An Education

When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years. ~Mark Twain

A few weeks ago I ran into a former colleague who had retired back in 2010. Eleanor was the team leader of the sixth-grade interdisciplinary team I was assigned to when I first started teaching; she was social studies, I was English, Cheri was science, and Wes, another new teacher like me, was math. Eleanor was a veteran of the classroom, and she was gracious and supportive of the two newbies she was charged with leading, but she was older than we were, and we found some of her ideas old-fashioned and rigid. For the most part, though, we all worked together well. 

Although Wes left the team first to teach social studies on another sixth-grade team and then to teach at a DOD school in Iceland, Eleanor and I remained teammates until 2000, when I expressed an interest in taking on the leadership role. Initially very supportive, she ended up leaving the team to take another position in our building. To be honest, it was probably easier to be the team leader outside of her shadow, and it was a job I kept for 20 years, perhaps pissing off my own fair share of new teachers along the way.

Waxing Cranky

Sometimes there's no explanation for why a lesson or activity falls apart for a group or individual. Maybe the moon or the planets were in an unfavorable position this morning for one particular group of four boys, who are usually pretty good friends.

The class was working on a collaborative assignment analyzing a model narrative, of the type they are writing, written by a former student. In front of the four boys was a large sheet of paper with a grid of 16 elements to look for in the story, and each student was supposed to fill out four boxes, in consultation with the other members of their group. 

It was an assignment that had been and would be successfully completed by 29 other groups of students over the course of the day, and based on their collective aptitude and achievement, they should have been a dream team, but they found themselves lagging way behind everyone else, because these four guys just could not get their act together. 

In between insulting each other only half playfully, they bickered about which chair at the table they wanted to sit in, whose handwriting was better, which detail they should include, and whose turn it was to write. "What is going on here?" I asked, and four fingers each pointed at a different member of the group.

"Can I get some water?" one guy requested. "I need to get away from them! This group is really stressing me out!"

Jamming

I was just about to close the door to the classroom when I saw one last student hurrying down the hallway trying to make it to class on time.

I gave her an encouraging smile and waved. "C'mon! You can make it!" I said, and I could tell that she was doing her best to get there before the bell because she was weaving in and out and around all the other kids who were in her way.

She slipped in the door and sat down in her seat just as the bell rang. "Sorry I was almost late!" she apologized. "Traffic!"

Spirited

To mark the last week of the month, we are having a Black History Spirit Week here at school. Initially, I was excited when I heard about it; mostly because the last couple of events, Secret Spirit Week and Kindness Spirit Week, have been fun. But when the list of days came out last Friday, I was at a bit of a loss.

As a person who is white, I'm unsure how to participate appropriately in some of the activities. For example, today was Dress Like a Black Activist day and tomorrow is Dress Like a Black Icon of Art. It's unclear to me how I could do that without cultural appropriation. Wednesday is wear HBCU gear, and so I ordered a Howard t-shirt for Heidi and a Spellman shirt for myself, but Thursday is wear African Garb, and I'll be sitting that one out. Friday takes the colors of African Unity and distributes them among our community: teachers wear gold, 6th grade, red, 7th grade black, and 8th grade green. That one, I can do.

Please understand; I am not complaining. In fact, I think it's good for me to be uncomfortable. Who knows how many other Spirit Week activities we've had in the past have been inaccessible or unfathomable to others, students and staff alike? 

Moments, Not Milestones

We have long had a CSA farm share, but if you asked me how long, I'd be hard-pressed to say. It's been more than a few seasons of greens, sweet potatoes, radishes, turnips, tomatoes, peppers, and wonderful eggs, but the exact number? Not sure.

Tonight at the grocery store I saw some pussy willow branches in the floral department, and they reminded me, as they always do, of Josh. He couldn't have been more than 7 or 8 when visiting us one spring. It was early in the morning of his first day here and I was in the kitchen making breakfast when he came downstairs. He had been sleepy the night before when he arrived with his mom, and she had put him right to bed. Now he was sitting on the couch waiting for some waffles when I heard him softly say, "What are those things?" his nasal drawl filled with wonder. 

