All Bets Are Off

When I first started teaching I recognized the power of good seating assignment right away. I confess to spending a good deal of time scrutinizing that chart, arranging, rearranging and tweaking, looking for that perfect student combination, mostly in the interest of management. I could make a mean seating chart, too. Every class would groan with my cheerful announcement of new seats.

I overlooked the resentment, whether because it was I had separated buddies or deliberately made a group that was destined to be unproductive, because it was always for the benefit of the class. I deflected complaints blithely with the observation that, "we all have to work with people we don't care for sometimes."

Somewhere along the line it occurred to me that middle school kids, like most of us, need a sense of control, and I realized that choice is one way to give it to them, so I became less of a stickler about assigning seats. I adopted a flexible grouping approach. Now they have different groups for different regular activities and then some days they can sit where they like. On those days, I always direct them to "sit somewhere you'll be able to work." (And of course I have to make adjustments, but at least it's as a consequence of their actions, not preemptive, and as non-punitive as possible. It is what it is, no hard feelings.)

Today was such a day in my class. As usual, I encouraged my students to choose a place with as few distractions as possible. Sure enough, in the class right after lunch, two boys who are good friends and can be silly sat down at a table together. "Are you sure?" I said to one.

"Oh yeah," he answered, "I'm going to get a lot done here."

My expression was clearly skeptical, because he continued talking.

"Really!" he said. "I promise. No! I BET you that I will work the whole class period."

It was unorthodox, but I wanted to see where he was going with this. "Bet me?" I answered. "What do you bet me?"

So sure was he that he could spend 45 consecutive minutes in productivity, despite the proximity of his silliest friend, that he challenged me. "Twenty dollars!"

"I'm not allowed to win twenty dollars from a kid," I told him. "What else?"

He thought a minute. "How about a week of reading?" he suggested. My students are required to read a book of their choice for five nights a week for a total of at least 100 pages.

"What if I win?" I asked.

"Then I'll read an extra hundred pages," he offered.

"I'll help you! I'll work really hard, too," his friend promised, and I knew then that whatever happened it was worth the wager.

We shook on it, and I gave the class their directions to continue composing, typing, and/or revising their fiction pieces. It was quiet in the room as I made my way from student to student to confer. I was sure to glance over and check on my bet every few minutes, too, but both boys were working diligently, until...

Fifteen minutes into the workshop, I looked over and saw my betting boy staring wide-eyed with a ridiculous expression on his face. He caught my eye and cringed. "You owe me a hundred extra pages," I told him. "That is definitely not working."

He conceded without a word, which I thought was weird until his friend, who was sitting with his back to me, stood up and asked to go to the bathroom. For the second time in two days, I gasped and then giggled. His lips, teeth, and tongue were solid black. My first thought was licorice, nuclear licorice. "I bit my pen," he said, and I nodded as it sunk in. Then I gave him a paper cup.

"You're going to have a lot of rinsing to do," I told him.

As for the wager? We decided it was a draw.

(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the 2011 SOLSC challenge.)