You Know You're in Middle School When...

...you hear the news that a couple of eighth grade boys ordered ghost peppers online and then brought them to school to fulfill the mutual dare to eat them. They were found writhing on the bathroom floor after puking up their breakfasts. Word has it that the nurse actually rubbed their bellies, therapeutically of course, while they waited for their parents to pick them up.

On the Radio

Anyone who knows me well knows that I am an inveterate NPR listener. These days, if I'm not in the car, I usually catch the news online. Although I generally listen to our local broadcast, the internet makes it possible to hear programming from pretty much any station in the world.

So, some afternoons I tune into Maine Public Radio and pretend that when it's time to go home I'll be heading for a little cottage on the rocky coast. Wood smoke and salt will be in the air and seafood on the menu as October's early dark gathers.

Other times I listen to Minnesota Public Radio and imagine the autumn chill of the Boundary Waters, or perhaps the traffic lights on France or Normandale on the way to my mom's house where a cold beer and a warm dinner awaits.

And sometimes it's WABE in Atlanta that's on, so I can hear the local weather and news in my sister's part of the world and for just a moment pretend that she's 10 minutes away instead of 10 hours. 

Oh, the news these days so often seems full of trouble and woe, but the world's not quite so scary when you remember who else is out there.

True Story

And then there was that turkey I saw today heading west on King Street. A hen with striking iron grey and ivory speckled plumage, she seemed resolute in her promenade up the sidewalk. I guess this would be a good time to think about leaving home if you were a turkey.

Quick Silver Lining

Mercury in retrograde it may well be, 'cause things continue to go awry here. After taking the day off to finally have the door repaired, the bell rang once and I answered to find a technician standing on the stoop to tell me that my repairman was delayed by car trouble, An hour later a second chime alerted me to another visitor; this time, the guy assigned to the job broke the bad news that because of the expected rain they were postponing until tomorrow.

The forecast is iffy, but I'll be here , fair or foul, also expecting the call from the appliance repairman with his bid on replacement parts for the ice maker and the dryer (that"s if he can find them). By then, my fragile hard drive may be backed up so that I can take my computer to the Genius Bar tomorrow evening. Maybe I can get that scheduler on the phone from the doctor's office who hasn't answered every time I've called for the last week. Oh, and there are assignments to grade, and online discussions to facilitate-- without the distraction of being at school, those chores will be way easier.

Plus, who knows what other fires I may be able to stamp out? Thanks, Mercury.

Entropy

The ice maker, the hot water heater, the dryer, and now the hard drive on our desktop computer, all have broken within the last two weeks. The handles on the lids to both the kettle grill and the slow cooker have also come undone, and it's almost to the point where I'm past overwhelmed and on to honestly curious about what could possibly be the next casualty.

No Reminder Necessary

This time of year it seems like everywhere you drive there are signs notifying you that October is fire prevention month. I appreciate the reminder, but I don't really need it. Some of my most vivid memories of elementary school are focused on just that theme.

One day, when the air was crisp and the leaves brilliant against that amazing blue sky, you would arrive at school only to be greeted with the exciting information that there would be an assembly that day. At the designated time, each student would be directed to stand, lift your chair by the stiles, and line up. In that way we would file to the multi-purpose room and set our chairs down in neat rows, transforming the cafeteria to an auditorium. 

It was always a fireman in full regalia who would start the program for us. We learned to have a plan: feel the door before opening it, stay low, know where the exits were, and stop drop and roll if necessary. Then we saw a Disney movie made to emphasize those points. I can still remember the hush of the students when they turned the lights off, still see the autumn light filtering through the high slatted windows, still imagine the familiar figure of Walt Disney introducing the film, and still hear the authoritative voice of the narrator speaking to Donald Duck over the soft clickity-clacking of the 16 mm projector. 

It all seemed so important, so glorious and exhilarating. There we were, hundreds of souls in a congregation of our own creation, assembled with a common cause-- surviving a fire. 

Who could forget that?

Murphy's Conference

After eight years, I was feeling pretty confident that all my student-led conferences would go off without complication when I headed to school this morning. My homeroom kids were well-prepared; some had come in at lunch yesterday to finish up, but despite it being the first time for them to lead such a meeting, I knew that they were ready and able. I had carefully scheduled the times as well-- knowing that the allotted 20 minutes is often a little too short, I had limited the sign-up slots to 2 per hour. I had also put my interpreter requests in early; this year in addition to a couple of Spanish translations, I needed an Arabic and a Vietnamese interpreter as well, so I gave the office plenty of lead time. I was certain nothing could possibly go wrong.

