Enunciation

The question was Which of the poetry tools we've learned during the unit did you enjoy most? Why? So many students stop before the "why" that I have taught the person leading the discussion to be sure to ask them before moving on. And so it was today.

"Olivia says simile," the student read. He turned to her and asked, "Why?"

She made a face and shrugged. "Because I like an ass," she informed us.

The room went still. 

"You mean you like using like and as?" the other student primly followed up.

She nodded and the air returned.

Natural Order

A pair of robins kept me company in the garden today. Somewhere they have learned that weeding often uncovers some tasty treats for them, and they were fearless in their companionship. They were also right-- I dug up a bunch of grubs, and although I personally wished them no harm, I knew they would not be beneficial to my future crops. And so I sacrificed them to the robins, tossing them just a few yards away where they were quickly consumed and died not in vain, but rather in service to the food chain.

Or so I like to think.

Whether the Weather

The day dawned gray and raw, even for late April. It mattered little that we knew it would be near 90 in a few days; the house seemed cold, so we built what will likely be the last fire of the season. The cats were so happy! And we kept the crackle and warmth stoked throughout the day. Outside the temperature rose until it was tepid and muggy, but in here? It stayed dry and snug.

And Will Suffice

Years ago I made the decision that I would never say no to a student who asked to go to the clinic, even if I considered the request unnecessary or flagrant avoidance or attention-seeking. I figured that's why we have medical professionals in the building, even if the only thing they can prescribe is ice in a baggie with an institutional paper towel wrapped around it. 

Since then  I've seen little bags of ice held over eyes and on top of heads, tucked into socks and waistbands, and ultimately almost always abandoned. And I've chosen to overlook the inevitable puddles on the tables and floor, as well as the students who bite a little hole in their bag and suck on the cold ice melt before discarding the panacea altogether. 

And although it mystifies me why kids still want to go there for maladies that ice won't help, they continue to ask. "They're only going to give you ice," I warn as they grab the pass and go, limping or grimacing or groaning only to return a short while later with a couple of neatly packaged cubes, born like badges of honor. 

I Kid You Not

For the warm-up to a lesson on hyperbole, I asked students to choose a category and identify their G.O.A.T. Their answers were predictable but still fun. For example, Takis was named the greatest snack of all time. Messi and Ronaldo were both G.O.A.T.s of soccer. Some kids chose themselves as the greatest person of all time. We let them all pass without judgment. 

I offer a little guessing game for those who finish to encourage kids to answer quickly and avoid dragging out the warm-up. Sometimes it's guessing whose name I drew to lead the discussion, sometimes it's guessing the card from Taco, Cat, Goat, Cheese, or Pizza, sometimes it's something else, anything to speed them along. Today, I got all the goats from Taco, Cat, etc, and an equal number of other cards and we played "Goat or No Goat?"

It was a fun variation, but I was surprised that it took until the last class of the day for someone to notice the connection between our game and the Chat Snap question. "I see what you did there," she nodded appreciatively, and I laughed, because as much as I'd like to think that happens all the time?

I'm afraid it really doesn't.

Put Up Your Dukes

A few sixth graders were suspended today for fighting. 

There was a time when I could have said such an occurrence was rare at our school, but that hasn't been true for the last few years. Even so, these sixth graders fight and talk about fighting more than any group I've ever taught: it seems like their go-to when it comes to resolving differences outside the classroom.

When I think about recent history, this uptick in physical conflict makes some sense. These kids lost one-third of second grade and most, if not all, of third grade was either virtual or heavily reliant on social distance. They lost a lot of in-person socialization opportunities over that time, and it shows. 

There Once Was a Contrary Poet

"I think I'm done with the writing challenge," a student named Ben told me this morning.

I looked at my watch. "You wrote a limerick in 3 minutes?" I asked him. "Let me hear it."

He read me his poem.

I shook my head. "That's not a limerick." 

"Why not?" he asked.

"It has six lines," I started, "and the rhyme scheme is supposed to be AABBA, not to mention your syllables are off."

"Oh," he sighed. "Well, I don't think I like limericks. I think this poem is fine. I like these rules that I followed."

"What rules?" I said.

"Mine!" he laughed.

"Are you saying you wrote a Benrick? I teased him. "Unfortunately, that's not the assignment!"

Arts and Sciences

As we near the end of our annual poetry unit, my colleagues and I have noticed that our students know very little about poetry. Where in past years, discussion of simile, metaphor, and personification would be mostly review, this year it seemed to be new material for the majority of kids. Haiku was also new to many, as was Cinquain, Limerick, and other common forms. 