I thought a moment about what he might be talking about, and I remembered the pussy willow branches that had come with our farm share a couple of days before. As I stepped into the room to explain, I saw Josh reaching out to touch the velvety flowers, which were standing in all their fuzzy glory in a pewter pitcher by the fireplace, amid a few curly willow and slim forsythia cuttings. I'll never forget the look of enchantment on his face.

I know that had to be 20 years ago, although it sure doesn't feel that long. And that means that we've been getting that farm share for at least 20 years, which also seems impossible. Oh, Time! You are such a trickster.

Double Dipping

In case you were wondering what type of stuff I'm writing with the kids, here's what I wrote for my school writing challenge today:

This morning I read in the paper that Flaco, the Eurasian eagle-owl that escaped from the Central Park Zoo last year, died when he flew into a building. I remember when he escaped last year, a vandal tore open the screen on his enclosure in the middle of the night, but I hadn't followed his adventures very closely after that. 

Evidently, he became somewhat of a celebrity in New York City, and there are hundreds of photographs of him all over the city. Everyone was hoping he would find a way to survive while he was free, and he did! Even though he had been hatched and raised in captivity for all of his 12 years of life, Flaco was able to hunt and catch rats and pigeons to feed himself. Eventually, zoo officials decided to "monitor" him instead of actually trying to recapture him. They always knew that his biggest dangers would be cars and tall buildings. Hundreds of thousands of birds are killed every year in NYC by those things, and last night Flaco, who had beaten the odds for over a year, joined those other poor birds. 

Reading about his life made me sad that I hadn't paid closer attention when he was alive. He was only 13 when he died, and his species can live up to 40 years in captivity. I wonder if Flaco would have chosen his shorter life of freedom, even if he knew how it would end. 

What do you think?

If the Shoe Fits

I was near my wits end this afternoon with my last class of the day. 

Despite 4 adults and short, well-defined activities with clearly scheduled, generous breaks, there were a few students whose behavior was derailing the whole class of 22. One student in particular was being openly defiant. He shouted over me and other kids, was out of his seat posturing and dancing, and refused to comply with any redirection until we were forced to remove him from the group.

After the lunch break, we allowed him to return, but I reassigned his seat to a place that I thought would be less distracting for him and the rest of the class. "You're sitting over there," I pointed when he entered the room.

"You mean with the weird kids?" he asked.

I raised my eyebrows and bit my tongue.

Expanding the Fanbase

The other day, as our 100-Day Writing Challenge officially began, a student asked me if I would post my writing every day, too. "Since you already write every day, I mean," she shrugged.

"Maybe," I told her, but to be honest, I have long resisted doing just that. For one thing, I don't really want to share everything I write here with my students. Many pieces offer my own private adult perspective on our days spent together, and kind of like teachers talking at lunch, are not always appropriate for kids to overhear. 

Likewise, what I might write for a sixth-grade audience may not be of interest to my adult readers, (as few of them as there are!), so I've chosen just to continue on here, rather than write twice. But there was something about the request that made me think again, and so I decided to give posting with those young writers a chance this year.

It's only been three days, but already I've seen some benefits. For one thing, I can model the type of writing we're looking for. Many students write what we call bed-to-bed posts, basically listing everything they do on any given day, rather than focusing on a single thing, or at least a single theme, for each slice of life. Another advantage was when I wrote about the mouse in my classroom the other day. As I was composing I worked to find good "mousy" verbs, and then I was able to use my writing as an example the next day for a mini-lesson on vivid verbs.

But maybe the greatest upside of publishing a couple of hundred words every day on our class site is that my readership has skyrocketed: I've gone from 3-5 daily readers to 50-100! Maybe it's not viral, but it sure is kind of gratifying.

Just Hang Up

I had a sinking feeling when I reached for my phone at school this morning. Scanning my desk, I saw no sign of it, and when I checked the pockets of my down vest, they were empty, too. My phone was at home.

But? Believe it or not, the day went quite well without it. There were only a couple of times I wished I had it-- once to check a password I couldn't remember and then again when I set out for my walk home; I had planned to listen to an audiobook as I hiked the 2+ miles.

I didn't miss any calls, or texts, or news alerts, or social media posts. The world was fine when I found my phone just where I left it, on the dining room table.