I was right...

until about 10 AM. My Vietnamese family showed up, but there was no translator. When I checked with the main office, they told me none were available. Sometimes in a pinch, the student is willing to interpret for his parents, but this time, my student flapped his arms wildly and told me he really didn't know much of the language. Back at the office, they gave me the information for a telephone translation service we subscribe to, but when I tried to call from classroom phone, the long distance area code wouldn't go through. Fortunately, I had my mobile phone, and so we set it in the center of the table and spoke loudly and slowly, that is after I explained what we were doing to the person on the other end of the line. It went surprisingly well.

Later in the day, I had not one conference, but two, stretch to an hour and 20 minutes. The first parent spoke so fast and at such length that I never got a single one of my polite let's hurry this along strategies into the conversation. The second time we quadrupled our meeting was for a student who is really struggling, and I couldn't begrudge her or her mom a single second. 

And truthfully? The same must be said for every family I met with today. Their pride, questions, and concern all reminded me that every student is somebody's child, somebody's treasure. More often than not, they just want to make sure we are doing right by their kids. I get it.

It's a sloppy job, but some days I feel pretty good at it, and lucky to do it, too.

Building Community, Fostering Fellowship

Do: Add a cute little reference to that feline rascal well-known to all of the neighborhood on your new sidewalk sign reminding residents to check their speed. Bob the cat asks you to slow down.

Don't: Plan a staff picnic with yard games for the professional development day scheduled on a former holiday. It just kinda puts the hole in corn hole.

Epicenter

Every quarter I do a little map-making activity with my reading class. When asked if he had any advice for young writers, Newbury award author Jack Gantos suggested the following:

The first tip is to get a good journal or small notebook—not too big as you want to be able to slip it into your back pocket. Then get a decent pen. Then I want you to draw a map of your house, or a map of your neighborhood, or map of your school and I want you to draw where everything funny, serious, insane, unexpected, heroic, lousy, triumphant and tragic took place. And then I want you to think about your life as the best material in the world, and each one of your small drawings where something interesting happened will be the opening material for your story.

And so we do. I share a map of the neighborhood where I lived from the ages of 4-10, and every student creates a map of someplace special to them. Having looked at over 200 maps, I've concluded that it's human nature to place your place in the middle of the action, and so every time we look at my map I make the joke that my house just happened to be at the center of the neighborhood, and probably the universe, too.

So I wasn't surprised today as I circulated through the room while the students worked to see that most of them had started in the center of their paper and worked outward, not surprised at all. That is until one student noticed my gaze. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing," I shrugged. "I like your map-- it's great!"

"Thanks!" she answered, "But did you see? My house really is the center of the neighborhood! All the other houses are around it."

"I did see that!" I told her. "What a coincidence!"

Travel Arrangements

We were talking about field trip transportation at leadership team today. Forgive me if I'm repeating my dismay, but it really is appalling that there are no more buses available unless we charge the students for the ride. "We should call Uber," the person next to me whispered when administration encouraged us to consider the subway.

"Or maybe Schoober," I answered her. We laughed quietly as the conversation turned to cost analysis. Three hours for a rented school bus would be cheaper than taking 50 kids on the metro, and more convenient, too. 

"That's only if you have a full bus," someone pointed out.

Riding with a full bus? Looking around, that seemed unlikely, if you know what I mean.

Wait. What?

Today, here in Virginia, the time came when I could have risen from my desk, gone down the hall to get Heidi, and taken off for the courthouse to get a marriage license.

It didn't happen, today, but it could have. And it will.

No! Just No

Sunday night already?

Oh, weekend, I had so much more hope in you.

The Torch Has Passed

My dad was a big baseball fan, and so when I was growing up there was usually a game on in the background from April to October. Back then, if I watched at all, I associated the guys on the field with my dad or my uncles; Brooks Robinson? Tom Seaver? Reggie Jackson? To me, they were grown ups playing a grown up game. 

Later, when I had graduated from college and was living with my father again, the background became foreground, and we all became fans of the New York Mets. Those guys seemed more like older brothers, or cousins, and we celebrated right along with Lenny Dykstra, Mookie Wilson, and Keith Hernandez in 1986 when they won the World Series.

It's been years since I've followed baseball that closely, even though my town has been a MLB town for the last eleven years. People here love their baseball, and with both the Orioles and the Nationals in the playoffs, now seems like a good time to tune in. So tonight as I cooked dinner, I watched the Nats hang on to a tenuous one run lead into the top of the ninth. Oh, we're on pins and needles here, but all I can think about is when did the players get so young? Any one of them could have been a student in my class not so very long ago-- Ryan Zimmerman? 1996. Stephen Strasberg? 2000. That cute Anthony Rendon? 2002.

