How to Teach Little Shits

I'm going to write a teaching book, and this is going to be the title. Here's something that might be in the introduction:

I hate teaching movies. I have hated them ever since I became a teacher. To the civilian, the are no doubt inspirational, moving, blah blah, but I have always walked away from them feeling insulted. The formula is well known: an idealistic teacher is entrusted with a class of difficult students, students on whom others have given up. Bonus points if the kids are disadvantaged.

Through her or his optimism, determination and creativity, the teacher finds a way to relate to the students, and they accept her or him as their mentor. The establishment tries to get the teacher to conform, but she or he prevails and everybody gets diplomas and motivational speaking engagements at the end.

Cinematically, it's a fine formula. These movies give me a feeling similar to those billboards that have a picture of Gandhi or King or somebody and a tagline along the lines of "Determination: pass it on." I'm sure the buyers of those billboards mean well, but they may as well read "Why aren't you this good?" In the same way, the hidden message of teaching movies, even and especially those based on true stories, is "See? It's not so hard. Even this first year teachers can deal with little shits and change their lives. Why can't you do that?"

So I have avoided those movies since I started teaching. You see, I teach little shits. I say this in the most endearing way, but let's be frank; when a kid tells you to go fuck yourself in the middle of class while you are being evaluated by your principal, that kid is, indeed, a little shit. When a kid tells you she or he didn't do her or his work because they were too busy getting high, "little shit" is the perfect term. This is the kid I have taught for my entire career, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

It is for others to decided how little shits got that way. Each example is unique, and may well have a terrible back story that would make your hair stand up. Such is not the province of this book. Instead, I hope to offer you some things that have worked in my experience. Don't get me wrong; I am not Teacher Movie material. Those teachers don't exist, even the ones upon whose lives those movies are based. A veteran teacher told me early in my career, "A good teacher uses brief and rare moments of teaching bliss to get through frequent and crushing defeats." The problem with teaching movies is that they cram ten years worth of teaching bliss--those glorious moments when a kid is at a crossroads and you manage to give her or him a little nudge in the right direction--into a couple of hours, when they are really rather rare. Nonetheless, I am an observant fellow, and I have noticed that a few little things that can get a seemingly intractable kid to let her or his guard down just enough to learn something.

It's a shame that teaching movies are such bullshit. The reality of it is that none of us reach every kid, or even most, and every time that you can't tears you up. This book can't change that, but maybe some of my suggestions can tip the odds a little bit. If you manage to tip even one kid onto the right path in your career, you deserve a movie and a billboard, and the experience will be such pure, overflowing light that you won't even care that you don't get either one.

Brandon Payne

What to do?

I am beginning to think Stephanie never gets on here....
Brandon, I love your stories...maybe this will brighten your day.

I'm officially 26. Crazy. This year so far has been really trying for me and full of a LOT of shit. I'm not sure what to say or do about it. I officially moved home 5 months ago yesterday, which was incidentally Zoe's first birthday. I didn't do a weird dog birthday party for her, although I considered it. Instead, my friends threw me a week-late themed birthday party. It was 80s themed and fucking fantastic. I loved it. I posted pictures on Facebook, and there will be more soon. Last week, on my actual birthday, I had another party. I refer to this as my party with my "young friend" and last night was with my "grown up friends."

During my party last weekend with my young friends, I had my first ever black out experience from drinking. Hell, I guess if you're going to have one, it might as well be on your birthday...even if you are turning 26, which seems like a ridiculous age to have such an occurrence, but whatever. That's what happens when you drink half a bottle of Patron...yikes. I remember taking about ten shots, and I guess I took about six more that I don't recall. It's weird. Since it happened, I think a lot about how I looked. Since I don't remember it at all, I think I must have looked weird or like I was out of focus. People tell me I just looked drunk and was slurring my words--no surprise there. I really don't remember anything after around 11:30 p.m., and I guess I went to bed right around 2:30 a.m. Yeesh...that's a lot of lost time.

When I woke up on Sunday morning, my first three thoughts were: how the hell did I get in this room? Why in the world does my throat hurt? Why the fuck are my pants unbuttoned? Seriously. That's some kind of party...