State of the Union

In honor of Presidents Day, I asked kids to name their favorite president. I can't say I was surprised when Barack Obama came out on top. Besides his historic election, he was in office when they were born, and they think he's "nice" and "cool". Plus, they like his daughters.

In second place was Lincoln. Most who chose him had a vague notion about slavery, although one liked that he didn't want to be too hard on the Confederates, and someone else appreciated that he was rumored to keep letters and other things in his stovepipe hat.

Washington was a distant third, because, according to more than a few students, he "created" the country and the office of president. A couple of kids liked that he was a general, too.

Jefferson had a few votes, more because our school is named for him than the Declaration of Independence. Teddy Roosevelt was also mentioned twice because of national parks and hunting. Finally, FDR and Reagan had one supporter each. The first because he led the country through WWII and the second because the student's grandfather was a general who worked for him.

Oh, and President Biden had one mention, too, because he beat Donald Trump and he seems like a nice guy, even though he's old.

Holiday Gratitude

We started our 100 Day Writing Challenge a little earlier this year to give ourselves a bit more time to wrap things up at the end. 

Officially, the event starts tomorrow and ends on May 31, but I gave my students a soft opening by providing them the chance to post from last Wednesday when we introduced the challenge, and I was impressed by the 31 kids who made time to write over the long Presidents Day weekend. It seems like we're going to have a good year.

And as always, I was amused and charmed by some of the content. Today we didn't have school, wrote one student. I'm not sure why we didn't, but I'm happy since I got to sleep late.

Today I thank the presidents for letting every person who goes to school have the day off, wrote another.

At least they are grateful!

Unqualified

I had breakfast with an old friend this morning. Ruth and I have known each other since 1991 when we entered a graduate program in education. After we graduated, I got a job at the school where she was already working, but she gave up teaching in public schools a short while later. Since then, she has done a lot of different things, all in education and theater, her first love.

These days, she and her family live just far away enough that we don't see each other as often as we'd like, so it's always great to have a chance to catch up.

"So what's the deal?" she asked me as we sipped our coffee. "Are you retiring or what?"

"It's so funny that you think I would know that with only four months left in the school year," I laughed, "believe it or not, I still haven't made up my mind."

"What's the holdup?" she said.

I shrugged. "If I had something I knew I wanted to do, I would definitely retire," I told her. "As it is, though, I only know what I'm dreading for next year: a new curriculum, going back earlier in August, all the hoops they make us jump through." 

"There must be so many jobs you would be good at!" she replied.

"Maybe," I agreed. "I'm pretty good at job-doing, but I sure don't have the job-finding skillset. I have had the same job for more than 30 years!"

"I know," she nodded. "I helped you get it."

"See what I mean?" I sighed. 

Poking Along

"So my phone got taken away the other day," an 8th-grader told me recently. She was a former student who had stopped by after school to catch up. Or rather to catch me up with her; I could barely get a word in edgewise.

"What happened was my mom said she was going to take it away, and I said, 'You always say that but you never do!' and then she took it away."

"Oof," I managed before she continued.

"And when I told my world geography teacher, he wasn't even sympathetic! He just laughed and said I poked the goat or something," she sighed.

"It's 'poke the bear'," I told her.

"Whatever," she waved her hand. "I actually like 'goat' better because to be honest, my mom is the G.O.A.T," she reported with a shrug. She looked at me as if I was unfamiliar with the term and clarified. "You know? Greatest of all time? My mom is truly the greatest mom of all time."

"Well at least you don't hold grudges," I said.

Connections

The grand finale of Kindness Week was for each homeroom to collaborate and create a poster that expressed why kindness matters. "The most creative gets a prize," I informed my group, "so let's think about it."

We brainstormed, tossing ideas back and forth, but nothing really captured our attention. "Let's do Connections," suggested a student after a while.

"No!" I said, thinking he meant the NY Times word game we enjoy playing together. "We can't play a game until we have an idea!" Then I turned my head. "Or did you mean let's do Connections for our poster theme?"

He nodded. 

"I think that's genius!" I proclaimed, and the rest of the kids agreed with me. 

So the next day we came up with a list of words associated with kindness and looked for commonalities. We were all crowded around the whiteboard writing, erasing, circling, making suggestions and tweaks until at last we had sixteen words that could be sorted into four not-too-obvious categories. "This is the most fun I've ever had at school," one student said quite sincerely. "It's way better than game day!"

