Merry Man Boy

"Are you Robin Hood?"I asked a colleague as I passed him on the way into school. He stood with a dapper hat and feather, a sage green shirt with. crisscross tied opening at the throat, and brown pants. There was no bow and arrow, but weapons aren't allowed as part of any costume.

"Peter Pan," he told me. "I'm surprised," he laughed. "You're the first one who hasn't recognized me!"

"Well, where are your tights?" I asked, skeptically.

"I'm grown up Peter," he answered.

"Well, Pete," I said, "You're a dead ringer for Robin Hood."

The Sugar Bugs

A couple of colleagues who are dads of young children stopped by my room during planning time. After we exchanged information about upcoming meetings and field trips, the conversation turned to child-rearing and this new generation we are teaching. 

"I'm not going to say if it's good or bad," one of them stated, "but these kids are different, and it's going to show. Things are going to be different in the next 20 years."

"How so?" I asked him. 

"For one thing, they've never heard the phrase or I'll give you something to cry about," he said. "Now when there's a tantrum we say, Use your words." 

I nodded. "That's a loss. What a great turn of phrase! And kids will never know that gasping choking feeling of trying to stop crying so you wouldn't get spanked." I joked.

"And the word No?" he continued. "They don't know it. It's never No you can't have another gummy. Instead, we say, You don't want the sugar bugs to get you. Too many sugar bugs and you won't grow up big and healthy."

"Sugar bugs?" I laughed. "That's a new one to me.

"Oh, it's everywhere," he said. "These kids are the sugar bug generation."

"I like it!" I replied.  "It's catchy, and I think we can make it stick!"

Does it Show?

45 minutes before the wedding ceremony I was standing on a chair in my suit helping Nadika zip-tie some gorgeous floral arrangements to the trellis. The PVC material of the arbor was bulkier than she had expected, and we were combining the floral zip ties to get them around the frame when one of the officiants approached me. "Are you the venue coordinator?" she asked.

I laughed. "Nope, I'm just one of the guests who happens to know the florist!"

She was surprised. "You look so in charge," she explained.

"Just helpful," I told her, "but I do like to be in charge. Maybe that's what you were responding to!"

Watch Out Terry!

Many years ago, at a time when I kept careful track of students’ independent reading choices and progress, I was going through the weekly routine of a check-in and mini-conference. On those days I would record what each kid was reading, what page they were on, and ask a couple of comprehension questions in the form of a conversation about their book. The method was effective, whether I had read the book myself or not, and I learned a lot about adolescent literature, both current and classic. It also helped that the students were required to have their books with them.

One day, I asked a student what she was reading, and she told me the title of the book was Watch Out Terry! a book I had never heard of. This particular girl was not always a committed reader, and I had reason to doubt her truthfulness. I asked a few questions about plot and character, and her convoluted replies did nothing to reassure me.

“I never heard of that book,” I finally told her. “Does it even exist?”

She looked at me appraisingly and accepted the challenge. “Yes,” she insisted. “I was reading it this morning.”

“Can I see it?” I asked.

“I don’t have it,” she replied in a dismissive tone, as if I was crazy for asking.

“Where is it?” I rejoined with a bit of an edge in my voice, because truthfully, she was pushing my buttons.

“In my locker,” she shrugged.

“Let’s go get it,” I said.

Impressively, her eyes widened only the tiniest bit, and she stood right up and said okay.

Of course it wasn’t in her locker, or anywhere else, because the book did not exist. The fact that she lied so brazenly made me mad, though, and I wrote up the incident in detail, and she received some consequences from the assistant principal. Yeah. I showed her.

A month or two later that particular student ended up being identified as emotionally disabled, and she was put in Heidi’s class, a program with the highest level of support for kids who needed it.

Whenever I remember this incident now, it always makes me think of how much I have changed. If the same thing happened again, there is no way I would take a kid to their locker just to prove that I knew they were lying. It’s a dumb waste of time that can be avoided by building relationships with students so that they don’t feel like they need to lie to you, and showing a little grace when they do.