Go get 'em kids!

Children, Behave

If I were to file one complaint about my students this year it would be that so many of them find that annoying prank of hiding a classmate's pencil, paper, eraser, book, etc. to be so very entertaining. Upwards of 5 times a day I am called to solve the case of the missing whatever, and the culprit is nearly always the student in the next seat.

It was the last class of the week today when I had had quite enough of such shenanigans and so plaintively addressed the group, "Can we all just agree that we're not going to waste each other's time anymore by hiding the things we need to get our work done?"

My request was met by silence and downcast eyes, and several pencils were quietly slid across the table in return to their owners. One student, however, was not in total agreement, and although he did turn over the pencil in his possession to the boy who brought it to class. "How much time do you think it takes?" he asked me. "30 seconds?"

I shrugged. "That's 30 seconds of your life you'll never get back," I answered in rebuttal. "And 30 seconds of mine, too, since I had to resolve the situation."

"Yeah," he said, "but my thirty seconds were FUN!"

Critical Success

Today's lesson involved a "poetry sort." The kids in my classes were given a collection of action poems written by former students. The task was to read all of them, select a couple, and answer questions about them. The next step was to brainstorm lists of 20 of possible topics for their own action poems.

Here's the part I loved-- in every class, without exception, several students asked if they could keep the copies of the model poems because they liked them so much.

That's validation!

Friday Night Dinner

All week long I have been receiving ads and notifications on almost any web page I visit about a BIG event happening TODAY! Yes, friends, The Gilmore Girls is on Netflix. And, unlike all the men's underwear clickables I keep getting, I agree that this news actually is cool news, because I am one of the legion of folks who loooooved The Gilmore Girls, with its terrific writing-- so snappy, so smart,  and even though it's been over seven years since the finale, I miss them and all the other denizens of Starr's Hollow to this day.

This might be some binge watching I can get behind. 

Things We Do

At about 10:05 this morning I found myself in my darkened classroom, blinds drawn, lights out, and 24 children huddled beneath six tables. It was a lockdown drill. I have never reconciled with myself just where I ought to be on such occasions. Under a table or beneath my desk seems ludicrous: I can't really supervise anyone if I'm on the floor, but I don't want the police officers conducting the drill to bust me for being too visible. 

Today I sat in a rolling chair in the corner. There was a thin slat of light below the blinds in one of the four windows that looks out into the hallway, and I could see when someone was coming. Three bullet-proof vests strode by my door to the end of the hallway next door. I heard a radio squawk as they tried each of the three doors before mine. When they tested my knob it jiggled securely, but I dreaded what would happen should one of them lean over and peer into the gap that I was looking out from. Would he make eye contact? Perhaps a pointing gesture to show me that, in the event of a real intruder who might mean us harm, I would be a target? 

But there was no opportunity to find out, with the rest of the school waiting, they moved along to other, possibly less secure locations. Five minutes later, the drill was over, and notably, 24 sixth graders who have struggled with silence for the last four weeks had not made a peep. I turned the lights back on, and another lesson, the one we had been working on before the drill, resumed.

Meow

When I was a little girl, my mom was known for her novelty cakes. She was a master at baking a couple of layers, cutting them into pieces and then fitting them back together into recognizable shapes like Snoopy or a mod looking kitty cat. A layer of frosting and a few piped details later, the results were always impressive.

Flash forward 45 years: Heidi and I always make cakes for our homeroom students on their birthdays. While I opt for the classic bundt (not only is it quick and easy, but somehow a giant donut-shape seems a tad bit more breakfasty), Heidi is forever making flowers and such. Generally, she uses a shaped baking pan, but a couple of years ago, one of her students was obsessed with the Riddler and begged her for a green question mark cake. "No problem," I told her, for I had learned to bake in my mother's kitchen, where it was a simple matter to carve up cakes and put 'em back together, jigsaw fashion, into a whole new thing. Against my better judgment, a tradition was born.

Tonight, it's a throwback classic:

Fruity Confusion

Emily gave me a half dozen pawpaws last week. The largest edible fruit indigenous to the US, these particular pawpaws came from a friend of Emily's property. Her friend also sells them to several restaurants, where the chefs prize the fruit for their provenance as well as their seasonality-- pawpaws do not keep or travel well, so they are not commercially produced. "Most restaurants make ice cream with them," Emily told me.

We cut one open and scooped the custardy flesh from the thin peel with a spoon. "It tastes like nothing," Josh declared of the vaguely sweet mush on his spoon. Heidi agreed. I admired the large black shiny seeds. They were substantial, like a chunky organic bead. 