This is what I've been told happened: I did some dancing, sometimes on people, took shots, and convinced people to take shots with me. I played a game of beer pong, which I only remember starting. This guy, Travis, I guess broke the windown in the garage and I dumped the glass on his head as he bent to pick up some pieces. I also bit him on the arm. Who knows my reasoning for that. Then I guess I went to the bathroom and puked, all the while, telling Vinny all about how much I hate throwing up and how miserable it made me. I guess after about 30 minutes of this, he peeled me off the floor and took a wobbly Jer to his bedroom (this is a whole other aspect I need to discuss in this post) and then I guess I went straight to his bathroom to pee. I didn't button my pants when I returned to the bed, and just crawled up in the corner in a ball. I guess he grabbed me by one arm and one leg and pulled me into a normal sleeping position...God bless him for that. So, my three initial questions have been answered. I love that I have no memory of throwing up, as I actually do hate that. However, it scares the shit out of me that I can't remember.

My grown up friend party was similar...I was drunk by 10:30 p.m., which is when we decided it would be a good idea to go to the bar Good Company in our 80s attire. Needless to say, people actually stopped in the middle of their conversations to open-mouth stare at us when we entered. It made for great times. I really enjoyed both of my parties. I suppose I deserve it. Last year, B and I celebrated it together. He came home at 8pm, because he bought my gift that day after school. We had pizza and went to the bar. What a thrilling birthday. This year I had two amazing parties. I feel lucky. I am lucky. My adult friends from this group were actually my friends he introduced me to. I love that they are still my friends and talk with me.

Now, I really do have a situation on my hands...which is why the title of my post is what it is.

Get ready for some news...are you ready? Good. Here it is: I'm dating this guy. Is this earth-shattering news? No. However it does make things interesting. His name is Vinny. Yes, we've had sex...let's raise my number, again, shall I? Ugh...I'm a slut. Crimney.

Anyway, if that wasn't enough, let me tell you about my ordeal with him. He's 22. I'm 26. Yep four years different. He actually graduated from high school (my old high school and where I taught) the year I graduated from college. Now, for the weird factor: he was a student when I was tutoring in the school that year. I didn't tutor for him, but he knew me. He tells me now that he had a crush on me then. Yeesh...this cements the fact that I now know of at least three previous "students" who have had crushes on me. But, I digress. Anyway...it's just kind of weird. I told him I didn't want to be Mary Kay Laterneauish. He laughed. He also lives with B's brothers who live in Colorado, so three of the four live with him. Add another element of stress and weird. Although I love those boys, and they love me...so I guess it's not so bad.

When we first discussed what was happening between us, these were his actual words: "I know this isn't what the guy normally says, but I don't just want this to be sex. I want to be in a relationship with you." My response: "I'm sorry, but I don't. (I'm such a bitch.) I just got out of a bad relationship and I need time to heal. I just from relationship to relationship and I just need to focus on healing me." That was July 2nd.

Vinny could not be sweeter. If I wanted to be in a relationship, he'd be a good choice. He spoils me and I'm not even sure how to deal with that, since that hasn't happened in years. He always gets me my favorite beer and keeps it for me. He takes care of me when I'm shit faced drunk. However, I just don't know. I don't want to deal with another boy who has a mid-20s melt down and then I'm alone again. However, he's growing on me. I enjoy being with him and have stayed the night at his house (I usually drive home around 3am unless it's a weekend) like three nights this past week. Last night, after the 80s party, I went there. No, I didn't invite him. Is that bitchy? Probably a little. It's just those people were B's friends originally, and I don't want to bring him around unless he's a keeper. Does that make sense?

Ugh...I feel so conflicted. I guess I'll just enjoy what I've got and see what happens.

I should get to bed. I feel like this doesn't make much sense, and could be much better worded than this, but I just can't get my brain to work. I've worked 20 hours of overtime in the past week. I'm exhausted.

Holy moly...life is just crazy.

I suppose what happened yesterday was good, although it certainly wasn't pleasant. It's true that our IMs had a distinct flirtatious flavor, and he would be disingenuous to deny that. Nonetheless, what business did I have developing a crush--feelings even--for a guy I had never met. I didn't really even know what it looks like. Total rookie mistake. My heart has been softened by four years of not dating, and it needed to be reeducated.

Needless to say, he was simply "not that into me" (that's for you Steph). It was crushing, because we had spent the whole day together, having fun, talking about being gay in Korea, comparing relationship history, and then he dropped the bomb.

The question is what to do with that. Is it an indication that I have no business looking for a boyfriend in Korea? Or a dating refresher before somethin better comes down the pipe? In either case, I fall back on my axiom: You cannot find love, but never fear; it will find you. I cannot hide, even if I cloister myself up, which I feel like doing. I probably will for a week or so, but I am a man after all, and the box has been opened.

