One of our squirrelier sixth graders was particularly restless today.
It was his last core class of the week after Winter Break and we were working on organizing and outlining our argument essays. About halfway through the workshop, he stood up, tucked his black turtleneck into his black track pants and pulled the waist up as high it would go. Then he bent to roll up the cuffs to mid-calf.
The kid is natural clown, and he had the attention of the whole class. "How do you like it?" he asked in a warbly falsetto.
"Only you," I told him, "could rock that look."
"Do you really like it?" he asked, still in that silly voice.
"Oh yes," I answered. "But?"
He looked at me; it was I who had his attention now.
"Now that you've rocked the outfit, let's see you rock the outline."
He gave that one some thought. "I can do that," he said and sat down at his table and resumed working.
It was his last core class of the week after Winter Break and we were working on organizing and outlining our argument essays. About halfway through the workshop, he stood up, tucked his black turtleneck into his black track pants and pulled the waist up as high it would go. Then he bent to roll up the cuffs to mid-calf.
The kid is natural clown, and he had the attention of the whole class. "How do you like it?" he asked in a warbly falsetto.
"Only you," I told him, "could rock that look."
"Do you really like it?" he asked, still in that silly voice.
"Oh yes," I answered. "But?"
He looked at me; it was I who had his attention now.
"Now that you've rocked the outfit, let's see you rock the outline."
He gave that one some thought. "I can do that," he said and sat down at his table and resumed working.
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