"Maybe they're not ripe yet," I suggested and put the rest of the pawpaws on the window sill, where they sat until this morning when I blended them up with some eggs and cream, half a roasted sweet potato (for body) and a sprinkle of cinnamon. At the last minute I added a dash of apple cider vinegar for tartness and cooked it into a smooth custard.

I knew my ice cream would need some contrasting texture, so I chopped up some chocolate covered nut crunch with cashews, almonds, and pecans and threw it all in the ice cream maker. 45 minutes later I had a silky, golden-hued frozen dessert with lovely chunks of candied nuts and chocolate. Ahhh, but how did it taste? you wonder. 

Many people who enjoy pawpaws disagree about their flavor. Is it bananalike? Mangoish? Melony? As quoted by Wikipedia, Ohio botanist William B. Werthner noted that The fruit ... has a tangy wild-wood flavor peculiarly its own. It is sweet, yet rather cloying to the taste and a wee bit puckery – only a boy can eat more than one at a time.

That's close, but not quite right. Tonight, when I served the ice cream for dessert, we discussed the flavor at length.

"It just tastes so weird," Heidi frowned. "It's hard to say what it taste like, because it doesn't taste exactly like anything else."

"It starts out caramelly and then takes a turn toward the not quite unpleasant and finishes with an unidentifiable fruitiness," Josh said, moving his finger in a roller coaster motion. "But I like it. Kind of. I'll probably eat more. Maybe a lot more. Maybe not."

Boy Birthday

How best to celebrate Josh's 19th birthday?

Why rock-n-roll and ramen, of course. 

The Force of Gratitude

My students were all working industriously on posting profile pictures for our online course when one of them hit a snag. I was busy helping someone else, but fortunately his buddy came to his rescue and helped him problem-solve the issue, so that in short order his smiling face was was right there next to his words on the discussion board. He was delighted and gratefully turned to his friend.

"Thanks! You're a real light saber!" he said and continued on with the assignment.

Generation Why

Have you noticed these lists of "hacks" showing up everywhere? Defined by the Urban Dictionary as "a clever solution to a tricky problem," you can find hacks for your wallet, hacks for your hair, hacks for your workout or relationship or even for your dog. Really, there are hacks for everything right now, including the classroom, but that's another blog post.

Don't get me wrong; some of these ideas are really ingenious, if not genius. Enough so, anyhow, that I take the time to click through a litany or two when they catch my fancy. Just tonight, a former teacher of mine posted a link to "Parenting Hacks for Life Traps." She is a new grandparent, and so I think that explains it. Me? I guess I'm just naturally curious, and so I scrolled through a few mediocre ones, (using lotion bottles as faucet extenders or transforming the old crib into a school desk), a couple of pretty good ones (combining eye dropper and pacifier to administer medicine, upside down crazy straw to prevent sippy cup catastrophe), some really dumb ones (dust mop onesies so your infant will clean the floor as he or she scoots), and some that could go either way (flattened cardboard cartons to transform your stairs into a giant slide?). 

As with many such things on the internet, sometimes the captions are better than the post. That, too, was the case tonight on the getting your kids to do their chores by withholding the wifi password suggestion. The editor commented, I have to say, I'm glad we had dial-up when I was a kid. 

Oh. That explains a lot.

Career Options

I left school after another ten hour day today and headed out to run a few errands. My teeth were grinding a bit on the way out the door, because I couldn't get to a working copy machine to prepare the materials I needed for my lesson tomorrow, but I resolved to go in early to make them; it was my only option.

My first stop was the office supply store to buy some supplementary things for students who do not have them, and then it was on to the grocery store where, at the check out, I saw an unfamiliar magazine. Modern Farmer, issue 06, has a wary cow on the cover and a neon-orange question, So you want to be a farmer? 

Um... Maybe.

Analogy for the Season

"How is school so far? How are the kids?" Kind friends and family ask me this question often at this time of year.

Historically, I have never been much more than lukewarm in my response. "They're okay," I say with varying degrees of enthusiasm, some genuine, some not. 

The truth is that it's hard to say at this point, and it's really not fair to draw any conclusions. If I were to compare them to past years, it wouldn't be to how those other students were in September. No, I remember the other kids as they were in May and June, after we'd worked together for months to forge a community of learning. The time before I knew them and they knew me is just a vague memory.

And so I try to be patient with the new group, and I've decided that a good frame of reference might be the online course I use with my classes. In September, it's bare bones, just a few starter assignments and a couple of basic topics to post in. Every year though, it grows into something similar to the years before, but also unique to the individual creativity, interests and opinions of the kids whose writing shapes it. When I set it up each year, I focus on its potential rather than its emptiness.