Compressed Schedule

We are going out of town for a wedding tomorrow, and even though we will be back on Sunday, such an event puts a serious cramp in our weekend errand routine. 

To compensate a bit, I stayed at school until 4 trying to get a jump on next week, then I dashed through the deserted hallways and out into the warm, second summer afternoon. In my car I headed off to pick up an order I’d placed and find a storage bin to organize a few things. Next I stopped at Target for some staples and cleaning supplies, before going to find a nail salon to get my toe nails done for the sparkly sandals that go with my outfit. 

And that’s where I am now— multitasking, writing my daily post and enjoying a spa pedi. I suppose there could be worse ways to spend a Friday afternoon. 

The House Usually Wins

I had a check-for-understanding quiz game as part of my lesson for today. Such an activity is usually pretty fun and popular, and I always add a little extra incentive by promising a piece of candy to the winners. Today, because it was newly-introduced material, I had the students work in teams with a single device so that they could talk and use their notes to answer the questions. 

Sometimes in these quiz games, if a player or team gets too far behind, they give up and disengage from the activity, which is understandable and a flaw in this particular version of the gamification of learning. To compensate, I often challenge the group to answer a certain number of questions with 100 percent accuracy, that is everybody must answer the question correctly to get credit toward their collective goal.

Today's game started off easy, and my challenge was easy, too. The class quickly answered 6 questions perfectly, earning each person a piece of candy. But then I upped the ante by offering double or nothing. A majority of the teams had to accept my challenge for it to go, and it was fascinating to hear the kids debate the classic dilemma of a bird in the hand versus two in the bush. 

In both cases today, the classes accepted my challenge but failed to bring home the victory. Of course, I knew the last questions were harder, but even though they lost, they were all in right up until the last, and they even listened carefully to my explanation and clarification between questions, which as far as I was concerned?

Was win-win.

Expert Advice

 Monday was the first day of spirit week and the wardrobe challenge was for teachers to dress like kids and kids to dress like teachers. "Are you going to do it?" asked one of my students on Friday, at the end of her conference.

"I think so?" I said. "I guess I could just wear my Adidas stuff."

"That's what I was going to wear!" she said. "To dress like you."

"I don't know then," I shrugged.

'You should dress like me," she suggested, "and I'll dress like you."

"What would I wear?" I asked.

She gave me a big duh look and swept her hand up and down. "Leggings, Crocs, and a T-shirt," she said.

"I can do that!" I agreed.

And I did, but it was cold Monday morning, so I dug out an oversized school sweatshirt I've had for 20 years and pulled that on. When I got to school, my student nodded in approval, and I thanked her for her advice. Later in the day, a few kids on the yearbook came in to take my picture. 

"Wow! You really are dressed like a kid!" one of them, a former student, exclaimed. 

"Thanks!" I said and laughed because I remembered that leggings, Crocs, and a sweatshirt were always always her go-to outfit. 

The Driver I Am

Recently we've made quite a few excursions to the part of our area that lies just to the west of the Beltway. As the crow flies? It is bit more than 7 miles, but when I use my map app and it does what it does-- taking into consideration traffic and such, the recommended route is always to head south and away from our destination, and then follow the Beltway back around. It is double the distance but usually saves more than a few minutes.

And yet? I can rarely bear to go that way, especially when I think of the longer route and consider the faster, more aggressive traffic. Most often I choose to drive through town, taking my chances on the four-lane roads and their stoplights. Oh, don't get me wrong! Both tracks have their drawbacks, but I guess if I have to get jammed up (and it seems like these days, I always do), then I choose the option with more options.

Convenience at What Cost?

Maybe I shouldn't have.

But when a month or so ago I noticed the biometric scanner as I stood in line at the grocery store, I played along and, as the cashier scanned my purchases, I scanned my hand. 

"I haven't actually seen anyone do that yet," she told me in a neutral tone which I read as a mixture of impressed and dubious. "They just installed those this morning."

I laughed and completed my purchase the old-fashioned way, tapping my smartwatch on the reader, and then went on my way.

