A Day in the Life

Someone with a documentarian’s fetish for eyewitness testimony asked me to write “a day in the life” of Mr. Mohr. The only proper introduction to my daily affairs would be my students’ versions of them.

At the beginning of the year, I assigned a journaling prompt called “I am Mr. Mohr.” My whole purpose here was to get my kids considering first-person point of view while avoiding their habitual topics of discourse. How better to free them from self-centeredness than to make them think about me? It took a few rounds of explaining to get kids into the groove. In short, the assignment was to imagine what Mr. Mohr does in the morning to get ready, and narrate his journey to school.—Sounds dangerous? Don’t worry. There is an eternally present, two-part caveat in my classroom: (1) that writing must be “school appropriate,” and (2) that anyone who is unsure what “school appropriate” means may walk down to the discipline office with a referral to ask Ms. Ray what it means, before he or she ever starts writing.—The results of the prompt were decent. Many students postulated that I am single, and that I live alone, and that I have nothing more exciting in my morning routine than picking out socks and eating a hearty breakfast. Some of the cleverer ones pegged me as a complicated cat and tried to give me interesting tasks, such as driving around the block several times listening to my favorite country song, since all white men love country music, or dropping off my kids at the private school, or reading my Bible, or writing my lesson plan.—At the time, in early September, I chuckled at this last suggestion. I would never write a lesson at 6 in the morning! I might stay up until 4 in the morning doing that, but I would never go to sleep without everything planned and prepared. Now, some things have changed a bit since September, but let’s not tarry on this point.—These imaginative flourishes were from but a few students, and it became clear that most of my kids have no idea what my life is like, may never know, and likely wouldn’t care to hear my side of the story. This insight should be a little sobering for a vainglorious young man. I consoled myself: at least they used the first-person point of view well enough, and I didn’t have to read a hundred more first-person paragraphs about stuff that they “like” and stuff that they “hate.”

Since my readers, or at least my chroniclemonger of a friend, have shown interest enough to get this far through the article, I shall flatter myself now to tell my version of “a day in the life” of Mr. Mohr.

Depending on the day, the kind of lesson I’m planning, whether the moon is full, and how much time I spent thinking and writing about myself for a blog-post the night before—I wake up somewhere between 3:30 and 5. These days, I start out by turning up the heat. I shower; my incentive for doing this is more from the cold than from principles of hygiene. I steep my hair in conditioner for approximately 4.4 minutes and stand under the shower-head motionless and thoughtless. Eventually, I stumble out to the kitchen to make myself a whopping bowl of Crispy Rice, which one can purchase at Walmart. I sit down in front of my laptop; given that I use it to project directions, etc., for almost every activity of every class, this is the beginning of an intercourse with my MacBook that will last another ten to fifteen hours each day—depending on how much I am typing up about myself for a blog-post later that night. I read the headlines on Yahoo! and check my email, Facebook page, and favorite blogs, all in approximately 7.2 minutes. Then, I finish formatting whatever worksheets I got frustrated with the day before; I am much more patient for this kind of thing in the morning, though those who rowed for me on the Severn in my previous life would never guess it. I then get dressed. If I’m in a tremendous rush, however, I get dressed first thing out of the shower, before the worksheet formatting.—I don’t know why.—Every other day, time permitting, I make coffee for myself at the house before venturing forth.

I am almost always the first person to the school at 6:30, excepting only the cafeteria workers on a good day. The janitor and some bus drivers arrive shortly after I do.—This was a big frustration for me during the first three months when I didn’t have my own room key. I would hang out in my car, typing or listening to a sermon, until I saw my classroom lights pop on, a signal from the janitor that he had unlocked my door for me.—I usually float around my room, straightening desks, writing on boards, turning on electronics, filing, listening to music, etc., until 7:20. Since my school took away the faculty copier, this is also when I do most of my printing in my room.

At 7:30, I strut down to the gym, where all the students have been boxed in after getting off the buses. Class by class we are dismissed from the gym. “Mr. Philip Mohr’s first period class, get up and move.”—They have to say my first name because there is a Mr. Moore on the same hall.—The scene resembles a cattle-auction, and the kids herd into my room as I crack my whip over their heads. This whole thing has become much less stressful for me since receiving a key and being able to lock my classroom when I’m waiting around in the gym. Once inside, it is time to begin class, which I will leave a mystery for now. Class happens. Eventually I walk my fourth-period class to lunch, as if they were kindergarteners or prisoners, and sit by them like a kindergarten teacher or corrections officer as they eat (or not) in 20 minutes or less. My last block class takes up fifth and sixth periods, and then my “planning” period is seventh, the last of the day. I have regulars who come in to my room during this time for remediation, and some seniors who just want to use the computers in the back of my room. It is very pleasant. For the first two months I spent my planning period doing paperwork; but now I have streamlined that process so I can talk to students, the joy of my work.—Note: the word streamlined might be synonymous with foregone in this context.—I stay after with students Tuesday through Friday, and usually make it to the house by 16:00 or 16:30. Twice a week I go to Subway directly after school. My afternoons are variable. Sometimes I start off with grading; other times I watch Law & Order for two hours. Sometimes I fall asleep on my living room floor; other times I caffeinate myself and start lesson planning. I’ll let my readers guess which of these happens most often. When I am working, I usually try to distract myself by writing poetry, listening to an audio-Bible, scanning the Facebook, surfing the Internets, or talking with my housemates. It is one of the least efficient ways to work, but if I don’t do it this way, I won’t have the willpower to start working at all. I am weak. Bed-time is around 22:30, sometimes earlier. In the first two months I didn’t sleep. Now I try to sleep four to six hours each night, and I do alright.

And don’t get me started on weekends.