Radical by Michelle Rhee Page A

know the children will enjoy. It keeps them engaged and motivated. They expect something fresh every day.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œTake today,” she said. “We made finger puppets. These children had never made finger puppets before. We made them to mimic characters in the book we were reading. They were totally engaged—in making the puppets and acting out the scenes in the book. And now they can take the puppets home with them. It’s something they never would have anticipated.”
    I was in awe. Ms. Haywood had been teaching for thirty years, and yet each night she was up trying to figure out new ways to make her kids excited about her lessons. Amazing.
    That night I went home, sat in front of the TV, and made pizzas out of yellow and red paper: yellow for cheese and red for sauce. Brown paper in the shape of mushrooms and little green squares to look like green peppers. I was doing a lesson on fractions, and I wanted to surprise the kids with paper pizzas they could place into halves and quarters. Roger Schulman, another TFA teacher, came over to watch TV with us.
    â€œWhat on God’s green earth are you doing?” he asked.
    I explained.
    â€œYou are insane,” he said. “For one lesson, you are making thirty-six individual pizzas? Each with individually crafted pepperoni and olives? Have you lost your mind?”
    â€œYup,” I said. “Every student gets a pizza.”
    I had taken Bertha Haywood’s words to heart. The next day was my first truly calm day in the classroom. The kids were fascinated and delighted with the pizzas. And they started to understand fractions.
    When it came to discipline, I set up a simple rewards system. I had two chalkboards. The larger one I would use for lessons, and on the smaller one I would put the students’ names—not when they were bad, but when they were good. And if they did something good, I would put a star next to their name; if you did something bad, I would erase the star. For the kids I knew were troublemakers, I would have to put their names on the board as soon as they walked in.
    â€œOh, thank you for putting your jacket up!” Quickly put their name on the board.
    Now they had something to lose. If there was nothing to take away, then it wouldn’t work, right?
    And then I set up a whole economy, where at the end of the day I gave tickets for the number of stars that the kids got during the day. At the end of the week students could trade their tickets in for candy or stickers or erasers or toys.
    Finally, Rhee’s class was no longer wild. Well, less wild, at least.
    F ROM EARLY IN THE school year, Rhoda Jones, the assistant principal, was sure I was going to quit. She saw me struggling to maintain order. She saw that frightened look in my eyes. I guess she marked me down as a lost cause and didn’t bother to offer much help.
    One day when I was at school late, planning, I snuck into the supply closet to look for some construction paper. Teachers were not permitted in there. Rhoda Jones saw the door ajar.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
    Busted.
    I apologized and explained I needed the paper for a project I was planning for the kids.
    â€œNext time, ask,” she said.
    I walked away, downcast.
    â€œHold on,” she said, handing me a package of construction paper. “I see you here after school every day working on lesson plans. You are here before I arrive in the morning, too. I can tell you are trying hard, and you have lasted far longer than I had expected, to be honest. But, child, you need help.”
    â€œTell me about it,” I said.
    â€œYou spend all your time here inside the school building,” she said. “You have to let our children know you are part of the community. You can’t be afraid of going to their houses. Show up at their door. Let their parents know what their kids are doing in your classroom. Make yourself a real