Heidi was with me yesterday when I returned to the store for the first time since then. "What are you doing?" she asked as I raised and lowered my palm over the small rectangle at the end of the belt.

"Paying for the groceries, I think," I answered, and just then a small chime let me know I was correct. The cashier did not react at all as she handed us our bags, and I assumed the novelty of the system had worn off among the employees.

On the escalator back to the garage, I remembered that I had run back to the car when we first got there because I'd forgotten my phone and its magnetic wallet, and I considered a day when all anyone would need to shop was the swirls on their skin. 

It was kind of cool, but a little terrifying, too.

Character Development

A student came by my room after school the other day, visibly upset. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he explained that he had misunderstood the information about an after-school meeting: it had ended at 3, but his mom wasn't coming to pick him up until 4. "And the wifi in this stupid school sucks" he added, "so I can't even call her on my watch."

"I'm sorry that happened to you," I told him. "You can use this phone to call, though." I pointed to the landline on my desk. 

He sniffled a little and lifted the receiver, and he was almost recovered until he heard his mom's voice when she answered. Then he collapsed into tears again as he explained the mix-up to her. After a few moments, he hung up. "My dad is coming to get me," he reported, his head down.

"Oh, good," I said. "And don't worry, stuff like this happens a lot," I explained. "There's so much going on here, both during the day and after school; it's easy to get confused about the details."

He wiped his face on his sleeve.

"And it seems like it all worked out, right?" I finished.

He nodded and headed out to catch his ride.

The next day I was teaching a lesson on character analysis. One of the videos we show has a vignette about a student who gets very upset over a minor misunderstanding. In the story, after the student leaves the room crying, the teacher tries to keep the class on track, and says, "It looks like Delores is having a bad day."

"And doesn't the teacher handle it beautifully?" I laughed ironically when we were going back over the details of the plot, acknowledging that she seems a bit heartless.

"What would you do?" a student asked.

"I understand where the teacher was coming from," I said, "because I always feel a little anxious when someone is upset. But I would do my best to be empathetic and helpful."

"Has that ever happened?" another student asked, and I raised my eyebrows because it was the same boy from the day before.

"Sure," I replied, tilting my head to examine his face. He seemed guileless. 

"When?" he asked, clearly looking for a good story.

"Well," I started, "just yesterday somebody came in after school, and they were pretty upset."

His face reddened a little. "I bet you were really nice," he said.

"Thanks," I answered. "I tried to be."

Outer Child

A friend texted last night to see if we were going to the farmer's market today so that he and his wife and their little boy might meet us there. At 10 a.m. on a beautiful October Saturday, the place was hopping, and the five of us chatted amiably and slowly explored the market. As we strolled, four-year-old Charlie loved everything, especially the mini donuts, pumpkins, and free samples of apples and cider. 

"It's great that he's having such a good time!" Heidi said. "It kind of reminds me of how awesome it is here."

"Kids are good for that," his mom agreed. "They notice so much and they really appreciate it."

"That's right!" his dad laughed. "Charlie can make just walking down the sidewalk fun!"

A Little Help

Weeks ago I saw an announcement that two of my favorite authors, Ann Patchett and Kate DiCamillo would be appearing together at the Library of Congress. Tickets were free, but reservations were required, so I jumped online and made mine. 

What I didn't realize at the time was that this event would be the night before student-led conferences, a day that still ties me up in knots, even after so many years. When I left school yesterday at 5:00, I knew that the trouble and traffic I might encounter on my way from here to there was daunting enough that, with regret, I decided to skip the appearance.

And I was still sorry to have missed the conversation this morning when I checked my email during a break in conferences. Imagine my delight, then, when one of the newsletters I subscribe to had a link to the recording of the evening. 

I got to spend most of my free time today listening to the two authors banter and offer advice and counsel on reading, writing, and living. It was fun to hang out with a couple of funny, talented and wise ladies, and it made the day just that much easier.

SOS

What's that metaphor about turning an ocean liner?

President Obama used it in 2016 to explain a truth about governing a big democratic society. "You turn the wheel slowly, and the big ship pivots." His point was that change has to be incremental and far-sighted so that in time, a slight change, with forward momentum, will result in a very different destination than holding the course. His secondary point was that veering too sharply could upset or even capsize such a large ship.