And the same should apply to those squirrely strangers filling up the seats in my room and chattering constantly over my directions. They'll come along. (The only question is, When??)

A Cool Glass of Milk

Cool evening air floods through the open window this fourth Monday of September, and darkness without is illuminated by the warm glow of the television within. So many TV options beckon! Certainly viewing habits have changed in the last 45 years-- three networks have been replaced by hundreds; binge watching is a thing, and some cord cutters don't even watch broadcast television at all.

Even so,  premiere week still has a little juice, and so this evening finds us watching the first episode of Gotham, live, not even recorded. Jim Gordon is a rooky cop who catches a big case at the tail end of his shift. Seems the most powerful man in town, Thomas Wayne, and his wife have been killed in a random robbery. Their son, Bruce, witnessed the whole thing, as did a sneaky little pick pocket who runs along the roof tops and steals milk for stray cats. Back at the station? A lab tech, name of Ed Nigma, explains the riddles of the forensic findings of the case.

Gordon's partner doesn't want anything to with either the case or the rookie, but Gordon can see right through him. "You're a cynic, right?" he asks rhetorically before continuing, "a slovenly, lackadaisical cynic."

I think he may be right, but either way? Nice vocabulary, Jim!

Blue Sunday

About a month ago I saw one of those Internet men's aimed at teachers: the month of August is just one long Sunday night, it read. I laughed ruefully, because it was kind of true. No matter what your business, if you're on the clock Monday to Friday, Sunday nights can signal a grinding shift from personal back to professional. Tonight the annual doggie dip followed by a nice family dinner with Bill and Emily stretched out the weekend just a little more and chased those Sunday blues away.

Movie Marketing

At the movies this afternoon we saw an Imax trailer for Ridley Scott's next epic, Exodus, starring Christian Bale as Moses and due out a little later this fall. "That looks pretty good," I whispered to Josh. "Do you want to see it?"

"Yeah!" he answered. "It's like a live action Prince of Egypt!"

That it is, I thought and smiled, remembering the little boy who loved that movie and was all grown up and sitting two seats down from me. That it is. 

And then I thought some more. Josh is in the highly-sought demographic of males 18-24... Batman in Prince of Egypt? 

Ca-ching!

Longest Day of the Year...

... was yesterday, according to the Teachers Almanac. 

Thank goodness today was a Friday!

Fifth Time's a Charm

I had just shut the projector off after my final class presentation at Back-to-school night when a parent I had met last week knocked sheepishly on my open door. " I don't know what happened!" she confessed. She gestured to her husband who was blushing a bit. "We were totally lunchin' and we ended up cutting your class!"

I laughed and shrugged. "No worries," I said, "it's not required."

"Is there any work we can make up?" she asked.

"Sure," I said handing them the course description. "Let me hit the highlights." As I went over my talking points one more time with an audience of two, they were open and generous with their questions and feedback.

"That is so cool," the mom said at the end. "I'm so glad she's in this class!"

And I was so glad I stayed a little later than I planned.

If You Say So

Today my students and I read the poem Knoxville, Tennessee by Nikki Giovanni. It's a good beginning of the year common text because it has so much sensory detail in it. It is also written in a child's voice, and the entire poem is a single sentence. I always like to challenge any student who is willing to try to read it all in one breath. Sixth graders love that kind of thing.

The poem begins with the line, I always like summer best, and the follow up assignment is for them to use the poem as a model and write a tribute to their own favorite season using sensory details they have pulled from their lives. As I circulated through my classes today I noticed that most students agreed with Giovanni and preferred summer, although winter was a close second.

In one class somebody asked me what my favorite season is and I answered that they are all pretty great, but I probably love fall the best. He looked at me shrewdly. "I bet I know why."

I called him on it. "Why?"

"Because that's when kids come back to school! Right?"

Lavender and Old Lace

It's funny.  We spent three days in San Francisco this summer and I had a really good time.

On the last night we ate at a vegan Mexican place in the Mission. It was at the end of a long day where we rented a car, walked the Golden Gate Bridge, visited Muir Woods, Stinson Beach, and drove back to the city on the 101 along the coast. It was around 7 when we got back to town and we were hungry.

Parking was tough on Mission Street, and the neighborhood seemed to change block by block, but eventually we found a place not too too far from the restaurant. Of course there was a wait, and the light had faded from pink to dark purple before we ushered to one end of a communal table. By then, all I wanted was a cold beer, and I ordered an IPA from a brewery with lavender in its name.

