There's a little rust; but I can still coach
Billings
I've been gone for awhile. There's a few reasons for this:

1) I've been busy. You know, making sure my dog doesn't die; packing my classroom for the move to Portable City during construction; playing Skyrim; and coaching.

Yes,

2) I am coaching again. With me back in action you'd think I'd have a lot to say. After all, coaching was one of three reasons this often neglected blog was created.

But,

3) I've been hesitant to write anything about it. The basketball team. My team in particular (which on most practices doesn't constitute a team since usually four show up). The other coaches. I don't want to say anything about them.

I've been given a second chance. One, at this school, I didn't think I'd get. (And, if you've followed me long enough you'd know I shouldn't have been out of coaching this long.) But, here I am, working with a Rag Tag group that, after only a handful of practices - and even less time working with them alone - have gravitated towards me.

And I to them.

Yet this isn't my cross country team where, over six years, we (maybe) lost two or three dual meets within the Division. This isn't my cross country team where I had State Qualifiers every year, or a team with a chance to go to State on a consistent basis. This isn't my cross country team that sleep walked to a conference title year in and year out. Even the years I wasn't coaching they breezed to conference titles (oh, stop it, those were still my girls.)

I'm treading in uncharted territory where I have a loose understanding for the game of basketball. But I know kids.

And this isn't a cross country team where all practices were predicated by me. All workouts where developed by me. Tapering programs by me. Speed work, tempos, team meetings, me, me, me.

Now I'm just that one guy who's coaching a B-team that, on some days, may not even have a full team. I'm a fixture in the background. Watching. And learning.

And you know what? I'm okay with that.

Starting over isn't easy, though. My reputation - where I had kids simply joining cross country from all walks of school without my having to recruit - is long gone. Only three girls remain who knew me as "Coach Billings". Two play soccer, and one remains my most quiet advocate as a four year Varsity player on basketball.

Tomorrow is my first game. I didn't have an entire summer with this team. Alone, I've had them for maybe an hour total.

If I lose, I can stomach it. At least I know I will have lost with kids who aren't coming to the school for "Academic Reasons" only - they're just kids who are here wanting to play and have fun.

Fun I can do. And in time, win.
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The humble egomaniacal teacher/coach
Billings

Note: Every year my journalism students are required to write a personal feature on themselves. The last time I coached, over two years ago now, I wrote this as an "in-class example." As it has been well documented, I have been out of coaching now for two years and eight days (exactly). But, starting Monday that will change. And this feature, in all its prophetic glory, foreshadows what will soon become my new adventure...

A coffee house classroom, that’s what it is. Despite his general hatred for all things coffeehouse, Billings sure doesn’t mind decorating his room as such. Octopus lamps provide just the right light, streaming blues music sets the right mood, and a sweet pumpkin smell subdues the stench from the hallway outside.

A student approaches his desk, calling him “Billings” and asking him if he approves the lead of a feature story being written. “That’s pretty bad. It’s a question, don’t use a question,” is Billings’ response. The student shuffles back to his desk, nodding, thinking of a better way to start his article.

Mr. Billings prefers to be called Billings, “Short and simple,” he says. His students oblige, and often feel awkward when accidentally calling him Mr. Billings. It’s not a question of being cool, or wanting to be cool, it’s just easier. And the easier for Billings, the better for Billings.

“My intention isn’t to be the teacher that doesn’t want to be called ‘mister’ just so I can be cool—I can do that without the name,” Billings jokes. “My intention,” he says, “is, and will always be, to keep things as simple as possible.”

He speaks to me with his arms folded, leaning back in is 1980s upholstered arm-chair. A tattoo, Egyptian hieroglyphics, is exposed on his left forearm. They spell out his name “B-I-L-L-I-N-G-S.” He says his tattoo was his attempt to be different, to not be like those people who get tattoos of Chinese proverbs. He admits he’s failed in is attempt at being different, but likes the tattoo—and his name—just the same.

Bags encircle his eyes, which can be attributed to the early morning runs with his dog—something he does religiously rain or shine. He denies that’s why he looks so tired:

“Genes,” Billings says about his swollen eyes. “My dad had two constant black eyes, so I have been blessed with them as well. I may look tired, but really, I’m not.”

The environment is loose. Students move effortlessly through the classroom, without restriction. They appear on task, and comfortable with one another. It is clear to the casual observer that tension has long been abandoned. Billings is aware that there are enough problems outside his doors, he tries his best to keep his class a peaceful sanctuary.

