Category Archives: hormones

A Different Kind of Superhero

Posted on by tattooteacher

“Teachers are super heroes.” You hear that sometimes, people pointing out the important work teachers do, the important role they play in society, the challenges they deal with. People think about the struggles of being a teacher, the thankless nature of the work.

What they probably aren’t thinking about when they refer to us and our superpowers is the amazing ability to deal with all things awkward and handle them with tact, grace, or at the very least grim resolve. Personally, I think that is often our biggest superpower, especially for those of us who teach students going through the throes of puberty and early adolescence.

Yesterday, I achieved the highest super hero rank. I taught my 6th grade class all about reproduction and conception, while visibly pregnant. I stood up in front of 2 dozen 11 and 12 year olds and basically said “This is what you do to get this way, and this is exactly what I did.”

Ok, maybe it wasn’t that detailed. But it felt damn close.

Our district has a curriculum for grade 6 focused on human growth and development. All the things you should know as you transition from kid to teen. It covers nutrition, stress, puberty, and reproduction. The kids dread it and yet look forward to it, loudly complaining about it for a year prior and making a huge deal out of any reference to it. Usually we as teachers stay calm, grit our teeth, and get it done. It’s honestly not that bad, and in the years I have been teaching it I have gone from feeling incredibly anxious to not caring at all.

Until, that is, the timing of my third pregnancy lined up perfectly with when we needed to teach it. I don’t know who was dreading it more, me or them!

The day before THE lesson, as they all referred to the lesson on conception, a small group of students had volunteered to stay in for recess and help me organize the library. While we stacked books, one solemn girl I’ll call Marta turned to me and said, “I figured it out, you know. I know exactly what you’re going to teach us tomorrow.” She went on, “You told us about sperm and egg being needed to reproduce in the last lesson, but you didn’t say how they got together, so I know you’re going to tell us that next, and I already know how it happens because I thought about it and there’s really only one way it possibly could happen.” I told her that when we had the lesson tomorrow, I hoped what she heard confirmed her ‘theory’ as she had referred to it.

Then it got worse.

Other kids joined the conversation. I listened, reminded them I wasn’t going to really confirm or deny or answer anything because the full lesson with the whole class was tomorrow.

“It’s weird because we’re all going to be thinking about the fact that our parents did IT.” One pointed out.

“I think youngest children have it best because you know your parents never did IT when you were in the house.” One replied.

“No, only children have it easiest, because then they know their parents only did IT once!” Another argued.

Marta shook her head. “I don’t think it’s that simple. I don’t think IT works like that.”

One boy piped up “Guys, do we even know what IT is yet?” That was greeted with “Kind of?” “I think so.” and “I don’t want to know!”

(And yes, during this conversation they did stress the word IT that way, and yes, I imagined it in all caps, and yes, I did think of the scary clown.)

Then, IT GOT EVEN WORSE.

Marta turned to me and said, “This must be really awkward for you. It’s not just our parents we’ll be thinking about, it’s you. I mean, we all know you have kids, and we know everyone who has kids had to do IT, but with this right in front of us”, and here she gestured at my big ol’ pregnant belly, “we’ll all be thinking about what you did, and thinking about you doing IT.”

Outwardly, I was very calm and reminded her that this is a totally normal, scientific topic, and nothing to feel awkward about. My inner dialogue alternated between You have to run away immediately and never see them again, and screaming.

And that is why I am a superhero. A student told me the whole class was going to be imaging me ‘doing IT’, and I remained calm and collected. I can now accomplish anything. I have reached the highest height of Mt. Awkward, and nothing that comes next will faze me.

The next day was the actual lesson. The structure was this: Diagrams on the board of anatomical parts, me explaining what each part did and how the parts, ahem, got to each other, and the kids then glued a set of cards onto a blank chart titled ‘steps to conception.’ When the cards were first handed out, Marta immediately shuffled through them, found the one that apparently confirmed her ‘theory’, held it up, and yelled “Called it!”

After the lesson, kids anonymously submitted questions. Most were some variation of ‘Does THAT really go in THERE?’ To which I answered, yes. Yes it did.

Hormones Are Not an Excuse

Posted on by tattooteacher

Being a sixth grade teacher is weird in so many ways. The one that I’m reflecting on today is the fact that I deal with a group of people who need my help because they lost a tooth, and need my help because they have their period. It’s a strange sense of vertigo to realize that these two milestones that literally mark the end of childhood and beginning of adulthood happen simultaneously, often to the same person.

And as I write this I’m realizing that as strange as it is for me, it’s even more poignant for them. So I guess I should say that being a sixth grader is weird. Again, in so many ways!

Last year we had them watch THE MOVIE, as they all call it. All about puberty and changes and all that fun stuff. This year we went over it in even more depth, with even more overly scientific terms, and cartoon images that were even more graphic and detailed. Plus the added bonus of discussing conception and fertilization. Last year was a one day lesson. This year’s spanned four days. A colleague referred to the curriculum as “Girl parts, boy parts, how they go together.”