Another student did a little online research and discovered a website that allows you to create your own Connections game, based on the NY Times model. She plugged our words and categories into it, and we created a QR Code to go along with the poster.

"I'm sure we're going to win!" another kid crowed.

"Maybe," I said. "I guess it depends on whether the judges know the game."

"I don't care if we win," said someone else. "This was a good bonding experience for us."

I'd have to agree.

See for yourself:

 

A Good Walk Spoiled

Five years ago, when they were building an elementary school in our school's parking lot, the temporary parking solution involved finding a space either on the street or in the lot down by the tennis courts two blocks away. The second option required us to walk around the community soccer fields, tennis courts, basketball courts, and school garden on our way into the building. Generally? The walk was not a problem, although foul weather made it a bit unpleasant at times. Even so, I came to enjoy the extra activity right before and right after my work day. It was a time to decompress, be outside, and depending on the time of day, be a part of the community that uses the fields.

When the elementary school opened, our parking moved to an underground garage beneath it, which was much closer to the entrance of our school. One of the concerns about building another school so close to our own was always traffic flow; both schools use the same narrow bus lane and loop; the garage entrance is right there, too, and the drop-off for students is not clearly demarcated and over by the other school. So let's just say that any teacher arriving after contract time in the morning will definitely get jammed up before being able to park and enter the building, which is a frustrating and stressful way to start your day.

Lately, I have returned to parking by the tennis courts. It's far enough way that I can park with ease, and the walk is still kind of nice. I've been really talking it up to Heidi, too, and this morning when we rode in together, I was looking forward to showing her how much better parking over there is than fighting the traffic.

We heard a dog barking frantically when we pulled in. "Animal Control is here," Heidi noted, gesturing to the white van idling diagonally across three spaces. 

A group of three people with their dogs were talking with concerned looks on their faces by the tennis courts. "Maybe there's a raccoon in the trash can," I guessed.

"I'm pretty sure it's that dog," Heidi pointed.

Sure enough, a medium brown pitbull mix was pacing and barking in the chainlink pitching cage over by the baseball diamond. As we approached, an animal control officer with a wire trapline calmly approached and entered the gate. She quickly cornered the dog and slipped the loop around its shoulders. We continued toward school as she secured a leash on the now quiet dog. On the concrete slab of the enclosure, we saw a light blue blanket and a toy carrot.

"He must've been left there," I said, and I felt my throat tighten at the idea. I couldn't shake the image of someone caring enough for a dog to give it a blanket and a toy, but feeling forced for some reason to abandon it. Heidi and I walked on in silence.

"I guess this wasn't the best morning for parking over here," I sighed. 

The Choice Is Yours

 It's Kindness Week here at school and we have been doing plenty of activities in homeroom that center around being nicer. One of the kids has been having none of it, though. he's been dismissive and snarky at every opportunity. 

"Come over here," I invited him to my desk while the other students were working on "Kindness Cups" to show their appreciation for an adult in the building. "What is going on with you?" I asked. "Why are you being so negative?"

"I don't really believe in kindness," he told me sincerely.

"Why?" I replied.

"When I was in fifth grade there was this kid who was nice to me sometimes and mean to me other times," he began. "Once a teacher saw him being mean and they made him apologize. The next day he brought me something and gave it to me in front of the teacher, so she would think he was really sorry, but later he told me he didn't mean it."

"That was an awful thing for him to do," I agreed, "but that's why we are focusing on how to be kind ourselves. We can't control how other people act; we can only choose how we want to behave." 

He nodded, but he still seemed doubtful. All the while he had been enjoying the Valentine's Day lollipop I had given him. He eyed the bag, looking at the leftovers.

"I'll tell you what," I said. "I'll give you another lollipop, and you can either give it away or keep it for yourself. It's your choice."

"Do I have to tell you what I do?" he asked.

"Nope," I answered and handed him the candy. "Happy Kindness Week."

Cumulative

When we are finished with our required activities, my homeroom loves to do online geography puzzles, news quizzes, and word games. One of our favorites is Connections by the NY Times. Each day players are given a block of 16 words and the challenge is to sort them into four categories of four words each. The criterion varies; in addition to thematic similarities, it could be a spelling commonality, pronunciation, completing common phrases, or something else.

