We have a class in our building for emotionally disturbed students in sixth, seventh, and eighth grades. It is behaviorally based with a counseling component, set up so that students can earn their way into less restrictive classes by doing well on their point sheets. Until then, one teacher is responsible for delivering an appropriate curriculum for every subject in all three grades. Sixth grade students are rare in the program, especially at the beginning of the year, but right now, they have three in there.
At 8:15 this morning, I was waving good-bye to my homeroom kids and greeting my first period class when I saw that teacher making haste down the hallway. We've been friends for years, and when he saw me too, he waved. "Hey, what do you do in sixth grade English?"
I raised my eyebrows and looked at him skeptically over my glasses. Where to start? "Nothing," I shrugged sarcastically.
"Yeah, me neither," he said, and we laughed.
"Listen," I told him, I'm happy to help you, but it's going to take a little longer than the two minutes my students have to record their homework and get out what they need for class."
"I get you," he answered, and hurried off to the science teacher next door.