I thought of that metaphor yesterday when a few people at our school tried to organize all 1000+ of us into a human display of the word Unity, for National Anti-Bullying Day. The concept is admirable and cool, but the execution was chaotic. The first news of this event was sent after school the day before, ensuring that many staff members would not know anything about it until the morning of the activity. 

The whole thing was hastily planned and poorly coordinated, resulting in 1,000 folks standing around outside, unclear of what we should be doing. My group was literally told to move six feet to the left by one person, and not 2 minutes later, six feet to the right by another person, while a third person waved wildly for us to stand still.

The whole thing was a mess, which resulted in the loss of 45 minutes of instructional time (from first period only) and illustrated what most sensible folks might presume: you can't be spontaneous when you're dealing with 1,000 middle school students, especially if you don't loop their teachers in first.

Sorry We're Open

Today on the morning announcements a colleague promised that the families of any student who needed to have their photo taken on Picture Make Up and Retake Day would be notified by "close of business" tomorrow. The turn of phrase seemed so out of place for a school that it made me laugh out loud. 

I thought about the concept of COB again a little while ago, as I sat here at home grading essays, posting class announcements, reviewing conference slides, and catching up on other paperwork with impending deadlines. It was after 6:30 when I finally closed all my school-related windows and turned my attention to other things. I'm not an exception at all when it comes to teacher work hours, so I had to wonder: 

Just what time is that notification going out?

Popping the Question

It's the season of fundraisers, and in the last week, I have personally been approached by Boy Scouts, cheerleaders, band musicians, and/or their parents, all with the offer of popcorn. Although the product is relatively new, the solicitation is not: over the years I have purchased dozens of rolls of wrapping paper, bushels of grapefruit and oranges, yards of pine swag, and dozens of donuts. 

Tonight the young scout who solicited for his troop had several varieties of popcorn and other snacks. His mom is a friend and a former neighbor, and we have known this kid since his birth (which I wrote about here.) I had to admire his sales pitch. 

"Would you like to buy some popcorn?" he started. "Well," he shrugged, "it's really more of a donation, and the popcorn is a thank you. The prices are pretty high."

I laughed at his honesty. "Sure," I said. "What do I have to do?"

"First," he answered, "do you have any money? Because you're going to have to pay for your order."

Aaaah Waaah

It's Monday morning, and everyone is feeling a bit sluggish in homeroom, but still? There are things to be done. 

So I make a management decision (one of the 1,500 the average teacher makes per day-- think on that a moment) to move our class circle discussion outside. Now, in my experience (this was just the most recent of the 8 million or more decisions I have statistically made in my career), most kidsmin school love to go outside, and at first, this group of 17 did not break that mold. 

However, once we get out there, that chill in the air balanced by the morning sun shining right in their eyes has several students reconsidering this turn of events. Sitting on the cold pavement and answering such questions as, "When was the last time you learned something hard? How did I make you feel?" only adds to their displeasure.

Oh, I know enough not to give in to silly complaints from tweens right away, but I also know enough to cut an activity short when it's not working. "That's it!" I tell them brightly when we finish the second to last questions, biting my tongue not to add, "You big, fat babies!" 

And as we all stand up and head back to the dreary comfort of the building, I turn once more to face that golden October sun and fill my lungs with the crisp morning air, before swiping my badge to open the door.

Fair Trade

Heidi's phone buzzed at 10 am. "Lauren wants to know if we're going to the farmers market," she reported. It's an informal Sunday morning tradition for the three of us to walk up there with the dogs and get our fruit, veggies, and eggs for the week.

I sighed. "I'm tempted, but I have so much school stuff to do. I also have bread in the oven, so I wouldn't even be able to go for another half hour." 

Reluctantly, I decided to pass. "Will you ask her to pick up some spinach for us, if she goes?" I requested.

The response was quick. "LOL! I was going to ask you the same-- I'm too busy too!" She added that she might be able to talk her fiance, AJ,  into going, but she wasn't hopeful.