It's hardly surprising: the pandemic left educators scrambling to fill essential gaps in our students' skills and knowledge, and I guess poetry and figurative language were triaged out for a few years. Even so, I was a little shocked today.

The lesson was simple: review rhyme, write a 12-line rhyming poem, and label the rhyme scheme. Or it would have been if most of the sixth graders could actually rhyme. I started to get an idea about this gap in their skill set during the warm-up question which was to add one more rhyming line to this couplet:

If you're feeling down and blue
here is something you can do...

Have some tea wrote the first person.

Take a deep breath wrote another.

Try to be cool was a little closer.

You have nothing to lose was also arguably slant.

Chew some gum and have some fun. I could see where they thought that might work.

I gave examples, they made some quick edits, and then we moved on to the lesson. Some were getting it, others not so much. Able to write anything at all, they were composing lines such as this:

I like winter
because it is thinner
the smell of hot chocolate
and roses, not violets

or

My dog is fat
my mom slapped
the bat is flat
I got smacked

or this:

I love my dog.
She is the color of cream.
My dog is kind.
She likes running.

Clearly, the deficits run deep.  Maybe if we called it the "science of poetry" it would get a little more attention!

Embrace the Ride

I knew what was about to happen, and I laughed as we crested the hill and the car caught a little bit of air before bouncing onto the downslope. Everyone's guts flipped, and we sped down the incline toward the valley, the next summit looming ahead. 

We were on our way to Carlisle on PA-94, a road that runs like a roller coaster track straight up and over South Mountain, a peak that ironically forms the northern end of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Heidi gave me a look and reminded me that our dog was not always the best car traveler, especially in hilly terrain, but the road was as it was, and short of slowing down well below the speed limit, we were in for a ride. 

I was reminded of the roads in rural Maryland that we drove on as kids with my Aunt Harriett. Despite our cries for moderation, she embraced the ride, and our stomachs did somersaults as she barreled along in her white station wagon, five screaming kids bouncing in the back, long before the days of seatbelts.

Surely, it was the screams that saved us. I always hated roller coasters and rode them my body tense with dread trying not to scream. Years later, when Heidi told me that you have to scream to release your body's natural fear and thus enjoy the ride, I sort of got the point of those terrible contraptions. 

I laughed again as we neared the top of the next hill. "Sorry, Lucy," I said over my shoulder, "but here we go!"

My Year of the Theater

Whenever the goddaughters are here, we try to find something special and fun to do. Over the years it's been a variety of activities: geocaching, petting zoos, and duck tours when they were little, shopping, movies, fun restaurants, donut crawls, and magic shows when they were a bit older, and recently it's been road trips and musicals. For this weekend, though, we were kind of stuck. Nothing seemed to be going on that might fit the bill.

But this morning, as I clicked around a bit, I decided to check the Kennedy Center and see if there was anything new or something I may have missed. That's when I found the listing for Message in a Bottle. 

The peaceful village of Bebko is alive with joyous celebrations. Suddenly, under attack, everything changes forever. Three siblings, Leto, Mati, and Tana, must embark on perilous journeys in order to survive. Message In A Bottle is a spectacular new dance-theater show from five-time Olivier Award nominee Kate Prince, inspired by and set to the iconic hits of Kennedy Center Honoree and 17-time Grammy® Award–winning artist Sting.

Dancing and Sting? I knew Heidi would love it, so I ran it by Laney, checked for tickets, and a couple of hours later we found ourselves seated in the opera house. As the lights went down, I was prepared to tolerate whatever was on the stage for the good of the group, and so as shadow dancers moved to soft strains of Fields of Gold, I crossed my arms and settled back. 

I was wrong though. The tale of family, war, and refugees told completely in dance and with new arrangements and recordings of the music was very moving. I was reminded that I know Sting's entire catalog and love it. I spent the show thinking of my own siblings and the time we spent listening to Sting and the Police, and I wished they were there to share the experience and their thoughts on the production.

As it was, we all loved the show, and I'm going to make it a point to see another one soon.

19/24

We rose at the usual 5:15, completed our morning routine, and headed off to work at 7:15. Seven hours later, after a full school day, we dashed out the door at the bell and drove north to pick up our goddaughter from college for a weekend visit. Six hours later, we turned the key in the lock and were greeted by Lucy. We unloaded the car and started dinner. Four hours later, we headed off to bed, but only after a good meal and a few rounds of card games.

I'm pretty sure I'll sleep well tonight!