The other day one of the solutions was bob, weave, cross, hook. "Oh! Those are boxing terms!" I explained as I stood at the smart panel. Then I pantomimed each one.

"You know how to box?" asked a student incredulously.

"I know the basic moves," I disclosed. "I've taken a few classes."

"What haven't you done?" asked another student in admiration.

"Well, I have been around a while," I laughed, "and I like to stay busy!"

Peer Feedback

There is a certain sixth grader in one of my classes who may be a bit more argumentative than necessary. 

Whenever I remind, redirect, or refocus him, instead of returning to the task at hand, he usually tells me why whatever he is doing is acceptable. His tone is often a bit smug, and I, never one to shy away from an argument, am usually willing to elaborate as to what I observed in contrast to what I asked the class to do, sometimes in a firm voice.

We had one of those interactions this morning at the beginning of class. He was having a conversation with another student across the room, and I was ready to start instruction, so I asked them both to turn around and stop talking. The other student complied, but this guy sighed and gave me the stinkeye and remained turned toward the other student rather than pivoting toward the front of the room. When I asked again, he had several reasons why he couldn't move his body and chair, but suffice it to say that he did just that a short time later.

Returning to the question day, I pointed out that it was kindness week and asked everyone to post one thing they could do to increase kindness in our classroom. There were suggestions of giving compliments, lending supplies, listening to me and each other respectfully, and helping in other ways, but five of the 18 students present pointedly wrote that if students stopped arguing with and interrupting the teacher our class would be a much kinder place.

Ouch.

Silver Linings Playbook

As a birthday gift for our neighbor, we signed the three of us up for a 3-hour workshop on Ayurveda which was held today. "Never again!" vowed Heidi as we left our house a little after noon to pick up Lauren.

"Never again what?" I asked.

"No three-hour workshops on the weekends!" she explained. "I already feel like there isn't enough time to get everything done."

"I get it," I nodded, "but let's see how it goes."

As it turned out, the three of us enjoyed the workshop quite a bit, and before we left, expressed our intention of attending the follow-up whenever it was scheduled.

"I can't go to the next one!" Heidi told me when we got home. "I said no more three-hour weekend workshops! It's 4:30 and we still have to walk the dog and go to Target!" she scoffed.

"Oh, we can run errands in a little while," I promised. "Just think-- it's Super Bowl Sunday: we'll have every place to ourselves!"

High Crimes and Misdemeanors

We were looking forward to renewing our Oscar season tradition of a movie and dinner with Bill and Emily when we headed to the theater early this evening. The film was Zone of Interest, which was interesting in its blandness; it seemed to be intentionally boring in order to show how banal evil can be. The movie was hard to watch, but worth the reminder that all manner of horrors can be normalized if we don't take care.

There was another patron in the theater who coughed loudly throughout the show. It was so noticeable that Heidi dug out a mask and put it on. Later, on the way home, our conversation turned to the cougher.

"It was the distraction that bothered me most," I said.  "Maybe the pandemic sensitized me to coughing, but what was more annoying was the disruption. It seems rude to make so much noise in a quiet theater."

"And they could be contagious," Heidi pointed out. "That's just wrong."

Battle Lines

The question of the day was "Who do you think will win the Super Bowl?" and the prediction was dead even, 43 kids for either side. 

And while I wasn't surprised that some expressed their support for Kansas City because they were Taylor Swift fans, I was a little taken aback at the level of animosity expressed toward Taylor Swift: as many kids were rooting for San Francisco because they didn't like her as were supporting the Chiefs because they did.

This, in a community that is politically pretty homogeneous. It's like we're looking for reasons to be polarized.

Live and Let Die

A few days ago I heard shouting from the room across the hall during our planning time and looked up to see a mouse scurry into my room. A few minutes later, the events repeated themselves. Finally, my colleague poked her head in the door. "Are you just going to sit there calmly while that mouse runs back and forth between our rooms?"

I smiled apologetically and shrugged. "The mice don't really bother me," I said. "I make sure there's no food in here and nowhere to nest, but if they run in, I leave them be."

"I knew it!" she said as another teacher joined her at the door. "She's not afraid of them!" They both shook their heads at me.