Last year I felt so proud of myself for getting through it without too much awkwardness or discomfort on my part. Last year was nothing. After this year, I don’t think anything will ever make me feel uncomfortable again. Until you’ve showed a detailed model of sperm fertilizing an egg to a group of 11 and 12 year old girls, you haven’t really lived. Some people go sky diving to get a rush. This is a lot cheaper.

(My favorite part of this was when one girl yelled “Woo, that worm is the winner!” when the first one reached the egg.)

One thing that came up a lot in our long, ongoing, and incredibly detailed discussions was that for a lot of the questions (Why do we get acne? Why do we have crushes? What determines when puberty starts? Why do you get emotional around your period?) the answer was ‘Hormones’.

Yesterday I met with a student about her behavior on the bus. For the past few weeks, she’s been having some ongoing issues with another student. She freely admitted she hadn’t been as nice as she could have been. “Ok, I’ve been mean to her.” I asked her why.

She was reluctant to give the reason for the original argument, but did let me know this bit of info: “Well, I got my period today.” I waited for her to explain more. I stared at her. She stared back at me. “Ok, but this has been going on for a few weeks, right?” I asked. “Yeah, well, my period!” She said happily. More staring.

“I’m confused how you getting your period today made you mean to her three weeks ago.” “Well, hormones, you know.” She informed me knowingly.

Sixth grade, everybody.

Sixth Grade

Posted on by tattooteacher

I’ve never taught sixth grade before. So far, I love it. Yes, they are hormotional, as we call it. They are obsessed with each other, and their clothes, and who likes who. They smell like a combination of stale sweat and cheap, alcohol based perfume and cologne. But they are able to have deep, meaningful discussions far beyond what younger kids can do. We talk about global warming, what defines a civilization, social justice, and debate whether math is invented or discovered. They are deep thinkers and social creatures. I’m so glad to spend my days with them.

They are on the cusp of childhood and the teenage years, holding on desperately while they also push away. I get to watch them become the people they will be- and help them along the way. This mix makes for some poignant , sometimes heartbreaking moments. I’ve watched friendships that are nearly a decade old fall apart, see kids realize their parents flaws, and helped them confront things like racism and terrorism.

But of course, there is also humor.

A few weeks ago at recess, I had two interactions that sum up sixth grade to me.

One of my girls, Rosa, shyly asked me if I would go on the swings with her. “Of course!” I told her. “I love the swings!” We swung together, feet pointed to the sky, talking about how while you may never be too old to swing, our butts were definitely not the size of the little butts these particular swings were made for.

“OMG!” Another student yelled, running over to us. (She actually said this phonetically- oh-em-gee.) “Hashtag teacherontheswings!”

Will, one of the boys strolled over. “You guys are on the swings?” He said disdainfully. “Yeah.” Rosa said between pumps. “The swings are great!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, if you’re like, six.”

Just then, another girl walked over to us. “Will, want to go on the swings with me?” She asked, smiling at him

“Yeah, definitely. I love the swings.” He said with a totally straight face, and immediately followed her to the open swings. Rosa looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Interesting.” She said.

 

All Hormones, All the Time

Posted on by tattooteacher

Ahh, May of the fifth grade. A glorious time. The flowers bloom, the weather warms up, the kids are suddenly taller, crankier, and stinkier. Spring is in the air, and so are the hormones.

We have officially hit the preteen period. They are talking about who likes who, desperately jostling to sit next to specific people only so they can roll their eyes at everything that person says. They are more aware of clothes, and music, and what they are ‘supposed’ to like. For my friends who teach primary grades, this time is terrifying, but I don’t mind it too much.

It’s a tough time for them. Emotions are high. They are likely to laugh too loud, cry at the drop of a hat. Little things can make them angry and ruin their day. Their bodies have started changing in weird, uncomfortable ways. Even worse, people know this is happening and expect them to talk about it. Relatives and older family friends around them wax emotional about the wonderful, amazing changes ahead, while they cringe awkwardly.

All of the above describes puberty, but it also describes… pregnancy!

I feel your pain, guys.

You cried yesterday because your friend didn’t want to play tag with you. I cried because I could not reach my foot to buckle my sandal. You became inexplicably angry when your mom insisted you go with her to your brother’s soccer game. I went into a rage when my husband ate the last pizza slice.

You’re suddenly getting taller. A lot taller. When you stand up, it’s disorienting to see how high off the ground you are. I’m getting wider. A lot wider. It’s hard to remember that I can no longer fit between small spaces like desks. (Related note: I’m sorry my belly has hit so many of you in the back of the head when I walk by. You’re right, we do need more space between the tables.)

You’re growing hair in unexpected places that you don’t want to talk about. I am sporting luxurious side burns (don’t worry, your facial hair will come in soon) and a hairy belly of truly epic proportions. I, too, am simultaneously ashamed and proud of this.

Your body has started doing all sorts of strange, weird, gross, but sort of cool things that I won’t talk about here. I feel you, my small friends. Humans. Gross, am I right?

So here we sit- 23 pubescent preteens and a 6 month pregnant teacher. Sometimes I ask my assistant what it’s like to be surrounded by a sea of hormones. She says she doesn’t mind, but in all fairness she may just be afraid I’ll cry. Or eat her.