Yielding to Circumstances

Today is National Poem-in-your-pocket Day, an occasion I have enjoyed celebrating with my students for nearly 20 years. In that time, we have done some pretty amazing events, including recorded interviews, choral readings, and other performance opportunities. Mostly, though, we just give kids a chance to select a poem they love, write it down, carry it with them, and share it with others.

Our school moved to a block schedule in 2021, and as positive as it can be, it does put a crimp on our usual revels. Since I only see half of the students on any given day, I don't get to mark Poem-in-your-pocket Day with the classes that are not scheduled. Oh, we can celebrate it the next day, but the unity of having the whole sixth grade do the same fun poetry thing is lost, and I miss it.

But, in the spirit of doing the best we can with what we have, I just tell the kids on the off day that we are celebrating Orthodox Poem-in-your-pocket Day. They don't get it, but it amuses me.

Here's a poem for today:

The Milkweed
By Richard Wilbur 

Anonymous as cherubs 

over the crib of God 

white seeds are floating 

out of my burst pod. 

What power had I 

before I learned to yield? 

Shatter me, great wind: 

I shall possess the field.

Location is Key

We gathered in the library for what was billed as a brief staff meeting. It wasn't, but it was the first time our staff has met in the library since COVID. Up until now we have maintained the option of distance by meeting in the theater. 

Except? 

That's not really a meeting. 

Maybe it's my 30+ years in the building and the fact that we always met in the library, but being there made sitting on my ass at the end of an already long day listening to information I have heard a million times almost a pleasure.

Almost.

No Worries

Unlike many people, I have no fear of the dentist. Maybe it's because our mom took us every six months from the time we were very young, or maybe it's because I have never had any severe dental issues, or maybe it's both. 

At any rate, the current practice I patronize makes it a point to never shame you for any perceived dental hygiene failure, and they have much of the latest equipment, which makes even X-rays quick and painless. And so I arrived serenely for my semi-annual cleaning this afternoon and willingly followed Danny, my regular hygienist back to his cubicle. As always he gave me a quick precheck and warned me that he'd be using the water scaler. 

"Go ahead," I agreed, slipping on the protective shades and relaxing back into the chair. "It won't bother me."

"I always forget how chill you are," he replied, "because, believe me! Most people are very tense!" He laughed. "I think I'm an empath or something because they make me feel stressed."

I nodded sympathetically, unable to talk because of the suction tube in the corner of my mouth.

"I do notice a really calm energy whenever you are here, though," he continued. "It's a good way to finish my day!"

2020 Vision

It was a busy weekend full of family and fun, so I welcomed our teacher planning day this morning as a chance to finish some of the work I didn't even touch on Saturday and Sunday. At 7 am I set up on the dining room table, a throwback to COVID times when every day was spent working from home. Upstairs, Heidi did some laundry while she worked, and down here, of course, I made some sourdough in between stretches of planning and grading.

It was delightful.

Frances

We were shopping for Bill's birthday yesterday when we came upon a small shop at the foot of King Street in Old Town Alexandria called "Fat Face". The place turned out to be a brick and mortar location for a British "lifestyle brand" that is self-proclaimed to "reflect the happy, healthy lifestyle of our customers." Slogans aside, the place had some cool stuff, and a gift was procured. 

On the way back to our car, Courtney and Heidi and I bantered about the name of the shop, until my sister and I made the connection between Fat Face and a song my mom taught us when we were kids. The song was aimed at a classmate of hers that she and her friends considered to be condescending, mostly because her father was the mayor of their town. This girl also boasted about their summer home, which chapped my mom and her friends so much that they gave her the nickname Fat Face and sang mockingly about her behind her back.

It is a terrible ditty, bur my mother would laugh uproariously every time she belted it out it, and the three of us can sing it to this day, which we did this evening at Bill's party. Could there be any doubt who was there in spirit?

Get Over It

My brother is turning 60 and our little sister flew up from Atlanta so that we could all celebrate together. And the party started last night with takeout, games, and a lot of laughter. 

One of the old family stories we revisited was when about the time Bill and I ate the neighbor's strawberries. When she discovered the larceny, my mother sent the two of us, just 4 and 2 years old, next door to apologize, but we never made it. A little while later she found us crying on the tiny hill that separated our yards, and so she personally marched us over to confess our theft. I'm not sure who was more uncomfortable at that moment: me and Bill or Mrs. Huddleston.

Every year during April my students write parodies of the classic William Carlos Williams poem This is Just to Say, and having read 30 or so over the last week, my response to the tale of the stolen fruit was such:

This is just to say
I have eaten
the strawberries
that were
in your garden

and which
you were probably
saving
for shortcake

Forgive me
they were delicious
so warm
and so sweet

Circles

My classroom phone rang and reaching for the receiver I saw on the display that it was the principal. As I answered, I felt more curious than anything else, especially since she's called me perhaps twice in the 11 years we've worked together. 

