I try to stay sanguine
(adj: cheerful and optimistic) about
my high school students. I constantly admonish (verb: to warn or advise strongly) myself to keep in mind their disparate (adj: separate and distinct) backgrounds and ability levels when
considering their performance in my class, but invariably (adj: every time)
my patience gives way, and I find myself distraught
(adj: upset) over not only what they
don’t know, but at how obstinately (adv: stubbornly) they cling to that
ignorance.
This year, I am teaching eleventh and twelfth grade English
courses. This means dealing with
seventeen and eighteen year olds, ostensibly
(adv: presumably) getting ready to
enter the adult world. My goal is to facilitate (verb: make easier, help to accomplish a goal) this transition by
making sure that they possess the requisite
(adj: necessary) skills to succeed in
college, so as to improve their chances of acquiring
(verb: getting) a higher-paying job.
A pivotal (adj: important) aspect of that
preparation is vocabulary. In the
academic world, an expansive (adj: wide and well-developed)
vocabulary is the hallmark (noun: sign or indicator) of an
effective education. For purposes of
reading comprehension, effective writing and especially for speaking cogently (adv: sounding intelligent and convincing) on subjects, a good
vocabulary is imperative (adj: necessary.)
And so I inundate
(verb: flood, overwhelm) my students
with vocabulary, requiring them to learn ten new words each week, and quizzing
them on their usage, while also introducing words in conversation, by way of my
scintillating (adj: brilliant) wit.
But the inexplicable
(adj: unexplainable) and exasperating (adj: frustrating) thing is that these kids resent my attempts to
teach them these words. They constantly
show disdain (noun: contempt) for the lessons, and constantly ask why such
lessons are necessary. I repeatedly
point out the didactic (adj: educational) purpose and value of
expanding one’s vocabulary, but they doggedly
(adv: persistently,) refuse to allow
these new words into their own personal lexicon
(noun: collection of words.)
It is as if the students are terrified at the thought of accumulating (verb: gathering) new words, perhaps fearing that their brains are
not capacious (adj: roomy; spacious) enough to allow for any more words than they
already know, and the addition of new words would force them to elide (verb: erase) words they have previously learned.
And so they become obdurate
(adj: stubborn) and do their best to impede (verb: stop or prevent,) the learning process, adamant (adj: without
compromising) in their belief that there can never be any tangible (adj: real, measurable) benefit to them in increasing their
vocabulary, despite the plethora (noun: wide variety) of reasons to the
contrary.
Over the years, I have become increasingly despondent (adj: sad and hopeless) over the thought of these kids’
futures. With their paucity (noun: severe lack)
of knowledge, especially regarding vocabulary and language skills, I find it
dubious (adj: doubtful) that they will be able to excel in higher
education, and I am concerned that this lack may curtail (verb: limit or cut short) many
opportunities later in life.
Unsurprisingly, I have become somewhat bitter from the incessant (adj: unending) pejorative
(adj: nasty, negative) comments and
their constant apathy (noun: just plain not giving a shit,) and fear that it might be affecting me.
As a direct result of the constant contact with my pupils (noun: little bastards,) my own language has become more coarse (adj: full of damn swearing) and vulgar (adj: even more full
of damn swearing,) and have even picked up their habit of casual blasphemy (noun: God damned swearing.)
Likewise I’ve become more cynical (adj: basically me)
and my speech has become impregnated
(adj: not what you think) with sarcasm (noun: that stuff that comes out of my mouth, genius.) I find this trend somewhat unsettling (adj: entirely predictable to anyone who’s spent time with teenagers) and,
I worry, irreversible (adj: I don’t drink.)
But I persevere (verb: I need the money) at my chosen vocation (noun: seriously, like the only thing I can do, I’ve looked at my
options,) and do my best to maintain my cheerful and optimistic demeanor (noun: grin and bear it till Friday, and don’t punch any of the little
pricks.)
However, I want to do what is right and honorable (no modern
definition found,) and so I continue teaching vocabulary, in the hopes that
this endeavor (noun: hopeless, quixotic crusade of futility) will provide me a
sense of personal gratification (noun: nope.)
Because a future where our words die out is too execrable (adj: shitty) to imagine, and somebody has to act as sentinel (noun: sucker who gets ground under the wheel of repetition) for
our language, so that the situation does not become untenable (adj: all fucked
up.)
And so I shall remain vigilant
(adj: I don’t really have much choice,
especially with Common Core on the way,) and man the ramparts (noun: my classroom,
in which I no longer get to spend my freaking planning period,) to guard
against the onslaught (noun: 125 new little bundles of attitude
each year) of academic lassitude
(noun: they just don’t give a crap
anymore,) so that our proud nation does not fall into intellectual penury (look it up your own damn self, I’m off duty.)
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