I'd Like to Apologize to Every Teacher I Ever Had (13 page)

“Oh.” I nod as if she makes perfect sense. Shakespeare would have liked that.

Fortunately, it matters less that I understand my students’ translations than that they understand the play. I have high hopes when I test them on the first three acts. Everyone except Howard is present, and nobody just turns over the paper in defeat and stares at the ceiling. I give them our whole first period and collect their answers before the break. My plan is to review their answers as a group during our second period, but then Howard saunters in.

He has an approved excuse—a morning doctor’s appointment—but now I have to figure out a place for him to make up the test. I’ve seen other teachers put a student’s desk in the hall for a makeup, and that seems like a reasonable plan. As long as the door is closed he won’t hear a word inside, and we can go ahead with our review. Howard gives me his usual goofy grin and shrugs. “Okay with me.”

The test review doesn’t disappoint. The kids are able to identify the date of the Ides of March and the first man to stab Caesar, and they’re into the story. I tell them we’ll wrap up the last two acts by watching the movie with James Mason as Brutus and Marlon Brando as Antony. We’re having a good discussion when I notice Matt has his phone out. “Matt, put the phone away.”

He ignores me. He’s texting.

“Matt, put your phone away.”

“Uh-oh, Matt,” the others cry.

I don’t see or suspect a thing until that night, when I grade the individual tests.

Matt and Howard are good friends. They’re both solid athletes, and by some outrageous fortune, their
Julius Caesar
tests contain
almost identical right and wrong answers. I begin to think they cheated several hours before I figure out how they did it. Matt was texting Howard in the hall when I was telling him to put away his phone. Clearly, you can’t be a Luddite and also be with it as a teacher today.

In the morning I ask our production office to show me yesterday’s tapes. We had two cameras going, one inside the classroom and one to shoot Howard taking his test. The camera outside was positioned at the end of the hall, to be unobtrusive and get a long shot. “I knew he was up to something,” the cameraman says as he racks up the shot.

There it is. Howard is dropping the phone from his pocket, checking the screen, then writing on his test. Phone from the pocket, checking, and writing. Over and over again. Worse, he’s got that Cheshire cat grin on his face, like he’s pulling off a heist. They really did forget there were cameras.

When I get to David Cohn’s office, I’m steamed. “Matt and Howard cheated on the test.”

David closes his laptop and leans back in his chair. His face betrays nothing. “How do you know?”

“Well, their answers match up exactly. Matt was texting him the answers from inside the class. We’ve got it on tape.” I’m pacing.

David takes his time answering. “Did you personally see anything?”

“No. I can’t believe it, but I totally missed it.”

“In a real-life situation without cameras, if you didn’t see it, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

I feel my mouth fall open. “So what do I do?”

He folds his arms and doesn’t answer. It’s clear that he has no intention of using the taped evidence against the boys. His deal is teaching for real. And he’s right. I wanted it this way.

I confront Howard after class alone and ask him baldly, “You cheat on the test?”

Just as brazenly, he denies it. “What?” he sputters, with a look of offended innocence. “No!”

“How do you explain the fact that your answers and Matt’s are identical?”

He shrugs. “Coincidence.”

I keep it up for a while, but he doesn’t give an inch.

I corner Matt. “You think you were doing your friend a favor? Cheating is no favor and just gets you in trouble.”

Matt won’t meet my eyes. He shifts his feet. His hands dig deep into his pockets, but he won’t cop to it, either. Finally I let him go.

One of the girls in the class later lets me in on the boys’ conversation after Matt’s meeting with me:

Matt, all over Howard: “Didn’t you know they had a camera on you? What were you thinking?”

Howard, genuinely shocked: “No way. They were all the way at the other end of the hall.”

I have enough evidence to put it behind me. I’ve learned a valuable lesson about the downside of technology in the classroom. After this, I’m much more vigilant about turning off cell phones in class, and no one is allowed to bring any electronic devices into the hallway when taking a makeup test. Unfortunately, my kids have also just proven that cameras in schools aren’t always a bad idea.

