Ukes, Headphones and Well Decorated Walls - pt. 2

Class started ten minutes ago, students are nearly ready to begin the activity I've been explaining and modeling for them, and we are trying to resolve a few misunderstandings, when the door pops open, and in slips Randall with a friend who I have never before seen.  I nod in their direction, he returns a tight-lipped smile at me, she doesn't look up at me, and together they slip to the back of the room, trying to go unnoticed.  A couple of students try to greet them, but they just walk on by.  We are supposed to ignore Randall and his companion, and go on as if they're not there.  

Randall is a building administrator, and he is here to observe me, to monitor student learning, and to assess whether or not school-wide programs are being run in this space.  His friend is also an administrator, but from another school.  They don't need hall passes or tardy slips to get in to my class.  I had no idea that they were coming to watch. (A later check of my e-mail reveals that their visit was indeed announced that very morning.)

Students move around from classroom to hallway to cafeteria, clad in status symbols that instantly tell others about their cultural, economic, or social background.  It would be silly to pretend that adults do not do the same thing.  I argue that we just tend to bear a different set of status symbols: distinct and every bit as arbitrary as the perplexing web of meanings created by the youth cultures we share the space with.  In the above case, the status symbol was not a tangible object (such as headphones or a ukulele) but a privilege afforded to only a few individuals in the organization.

Most other people in Mead High School, youth or adult, would not have been able to do as Randall did without creating a significant disruption or without incurring some sort of retaliation from me or some of my students. His ability to go wherever he desired in the building (and do so with the expectation that his presence would not interrupt) was a status symbol.

When I was a high school student, I often observed that the perceived difficulty of a class seemed to work as a status symbol among teachers.  Teachers who were notorious for assigning crushing workloads and ruining GPAs of the brightest students on campus were also generally considered to be the best, most intelligent teachers.  Teachers who taught shop or special education were regarded as nice folks, but seemed to rank lower in the hierarchy of school power.

As a teacher in public schools now, I see things differently - I don't know if only my perception has changed with my position, if schools in general have changed, or if my school was unique in this aspect.

I'm curious: what attributes gave/give status to teachers and other adults in your school?
Popularity among students, walls covered with bright colored hard-to-find posters, advising or coaching extra-curricular activities, number of years in the institution, and advanced degrees are just a few other things that come to mind from my end.

Ukes, Headphones and Well Decorated Walls

Once again, Ambrose shows up to class thirty minutes late, wearing the same clothes he wears everyday (does he have a dozen of the same outfit, like Charlie Brown?), reluctant to look me in the eye despite my efforts to welcome him to class with a smile.  He quietly takes his seat, and begins participating in the work at hand in his usual reserved manner.  But as I go on circulating around the room, spot-checking how students are doing with the work, I nearly step upon an object that has joined Ambrose for the first time today: a ukulele.  

Why bring a ukulele to school?

On its own, the instrument is nothing too remarkable - other students come through on a daily basis with their french horns, flutes, and guitars.  But possession of those instruments carries a set of meanings (school band membership, hours of dedicated practice, and often Euro-centric values and culture), while the growing phenomenon of students carrying a "uke" around Mead High School definitely marshals a different set of meanings (which I am slowly decoding in my spare time). 

But one thing is clear to me: carrying an instrument around school, though related to educational activities, is a status symbol - that is, it is a sign that communicates one's social, cultural or economic identity to others.  In the case of Ambrose, the ukulele at the very least declares to the school at large his comfort and pride in being a Pacific Islander.  I'm curious what it means to the other people within his Pacific Islander circles.

Of course, instruments are by no means the only status symbols in circulation in a public high school.  On a daily basis we swim through a sea of them.  They are so common that it becomes hard to see them.  One that I can't help but notice is the use of headphones: students wear them as accessories that seem to confer status.  Do they indicate wealth sufficient to own an MP3 player?  Are they an act of defiance against institutional norms?  Are they an expression of playfulness and creative spirit?  My hunch is that all three of these explanations are valid, but with different students.

Of course, students aren't the only ones filling the semiotic stage with status symbols.  In part two I will turn the lens back around on myself and my adult colleagues.

Until then, what are some status symbols that you see/have seen from your own school experience?