Things Are Tough on Saturn, Too

Kids have such imaginations... today I read a story by one of my students which took place on the rings of Saturn. The main character's father lost his job, and even though her mother was still working, her income wasn't enough to pay all the bills, and the family was afraid they would lose their home. So the parents sat the kids down and told them that they were going to have to move. How about Earth? the kids asked. They had been there on vacation and thought it was nice. No, that planet's too expensive, their folks said. They were going to have to move to the planet Juvy, way out of the solar system. That was the only place they could afford. The kids were understandably upset about losing their home, their school, and their friends. The main character went for a walk on the beach to think things through, and only then did she realize how beautiful this place was and how much she would miss it. As she was walking, she found a bottle that happened to contain a genie, but since she damaged the bottle trying to get it open, she only got a single wish. She thought long and hard about all she wanted, but in the end, she wished for both her parents to have jobs they liked where ever they moved, and she knew that they would be happy as long as they were together.

It was a pretty heart-wrenching tale, and considering the author is eleven, you have to wonder where she gets her material.

Abracadabra

My students are taking a closer look at setting in their independent reading in order to apply some of what they notice to the fiction pieces they are writing and revising. The task they had today was deceptively simple... find a rich description of a setting in your book and copy it. Then they had to answer two questions in their small group discussion: Why is that setting important to the book? and Why did the author choose to describe it in those words?

To help them, we did a fishbowl in each class. Volunteers read and discussed the passages that they had selected, and I participated in their conversations, too. I did not expect how this activity would give my English major skills their chance to shine. One student read a description of a house whose hue was "eggish" when the sun shone on it. "Hmm," I wondered out loud. "Why eggish?"

"Um... It's probably white or yellow?" The kid looked at me with some concern. Had I lost my sense of the obvious?

"Yeah, but what happens inside an egg?"

His eyes widened. "Ooohhh-- something grows," he answered, "something hatches!"

"Does that fit in with the book at all?" I asked, and away he went with a really good analysis of that egg symbol.

This went on all day. Me: "Why does he describe the river like a snake?"

Kid: "Because it's twisty?"

Me: "What happens next in the book?"

Kid: "She's betrayed by her friends."

Me: "What do you think of when you think of a snake?"

Astonished Kid: "OOOhhh!"

And so on... Why is she walking through a gathering storm? Why is that golden? Why is that dirty? You get the picture.

Fun for me? Oh yeah. But more importantly, my students are right on the cognitive verge of getting symbolism, and they thought this stuff was pure magic. Which, of course, as any true English major knows, it is.

Hey Daylight Savings Time I Still Hate You

Listen, I did my best to give the curtailing of my weekend and the need to rise an hour earlier in the pitch black a fair shake. I approached it with hardly a whimper. I prudently went to bed early not just last night, but Saturday night, too. I adjusted my clocks and my schedule to accommodate the loss of an hour, stayed positive all day, maybe this won't be so bad, I told myself, maybe I'm finally learning to cope successfully with the inevitable, maybe I won't need to resent everyone who makes this happen, maybe, maybe, blah, blah, blah, today still sucked!  And I doubt tomorrow is going to be any better.

A Walk in the Rain

Rather than allow the soggy weather to keep us prisoners, we decided to embrace the dampness and take the dog for a walk on the river. When we arrived at the park, it was closed due to flooding, and so we headed upstream to the falls-- with the river so high, we were guaranteed some dramatic scenery. To our disappointment, the national park was also closed because of dangerous water levels.

There was one more place to walk on the way home, and we pulled into the parking lot looking apprehensively around for any Trail Closed signs, but the coast was clear. The air was damp, but there was not a drop of rain as we followed the run toward the small falls at its confluence with the river. There was plenty of mud, but we were prepared for that, and the stream was swollen but not impassable, even in the two places where you have to hop across on round pavers set as stepping stones.

The trail we took led us down to the river and then back up to the ridge and through the woods. No one else was around this late in the wet afternoon, but it was that time of day when animals actively prepare for the night, and the forest was full of bright blue flashes in the gloom. We must have seen twenty bluebirds or more darting from branch to branch, high to low, and then back to the bare canopy so far above our heads, leaving that proverbial happiness behind.