About an hour later the doorbell rang and when I answered, AJ stood there with a big bag spinach. "Thanks!" I told him. "Hang on a sec-- I have a loaf of bread for you and Lauren." 

A minute later, I handed over the still-warm sourdough boule. "How much do I owe you for the spinach?" I asked.

"Just the bread," he answered. "Gotta love our barter economy! Who needs cash around here?"

Parable of the Pumpkins

I saw four people and a dog as I exited the grocery store late this afternoon. The two young men were hefting huge pumpkins for the approval of an older and a younger woman, and I assumed that they were choosing one to take home and carve. I had another errand to run in the shopping center, and you can imagine the rise of my eyebrows as I headed home a few minutes later and saw them walking with four enormous pumpkins and the dog. 

They had divvied the load with the youngest guy carrying two, one in each arm, and the other guy and the young woman with their arms wrapped around one; the senior member of their group had the dog. They were laughing, but when I stopped at a stop sign, I noticed them stop, too. When I drove past, one of the pumpkins was rolling in the grass and another was set on the sidewalk. 

I watched them redistribute their cargo: the same guy had two of the pumpkins, but now he carried one under his arm and another by the stem. I was captivated by their progress as they lumbered forward, and when I had stop again at an intersection, I watched in my sideview mirror as the one-pumpkin dude took the leash so that the older woman could relieve the other guy of the smaller (but still huge!) pumpkins. 

I debated making a U-turn and going back to offer a ride to one or two of them and relieving them of their burdens, but when the light changed, they were still laughing and smiling, and, understanding that this was their journey, I made my turn and left them to make their own way.

YZA

We were talking generations in one of my classes today. I mentioned that Gen Z often uses emojis in ways that older folks might misinterpret. For example, a skull means something is so funny you are dying of laughter. 

One kid was having none of it; maybe she didn't like an adult talking about the things she and her friends took for granted. "This is so cringe," she sighed and rolled her eyes. "We're not even Gen Z anyway. We're Alpha."

"Nah uh," one of her friends corrected her. "2012 is the last year of Gen Z. That's when your birthday was."

"I know what it's like to be born at the end of a generation and not feel like it's really you, though," I agreed. "Technically, I'm--" I stopped, imagining the Boomer comments I might hear should I continue. "Well," I finished,  "let's just say I'm at the end of one and I feel more like the next one."

They let my comment go; they weren't really interested in me and my experience, and we had things to learn. Later, it occurred to me that as of this year, I have taught all the Millenials and all the Zs. 

So if I'm still teaching next year, it will be Generation 3 for me!

2031

I noticed that one of the students was taking an inordinately long time to go to the restroom, so I told my co-teachers I was going to check on the situation. I strode purposefully to the door of the boys' bathroom and called his name. "Are you in there?"

There was a pause, and then he answered, "Just wiping."

I know I rolled my eyes. "Well, hurry up!" I replied. "You are missing the whole class!"

If it sounds like I wasn't surprised by such unexpected behavior, you are reading correctly, because anecdotally? I find this class of sixth graders to be more immature than any other in recent memory, but perhaps it is understandably so. 

As we get further and further from the pandemic, the impact it has had on kids as students have become less predictable, although the trends make sense.

The first kids to come back full-time are in 8th grade now, and their eagerness to return coupled with the newness of middle school made them a willing group. With the exception of a few students entrenched in the I'll just turn my camera off and pretend I didn't hear you approach, most of those kids were easy to guide in terms of behavior and expectations.

The next year, the class was a bit squirrely, a trait I attribute to the fact that their elementary schools cut them a lot of slack as they returned, now the oldest kids in the school. We saw it happen in our school, too, the year before. The eighth graders came back with their own ideas about how and when they would learn, and they were comfortable enough in our school to push back on restrictions. Likewise, staff had a lot of sympathy for them as they transitioned from learning alone to learning as part of a school, and so they were a little wild. Even so, our sixth graders last year were in a new enough situation that they were open to adapting to the culture we created for them.