"I wish I could share your anti-mouse feelings," I laughed.

This afternoon the same duo returned to my door. "Mickey is no more," they informed me. "The glue trap did its job."

I cringed. 

"I knew it!" said one to the other. "She's sad for it!"

"Kinda," I admitted. "That's a tough way to go."

"RIP Mickey!" they laughed as they left.

Less is More

Because it was an early release-anchor day, we had micro-classes today. In contrast to our typical 90-minute blocks every other day, I saw every section for 23 minutes. 

"Why did we even have school today?" moaned several students as they entered the room. 

"You might surprised what we can do in a short time!" I answered cheerfully, knowing that I would be finished teaching by 10:15. "Clear your table of everything but your writing notebook."

"No iPads?" some asked incredulously.

"No iPads," I confirmed. "It's a paper and pencil and partner day."

I gave them a list of high-interest writing prompts, went through each to clarify, and asked them to choose three that they had a good story for. Then I asked for a volunteer to tell me the story, and as they did, I modeled asking clarifying questions. The objective was to help the writers with structure and adding detail. then they partnered up and did the same thing, telling stories and asking questions. With just a few minutes left in the class, I asked them to write the first paragraph of the story in their notebooks,. Then it was time to go.

"Enjoy your afternoon off!" I said as they packed up.

"Can we spend more time on this next class?" someone invariably asked. 

And of course, the answer was "Yes!"

We All Win

It was a two-point game at halftime when I made it down to the fieldhouse this afternoon to support our girls' basketball team.  

A sparse crowd of kids in the stands watched as the ref tweeted his whistle and handed the ball to our point guard to commence the second half. The only staff on the sidelines was the assistant principal and me, and we stood, arms crossed, as the girls raced up and back on the court. We all cheered when at last our team wrested the lead from the visitors and kept it until the end of the quarter. 

Duty called, and the assistant principal led all of the students riding the late bus out of the gym and up to the front of the building. By that time, the principal herself had joined us and she was quickly caught up in the game, the score going back and forth, but staying within two.

"This must be a good one if you're still here at the end," the wrestling coach cracked as he came over after his team practice.

"Definitely worth the price of admission," I joked back, as our coaches burned a timeout to save a player in trouble with the press. 

But as we watched the girls hold their lead to win by one at the buzzer, their teammates emptying the bench and fans swarming onto the court to congratulate them on the victory, all of us knew that this experience was pretty priceless.

Along Those Lines

We were doing a vote-with-your-feet kind of activity on the topic of courage. Students were presented with different scenarios and then asked to move to one side of the room if they thought the story illustrated courage and the other side if they felt it did not. 

We got to one about a secret service agent who takes a bullet for the president he is protecting. "Is that courage?" I asked.

The students sorted themselves based on their evaluation of the situation, and as I stood in the center of the room my eyebrows raised. All the boys were on the side of not courage, while all the girls were on the courage side.

"He literally risked his life to save the president!" one of the girls explained her position.

To which all the boys roared, "It was his job!"

Not sure what to make of that split.

I Know When to Stay In?

This is the time of year when we usually dedicate ourselves to watching new movies to prepare for our annual Oscar weekend. But sadly, going to the theater still seems fraught and somehow less enjoyable than it once was. 

I'm hopeful that sad situation will change, though, because watching the many nominees we have been able to in the comfort of our living room is just not the same as seeing them on the big screen. Maybe that's why in addition to watching 30-year-old Groundhog Day on Friday, last night we watched 27-year-old Titanic, which also holds up nicely.

In fact, the movie was way better than that dumb exhibit we went to today, which was just a big rip-off. The so-called "experience" ended up being a rehash of all the same old well-known stories and information, staged in an unfinished office space and organized around large-scale photos and second-rate artifacts, most of them from other ships. It was an enormous disappointment and a huge waste of time and money, just as I intuited back when I first heard of it. 

Groundhog Day

Happy Groundhog Day! 
Happy Groundhog Day! 
Happy Groundhog Day! 

I posted the above greeting on the daily agenda for my English classes yesterday. "Does anyone know why I wrote the same thing over and over?" I asked, but none of my students had ever even heard of the movie Groundhog Day, and so they were unable to get the joke.

