Post History

The history teacher on my team retired at the end of March. A mid-year departure is unusual and can be disruptive, but we and the kids have almost reestablished what seems like a regular routine without our Ms. C. Even so, her name came up in my class today.

"Oh, Ms. C.," I sighed dramatically to indicate how much I missed her still.

"Yeah," one smart aleck kid replied, "you can tell us how you really feel."

I put on a hurt face. "No," I said, "I do miss her. In fact, Ms. C. just texted me the other day--"

"Wait!" another student interrupted. "Ms. C. Knows how to text????"

Conspiracy

There comes a halcyon time in every school year when it seems that everyone, students and teachers alike, is at their best-- firing on all cylinders, on a streak, in the groove, click click clicking along, whatever, but that time is not this.

Close to June all sorts of fatigue set in. All those monthly Monday holidays and week-long breaks are things of the past, and high stakes testing is where it's at. Everyone's a short timer, and If you're a kid, it seems like once your "big" test is over, it's hard to believe that there could possibly be anything important left to do, and yet there we are for a month or more, day after day, with valuable lessons and assignments, all of which are expected to be completed. Really.

While presenting a particular challenge to teachers, such circumstances also seem to take a toll on the morale and judgment of some sixth graders. Why just today in our voluntary after-school study hall, the teacher in charge uncovered a conspiracy. Several students tried to distract her with requests for help so that another kid could steal an extra snack.

Their integrity for a bag of cheese crackers seemed like a good trade. 28 days to go.

Heard in Sixth Grade

First student: I always thought avalanche was a vegetable... something related to an avocado, maybe?

Second student: Avocado? Ewwwww!

Ooh! Ooh! I Know This One

Tonight in the grocery store I was approached by a woman of perhaps my age or a little bit older. We were in the international food section and she held a bottle of soy sauce in her hand. "Excuse me," she said with a slight accent, "do you know what kelp is?"

Those who know me know that I love questions I know the answer to. "It's seaweed!" I told her as if I were a contestant on a game show. 

She seemed to interpret my enthusiasm as expertise, and she handed me the bottle, pointing to the tiny print that listed the ingredients. "I'm vegetarian," she explained. "Is there any fish or pig skin in there?"

The pig skin threw me off a bit, but I was game to answer the second round questions. Unfortunately, when I looked down, I  found I couldn't read the bottle. No matter. "Can I borrow your glasses?" I asked, pointing to the reading specs on her nose.

We laughed, and then she handed them to me, because she wanted to know, and I took them, because I wanted to tell her.

Confused Face

Twice today I heard a student react to mildly negative news in the following way, "Awww, sad face."

The exchanges went like this:

Me: Andrew move your seat.

Andrew: Awww, sad face.

And later,

Me: we'll probably show that movie next year.

Student: I won't be here next year. Awww, sad face.

What is up with that?

Dystopian Non-fiction

If you are familiar with adolescent literature at all, then you know that dystopian fiction is just as hot as vampires and all their other paranormal kin. The psychology behind both of these trends has been well-explored: most have a classic, if exaggerated, individual against society conflict that helps clarify what their adolescent readers are likely facing in their own development. There are some analysts, though, that consider these books as warnings.

Tonight on Sixty Minutes I saw a segment on a North Korean prison camp. I had heard of the book, Escape from Camp 14, before. Written by Washington Post reporter Blaine Hardin, it tells the tale of Shin In Geun, a man who was born in the eponymous prison camp and who, against all odds, escaped at the age of 23. Still, I had never stopped to consider what such a life would really be like. 

Growing up in that camp, Shin had no concept of any other world. Everything that any prisoner had came from the guards; there was never any opportunity for one person to give something to another. Love was unheard of, and to this day, Shin admits it is not an emotion he understands. He was conceived as the result of a reward his parents earned. By working hard, they were allowed to be "married" Ina union arranged by the camp administration. Their relationship did not include cohabitation or even raising their children together, however.

In the camp hunger was so pervasive that the prisoners routinely ate insects and rats. Public executions were common, and Shin considered them a welcome break in his routine. Children born in the camp had no idea that the earth was round, much less what else the world had to offer beyond the electrified fence.

And the tale goes on, as riveting and horrifying as any dystopian novel I have ever read. Except it's not fiction. So what do we do with that?

Validation

"How do you like to eat your kimchi?" The woman at the farmer's market asked as she dished up my purchase.

"Lately, I've been making a kimchi fried rice with a fried egg on top," I told her.

"That's my favorite way to have it, too," she smiled and handed me my bag.

Phew!