A is for Alphabiography, Again

Today is the last day of the challenge I issued to my students back at the end of April. It started out as twenty-six posts for the month of May, one for each letter of the alphabet, but we expanded it to numbers for the kids who wanted to continue posting every single day, so there ended up being 35 possible topics, and those of us who did them all are on our last post today.

I am very proud of my students for all the great writing they have done this month. Most of them really stepped up to the challenge. Last week as part of another assignment, one of the kids was interviewing me. "So, how did you come up with the alphabiographies?" he asked.

I explained that I had adapted other teachers' ideas that I'd read about on the internet, and I told him that one of my objectives was for the students to build writing fluency. He looked puzzled. "You know," I said, "the ability to write more easily-- longer, faster?"

"Ooooohh," he seemed surprised. "Because I've really noticed that in myself lately and was wondering how it happened."

Life Lesson: It's not rocket surgery: skills improve with practice.

1 is for Just One of Those Things

Every year since 2001, our sixth grade team has taken a trip in June to go dolphin watching. It's about three hours away, so we charter buses, spend a couple of hours at the beach, and then board a really big boat for a 2-hour cruise skirting the capes of Delaware in search of marine mammals. Next it's back on the bus, and a few hours later we're home. It's usually a nice day and a pleasant way to end the year. It also offers experiences that many of our students have never had: the beach, the boat, or both.

This year will be an exception to the tradition. Our school system has adopted a stricter set of guidelines for planning field trips, and the charter company we use could not produce the paper work we needed to have the trip approved. I don't want to judge either the new rules or the guy who owns the charter boat; I believe everyone involved wants what's right and what's safe-- it just didn't work out for the kids this year.

Life Lessons:

1) Better safe than sorry...
2) A person's word and a handshake ought to mean something.

6 is for 6000 Steps or So

Tomorrow we're walking to a local park for our annual water cleanliness and testing field trip. Because we have about 100 kids on the team, we're taking them in two groups. It's always a negotiation to decide which teachers will go and which will stay back on such a trip. Of course, the science teacher goes; it's her curriculum, but after that? It all depends on who's absent, who's healthy, who's willing, and whose turn it is.

This year, like last year, I'm present, healthy, and willing, and so I'm going both times. Lucky me! The walk is lovely, the weather is supposed to be gorgeous, and the activity is fun. Not only do I get to be outside all day, but I'll get a little exercise, too.

Life Lesson:

Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side,
Keep on the sunny side of life.
It will help us every day, it will brighten all the way,
If we keep on the sunny side of life. 
~Ada Blenkhorn

8 is for 823

That is the number of this post-- I've posted to my blog 823 consecutive days. Usually, I try to avoid writing about the number of times I've posted, even the milestones, because I've decided over the last couple of years that there are two types of blog posts that are crushingly boring: writing about how you don't know what to write and writing about how much you have written.

Don't get me wrong. I've definitely written several of each type, but I try to give those pieces either an alternate focus, an original spin, or both. I'm not saying I succeed at that, and in truth I've almost made peace with the fact that it's okay to post something I don't love. It's okay, because it means I'll write again tomorrow, and who knows? That one might be awesome.

Do you know what will really be a milestone for me? The day I stop caring about how many times I've posted in a row. Because then writing every day will not be a chore or a requirement, but rather just a thing I do.

Life Lesson: If you have to think about it, it's not a habit.

4 is for 40 Minutes on the Treadmill

I try to go to the gym regularly; in fact I was there today. Whenever I go, my routine is to spend about 40 or 45 minutes doing cardio, and then I lift weights. It can get boring, even with music or movies to distract me. One of the things I do in the first part of my workout is walk on the treadmill. It's not very strenuous, so I have two options if I want to kick it up a notch: go faster or go higher. In "real life" I love to hike, so my choice in that situation is to raise the incline, or to climb as I walk. One of the handy things about working out on a machine is the stat screen: it will tell you your speed, your distance, your calories, and also your elevation. When I walk, I like to imagine that I am climbing one of the mountains in Acadia National Park in Maine. I go there every summer to hike, and the rest of the year I read the trail maps like favorite poems or post cards from the old me to the now me. So on the treadmill I watch for every foot I climb: 284? Flying Mountain. 520? That's the Beehive. 681 is Acadia, and 839 is Beech. 1373 is Sargent, the second highest mountain on the island.

Well, OK,  I can't climb Sargent in 40 minutes... yet!

Life Lesson: Everything prepares you for something. Find out what!

7 is for Heads Up 7 Up

Did you ever play this game in school? The teacher chooses seven kids to begin, and the rest of the class puts their heads down (they are supposed to close their eyes, too) and one of their thumbs up. In fact, the teacher says, "Heads down, thumbs up!" to begin each round. The chosen seven roam the room; they must surreptitiously tap someone on the head and return to the front. Once tapped, your thumb goes down. When all seven kids are back in front, the teacher asks the seven who were tapped to stand. Now they must guess who tapped them, and if they are correct, they take the tapper's place in the next round.

Okay:

What...
is...
the...
point...
of...
THAT...
game!?

I ask both as a teacher and a former kid.

Here are my kid questions first: Doesn't it seem like the teacher always picks her favorites to begin? Then, those kids usually just pick their friends, right? Seriously, some kids never get to play.  Next, people cheat and peek at the shoes going by to try and figure out who tapped them, don't they? Finally, even if someone guesses right, the tapper can always lie-- nobody's keeping track. What's up with that?

Here is my teacher question about this game: What is the objective here? (It can be very loose, I don't care, just give me a hint what you were thinking.) Why do we play this game?

Life Lesson: Question authority.

5 is for 5th Grade

My fifth grade teacher's name was Mrs. Nallin. I liked her well enough, mostly because she liked me, I think. She was pretty old then, older than I am now, with teased-up bleached-blond hair and reading glasses that made her eyes look huge. You could see her mouth wrinkles clearly when she frowned. She was old school, very stern and very strict, and she definitely had her favorites. Not surprisingly, she seemed to favor the kids who did their homework and followed her directions. Let me tell you, friends, that was definitely me.

Life was pretty easy in her class if she liked you; there was a lot of praise and positivity. The same could not be said for the other kids. Oh, I'm sure there was a middle ground between her pets and her peeves somewhere, but I have no idea who was in it. I do know the person who was her least favorite that year, though. It was Eddie Bubble-head. Well, that's what she called him. His real name was Eddie something else with a B.  He was always in trouble for something, but as far as I can remember his number one crime was not knowing his multiplication tables.

Mrs. Nallin had a wheel posted on the closet door. It was divided into twelve segments, with the numbers 1-12 written in each. In the center was a circle, and next to the wheel was an envelope with twelve numbered disks. There was also a pointer. The activity varied. At times Mrs. Nallin would place a number in the center of the wheel and as a class we would stand and recite the multiplication fact as she wielded the pointer like a sword. Faster and faster we would go, sometimes in numerical order and other times at random, spewing products in unison, beautiful in our precision.

Other times it was an individual trial, and alone you stood, pointer in hand, delivering the multiplication facts to the class. One was a joke; two? A breeze. Three was a bit harder, and four could be tricky. Five was an oasis-- who didn't know those? Six, seven, eight, and nine were respectably tough. Ten was ridiculously easy, and eleven and twelve were for the pros.

I was good at it. Eddie was not.

Could that have been the difference between being the golden girl and being the bad boy?

Yep. Pretty sure it was.

Last I heard, Eddie was a very successful businessman.

Life Lesson: Everyone has strengths and weaknesses. It's what you do with them that counts.