Corrective Vision

I'm an inveterate NPR listener, but on our way to the movies this afternoon I put on a popular music station for a change. It wasn't too long before the best hits of the 80s gave way to the commercials of today. "Listen to this ad!" Heidi said with irritation. " It makes me really mad every time I hear it." (She is more eclectic in her radio taste than I.)

A woman was telling how relieved she was to be able to take her sick child to the hospital without delay then a man explained how, as a firefighter, he needed to be able to barge into burning buildings without worrying about extraneous things. Next a woman said how pleased she was to spend a carefree week at the beach, and a man told us how he liked being ready to play sports, any sports, without restriction.

As I listened, I was mystified. What was this product they were all hawking? I really couldn't say.

Turns out, it was laser surgery to correct myopia that freed all this people to save lives and enjoy their own. "Do you know why I hate it?" Heidi demanded when it was over.

Because it's stupid and confusing didn't seem like the right answer. I shook my head.

"Because the women are only concerned with their children, but the men are saving lives and having fun. That infuriates me!"

That's a very good point! The content of that 30 second spot reveals an essential division in how the general public conceptualizes the difference in women and men.

And it's also a really dumb commercial.

It Could Be a Long Year

Last May I wrote about the continuing perils of my desk calendar. Just the other day the first blotter of 2014 went blotto. It happened when a student leaned way in to tell me how he really shouldn't have to do the class assignment when he was in the middle of a really good part of his book.

Perhaps if I was a bit more sympathetic, my 13-day-old desk calendar would still be usable. As it was? "What was that water even doing there?" he huffed before stomping away to do his classwork.

Keep Your Friends Close, but...

well, you know the rest.

I spent today in the first of three all-day sessions dedicated to an educational "protocol" that its purveyors claim will boost the achievement of English language learners. Sounds promising, right? And this program is one that is being embraced by our system, which is why they were more than willing to pay for subs and provide lunch three times for 25 teachers. To be honest, the day was not unpleasant; there were a few colleagues there I enjoy spending time with, and it's always nice to have a little time and distance from the class room to consider my practice.

But although I voluntarily chose to participate, it was with an equal mixture of skepticism and open-mindedness that I set out this morning. Frankly, I wanted to know what this was all about so I could more knowledgeably criticize it, particularly if it was the racket I suspected it to be.

Because this particular program is peddled by the largest education company in the world, the very same one who also sells not only the high-stakes tests that most students take, but also their text books and test prep and remediation materials. The one who today, according to their press release, joined President and Mrs. Obama, Secretary of Education Arne Duncan, and leaders from across higher education to share best practices and explore additional ways to support more low-income students in achieving college readiness and success. For them, educational crisis is just business.

Maybe the president, like me, is a fan of The Godfather, and that's why this company was at his summit. Or maybe this is just where we have to grab him by the ears, kiss him, and say, "You broke my heart, Fredo."

Serendipity

When my phone rang yesterday afternoon a colleague was on the other end of the line. "I knew you'd still be here," she started. "Can you tell me how to find the mini-grant application?"

Our school is fortunate enough to have a PTA which is willing to fund teachers' discretionary expenses if we fill out a simple application explaining how those expenditures will benefit our students.

I told her where it was the last time I checked, which was a few years ago. She thanked me, and after we hung up, I clicked through a few links to double check my advice. Sure enough, there it was, but it was a little outdated since our former principal's signature was still required before submission.

It was just last week when one of my students asked me about my annual writing challenge. It's a hundred words a day for a hundred days in a row, and she'd heard about it from her brother. "Are we going to get to do that?" she asked.

"You bet!" I said, and assured all the other students that they would know all about it before the March 1 start date.

Looking at that grant application reminded me that I have been meaning to get a little underwriting for the prizes for the last couple of years. As the challenge has gained in popularity, so have my out of pocket expenses.

Without a second thought, I downloaded the word document, changed the principal's name, and composed four paragraphs explaining the nuts and bolts and objective of my challenge. Just as I finished, the director of guidance came into my room to return something she'd borrowed. "Susan, do we still do PTA mini-grants?" I asked her, thinking about the outdated form.

"Yep," she assured me.

"Good!" I answered with relief, "because I just wrote one."

"Really?" she said, "There's a PTA meeting tonight. I can present it if you want."

I couldn't believe my luck as I handed the form over. "Thank you so much!"

This morning, Susan came to my room with a thumbs up. "It was unanimously approved!" she told me. "In fact, there was a parent of one of your former students there. She told everyone how her daughter hated writing in elementary school, but after sixth grade in your class? She writes all the time! You changed her life! You should have seen it-- we all got a little teary. It was like a Hallmark moment all over a mini-grant!"

Hail to the Chief

We have been using a bunch of Kid President videos with Tolerance Club. 

If you're not familiar with soon to be eleven-year-old Robby Novak, then I heartily suggest you make his acquaintance, but be forewarned-- Kid President clips are like potato chips. It can be hard to stop.

We started with this one.

Where Everyone is Above Average

I gave a word study quiz today that my students did verrrrry well on. This particular assessment is quick to grade, and I was able to share results with each class.

"You should grade us on a curve!" one student merrily suggested. (He had earned a 100%) The rest of the kids in his class had no idea what he was talking about.

"Well," I explained, "it's a way of grading where you take the average of all the scores and make that a C."

Furrowed brows all around.

"How would that work with this quiz?" another student asked.

"The average is 92," I told him. "That would be a C." There were audible gasps as I continued. "96 is a B, 100 an A."

"But what about 91?" someone wondered.

"D," I replied, "and anything below 88 fails."

Stunned silence fell over the room.

"Or we could all have As and Bs," sang the first student, and that was settled.

What's Up Duck Butt?

What indeed?