“I can’t always do it,” he says. “It’s not always so relaxed and chill. There are days my temper gets the best of me, and there are days when I bring my problems with me to work. But for the most part, I try not to.”

The kids appreciate it. They know they can go to his class, and not be on guard all the time. The pressure is off, and they perform better that way, according to Billings. If they worked late the night before, Billings will let a nap slide. Or if an assignment wasn’t completed because of an away basketball game, or a wrestling match, or a soccer game, or a Key Club activity—Billings typically turns the other cheek. “Just get it to me,” he’ll say.

One student, in an off-hand remark, suggests he should coach Girls’ basketball. This excites Billings, and he goes on a tangent—as he often does—about coaching philosophies.

“Listen, I understand my limitations. I have a lot of them. I also know what I am good at. It’s not X’s and O’s or fundamentals. I would focus on my strengths as a basketball coach, like I do with my runners. I’m not going to fool [the athletes] or myself if I try otherwise.”

Asked what his strengths are, he smiles, “Getting kids to do what I want and to perform their absolute best for me. Always.”

He says the same thing about teaching in regards to limitations, and his critical of himself in preparing his kids properly for proficiency tests, and entry to colleges.

“I struggle with the basics of teaching—grammar, proper form, classic literature, attendance—crap like that. I like to think that the way I teach, what I teach, is more real-life applicable. That’s not always the best thing for kids. But that’s what I am good at, so it’s what I focus on.”

Billings has been described by his editor-in-chief as a humble egomaniac—a very ironic combination, she insists.

He agrees with the assessment: “It goes back to knowing what you excel in, and almost promoting what you suck at. I do both. Which is why that impression of me exists.”

His students and athletes say it suits him well.

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The art of the Three-Paragraph Essay
Billings
Being a writing snob, I never, not once, thought I would ever teach the dreaded "Three Paragraph Essay" (which is the intermediate version to the equally dreaded "Five Paragraph Essay"). I always prided myself on teaching writing "outside the box". And, yes, that included not teaching the Thesis Statement. I'm more of a narrative-type a guy where the pointless thesis statement was usually implied with humor, cunning, and wit.

But, there I was today, whipping out the manila folders (their writing portfolios) and taking my 48 kids per through the "writing process" at Warp Snail Pace. It all started with a topic, proficiency approved of course. We class-banged the brainstorming process, cluster style, baby. (I always cluster before I blog it out!). Then we moved into the rough draft. Because, like I told them, the cluster map was the buffet - the rough draft was our lunch, we could go to the buffet and take whatever we wanted to eat from the Cluster Table to put on our Rough Draft Plate!

It all got pretty intense at this point. Because when we shifted to the Final Draft, at the end of the period, I threw in a monkey wrench - or, like my AP cleverly dubbed, "Surprise Editorialization". This safe-proof is to prevent them from copying the rough draft verbatim and claiming it as a final draft. Anyway, they had to include not one, but two hardcore facts (guaranteed to persuade the masses, and this was a persuasive piece) in the final.

Well, this was three days worth of work wrapped up in one day to get the familiar with them routine - I will typically take them through the pre-writing, rough, and final drafts on separate days (as a warm-up activity before moving into the nit and grit of my glorious English II curriculum: pronouns!).

It's a shame I am teaching something I, myself, would never use. To pigeonhole my students into a formulaic essay in despicable, and I threw up twice this afternoon between lessons.

That's okay, though, I still have my combined Journalism I and II class to tinker with. Sadly, my Creative Writing Class - where I could really flex composition ingenuity - was destroyed in an effort to fit as many students as possible in regular English courses.

Positive Side Note: Only three new enrollments today. I am eagerly awaiting the end of October where, as promised, classes will be leveled.

Alright, I'm done being an ass. I just thought I'd brag that my students are doing things students in high school do: stupid stuff.

Common Question: Why are you teaching? Get out if you hate it, sucka!

Answer: Mommy is still laid off, and I have three half-blackies to love and raise. I don't plan on slingling computers at Best Buy ever again, so this is it.

I just put in a graphic arts request: 500 stapled (pre-writing, rough rafting, final drafting) proficiency practice packets! (Which is good for a measly two essays - the price one pays for classes of girth.)

I am a man on a mission. I am determined. Willing. And able to do what it takes to be a teacher amongst teachers! All hail the three-paragraph-teaching Billings!

(Yeah, my students know those are exclamatory sentences. And they use them cautiously, because it's never good to yell!)
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