep in his throat.
“What was that?” I asked, as I turned around.
“I didn’t do anything,” Paco said. The surface of his desk was empty of the assignment the class was working on.
I kept my voice calm and a lid on my temper. “How are you going to pass this class if you sit there making noises and don’t bring anything to work with?”
“I don’t want to graduate,” he said. “I’m waiting to turn sixteen so I can drop out.”
My stomach churned. I was sure Paco read far below grade level—most of the kids from the barrio did. I thought once more how wrong it was that we didn’t have basic English courses.
After checking two more students, I heard Paco again. He was talking to Sofia, the girl sitting behind him. He was also chewing gum.
“Paco,” I said.
“I’m getting paper,” he said.
“Get rid of the gum before you start defining the vocabulary words.”
“I don’t have any gum, and I finished my vocabulary.”
I wrote the vocabulary words on the board that morning, and fourth period had only been in class fifteen minutes.
I went to my desk and started to fill out a referral.
“What are you doing?” Paco challenged. “I didn’t do anything.”
That’s the problem, I thought, and said, “You lied to me, Paco. So far, you have earned a one-hour after school detention to be served tomorrow. Get rid of the gum now, or I’m suspending you from class and sending you to BIC.”
Paco left his seat and spit the gum in the trash can by the door.
Later, when I was checking student work, I discovered that he was writing his assignment in a graffiti style that is often found on walls and freeway overpasses around Los Angeles County.
I knelt beside his desk and said in a low voice, “Paco, I will not grade that paper unless it is written in an acceptable high school English font, cursive or printed.” I couldn’t understand how this student had made it from kindergarten to ninth grade.
“What’s wrong with this? Are you saying my writing isn’t any good?”
“I won’t grade it, Paco.”
“Then why should I even try?” he asked, and wadded the paper up and threw it on the floor. He was chewing gum again. I went to my desk and filled out another referral for a classroom suspension to BIC.
“Paco, come here and sign this.”
When he read the referral, he said, “I didn’t do this. I’m not going to sign it.”
“Then I’m calling a campus police officer to escort you to BIC, and you also earned a two-day suspension from this class to BIC.”
He signed the referral and made his best effort to slam the door on his way out of the room. At lunch, I planned to call the phone numbers listed for his parents and talk to them—if I could reach them.
I’ve heard that today’s teachers aren’t allowed to suspend kids from class for this type of behavior. If that’s true, I think teachers are doomed to fail. I’ve heard from friends who are still teaching that every year the restrictions, demands, and challenges they face grow more difficult. One friend, who has fifteen years left to teach before he retires, told me that he’s now required to prove that he calls all the parents every night to remind them about their kids’ homework; he doesn’t have enough time left to correct the work he takes home, so he had to hire a retired teacher at twenty-five dollars an hour to correct the work he couldn’t finish.
………..
In journalism, I passed out printed information about the deadline policy. “It’s important to not miss a deadline. If you miss a rough draft or final draft deadline, it will lower your grade.”
Silence filled the room, and every face was focused on me. It felt strange and out of place. I was used to students talking around me as if I were a spot on the wall. Every day, I expected this cooperative behavior in journalism to end.
I went on: “Meeting deadlines is important on a newspaper, and a nightmare for reporters—especially for reporters that cannot meet a deadline. Reporters that miss deadlines on a regular basis will be dropped from the class with a failing grade.”
Amanda asked me to look over her page layouts for the opinion section and stayed after class for almost an hour.
About Lloyd Lofthouse:
Little did Lloyd Lofthouse know in 1999, when he married Anchee Min, that he was beginning a journey of discovery. His first trip to The Middle Kingdom was on the honeymoon with his bride, who introduced him to China and Robert Hart (1835-1911), the main characters in Lloyd’s first two novels, My Splendid Concubine and Our Hart. The next decade was a journey of discovery. Lloyd now lives near San Francisco with his wife–with a second home in Shanghai, China.
Lloyd earned a BA in journalism in 1973 after fighting in Vietnam as a U.S. Marine. While working days as an English teacher, he enjoyed a second job as a maitre d’ in a multimillion-dollar nightclub. His short story, A Night at the ‘Well of Purity’ was named as a finalist for the 2007 Chicago Literary Awards.
Lloyd has won 15 awards for My Splendid Concubine and 5 awards for Running With the Enemy.
Website: http://lloydlofthouse.org/
Author’s Den: http://www.authorsden.com/lloydlofthouse
Twitter: https://twitter.com/lflwriter
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lloyd-Lofthouse/168775989838050
Google+: https://plus.google.com/116728680363586998839/posts
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