Shannon Reed - Why Did I Get a B?: And Other Mysteries Were Discussing in the Faculty Lounge

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Copyright 2020 by Shannon Reed

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Author photograph by Heather Kresge

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Reed, Shannon, author.

Title: Why did I get a B? : and other mysteries were discussing in the faculty lounge / Shannon Reed.

Description: First Atria Books hardcover edition. | New York : Atria Books, 2020.

Identifiers: LCCN 2020000555 (print) | LCCN 2020000556 (ebook) | ISBN 9781982136093 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781982136109 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Reed, Shannon. | Reed, ShannonAnecdotes. |

TeachersUnited StatesBiography. | TeachingUnited

StatesAnecdotes. | TeachingUnited StatesHumor.

Classification: LCC LA2317.R397 A3 2020 (print) | LCC LA2317.R397 (ebook) | DDC 371.20092 [Bdc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020000555

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020000556

ISBN 978-1-9821-3609-3

ISBN 978-1-9821-3610-9 (ebook)

This book is dedicated with much love to my first and best teacher, my wonderful mom, Gloria Reed And in memory of my other most beloved teachers, my dad, the Reverend Ronald B. Reed, and my grandmother, Kathryn Zeger.

Also, thanks for everything, Roo.

And God has placed in the church first of all apostles, second prophets, third teachers, then miracles

1 Corinthians 12:28a

Well, to each his own.

me to one of my students

Yeah. To each his crazy-ass own.

my student to me

T here are two kinds of writing in this book: humor pieces and essays. The humor, which tends to be shorter and, in theory, snappier, often draws on my career as a teacher and professor but isnt factual. The essays, which do reflect my specific experiences, are correct to the best of my ability. Any errors of fact are mine. Ive taught a lot of students over a lot of years, and I may have inadvertently conflated people or events. There are also moments when Ive chosen to deliberately combine events or characters, or to shorten a timeline. Generally, Ive written about Stella Maris High School as it really was, and changed much about the school I call THSB here, because much of my experience at Stella was good, while much of my time at THSB was not.

Additionally, because I am writing about many people who were minors when the events Im recounting took place, Ive gone out of my way to disguise their identities, changing names, genders, ages, appearances, and other characteristics of individual students who probably didnt think theyd end up in their teachers book someday. I have also changed the names of some adults. Just to keep you on your toes, Ive kept some of the names of adults unaltered, mostly when I thought it would make those people happy to see themselves in this book.

O nce, not that long ago, when I was teaching at THSB, a pretty terrible public high school in South Brooklyn, I experienced what I consider to be the most despairing moment of my professional life (thus far). While it was one of manyvery manymoments of despair I would feel as a teacher, and particularly at that school, it remains the most vivid in my mind because of how it changed me.

It was the day of the Winter Holidays Talent Show, which was not the reason for the despair (although, lets be honest, the principals insistence on singing a dirge-like Go Tell It on the Mountain while accompanying himself on the guitar would not lift the soul). I had escorted my extremely high-energy class of freshmen to the buildings auditorium, where we would watch their schoolmates perform in front of another schools abandoned homecoming banner, which no one had thought to take down. One of my students was one of the most horrible people Ive ever metI call him Paulie in this book, youll get to know him in an essay later onand the three-minute walk from our classroom to the auditorium had been more than enough time for Paulie to cause trouble, verbally abusing his classmates and ricocheting off the walls. I had already had to stop one of his peers from hitting him, even as I wished that someone would hit him, and hard.

As often happened, the show did not start at the scheduled time, so our large group of students from the Theatre High School of Brooklyn (hence THSB) grew more and more agitated, stewing in the deepening agony of being forced to sit in uncomfortable chairs, staring at a sign reading GET DOWN WITH COLLEGE PREP HIGH SCHOOL , waiting for this stupid event the grown-ups had forced them to attend to be over so that they could be done with school and be out into their real lives already. Paulie was seated near a young man called Marvin, a thin, gangly kid in a striped polo buttoned to the neck, whom I always described as delicate to myself. He was a frequent target of Paulies harrassment, and as the waiting dragged on, Paulie started teasing Marvin, drawing the snickers of the bored students around them. Marvin told him to stop, so Paulie imitated Marvin, and Marvin wasnt able to just go still, leaving Paulie with no material to work with, instead getting more and more agitated himself. I was equally annoyed by both of them, the kind of mind-set thats wildly unfair yet not all that uncommon in exhausted teachers. I told Paulie to stop. He didnt. Marvin looked increasingly frantic. I tried to separate them, but Paulie wouldnt move, recognizing that hed lose the source of the attention he was getting from other students. So I sat down between them, trying to help Marvin and keep this from turning into a Thing that an administrator could yell at me about later. After a moment between them, Paulie crinkled his nose. You smell, he said to me. You smell bad.

And get this: Marvin laughed. At me.

He must have been so relieved to have Paulies fusillade of torment turned on someone else, but oh, how that laughter hurt. It felt like a betrayal. Worn down by many long months of trying to reach Paulie and his classmates, I did what I had so often done when pushed to my emotional limit as a still-newish adult: I burst into hot, angry tears.

Everyone has sensitive spots, and one of mine is being told I smell, so my consternation was genuine, but my sobbing ineffective. No one came to help meI realize now that all of the other teachers were at least as tired and overworked and focused on their own problems as I was and honestly, what the hell was taking so long? It was a school talent show, not the Moulin Rouge! Marvin and Paulie, now united, giggled together, pointing at me, holding their noses.