What Time May Teach

When I was a boy of fourteen my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one I was astounded at how much the old man learned in seven years. –Mark Twain

I confess that when I was 21, and even 24, I still thought my father was hard to have around. Twenty-three years ago tonight I stood by his bedside as he drew his last breath, and these days I wonder how much the old man might have learned had he been able to stick around.

Getting the 4-1-1

Today my students took a diagnostic test that is designed to show their strengths and weaknesses in reading and writing. Our state standardized test is only a couple of months away, and I was feeling some heat. Not about the real test, mind you, but about administering this practice exam. The reading specialist in the building really wanted me to do it, and so finally I just caved.

The test itself is on online thing, and I already had the lap tops reserved for some other activities, so I figured I could snag an extra day with the computers and then just casually slide this 40 question diagnostic onto our to-do list...

Oh the disbelief and outrage my students expressed at me, a workshop-committed reading and writing teacher, requiring such an inside-the-box task of them. "How will this make us better writers?" one asked, echoing my guiding question for the year.

Touché, I thought, but then answered him. "It won't," I said. "It will just show us what kind of readers and writers you are. It's what we do with that information that might help you."

He was mollified, but I really wasn't. In any event, they took the test, and most of them did fine. I was amused at some of their questions, though. One kid raised his hand about halfway through. "How am I supposed to answer this?" he wanted to know. "It's an opinion question! It says What do you think would be the best way to end this passage?" He scoffed. "You could end it lots of ways!"

Before he got any further worked up about his right as an author to finish his piece any way he saw fit, I tried to quiet him. "But which of those answers would be the best ending?" I asked him.

"Oh," he tsked. "What a dumb question. Like anyone's going to give you that choice."

Some Things Never Change

It's always interesting to be present when former students meet current members of my class. It most often happens for me at swim meets. In between their events, sixth, seventh and eighth graders have the chance to compare notes about what it was like to have me as their teacher. I don't mean to be egotistical, these conversations are fleeting, and typically go something like, "Oh my god! She made you do that, too?" But they are often affectionate and even a little nostalgic, too. (I think they appreciate that I cheer for their swimming.) It's warm fuzzies all around.

This year they have a high school senior, who was also in my class in sixth grade, helping to coach the team, and so when I arrived at the first meet of the season this afternoon, I was pleased to have a chance to catch up with her. As we stood next to the pool chatting, a group of middle school kids gathered around us, eager to join our conversation. "You were on the Dolphins, too?" one asked her.

She rolled her eyes and made a sour face. "Don't remind me," she said, "sixth grade was horrible!" Their eyes widened, and I'm sure mine did too, although I knew exactly what she was talking about. She turned to me. "Do you even remember how many times you had to meet with my parents?"

I nodded.

"What did you do?" one of the younger kids asked.

"Nothing," I said, "she was bullied."

"A lot of kids were mean to me," she confirmed.

"What did they say to you?" a seventh grade girl wanted to know, but just then a cheer went up, and the events of the swim meet redirected our attention.

We never returned to the conversation, and in a way, I was relieved. The older girl had been a smart and serious child, both an engaged and engaging student, but also somewhat of a tomboy, and she had been harassed mercilessly throughout middle school about her sexuality. "How would you like to be surrounded by a group of girls in the locker room singing Ring Around the Lesbian?" she had asked me once.

Four years later, the pain of middle school is still fresh for her. I have to think that part of the problem is the way we approach sexuality for kids that age. "Gay" is one of the most common middle school epithets, and while we don't tolerate its use, we allow it to be a slur. By comparison, we condone and even guide students as they experiment socially with non-sexual heterosexual activity. It's not considered unusual at all for boys and girls  to "like" each other, even in sixth grade, but any conversation of supporting kids who may be gay or bisexual usually meets opposition from adults who believe that they are too young to be "that." Unfortunately, the end result is that we send the message that there's something wrong with those kids, both to them and to their peers.