Members Only

In theory, "homework club" seems like a splendid idea. Teachers volunteer ten afternoons a year to supervise an after school study hall for any student on the team who wants to come. As a result, every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday we can offer all the supplies and know-how it takes to assist any willing scholar in getting a good head start on homework.

They key word, however, is "willing." After a full day of schooling, it's tough for most kids to sit for another hour. Even the snack we provide can't get rid of the ants in their pants. Because many parents insist that their kids attend, half of these jittery kids are not there by choice anyhow.

As such, homework club can become an epic struggle. Take today, for example, when the three boys I was sitting with completed a combined total of 5 questions in the hour we had. You can be sure I used all the tricks and tools I had to get that much from them, but the time of day and the number of kids in the room was too distracting for them, and in the end we were all frustrated.

It wasn't without its lighter side, though. "Look!" one of the boys told me. "I finished all this!" He brandished a work sheet under my nose.

"When did you do that?" I asked him.

"Now!" he answered triumphantly. "And you said I wasn't working."

"Well," I said taking a closer look, "it seems like you kind of rushed through this."

"Nah uh," he said with a pout. "I read every one of those."

"Really? Then how come you answered True or False to all these questions? Your choices were A, B, and C!"

He gave me a big shrug and an embarrassed grin. "Oops."

Room of Requirement

There has been a fair amount of shenanigans in Tolerance Club in the last few weeks. Don't misunderstand me; it's not that I don't appreciate the kids who voluntarily show up for an hour after school each Monday, and it's not that I don't know that kids have a lot of pent-up energy after seven solid hours of schooling. Even so, the behavior of the group has become, well, intolerable.

It was with this in mind that we adult sponsors planned to spend the first half of our meeting today having the students re-establish group "norms."

(Actually, I would have preferred to call them "rules" or even "agreements," because the term "norm" brings with it a lot of freight, especially in respect to the imposition of questionable business models on education-- I'm talking to you PLCs. Take for example this definition: Norms keep a group functioning as a system instead of a collection of individuals. Um. Does anyone else recognize that as a line from a dystopian novel? No? Well it should be.)

But I digress. So, we had the students brainstorm a list of rules that they could agree to follow when they attended Tolerance Club. The first one was to treat each other with respect, and when pressed, they defined that as sharing supplies and listening when others spoke. The list went on, and seemed pretty comprehensive until someone wanted to add "Have fun" for number eleven.

A hand shot up. "But what if we can't have fun and follow these rules?"

"I don't know. Is having fun more important than being respectful?" I countered.

"Maybe," he shrugged mischievously.

"Erase having fun then," I said, and we did.

"Wait," another student interjected. "You don't want us to have fun?" she asked with more than a hint of indignation.

"Oh, we want you to have fun," I told her, "It's just not required."

Surprise Me

It's been a kind of a movie-book weekend: in addition to a Harry Potter marathon on TV, I've seen both Catching Fire and The Book Thief, two movies I was looking forward to after having read the books.

But while Potter rarely disappoints, the other two were a bit of a let down. Describing them as predictable seems a little unfair, since I had read the books, but I think that's the key. If you know the plot, then the movie has to deliver something that adds to the book. It might be the performances, the sets, or the special effects (points to the Harry Potter series for all of those), but there has to be something, otherwise what's the point?

Slip-slidin

Our Thanksgiving holiday is nearly over. A week ago we were gathering for the first meal of the holidays and a week from now, We'll be decorating our Christmas tree. When I was a child, time was like an endless sidewalk stretching between right now, half an hour, and way too long to imagine, but now it's more like wide stepping stones across a slow flowing river; we hop from one to the next to the next. To stop often means no more than to simply look back, amazed at how quickly we have progressed, how far we have come.

The Food Wheel

If Thanksgiving is orange and gold and brown, full of rich, traditional foods comforting and satisfying in their earthiness, then for our family, the next day is not Black Friday but rather Red Friday. For dinner on that day, we always have pasta with marinara and sausage, along with a salad with plenty of lemon and vinegar. It is a meal as acidic and tangy as Thanksgiving is warm and redolent, a complimentary feast of sorts-- especially when you put out those leftover desserts.

More than One Way to Roast a Bird

This year for Thanksgiving, my brother did an excellent job roasting the turkey-- mahogany brown and crisp on the outside, inside it was moist and delicious, and as we sat around the table after enjoying our feast, our conversation turned to other birds and other cooking methods. A classic story in our family is about the time my mom called from work to ask me to start dinner.

A teenager, I was less than enthusiastic about the request. "What do I have to do?" I answered.

My mother told me there was a whole chicken and a package of drumsticks. "Just tie the legs together and put it all in the oven at 350," she said.

"Why do I have to tie the legs together?" I asked her.

"So they don't come apart when they're cooking," she said.

"What difference does that make?" I wondered. "How do I do it?"

"You've seen me do it all the time," she answered, slightly exasperated, perhaps a little annoyed. "Just get some string and do it."

We hung up, but I was still confused. I could not ever recall her tying chicken legs together, but dutifully, I did as I was told, and when my mother got home from work she found a whole chicken and a chain of six neatly bound drumsticks roasting in the oven.

411: How Can I Help You?

Every classroom in our building has a system-issued, land-line phone somewhere in it. Technically, the students are not supposed to have their mobile phones with them, but realistically? The requests to use our classroom phones become fewer and fewer with passing time.

Even so, we teachers make use of them, particularly to call the parents of students when we are concerned. Fortunately, we have access to the parents' numbers, because believe it or not, most kids don't know them, and how could they? To them their parents are just another entry on their contact list. Personally, I think that is irresponsible, but I digress.

Often times, the students themselves are present during these teacher-initiated conversations, and it is rare that the parents don't ask to speak to their sons and daughters personally before ending the call.

That's what was happening the other day in one of my colleague's rooms. She handed a student the phone, and when he had heard what his mom had to say, he turned to his teacher in confusion, holding the handset in front of him.

"How do I turn this thing off?" he asked.

She took it from his hand and hung it up.