And Will Suffice

Years ago I made the decision that I would never say no to a student who asked to go to the clinic, even if I considered the request unnecessary or flagrant avoidance or attention-seeking. I figured that's why we have medical professionals in the building, even if the only thing they can prescribe is ice in a baggie with an institutional paper towel wrapped around it. 

Since then  I've seen little bags of ice held over eyes and on top of heads, tucked into socks and waistbands, and ultimately almost always abandoned. And I've chosen to overlook the inevitable puddles on the tables and floor, as well as the students who bite a little hole in their bag and suck on the cold ice melt before discarding the panacea altogether. 

And although it mystifies me why kids still want to go there for maladies that ice won't help, they continue to ask. "They're only going to give you ice," I warn as they grab the pass and go, limping or grimacing or groaning only to return a short while later with a couple of neatly packaged cubes, born like badges of honor. 

I Kid You Not

For the warm-up to a lesson on hyperbole, I asked students to choose a category and identify their G.O.A.T. Their answers were predictable but still fun. For example, Takis was named the greatest snack of all time. Messi and Ronaldo were both G.O.A.T.s of soccer. Some kids chose themselves as the greatest person of all time. We let them all pass without judgment. 

I offer a little guessing game for those who finish to encourage kids to answer quickly and avoid dragging out the warm-up. Sometimes it's guessing whose name I drew to lead the discussion, sometimes it's guessing the card from Taco, Cat, Goat, Cheese, or Pizza, sometimes it's something else, anything to speed them along. Today, I got all the goats from Taco, Cat, etc, and an equal number of other cards and we played "Goat or No Goat?"

It was a fun variation, but I was surprised that it took until the last class of the day for someone to notice the connection between our game and the Chat Snap question. "I see what you did there," she nodded appreciatively, and I laughed, because as much as I'd like to think that happens all the time?

I'm afraid it really doesn't.

Put Up Your Dukes

A few sixth graders were suspended today for fighting. 

There was a time when I could have said such an occurrence was rare at our school, but that hasn't been true for the last few years. Even so, these sixth graders fight and talk about fighting more than any group I've ever taught: it seems like their go-to when it comes to resolving differences outside the classroom.

When I think about recent history, this uptick in physical conflict makes some sense. These kids lost one-third of second grade and most, if not all, of third grade was either virtual or heavily reliant on social distance. They lost a lot of in-person socialization opportunities over that time, and it shows. 

There Once Was a Contrary Poet

"I think I'm done with the writing challenge," a student named Ben told me this morning.

I looked at my watch. "You wrote a limerick in 3 minutes?" I asked him. "Let me hear it."

He read me his poem.

I shook my head. "That's not a limerick." 

"Why not?" he asked.

"It has six lines," I started, "and the rhyme scheme is supposed to be AABBA, not to mention your syllables are off."

"Oh," he sighed. "Well, I don't think I like limericks. I think this poem is fine. I like these rules that I followed."

"What rules?" I said.

"Mine!" he laughed.

"Are you saying you wrote a Benrick? I teased him. "Unfortunately, that's not the assignment!"

Arts and Sciences

As we near the end of our annual poetry unit, my colleagues and I have noticed that our students know very little about poetry. Where in past years, discussion of simile, metaphor, and personification would be mostly review, this year it seemed to be new material for the majority of kids. Haiku was also new to many, as was Cinquain, Limerick, and other common forms. 

It's hardly surprising: the pandemic left educators scrambling to fill essential gaps in our students' skills and knowledge, and I guess poetry and figurative language were triaged out for a few years. Even so, I was a little shocked today.

The lesson was simple: review rhyme, write a 12-line rhyming poem, and label the rhyme scheme. Or it would have been if most of the sixth graders could actually rhyme. I started to get an idea about this gap in their skill set during the warm-up question which was to add one more rhyming line to this couplet:

If you're feeling down and blue
here is something you can do...

Have some tea wrote the first person.

Take a deep breath wrote another.

Try to be cool was a little closer.

You have nothing to lose was also arguably slant.

Chew some gum and have some fun. I could see where they thought that might work.

I gave examples, they made some quick edits, and then we moved on to the lesson. Some were getting it, others not so much. Able to write anything at all, they were composing lines such as this:

I like winter
because it is thinner
the smell of hot chocolate
and roses, not violets

or

My dog is fat
my mom slapped
the bat is flat
I got smacked

or this:

I love my dog.
She is the color of cream.
My dog is kind.
She likes running.

Clearly, the deficits run deep.  Maybe if we called it the "science of poetry" it would get a little more attention!

Embrace the Ride

I knew what was about to happen, and I laughed as we crested the hill and the car caught a little bit of air before bouncing onto the downslope. Everyone's guts flipped, and we sped down the incline toward the valley, the next summit looming ahead. 

We were on our way to Carlisle on PA-94, a road that runs like a roller coaster track straight up and over South Mountain, a peak that ironically forms the northern end of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Heidi gave me a look and reminded me that our dog was not always the best car traveler, especially in hilly terrain, but the road was as it was, and short of slowing down well below the speed limit, we were in for a ride. 

I was reminded of the roads in rural Maryland that we drove on as kids with my Aunt Harriett. Despite our cries for moderation, she embraced the ride, and our stomachs did somersaults as she barreled along in her white station wagon, five screaming kids bouncing in the back, long before the days of seatbelts.

Surely, it was the screams that saved us. I always hated roller coasters and rode them my body tense with dread trying not to scream. Years later, when Heidi told me that you have to scream to release your body's natural fear and thus enjoy the ride, I sort of got the point of those terrible contraptions. 

I laughed again as we neared the top of the next hill. "Sorry, Lucy," I said over my shoulder, "but here we go!"

My Year of the Theater

Whenever the goddaughters are here, we try to find something special and fun to do. Over the years it's been a variety of activities: geocaching, petting zoos, and duck tours when they were little, shopping, movies, fun restaurants, donut crawls, and magic shows when they were a bit older, and recently it's been road trips and musicals. For this weekend, though, we were kind of stuck. Nothing seemed to be going on that might fit the bill.

But this morning, as I clicked around a bit, I decided to check the Kennedy Center and see if there was anything new or something I may have missed. That's when I found the listing for Message in a Bottle. 

The peaceful village of Bebko is alive with joyous celebrations. Suddenly, under attack, everything changes forever. Three siblings, Leto, Mati, and Tana, must embark on perilous journeys in order to survive. Message In A Bottle is a spectacular new dance-theater show from five-time Olivier Award nominee Kate Prince, inspired by and set to the iconic hits of Kennedy Center Honoree and 17-time Grammy® Award–winning artist Sting.

Dancing and Sting? I knew Heidi would love it, so I ran it by Laney, checked for tickets, and a couple of hours later we found ourselves seated in the opera house. As the lights went down, I was prepared to tolerate whatever was on the stage for the good of the group, and so as shadow dancers moved to soft strains of Fields of Gold, I crossed my arms and settled back. 

I was wrong though. The tale of family, war, and refugees told completely in dance and with new arrangements and recordings of the music was very moving. I was reminded that I know Sting's entire catalog and love it. I spent the show thinking of my own siblings and the time we spent listening to Sting and the Police, and I wished they were there to share the experience and their thoughts on the production.

As it was, we all loved the show, and I'm going to make it a point to see another one soon.