This year the students we have were in second grade when we went out for COVID, and they learned at home for up to a year and a half. They were too young to do so independently, however, and so this group probably had a lot of parent involvement in their education, and only a couple of years to grow beyond that level of support.

And what will the next class of kids offer? Not sure, but I did recently have a conversation with a colleague where I pointed out to him that in the fall of 2027 the students who enter sixth grade will not have been affected academically at all by this pandemic, and his response was, "What year will it be when we get the first kids who weren't even born yet?"

The Eye Roll

The scenario: A professional development session on bias

The key information provided: Be aware of the "third person effect" where people tend to perceive that mass media messages have a greater effect on others than on themselves, based on personal biases.

The exercise: Contribute descriptors that come to mind when picturing a "North American, multi-million dollar lottery winner" considering residence, race, gender, socio-economic status, and education.

The outcome: The results of our group matched those of all the other schools already surveyed; the prevalent answers that the 100 or so of us provided mirrored those of the 4,000 people before us. 

The upshot: A common assumption* exists about this particular case, and one might infer, about others, as well.

The white male: Raises his hand and when called on announces, "I didn't answer that way. I put I don't know for every question."

*a rural, white male, lower middle class, high school education.

Told You So

 To kick off the argument writing unit, the question of the day was Do you like to argue and debate or would you rather walk away from a disagreement?

Predictably, the split was pretty even in my first two sections, with several of the young writers making the point that context and content were important. 

When my last block of the day roared in, as they often do, bickering and talking smack, I looked appraisingly at the group. Then I gave the directions and went to my desk to send the attendance. 

When it was time to share everyone's thoughts, I called for the class's attention. "I haven't looked at your answers," I told them, "but I have a pretty good idea that we have a bunch of arguers in here!"

"I think you're wrong!" somebody called out.

"There's one," I laughed.

And in the end? It was 19-3 in favor of a good debate, or standing up for themselves, or making sure other people knew when they were wrong, or winning, or just being right as usual.

Fiasco

I knew nothing good could be happening inside when I saw a colleague in tears coming out of the door where I had just dropped Heidi. 

In an effort to address the outcry that followed the decision to make all employees switch insurance plans, the central office of our school system offered the opportunity for staff to meet with representatives from the new company and have their transition questions answered. The event was scheduled today, during our professional learning time from 8-5 at one of the high schools. 

In another colossal failure of planning, however, there were only three representatives from the company present, who could get through about 18 people an hour. Mind you, this change affected nearly 6,000 people, and over half of them are in a position where they must find an entirely new medical team and navigate different coverage for prescription and medical devices. Not surprisingly, they have questions.

Nearly 1,000 people showed up, and an hour into the session, wait times were estimated to be 3-4 hours, with at least 75% of those attending unlikely to see anyone at all. Compounding the situation is the fact that none of us can contact the new company ourselves until our start of coverage date, January 1, 2024.

Members of the HR team were overheard to express their dismay, not at the obvious poor planning, but at how ridiculous it was that so many people had questions. "Didn't they read their email?" sniped one.

As for Heidi, she waited in line to sign her name documenting her attendance. At 11:30 am she was given the number 7A, uncertain as to where it fell in a numerical sequence where they were just calling numbers 70-80 to come up and meet the representatives, and other employees she knew had numbers in the 500s. Then she gave up and we went home.

It's Official

I saw the first Christmas commercial of the season last night. Even though it was for spending the holidays at Disney and it aired on the Hallmark Channel?

It still counts.

Happy Holidays, y'all!

Borderline

"Excuse me!" a woman hailed me from the other side of the chainlink fence that surrounds our community garden. Our plot is on the perimeter, and so the sidewalk and street are right there. Most of the time passing pedestrians ignore me as I work in the garden, although I do get an occasional greeting or wave, but as the season progresses and the herbs and flowers grow up along the fenceline there is a bit more privacy. But yesterday, I had just finished clipping the dry stalks of some sunflowers and zinnias, and there was a clear view of me and my garden.

"Yes?" I replied politely, standing up from where I had been gleaning the last of the sun gold cherry tomatoes.

