The Good Old Days

I had a meeting today with a number of my language arts colleagues. The focus of the group is how to best meet the needs of ADHD students in a general ed classroom, and the chapter for today was about classroom management. The text we are using is organized by chapter and strategy, and so our discussion usually goes from the theory expressed in the book to our own observations and experience.

Our group consists of ten teachers who range in tenure from 30 to 3 years. Inevitably our conversation turns to how things have changed over the years: parenting, the economy, technology all are popular scapegoats for the conditions in our classroom that challenge us. As professionals, we acknowledge the line between things we can change and things we cannot, but there is palpable frustration in every session.

Today, I asked others in the group how they thought students had changed over the course of their careers, but I didn't really hear any specifics that I could confirm. As weird as it seems to me sometimes, I've been teaching close to 20 years, and sure, some years are harder than others, but can I chalk it up to some sweeping social change that has transformed the children we teach?

Not so far.

Observed With Skepticism

There was a sluggish, almost syrupy quality to the day today. How quiet everyone was, even in the hallway between classes, and how subdued, once they remembered where they sat and what we do the first of every week.

Oh, sure, some key players were absent, and other students were definitely under the weather, their hoarseness and sniffles clearly affecting their behavior. And, some children were definitely exhausted-- however they spent the last 10 days still seemed to be taking a toll, but the rest?

Hmmmm.

Did I detect a wee, hopeful sign? Could it have been a modicum of maturity, that inevitable growth we see in all eleven-year-olds as they live and learn throughout the year? (Which, by the way,  is nearly 10 percent of their whole lives and practically 25 percent of their remembered lives.) Could it?

Maybe.

Never Mind

Perhaps it is my hearing, or perhaps all of my senses are going, but whatever the situation might be, I think I'm going to enjoy the decline. Right on the heels of the NFL's miraculous concussion suits, today I heard how concerned many Iowans are about foreign policy. No stereotyper of heartlanders am I, so that fact itself did not surprise me, but I did note the odd, single syllable pronunciation of the word "foreign": it sounded almost like "farn" the way they said it.

I listened even more carefully about the particularly high interest in rural Iowa on these policies and the impact they might have on local jobs and prosperity, and even though it was a bit of a stretch, I was right there with them even when they started talking crop subsidies, until it occurred to me that maybe...

Yup. It was farm policy.

Speed Celebrating

On December 23 I braved the crowds of folks doing their holiday food shopping to pick up a few last minute items of my own at the grocery. One corner of the store was much quieter than the rest-- not many people were shopping for household cleaners and paper towels that day. I did a double-take, though, at the display right next to that aisle-- it was full of Valentines Day candy, cards, and gifts.

Who can really be surprised at such early marketing? It wasn't that long ago that the Christmas stuff was peeking out from behind the Halloween decor, which was itself recently just beyond the back-to-school displays in... July.

Despite the rapid-transit commercialization of holidays, I don't object to looking ahead, and anticipation is one of my favorite pleasures. In fact, all those holiday catalogs that were filling up my mailbox are already giving way to seed catalogs. I can't wait to sit down and go through a few of them, because spring must be hiding around here somewhere.

Ringing Out the...

Raccoon!

I just had a close encounter with Rocky Ring-tail in the trash enclosure of our complex. He was fearless, clambering along the closed cans to get to the one that was too full to shut tightly. When I tossed a cardboard box his way, he simply dodged it and kept on coming. "Really?" I said, looking him right in the mask. "Really?" I repeated when he ignored me and tore into the top bag.

He wished me no harm; I could tell. We parted with no ill will between us-- he, gorging on garbage, and I, relieved I hadn't run into a rat.

Concussion Suits May Be Test for Football

I saw this headline on the NYTimes website this morning and wondered just what these suits might look like and how they could possibly protect players from those prevalent football injuries. I studied the accompanying photo for clues, but they looked like the same old uniforms to me. It wasn't until I read the thumbnail that I realized they were referring to law suits.

Duh!

Slow News Week

We listened to a lot of news radio on the road trip home from Buffalo today. (Attention! New record: 7 hours flat!). It was mostly NPR, but there were some extremely right wing call-ins scattered here and there. Even though they call it "news", there really wasn't a whole lot new, so I tried to amuse myself by processing the information in novel ways.

Along the way, I decided that Romney should choose Santorum as a running mate, (Okay, we were driving through Pennsylvania, but you have to admit it's a shrewd pairing), and also that people with British accents shouldn't question President Obama's citizenship, especially in first person plural as in, "He's not qualified to be our president... We should arrest him for treason." It just doesn't sound convincing.

As the trip wore on, though, I started noticing more and more misspoken idioms. For example, some people feel that the voters in Iowa often skewer the national primary results, and that the diplomats trying to repair the U.S.'s relationship with Pakistan have a tough road to hoe.

Agreed, especially if it's paid with good intentions.

I'm so glad to be home!