F
ROM THE BEGINNING
, I’ve planned to fly home to be with my family for the Thanksgiving holiday. I love Thanksgiving—no gifts, just great food, family, and friends. Plus, I miss my daughters and my wife, and I need to find out if they miss me. Back in September, Thanksgiving promised to be a natural break, an automatic trip, a no-brainer. But student events have a way of overtaking the calendar. As November arrives, I realize we have a big football game scheduled
for Thanksgiving Day against our archenemy, Central High. This is the oldest public high school rivalry in the country, and I really should be there for the three boys in my class who are playing, as well as for the rest of the team. Also, if the marching band keeps winning, they’ll be competing in state championships that weekend, and Nakiya has made me promise to come. Simple logistics don’t help, either. Even if the school calendar were empty over the break, it’s a long trip for a short holiday. To get to California, I’ll have to leave late Wednesday, after school. It’s a six-hour flight. Then I’m home three days, and early Sunday morning back on another long return flight. And that four o’clock wake-up on Monday won’t adjust for three hours of jet lag.

There’s another problem. I’m so wrapped up in my responsibilities here that at home I’ll probably spend the whole time talking and thinking about my students. At this moment that might not go over too well with my wife and my real kids. I don’t know how other teachers do it, even without the distance. Maybe this explains the clichéd image of teachers as spinsters. With everything you have to do for school, who’s got anything left for a marriage or family?

When I phone my elder daughter early in November, I confess that I still haven’t bought my plane tickets because “I’m not sure yet when I can get home.” It doesn’t help at all when she says, “Oh, that’s okay, Dad.” It is? Is she telling me it’s okay because I’ve already missed so much of her life that it really makes no difference to her anymore whether I’m there or not? Does she have a new boyfriend I don’t even know about? Or does she mean it really is okay because she thinks I’m doing something important, giving my all to kids who don’t have the advantages she has? I’m trying hard to teach my students to read, yet I can’t even read my own daughter anymore.

I’m standing alone at the window fifth period, mulling all this over and watching the fall leaves fly by, when my student Gwen
slouches in. It’s completely slipped my mind that I asked her to come for a conference, but I try to look smart.

Gwen doesn’t seem to like me much. In class, for no reason, she shoots me dirty looks that rival Al G’s yawns. The camera has caught those looks, and the show will play them in a montage for laughs. But she’s a good student. Until recently her work was solid. It’s her new tendency to slack off that we need to discuss.

She slumps behind her desk and glowers, rubbing her chronically sweaty palms on her jeans. Like most girls at fifteen, Gwen has body and appearance issues, and sweaty palms are a particular source of embarrassment for her. In other respects, though, she’s bold. One of the few open lesbians in the school, she’s a member of ALLY, the school’s Gay-Straight Alliance club. Unfortunately, her senior girlfriend just ended their relationship. Gwen is angry, and not just at me.

“I’m concerned, Gwen,” I tell her. “You’re a good student, but suddenly the work’s not showing it. I don’t think you’re doing the reading.”

She tucks her hands up under her armpits and says nothing.

“Is something going on? Something bothering you?” I’m thinking, How do I talk to a girl about girlfriend problems? I guess it’s the same as talking to a guy about girlfriend problems. Gwen mumbles, so low I can barely hear her, “There’s some stuff at home.”

“Ohhhh.” I’m so relieved I’m afraid she can hear it. Home I can handle. As long as it’s not my own home. “What’s going on?”

She shrugs. Her father just lost his job and is acting very different. He can’t find work, and has pretty much stopped looking, which pisses off her mother because it means
she
has to do double shifts as a nurse. So then her parents fight.

“How’s your relationship with your dad?” I ask, imagining what my daughter would tell her teacher if he asked about her home life right now.

She shrugs again. “Like I said, he’s different now, kind of a creep.” She tells me they used to be close. “Now, not so much.”

Wow, that sounds familiar. I take the seat next to Gwen’s and think about what I’m going to say. I don’t know the first thing about Gwen’s father, but I know what it’s like to lose a job and worry that you won’t be able to provide for your family. To worry about what being out of work says about you and what your daughter might think of you. “You know,” I say, “I got fired last year.”

She rolls her eyes. What could Tony Danza possibly know about what
her
family is going through?

“No, really. I got fired and I thought I was finished. Done. Too old to work on TV, who’d want me anymore?”

She gives me a long, cold stare. “So you came here.”

