"So, you had your first," said my faculty advisor with a sly smile. I had just finished telling her about my the last part of my class today, which no one had observed. I had gotten a little heated. My class went something like this:

After their Do Now, I gave my students a little bit of a lecture, but I made sure I didn't talk down to my students. I try to always treat them like adults. I was video-taped the day before and I talked frankly about what I noticed when I watched the video at home. I noticed that a lot of side comments were being made, but that these side comments didn't really distract me from my instruction. I asked the class if they knew what a side-comment was, and they did. I told them that when I watched the video, it was obvious that although I wasn't distracted by the side comments, every student sitting around the student making the side comment was distracted, and that that just wasn't fair.

I told them what I told "Jake" yesterday on the way to lunch. "I don't discipline all of you to teach you the difference between right and wrong. I know that you all know how to behave, because you are all adults. That sort of discipline is for elementary school. No - wait - that sort of discipline is for puppy trainers. This is not puppy training. I discipline because I don't think anyone has the right to waste the time of anyone else in my class. So, today, I want no side comments, and I plan on moving quickly up the consequence poster."

10 minutes in, before I even had them in groups, Jake had a resolution receipt, the second tier of my consequence system. Jake served a detention for his behavior yesterday, and he had written me 15 sentences explaining how he would behave better thereafter. He was dissapointing me today, and he was distracting other normally attentive students.

(Let me just stop to say I love Jake. He is incredibly bright, and there isn't a shy bone in his body. In the conversations I have had with him, he has been incredibly honest with me about his mother's illness and his cultural heritage. He is a good writer and thinker, but he wants the attention of a class clown. His siblings, on either side of him, are overachievers. He is one of my favorites.)

As I am working one-on-one with another student, I look over, and Jake is tussling with another student. I give them a second to stop, and they don't. I can tell it is just play, but I stand up and release a very audible sigh. "Jake, let go of him and GO...OUT...SIDE." The class was quieter than they had ever been. This was not something they had been expecting from a rookie. Jake started to protest. A little softer, a little slower, yet still firm, I continued, "I am very mad right now. I want you to go outside until I can cool off." The class was still silent. Jake left the room quickly, and the students got back to work. I continued to monitor the class, ignoring Jake at the door window.

When I met Jake outside a few minutes later, I completely switched my tone from one who is mad, to one who is honestly hurt (this was a strategy suggested by a teacher I had observed in March). "I am sorry I raised my voice with you. I was very mad." "It's okay," he said, "My mom does it all the time." "Why were you behaving like that today?" I asked. "I mean, you wrote me that essay yesterday about how you were going to try and act your best. I am sorry for getting mad, but I just get so upset when I see another student get in the way of their classmates' learning."

He was honestly sorry. The matter was resolved quickly, and I hope, permanently. I had had my "first," as my faculty advisor had said. I blew up, flipped my lid, went off, etc. Right now, it doesn't feel good. After today, I think that Jake and my class fear me, and that is not the relationship I want with my students. I want my class free of misbehavior, but I don't want them learning under a dictatorship. It's a tough balance sometimes.

I am going to apologize tomorrow, and try to make graphs interesting and relevant.