"It's from an old movie," I explained, "where a weatherman reporting on the groundhog gets stuck in a time loop. No matter what he does, it's always Groundhog Day whenever he wakes up."

"Is it good?" one kid asked me.  

I paused before answering. "I haven't seen it in a really long time," I confessed. "I think it was funny?" I shrugged and moved on with the lesson, but the conversation stayed with me.

"I know what we should watch tonight," I told Heidi when we got home after school. "Groundhog Day!"

She groaned but agreed to the plan, and so after dinner, we settled ourselves on the couch and turned on the TV.

"What year was this made?" Heidi asked, examining the hair and the clothes and the cars. 

"1993!" I answered, for I had already looked it up. "The same year I started teaching."

The movie was a little slow to start. Bill Murray's unpleasant character was not entertaining, and reminded me of a lot of cinematic jerks from back then: Dan Ackroyd in Trading Places, Val Kilmer in Top Gun, James Spader in everything. I actually nodded off after the first two wake-ups, and Heidi poked me and told me to go to bed. "No, no," I insisted, "I'm awake now."

 I was, too, but Heidi went to bed anyway and I watched the rest of the movie alone. 

And although I wouldn't go so far as this reviewer, who calls the film "a spiritual and philosophical masterpiece" and compares Phil Connors to Siddhartha, I would say that, despite being a bit dated and Phil's initial tiresome snarkiness aside, the movie is warm-hearted and entertaining with more than a few laugh out loud moments. 

But I don't need to rewatch it any time soon.

Same Old Story

As I've written before, I have been fascinated by the story of the Titanic since I was a child. Back then the ship was still lost and had seemingly vanished forever. It wasn't until I was in my early 20s that Robert Ballard and his crew located the wreck, nearly two-and-a-half miles below the surface. 

After that discovery, the Titanic became a huge industry; exhibits of recovered artifacts were everywhere, and I attended quite a few. The popularity of the ship was helped along by the 1997 blockbuster movie and then rekindled again in 2012, the 100th anniversary of the sinking. Back then, we went to a great exhibit at National Geographic, but as I made my way through the galleries, I realized that there wasn't much information that was new to me. I knew everything I cared to about the disaster. 

So when a few months ago I received an e-mail about a traveling exhibit on Titanic, I summarily deleted the message. And when our district added a required common text for sixth graders that was an excerpt from a survivor's account of the sinking, I explained to anyone who cared to listen that my objection was not made out of ignorance or disinterest, but rather relevance. Why should we teach every single kid about a random tragedy that happened over a hundred years ago? Don't they have enough bad news in their lives without adding to it?

But, as the saying goes, I don't really run anything except my mouth, and so I a couple of weeks ago found myself teaching about the Titanic. (And, as it turned out, writing raps about it, too.) Of course, the recent catastrophe of the Titan sub had brought the ship back into public attention, and the kids were fairly engaged by the grim tale. Although I still felt like studying the topic was a bit of sensationalism and rubber-necking, I also remembered what an interesting story it is, and while planning my lessons, I watched some new videos about recent explorations of the wreck with new technology. It's amazing to me that it's been nearly 40 years since it was found. 

Oh, and that exhibit? Well, I got an email that it's been extended a few weeks, so this Sunday? We're going.

Helping Helpers

A friend texted to ask if we could stop on the way home to help move her old couch to the curb and carry her new(ish) couch in from her truck. 

So 4:45 PM found us struggling a little bit under the weight of an old-fashioned claw foot settee, trying to maneuver it through the storm door and down the concrete steps of the stoop and the walkway without stepping on the two tiny papillons she was doggy day caring for. Meanwhile, she held her own mini cockapoo to keep him from escaping, and three other dogs yapped impatiently in the backyard. Just then Heidi bumped her end forward a little too fast, causing me to stumble slightly. 

"Would you ladies like a hand?" a voice offered. It was the postal carrier coming down the street. "There seems to be a lot going on here," he continued.

"Yes please, strong guy," I laughed, holding my end steady while he placed his neat stack of mail on the hood of the truck before stepping in to relieve me.

"You all seem like pretty strong ladies yourself," he replied as he and Heidi moved quickly to the curb and deposited the couch. "But there's nothing wrong with getting a little help."

Nothing at all.