Well... that's what I thought, but when I tasted the beer there was an herby floral note that at first I couldn't place. Eventually the obvious penetrated my fatigued brain and I realized I was drinking a lavender IPA. As I was tired and driving, I stopped at one pint, but the essence of it lingered in my  mind and on my palate.

Since I've been home, I have regularly infused my favorite west coast ale with fresh lavender, and every sip reminds me of those three days, and every time the memories of that whole trip get a little sweeter.

Success

Well.

I've done it.

I finally grew a pumpkin in my garden. It has a nice shape and a beautiful color, and I was careful to pluck it from the vine before anything could harm it.

In fact, here's a picture:

AND... Here's another:

Wild Thing

At the end of the trail is a shelter overlooking the golden grasses of the wetland and the river beyond. There is a telescope there as well and over the years, depending on the season, we have seen bald eagles, arctic swans, redwing blackbirds, herons, gulls, and egrets. Today there was a family with two young daughters taking in the view when we arrived. The girls, who looked to be about 3 and 6, chattered happily as they explored.

The oldest was using the telescope with her dad and the younger pointed out spiders and plants to her mom as she waited for her turn with the gadget. When at last she got to step up on the platform, her mother was mindful that we had been waiting a while. "We have to be quick in case these other people want to look, too," she told the little girl.

I saw an expression of disappointment cloud her face. "Oh, don't worry about us," I said. "You were here first-- take all the time you want."

Her mom smiled gratefully as she lifted her daughter up to the eyepiece. "What do you see?" she asked.

"A bear!" the little girl replied without hesitation. Then she looked right at me to check my reaction to her joke.

I did a broad double take and raised my eyebrows high. "A bear?! Well now I do want a look!" I said and stepped toward them.

"Oh," she shrugged, "it's gone."

Bounty

Experienced gardeners will tell you that every year is different; one year may be great for tomatoes, or peppers, or squash, and in the same garden the same crop may struggle the next. Certainly, in my four short seasons, I have found that to be true. For me, this was the summer of tomatoes and butternut squash. I cannot complain about either. The tomatoes we have been eating and canning and fortunately the squash? 

Well, there's butternut chocolate chip ice cream on the menu tonight, and the other 20 will keep until fall nips a little harder at our door.

Aging Workforce

"Happy Friday!" a colleague greeted me as we walked in together. "Are you as wiped as I am?"

I nodded and made a confession. "I know how many more Fridays there are until the end of the year."

"Oooooh," she answered with sympathy, "that's pretty bad."

"It's not like me at all, " I agreed. "But, on the bright side," I continued, "I'm sure I'll forget before October!"

Ichi Ni San Hi Go

A young colleague and I sat with a parent in the library this afternoon waiting for a meeting to begin. The family was military and had recently moved back from Japan. We were there to be sure that the student was receiving the appropriate services after two years away from our district, but the meeting before ours was running late, and so we chatted with the mom about this and that. At one point, the subject of Japanese numbers came up, and my colleague quite capably counted to five. "I don't even know how I learned that," she told us humbly.

I did a quick calculation. "Maybe from watching Pokemon on TV?" I suggested.

She looked at me in exasperation. "That was a little after my time!" she said. But then her brow furrowed. "Well, maybe I did hear it when I was babysitting," she admitted.

Tighten Your Belts, Kids

Word yesterday that, here in the richest county in America, in addition to the continuing paper shortage in our school, the bus allocation for field trips has been cut in half and administration will no longer approve funds for extra buses. We have 17 buses for the whole year-- a generous calculation makes that about 1000 seats for a school of nearly 900. With the capital of the free world and all it has to offer right next door, we're funded for just one field trip per student per year.

These cuts seem drastic and fundamental. School without paper and buses? Could pencils and teachers' dirty looks be far behind?

Postcard from a Soulless Suburb

I've thought of my hometown in many different ways over the last 25 years since we adopted each other. Confusing, hilly, chilly, expensive, desirable, elitist, eclectic, friendly, kooky, and crowded come to mind, but "soulless suburb"?

Nope.

How long were you here, Senator?

The Other Side of the Story

I had a few errands to run this afternoon after school and so I found myself in the office supply store located in our school neighborhood. The parking lot was nearly full and as I walked in I recognized another shopper. Her sons are in 7th and 8th grade now and I taught them both. "I think the whole middle school is here!" she told me as we made our way to the entrance. 

I laughed at the hyperbole but she persisted. "No really. This is my second time here today and the store is full of school shoppers."

Sure enough, right as we entered I was greeted by one of my students. She waved her English binder and five dividers at me with glee. Truth to tell, there were several other familiar faces as well, including one of the employees who was a former student. 