"I'm looking at your intent to return form," she told me.

"and I wrote that I'm not sure," I finished for her.

"Right," she agreed. "I was hoping you might be a little more sure now?"

I took a sharp breath. The conversation was unexpected, and I felt put on the spot. "Um," I hedged.

"There is paperwork we have to do if you're not," she continued, "and I'm really hoping we won't have to do that paperwork!" 

"I'll be back," I said. 

"I'm so glad," she replied.

"I guess I just needed a personal invitation," I laughed awkwardly.

But after we hung up, rather than feeling relieved that the question of next year was settled, I had that sense of remorse that comes with choosing too quickly.

And, since my verbal agreement is not binding, I'm right back to where I was before the call.

Candid Camera

I was looking out my classroom window at the end of the day, watching the stream of students and their families pass by on their way home from school when one of my current students joined me. She was there to make up a test, but like me, she was temporarily captivated by the people outside. 

Our attention was drawn to a student and a man who I knew to be his parent. The boy was agitated and the man quickened his pace and stepped in front of him several times in an attempt to slow him down. At last, they stopped right in front of us, and it was clear that there was some conflict between them.

"Should I record this with my phone?" my student asked in all sincerity.

"No!" I answered. 

Outside, the two came to some uneasy agreement and hugged briefly.

"Awwww," said my student. "That was one of the most touching things I have ever seen. I wish I had it recorded!"

"But that would be an invasion of their privacy," I pointed out.

"True," she shrugged, "but they are right there in front of everyone."

She was right, of course. In public, we should have no expectation of privacy. Even so, our conversation stuck with me long after she was gone. Recording people, especially strangers, without their consent never occurs to me, but it was this youngster's first thought. 

Of course, it's generational, but it's also a huge paradigm shift.

Validation

I'm one of those people who put off having my hair cut. I go faithfully to the dentist every 6 months, and I have my physical annually, but haircuts? I postpone as long as I can. When I do go, I generally get a pretty short clip, and then let it grow out. The change is so gradual, that it hardly seems necessary to take any measures.

Recently my scheduling situation has been further complicated by the fact that my regular stylist has moved away, and so I don't even have a go-to. My last haircut was months ago, and both the person who cut it and the style itself were nice enough, so I decided to go back for a second time. The new stylist greeted me warmly when I arrived and showed me to her chair so that we could discuss options. "You're hair looks great!" she told me. "Who cut it last?"

"You did!" I laughed as her eyes widened in the mirror. "I haven't had it cut since October! That's how I always do." I shrugged.

"Well," she nodded, "it works for you!"

Of Carrots and Sticks

I heard recently of some teachers so frustrated by their charges that when the guidelines for participating in a special event were issued stating that any student with three or more referrals would be excluded they sat down and referred the most troublesome kids three times. 

As veteran teachers, we sigh at such folly: those students have nothing to lose and we have 2 months left in the school year. "They have to at least give them a chance to earn it back," one of my colleagues commented today.

"And a little support to do that," another added.

"Right! It's all stick and no carrot," someone else concluded.

I agreed. It wasn't until I realized that the stick should be a lever rather than a lash that I (pardon the pun) got a real handle on classroom management.

Turn Around Bright Eyes

I was almost 8 in March of 1970 when a total eclipse was set to obscure 95 percent of the sun over our home in South Jersey. The details are vague, but I remember they involved shoe boxes and pinholes, and stepping not even one foot outside. My parents closed the living room curtains, leaving a slight crack through which a ray of sun shone through the tiny hole in the viewing contraption they had rigged. I don't recall being particularly awed by the actual eclipse, but the precautions for it made a huge impression on me.

When I talked to my younger brother about it a couple of weeks ago, his recollection confirmed mine. "All I remember is being terrified of going blind," he said. "I thought even one little look would burn my eyes permanently!"

Times have changed. I was at the grocery store 7 years ago when an 80 percent eclipse passed overhead. Then, I looked at it in the reflection of the dark tinted windows of my car until a kindly stranger offered his eclipse glasses for a moment so I could see the bite the moon was taking from the sun.

And today, our school system distributed free eclipse glasses to all students and staff, and I was able to track the progress of our 87 percent obscuration during my planning time, from the comfort of my classroom. Then, at around 3:15, I stepped outside with some friends and colleagues and peered at the peak of the spectacle, the sun a glowing claw in the amber sky of my glasses.