"How does this place work?" she asked. "Do any of you ever sell your vegetables?"

I explained that it was a community garden where we grew produce for our own use. "We do donate extra to the food pantry," I finished.

"But no one sells anything?" she repeated.

I shook my head apologetically.

"But those tomatoes! That basil!" she pointed at the plot next to mine.

"She has some beautiful stuff," I agreed.

"What about you? What do you have growing?" She looked over my shoulder.

"All I have left are some hot peppers and the tail end of the tomatoes," I said.

"We love hot peppers!" she told me. "We eat those more than anything else!"

I laughed at her brazen hint and shrugged. "Well I've got extra," I assured her and went to the potting bench for a bag. 

I picked a half dozen heirloom paprika peppers and was on my way to hand them over when she called, "What about a few tomatoes?"

I nodded and pointed to the gate where I could hand her the bag.

"Thank you so much!" she said sincerely.

"You're welcome," I answered, and walked back to my garden shaking my head.

RIP Name Drop

For a couple of years, The New Yorker Magazine had an online puzzle that I kind of loved. Name Drop was published every weekday and readers had 100 seconds and six clues to identify a mystery person, someone from the arts, history, or politics. The fewer clues it took to guess the person, the more points awarded, and there was also a witty bit of praise (Congratulations, George and Amal would be impressed!) or reproach (Just think if today were opposite day, you’d have the highest possible score.), depending on one’s results. 

Here’s an example: 

Clue 6: My album “Van Lear Rose” (2204), which I released at the age of seventy-two, was produced by the White Stripe’s Jack White, who was forty-four years my junior.  

Clue 5: In a feminist anthem that was reportedly banned by dozens of radio stations in the seventies, I sing, “This old maternity dress I’ve got is going in the garbage/ The clothes I’m wearing from now on won’t take up so much yardage.”  

Clue 4: I was close friends with Patsy Cline before her untimely death; I named one of my daughters after her, and, in 1977, I released the tribute album “I Remember Patsy.”  

Clue 3: My sister, Crystal Gayle and I performed a duet medley with the Boston Pops Orchestra in 1989, which included portions of my songs “We’ve Come a Long Way, Baby” and “You Ain’t Woman Enough (to Take My Man).  

Clue 2: Sissy Spacek won an Oscar for playing me in a 1980 bio-pic which shares its name with a 1970 hit in which I sing about my humble upbringing in Kentucky, in “a cabin on a hill in Butcher Holler.”  

Clue 1: I was a country singer whose hits included “Don’t Come Home A-Drinkin’ (with Lovin’ on Your Mind),” “The Pill,” and my signature song, “Coal Miner’s Daughter.” 

Not to brag, or maybe to brag a little bit, but I nailed that one on question 6, to which the game replied, “Congratulations you are officially the smartest person who ever lived.” 

In addition to the challenge of the trivia quiz, not surprisingly, I often learned new things about these folks, and sometimes I even learned about people I was not familiar with. The game also revealed my cultural and generational bias; more often than not the subjects I could not identify were people of color, especially young people of color. Even so, it felt good to own up to that shortcoming and work in the smallest of ways to overcome it. 

Clue 6: The street formerly known as Congress Parkway, which runs from the Jane M. Byrne Interchange to Grant Park was renamed for me in 2019.  

Clue 5: After taking over as the editor of the Free Speech and Headlight, I wrote about the murder of my friend, Thomas Moss, a co-owner of the People’s Grocery.  

Clue 4: I often published under the pen name “Iola” and I’m best known by my maiden name, although I married the attorney Ferdinand Barnett, in 1895.  

Clue 3: The journalist Nikole Hannah-Jones, whose display name on Twitter references me, co-founded a center that’s named after me at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill.  

Clue 2: In 202, I was awarded a posthumous Pulitzer Prize for my reporting on lynchings across the U.S., in such publications as “The Red Record” and “Southern Horrors.”  

Clue 1: I was a journalist and activist who led the Alpha Suffrage Club, a pioneering Black women’s organization in Chicago, and I participated in the founding of the N.A.A.C.P. 