I had only come for post-it notes and to exchange my Soda Stream carbonators, so it wasn't too long before I was in line. Behind me I could hear parents comparing notes about confusing school supply items, and I felt like a bit of an interloper. 

"I just don't under stand why you need both regular colored pencils and twistables," one mom said to her daughter.

I didn't understand either. "That's typical," another mom told her. "Last year we looked all over town for white erasers." She paused incredulously. "Pink ones evidently smear too much."

I just couldn't let that one go. "Those are really good erasers, though," I said.

They were not convinced.

Couldn't Drag Me Away

While I wouldn't say the weather was cool here today, it was much cooler, and so I took the opportunity to use vegetables from the garden to make a vegan chili for dinner. To the peppers, squash, potatoes, tomatoes, and sweet potatoes I grew I added onion, garlic, corn, beans, and barley. It was, for the most part, a New World dish made complete by a few Old World staples.

Years ago I went to an exhibition at the Smithsonian called Seeds of Change. It was marking, but not celebrating, the 500th anniversary of Columbus's exploration of the west, and as such it focused on the exchanges that inevitably occurred between Europe and the Americas. Even though at the time I was nearly 30 years old and pretty well-educated, the premise of the exhibition was completely new to me. I had never considered an Italy without tomatoes or an Ireland without potatoes. Of course, the atrocities committed to ensure a steady supply of sugar and tobacco were no less horrendous once put in historical context, but it did shed some light on the economic power of addiction.

Just as fascinating was the story of the horse. They became extinct in North America around the time that the wooly mammoth did, around 10,000 years ago. European, mostly Spanish, explorers brought horses with them. Escaped or abandoned animals thrived so well in the land that was once their home that soon there were vast herds of them roaming the American plains. But here's an interesting distinction: all of those horses were feral, not wild, because they were descended from domesticated animals.

There is no such thing as a wild horse.

The Witty Will Have Fun

I spent a fair amount of time at the picnic yesterday chatting up some of the new sixth graders. At one point I found myself seated in the shade next to Alondra. "I can't believe you're not running around in the sun," I teased her as she fanned herself.

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that sarcasm?" she asked.

When I was in "teacher school" a couple of decades ago, they warned us never to use sarcasm. We were sitting in desks lined up in rows facing the front of the room when our Foundations of Education instructor, a retired principal with 40 years of experience, told us that sarcasm would at best confuse and at worst humiliate our students. My friend, sitting behind me, whispered "They couldn't possibly understand it, could they?"

Personally, I have found most humor, even gentle sarcasm, to be a helpful tool in creating an engaging class room or even redirecting a student. The rule of thumb might be that as long as they feel in on the joke, the joke's not on them, and we can all laugh together.

So yesterday I looked at Alondra and with an exaggerated shrug shook my head and said, "No! I would never use sarcasm. Would you?"

She waved her hand dismissively and answered, "No! Not me!" Then she looked at me with a grin and asked, "See what I did there?"

Cool It Kids

We had our annual sixth grade picnic today. Traditionally held on the first Friday of the year to celebrate the successful completion of week one of middle school, it's quite an event. In the past, the new sixth graders have had about 90 minutes of recreation time and a lunch of grilled hot dogs, chips, and watermelon, but this year construction on our building put a crimp in our plan. We decided to shorten the time to an hour and just serve the watermelon.

I felt a little sad, but it was fine; as several veteran teachers pointed out to me, the kids don't know what they're missing, and the weather was really, really hot today, so less time in the sun was probably for the best. As I circulated through the groups of students playing and talking, I couldn't help but remember other picnics in other years. The group we had six years ago are seniors in high school now, and the day of their picnic was just as hot as today.

Back then the turf soccer field we have now was a crushed gravel pitch that had to be watered regularly to keep it playable. There were timed sprinklers all around the perimeter, and right at the end of the picnic they all came on. The students let out a collective cheer and flooded on to the field. The teachers let out a collective gasp and tried to wave them all away, but it was no use. In the end it was so hot it didn't matter-- everyone cooled off AND dried off by the time we had to go back inside, and as a group they were exhilarated.

I walked back in with a trio of girls, still chattering about the dousing. "That was awesome! Did you guys plan this special for us?" they asked.

I laughed and said nothing, because in a way? I wished we had.

Security Level Strong

Life in our contemporary culture can be full of aggravation, and coping successfully is all about how you deal with it. You can always minimize your grievances by comparing them to even worse things, or distract yourself by focusing on more pleasant things, or slog through annoyances with the attitude that they are relatively fleeting. I guess I personally mix and match these strategies, depending on how irritated I am. As a rule, I try my best not to lash out at other people when I am frustrated, but lately I have found a satisfying outlet for my ire. I simply allow my password to speak for me. My current favorite?  thisisbullshit.