Without the protective shades, the light was strangely dim and golden, the shadows oddly short given the gloam we stood in. It was magical, and I wished our family had ventured outside for just a moment or two all those 54 years ago.

Jumping the Gun

The other day I was talking to my lunch buddies at work about retiring. "As much as I'm ready to let go of all the work," I said, " I could live 20 years or more." I knocked on wood. "What am I going to do all that time?"

They nodded, sympathetically. "What about Heidi?" asked one. "How much time does she have?"

"To live?" I asked, wide-eyed.

"No!" she laughed. "Until she retires!"

Whistle Stop

Before she headed off to school yesterday, Heidi modeled her wardrobe choice for me. It was a T-shirt that always makes her giggle because it reads, Hey Trainwreck! This ain't your station. 

"You know what the funniest thing about this shirt is?" she asked me.

I laughed because she had read my mind. "Yeah," I told her. "It really is their station. With you? It's always their station."

Slapstick Humor

Despite the blustery cold, there were a bunch of kids hanging around the soccer field when I left school this afternoon. Just as I rounded the corner to start down the sidewalk toward them, I saw a ball fly through the air and bop one kid on the head. I laughed as he shook it off like a cartoon character, clearly now the worse for the unfortunate kick. 

As I continued on, I saw that several of my current students were in the group. They waved and trotted down, excited to see me outside and after hours. We exchanged greetings and a bit of small talk. "Did I see you laugh when that kid got hit in the head?" one girl asked, wide-eyed.

"Well, yeah," I shrugged unapologetically. "He was obviously fine, and? It was funny!"

"You're so cool for a teacher," she said.

"Just human," I laughed. "Have a good weekend!"

Being and Raininess

I always forget how much I love the poetry unit every year. Kids have such a fresh and quirky take on the world, and poetry is just concentrated enough to showcase their creativity and fresh perspective. Even a form as brief as haiku can be stunning or hilarious or both. 

The rain yesterday inspired many of the young poets in my class, among them this writer:

It rains heavily.
The children are not playing.
I don't like the rain.

I laughed out loud when I read it. "That's so existentialist of you," I told her, "to recognize the absence of the children!" I knew she was one of the few 12-year-olds around who would understand my point.

She brightened at the comment. "I do like considering existence," she confirmed, "but I was kind of thinking of The Cat and the Hat when I wrote that!"

Keeping it Moving

Today was an Anchor Day at school when the schedule has us seeing all of our classes for a quick 42 minutes. Today was also the day when students received their March writing challenge prizes, AND the day when I introduced the April poetry challenge AND taught a lesson on syllables and Haiku.

To say it was busy? 

That would be an immense understatement. There was applause and candy and wheel spinning. There was a little commercial I made for the poetry challenge that had students calling out its virtues. There was clapping out syllables of one's own name, and then the actual composition of the poetry, all compressed into a little more than half an hour.

But it was fun! 

There happened to be a substitute for the co-teacher in one of my sections, and as the bell rang and she filed out with the students she stopped me. "That was the most interactive class I have ever been in!" she gushed.

I thanked her kindly and said, "Well, you came on a good day!"

Rising Costs

Of course, I know there's been inflation over the last three years or so; it's obviously been a significant economic and political story. Even so, I am fortunate enough that the news has only had a tangential impact on me: Although we have a loose budget, I can easily afford to buy our essentials without carefully tracking the cost.

Recently, however, as I have shopped for the monthly prizes for our annual writing challenge, inflation has become glaringly apparent. For example, candy that used to cost 99 cents not so many years ago is now 1.39 on a good day. And other items have risen by more than that 40 percent, so our expenses have nearly doubled. In fact, the grand prize t-shirts' price has literally doubled in the last 5 years. 

Oh, in the larger scheme of things, the money for these purchases, whether subsidized by a PTA grant or a GoFundMe campaign, or not, is little enough, especially for someone who can buy whatever she wants at the grocery store. But I know that not everyone is as advantaged as I am, and I'm sorry I haven't been more empathetic.

In Training

"Are your shoes untied?" a student asked this morning.

"No," I said.

"April fools!" he shouted.

"That's not how it works," I shook my head.

"I tried," he answered with a shrug. 

A little while later the same student approached me again. "Is your hair made of metal?" he asked.

"No," I replied.

"April fools!" he tried again.

"That's still not how it works," I told him. "What's that on your shoulder?" I pointed.

He looked down.

"No, over there by your neck," I said. "I don't think you can see it, but it's like a big... thing!" 

I threw up my hands and he did, too, brushing off his shoulder.

"April fools!" I cried.

"Oh," he nodded. "That's how it works."