Ready for some serious oversharing?

Cuz this is the only place I can really do that, plus I don't have to worry about editing or thematic continuity.

I sit here at my computer filled with a joy so calm and deep that it can only be called love. I have a hot mug of Chamomile tea. I am listening to Itunes on Shuffle, and Phil Collins just came on. I got that song from Robert, a fact that I mention lest you think I have gotten too much over him.

This weekend was filled with reasons to love life in general, and Korea in particular. On Friday, three other teachers and I had our debut performance as a barbershop quartet, something I have wanted to be in since the sixth grade, and never done until now. We then went together to a show, adorned by the company of the most charming old bird at the school. Her name is Anne, and she reminds me of my dear dead gramma, not because of any similarity whatever, but simply because she is an old broad who adores me. I ordered the tickets over the phone in Korean, so the trip was a bit of an adventure. I may well have misunderstood the directions to the theater, or bought tickets for the wrong day, or for all I knew given my credit card number to a complete stranger. I was at the head of this expedition, due to fact that none of the others are really able to navigate any complicated outing in Korea, and that my Korean is getting quite good. Every time I make a Korean friend, or construct some complicated sentence in Korean, I get a grammargasm, but more on gasms of that sort and others when I come to Saturday.

As we got close to the theater (which I did in fact locate successfully), I received a call on my newly acquired and quite fetching Korean cell phone. It was the box office of the theater. They kept my number, and arranged for one of the ushers who spoke English to call and make sure we were finding it okay! This was astonishing--can you imagine any American theater calling an individual patron to make sure they were finding the place? I assured them that I was on route, but they must have had limited confidence in the ability of foreigners to navigate (well=placed, albeit), so they sent the usher out into the street to find us and lead us to the theater. I fell in love with Korea a little more at that point. How lovely! How courteous! How unheard of in any other country! And this in Daegu, a city reknowned throughout Korea for in taciturn populace. In Seoul, they probably would have carried us in a rickshaw.

On Saturday, I had arranged to meet a fellow I met in an online Gay chatroom. He was Korean, and his pictures indicated a man of exactly my type--awkward, skinny, and bespectacled. I was naturally scared shitless. I had not been on a date in five years, really, and still have some weird hangups about my attractiveness. I know that I am marvelous company, and that I have certain skills in the bedroom that are pleasant, but my appearance might scare this attractive, successful, YOUNG fellow off before any of that became apparent. I thought about rescheduling, but I have a keen nose for fear, especially my own, and tend to kill it on sight. So I went.

When I arrived at the bus station after an 80 minute ride, I was met by the fellow, Kyeongho, in his nice car. He looked to be about fourteen, and would not have been attractive, were it not for my seriously lowered standards. He was of the type known as Twinks by our people, and I am not a connoisseur. I spelled that word correctly on the first try. This was a relief, since I was now in no danger of developing a crush. A boyfriend 80 minutes away, would distinctly not be worth the time investment that it would represent. Although he was standoffish at first, so standoffish that I considered heading home, he loosened up enough to mention over dinner that he had a boyfriend who was out of the country at the moment. At this, I suggested that the evening might be over, but he bristled at this, insisting that it would be a great insult to leave just when we were beginning to drink seriously. I observed that the last train home would be leaving shortly, but he said I could stay at his apartment. Intrigued by this turn, I consented. I have little compunction about other people's relationships, considering that it is their business if they want to fool around with me. Robert's and my relationship was certainly never watertight.

As the evening progressed and I impressed him with my Karaoke skills, it became clear that he was interested in more than just showing me the sights. When we went back to his apartment to watch soccer, soccer quickly turned into a touching recline on my shoulder, and a discarding of pants. I was pleased that he found me fuckable, and it was also nice, as strange as it may seem, that he had a small dick. It made me feel less out of my level. We didn't fuck, out of superficial consideration for his boyfriend--again, their business--but we had a lot of fun. We cuddled, which was the best part, and I tried not to fidget too much during the night. I thought of a set of ground rules for sleeping in other peoples bed that seemed amusing at the time, but probably isn't really.

We said goodbye this morning, and I headed back to The Village, which sounds creepy when I capitalize it, and had another lovely day with friends that are becoming quite tolerable. I have a lot to say about that, as about everything, but it is nearly 11:00, and I promised myself that I would get up early and work out before work tomorrow. Love to you both.