It works for me.

In Loco Parentis-hood

Hey guys hope the kids are behaving and all is well, the text started.

Well, isn't that nice, I thought. Then, Hmm, maybe a little TOO nice.

Just wanted to check to see if I could have my friend from home visit and stay with us? I wanted to show him around, it continued.

Sure, I texted back. When?

Later tonight I think. He is driving over.

All righty then.

Surpassing Expectations

Today we did an activity that allowed the students to pair up a few times and share their ideas. As always, I instructed them to have a friendly conversation first. "Ask your partner how the first day of school has been," I suggested.

As usual, I participated, too, and so I got to talk to many kids and check in personally about how the day was going. Of course, they got to check in with me, too, and I gave them a straight answer. "I was a little nervous this morning," I started, "because, let's be honest, I don't know you guys." Here, most kids' eyes widened a bit. "But," I continued, looking around at all those industrious and engaged students, "it has been great! I think we're going to have a good year."

Nods, all around.

Seventy-Four Days Later

When one countdown ends, another one begins, but as the new school year starts, let's not count the days, let's make the days count.

Or something.

Crying's Not for Us

It seemed like such a good idea. On the last Sunday of a summer where the weather has been nothing short of fabulous, a trip to a not-so-far-away national park for a moderate hike to the largest waterfall in Maryland, which also happens to be in the same park where my mom went to summer camp 66 years ago?

It was such a no brainer that Josh got up early and Riley and Seiyoung drove in the opposite direction of their final destination so that we could all enjoy the outing together. We had sandwiches and dogs and we gleefully watched the car thermometer plunge from 93 to 91 to 87, 85, 83 as we traveled first north, and then up the mountain. It was only a little sticky as we headed into the woods and began our climb.

The tall trees kept it shady, and we hardly noticed the gathering clouds. The patter of drops on the leaves high above our heads was not in the least alarming; the canopy kept us mostly dry, but as we continued steadily on so did the rain, and soon we found ourselves stopped and huddled near the trunks of trees, trying to stay dry.

The trail was soon a wash, and we reluctantly decided to turn around. As impossible as it seemed, it poured ever harder as we made our way back to the car.  Now the saturated forest offered us no shelter and soon we were completely drenched ourselves, literally dripping.

In a you-can't-make-this-up twist, the rain let up the last hundred yards to the trail head, and we emerged from the woods into brilliant sunshine, wet, really wet, incredulously wet, but not unhappy in the least.

Let's Get this Party Started

Back when I started teaching, the pre-service week for teachers was only four days. We reported to school on the Monday before Labor Day, had a few meetings, worked in our classrooms, and went home Thursday afternoon for a four day weekend. After the intensity of preparing for the new year, waiting four more days seemed agonizing.  And so it continues to this day. Although Friday off is long gone, that nervous anticipation lingers, and all day long I've been restless and at loose ends.  In a few days the voices of children will illuminate my days, but for now everything seems drained of the bright summer cheer it radiated just last week. 

Mastery Objective

WHO:      I will
WHAT:    let go of all the frustrations of the day
DO:          by spending the evening with people I love
HOW:      and then sleeping soundly through the night.

New Kid in Town

He swaggered down the school hallway with a faux hawk and shades, confidently directing his sister to where she might find the answers she was seeking."Let's do this!"

There's talk on the street; it sounds so familiar

I long ago gave up trying to engineer which kids would and wouldn't be on me team at school. It's human nature, I think, to want to exercise control when it is possible, and there were always all sorts of brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, and nephews and nieces of all sorts of folks that I thought would or would not make for a better year.

Great expectations, everybody's watching you

Sometimes I was right and sometimes I was disappointed, and a few years ago I realized that perhaps it would be best if I left it all up to chance. So this year when the new students and their families came for our annual sixth grade open house there were definitely a few familiar faces I was a little sorry to see heading toward one of the other teams, but there were a lot of fresh faces I enjoyed meeting, too.

People you meet, they all seem to know you

 One was Leslie, a quiet girl who seemed understandably anxious about middle school. I did my best to put her at ease with a friendly smile and a few wise cracks, but it was her younger brother who was my best audience. "I love this place!" he gushed. "I'm in fourth grade, but I can't wait to come here!"

"Well, I can't wait til you get here!" I said.

"And I want you for my teacher," he told me.

I just might have to make an exception to that hands-off rule.

Johnny come lately, the new kid in town
Everybody loves you, so don't let them down