The answer? Ida B. Wells, which I could not get either the first time or, shamefully, the next time (today) I took the quiz, considering how important her work and how accomplished she was. 

Suffice it to say, that Name Drop was a fun and edifying part of my day, and so you can imagine my distress, a few weeks ago when I noticed that every time I tapped the link for the new daily quiz I was met with an old puzzle, which I knew because I recognized the clues. It took days of searching before I finally found The New Yorker’s announcement that the last new game had been published on September 8. They had ceased publication without warning or explanation, replacing it with a random generator of old quizzes. 

When confronted with this sad news, I confess to feeling a tiny void in my life, one that I have not been able to fill quite yet. I miss that little dose of biography that gave me the chance to engage with a notable individual and, humbly (sometimes), be inspired.

Terrors of the 21st Century

For the warm-up today, I asked the students what scares them, and I was a little surprised at how delighted most of them were to answer. Unlike other questions, very few said "Nothing" or even "I don't know". There were 27 different responses from 60 or so kids, and whenever anyone walked into the room and looked at the tally on the whiteboard the reaction was the same: Oh! Is this what scares us?

In addition to ghosts and zombies and spiders and snakes, the list included teachers and tests (which was relevant today in class!) and bad grades (which sadly, was also somewhat relevant today after class). There were also answers that kids have given for generations, like creepy people, small spaces, the deep ocean, spooky noises, broken bones, and death, but my favorite answer was the kid who simply posted Bad wifi, because when we read it? 

Everyone shuddered.

Write the Writing You Want to See

The 6th graders have to write an introduction to themselves, so using the guidelines and planning questions we gave them, I composed my own. Enjoy!

Hello! I am Ms. S. and I am really glad to be teaching you this year! Here is a little information about me:

I was born in Washington, D.C., but we moved out to Falls Church when I was one year old. After that my family lived in New Jersey and then Saudi Arabia. I went to high school in Switzerland and college in New York before returning to Virginia. I've taught sixth grade English here at Jefferson since 1993, but it never gets old or boring. 

 I'm the type of person who likes to stay busy, so in my spare time I cook, work in my garden, read, play pickleball, and go hiking. I also do yoga and write every single day, because I think regular practice is important in building skills. During the pandemic I started baking bread, and I still do that once a week. I also have a goldendoodle named Lucy, and I love spending time with her and my two cats. 

 My goal for this year is to combine learning and fun. I like to think that although school is mandatory, it doesn't have to be boring. I hope we can all work together to make our English class the best it can be. Are you with me? Okay! Let's do this!

Friendly Yes, Helpful No

"How are you today?" a smiling young man asked me as I pushed my cart down an aisle of an unfamiliar grocery store.

"Good, thanks," I said and then paused. I looked at my cart, full of everything on the list with the exception of a single item. "Can you tell me where the rice is?"

"No, no, I cannot," he answered, still smiling.

I frowned and shrugged. "Oh, well," I replied, "I guess I'll find it." I trolled around a bit more. Rounding a corner and finally spotting the rice, I saw that the guy was there, too. 

"Here it is!" he said.

"There it is!" I agreed and, my shopping complete, I headed for the checkout.

All in the Family

"Can I leave this bag in your room?" a seventh grader asked this morning. "It won't fit in my locker."

"Sure," I shrugged, peering at the long thin parcel she carried on a strap over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"It's lacrosse gear," she told me. "My friend Addie is going to teach me how to play after school."

"8th grade Addie?" I responded, and when she nodded, I said, "She was in my homeroom!"

"I didn't know that!" she laughed.

"That's right," I confirmed. "You were in here last year, and she was here the year before. She's like your older homeroom sibling."

"I like that!" she smiled. "I'm going to tell her when I see her!"

Not Even Me?

"I read your blog," my brother told me when we stopped by this morning, "how everyone is aging clearly made a big impression."

"I know!" I agreed.

"It's because you work in a school with lots of young teachers," he said.

"And the kids!" I added. "No one gets old in middle school!"

"Not even you, apparently," he laughed.