Yesterday, I helped Risa's class in the science lab. Today, I helped Vida's. It was the second time that each class had been to this new and rightfully exalted campus hotspot.
Each class was broken down into teams of four to work on the same task. A task, I was informed, that would take three sessions (this being the second) to complete. I was all Three sessions? What're they doing—cloning a bevy of small animals? In fact, no. All they had to do was inventory large storage boxes filled with various building pieces: axles, wheels, tubes, etc. Each team had a Recorder, Retriever, Sorter, and Counter.
I was directed to shrug my shoulders in the exaggerated manner of a circus clown any time a child asked me a question. The Head Science Lady explained, "We want them to figure everything out themselves."
Well, the whole "figuring everything out themselves" was the problem right there, folks. Because, really, how long could I be expected to watch these little kids completely butcher their assignment without screaming, "What are you? CRAZY? Why are the four of you just sticking your heads in the box? Sit up, take that shit out, sort it, count it, and write it down. For the love of honeybees and dovetail swallows, get your heads out of the box."
So, yeah. That's why I'm not a teacher. And why I'm sometimes a very bad mom (although never with the potty mouth, I swear).