Grass Roots

Time flies!

For six years my students have participated in National Poem in your Pocket Day, sponsored by the American Academy of Poets on one day each April, which also happens to be National Poetry Month. The idea is simple: find a poem that speaks to you, and carry a copy in your pocket to share on this day.

If Twitter is any indication, the event might be gaining traction. New York City has been sponsoring their own version for 11 years, and other locales have joined in, but today there were lots of pictures and tweets of poems from participants all over the country.

Even though all my students were well prepared to share some verse today, and I have used morning announcements and other more personal persuasion to raise the awareness of our school over the last five years, I realized a little while ago that I have not been the evangelist I could be. I mentioned it to my mom, who lives in Minnesota, and she did not know what I was talking about.

Next year? I'm going to fix that. Look out Twin Cities, Atlanta, Buffalo, Miami, Charlottesville, Amherst(?), Hershey, and where ever you might be, Bill. Poem in your Pocket Day is coming your way!

Bird on Bird

Out with my dog this evening, a sudden movement in the still mostly-bare branches over my head drew my attention. A solitary crow perched in a low cleft of a locust, solid black against spring green and gray sky. A small nest spiraled compactly in the tree fork at the bird's feet, and before I could look away, its head darted forward. I gasped when it emerged with a sky blue egg in its obsidian beak. Unremorseful, or merely unaware, the crow took wing and was quickly out of sight.

Busted

In the middle of a standardized reading test, a student began to wave her test booklet around wildly. I called her over to my desk. "What are you doing?" I whispered. It seemed like a natural question.

"Nothing?" she answered.

"What was all the--" here I gestured, imitating her unusual actions.

"Nothing?" she repeated evasively, but I gave her that stern teacher-look I've been perfecting for the last twenty years and she spilled it.

"Someone was trying to take my picture," she nodded her head slightly in the direction of the table next to hers, where a student already finished with the test was "reading" on her iPod. Electronic devices are not allowed in the classroom or during school hours except when used for school-related activities, like reading.

I had been circulating throughout the room as the test progressed, and I had checked the screen on this particular iPod several times. Now, I called its owner over and traded her the device for a hard copy of the book she was reading.

"Why?" she wanted to know.

"We'll discuss it at the end of class," I told her, and we did, when the bell rang not too much later.

"I was reading! I swear!" she told me as the rest of the class filed out the door. "Please let me have my iPod back."

Just then the gadget in my hand buzzed with an Instagram alert-- someone had "liked" a picture that had been posted a few minutes before. A swipe of the finger revealed the incriminating snap shot of the test-waving student from the next table.

And the friend who liked it?

The test waver herself.

Life Lessons

Today my reading class was well-entertained by reading Jack Gantos's short memoir "The Follower," (Click on the link and scroll down for the full text-- it's totally worth it.)

The writing in this tale of Gantos's youthful mishaps at the hands of the delinquent Pagoda brothers who lived next store is vivid- full of figurative language- and hilarious.

Maybe it's predictable that as I am a middle-aged lady his mom is my favorite character in the story. It's not for the reasons you might think, though.  I love her anti-nurturing. Here are her words as she warns her son away from the dangerous antics of the Pagodas:

"You are a follower, not a leader," she said bluntly. "You are putty in the wrong hands. Don't get me wrong. You're a nice kid, but you are most definitely a follower." 

That kind of sums up her character, but it's later, after Jack dislocates his shoulder and tries to hide it when she really wins my heart.

She grabbed my arm and pulled on it like it was the starter rope on a lawnmower engine. Something deep inside my shoulder went Pop!
 
"Arghhh," I sighed. The relief from the pain was heavenly.

"You are as dumb as a post," my mother said. "I'm warning you—don't play with that kid! He'll lead you to your death."

After reading today, my students debated the themes of the story and kicked around possible life lessons. "How about YOLO?" suggested one. "You only live once?"

"How about DODO?" answered one of her classmates. "Dummies only die once!"

That seems about right.

A Job Well Done

I believe there is room for expertise and even artistry in any occupation. Today at the grocery store, the young man who bagged my groceries did the finest job on that particular task that I've ever seen.

I sighed when I emptied my cart and placed the two reusable bags on the belt. I just knew there was no way everything would fit. As the cashier scanned, and I swiped my card and punched in the PIN, the bagger organized and stacked the items as they came his way. Keeping watch on the things at the back of the line, he didn't actually place anything in the bags until the order was about two-thirds rung, but when he did? It all came together like the last few pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Everything fit perfectly in the two bags, and they were also balanced and square. They were waiting in my cart before I received my receipt and that Ballanchine of bagging, that Picasso of packing, was off to another line to ply his artistry there.

Unless You Know Something I Don't

The phone rang this morning, and our talking caller ID announced that it was "mary-land" calling.

"I wonder what the state of Maryland wants with us," I joked as I picked it up and answered with a cheery "Hello?"

"Hi Grandma!" the voice on the other end was equally upbeat.

"I'm sorry, you have the wrong number," I told him.

There was a brief pause. "Are you sure?"

THINK Before You Speak

Middle school, middle school, oh the joys of middle school...

Today in one of my classes, one student taunted another by stating that a particular body part of his was only one centimeter long. Props to him for using the metric system, especially since his remark came along with a little thumb and forefinger gesture indicating the estimated length, but it was still inappropriate. The other student did not react well, and so both boys found themselves in a conversation with me, the counselor, and the assistant principal.

Once the discipline/consequence part of the meeting was over, the therapeutic pep talk part began. We have a great counselor who also happens to be a good friend of mine. Recently, she introduced the acronym "THINK" to the students to guide them in evaluating their comments both online and face to face. To the student who had made the disparaging remark she asked, rhetorically, if what he said was

True,
Helpful,
Inspiring,
Necessary, or
Kind.

Still a bit upset and angry, he nodded slightly but shrugged noncommittally, and so she turned to the other student.

"You don't have to take those kind of comments from anyone," she told him. "You can ask an adult for help if someone says something like that to you." She paused and looked at him; he nodded.

"Was what he said kind?" she asked, working backwards on the list.

He shook his head.

"No," she said, in agreement.

"Was it necessary? No," she continued. "Was it inspiring? No." She was on a roll. "Was it helpful? No. Was it true? No."

"How do you know?" interrupted the other kid.