“Heh, yeah well, maybe a little bit, but no, that’s not where I’m going. Listen, I …” But where am I going with this? I’ve dragged this kid here and asked her to pour out her troubles. Now what exactly do I have to offer her? I say, “What I mean is, losing your job is major. Especially for a guy. At least
to
a guy. When I lost my job, it took a toll on my family life, too. I’m not sure my wife knows if she even wants to be married to me anymore, and things are not so great with my daughters, either. You know what they say in the television business when they fire someone?”

She’s not letting up. The fish eye says, Where is this going?

“They say, ‘You’re canceled.’ And that’s just how I felt, like I’d been canceled. Erased. And I brought that home. I felt sorry for myself. I lost my temper. I’m pretty sure if you asked them, my wife and daughters would say I acted like a creep, too.”

Her chin sinks to her chest. I can almost hear her thinking, What does any of this BS have to do with me?

“Look,” I try again. “I can’t speak for your father, and I’m not defending him. But you need to understand a couple of things, Gwen.
First, you can’t let the stress at home interfere with your studies. I know it’s not easy, but this is important. No excuses, not even good ones.” She wipes her hands on her jeans again and won’t make eye contact.

“Second,” I continue, “I don’t know your father, but remember when we talked in class about walking in someone else’s shoes before you judge them, and the meaning of empathy? Well, I think this situation calls for a little bit of that from you. I’m not excusing your father’s behavior, just like I don’t excuse my own, but this is hard all around, on everyone, not just on you. Try to keep that in mind. You know, when I came home after being fired, I wanted my family to understand how much I hurt. The more I didn’t get that from them the more I needed it and the harder I tried to get it. That’s when it got bad. And don’t forget I have my New York Italian way of discussing things. I can be loud. I have been known to yell. I call it passion, but especially not enamored with my passion is my youngest, Emily. She calls it temper. She’s right.”

I sneak a peek. Gwen’s tracking now. I continue. “I’m not crazy about my temper, either, and I have tried to work on it, but I grew up in a family that was the opposite of my wife’s. No one in her family ever raised their voice, and I grew up in a family where if people weren’t yelling, they didn’t care.”

Gwen almost laughs. I wait for her to say something. She doesn’t. “The problem with men,” I blurt out, “is that they are what they do.”

Gwen lifts her head. “What?” She looks at me.

“Men feel worthless if they’re not working. At least most of the guys I know do. Women are tougher. They put more stock in relationships and other activities. But for men, the job defines them. So when they lose it, they don’t know who they are. I know about that.”

I feel an ugly hole in the pit of my stomach, but Gwen is studying me with new eyes. She’s not about to tell me, but I sense her black
mood has lifted. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly the young can shift emotional gears.

The door opens, and Joe Connelly pokes his head in, asking, “You having lunch?”

I start to beg off, but Gwen stops me. “I think we’re good.” She gets up and hugs her backpack to her chest. “Thanks, Mr. Danza.”

“Keep me posted, and do your reading, Gwen.”

She gives me a little thumbs-up as she leaves, and when she’s gone, Joe jokes, “Another small step for mankind?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “But I think, maybe.”

That evening I phone my wife and tell her about Gwen. I apologize for acting like a creep. We agree that it doesn’t make sense for me to fly home for the few days I’ll have off for Thanksgiving. I hate that she agrees so easily.

The next week Gwen’s work improves, though the hard looks continue. It’s just her, I guess. She does let me know, “Things are getting better at home.” I tell her I’m proud of her.

Still, the prospect of missing Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday, leaves me feeling a little too sorry for myself. I need a change of pace, a break from Philly. Maybe I can’t go home to L.A., but why not go home to New York? Even better, why not take the kids with me? I’ve always admired teachers who take their classes on major field trips, and what could be more major than the greatest city on earth?

The good news is that the production team likes the idea of a field trip segment. The bad news is that the network wants us to go to Washington, D.C., instead of Manhattan. They have several reasons for this preference, not the least of which is expense. And it’s true that D.C. is the nation’s capital, and none of the kids have ever been, and we can visit the Folger Shakespeare Library there, so even if I did have any say in the decision, I can’t really justify my objection. But I vow to find a way to get the kids to New York later in the year.