The Witty Will Have Fun

I spent a fair amount of time at the picnic yesterday chatting up some of the new sixth graders. At one point I found myself seated in the shade next to Alondra. "I can't believe you're not running around in the sun," I teased her as she fanned herself.

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that sarcasm?" she asked.

When I was in "teacher school" a couple of decades ago, they warned us never to use sarcasm. We were sitting in desks lined up in rows facing the front of the room when our Foundations of Education instructor, a retired principal with 40 years of experience, told us that sarcasm would at best confuse and at worst humiliate our students. My friend, sitting behind me, whispered "They couldn't possibly understand it, could they?"

Personally, I have found most humor, even gentle sarcasm, to be a helpful tool in creating an engaging class room or even redirecting a student. The rule of thumb might be that as long as they feel in on the joke, the joke's not on them, and we can all laugh together.

So yesterday I looked at Alondra and with an exaggerated shrug shook my head and said, "No! I would never use sarcasm. Would you?"

She waved her hand dismissively and answered, "No! Not me!" Then she looked at me with a grin and asked, "See what I did there?"

Cool It Kids

We had our annual sixth grade picnic today. Traditionally held on the first Friday of the year to celebrate the successful completion of week one of middle school, it's quite an event. In the past, the new sixth graders have had about 90 minutes of recreation time and a lunch of grilled hot dogs, chips, and watermelon, but this year construction on our building put a crimp in our plan. We decided to shorten the time to an hour and just serve the watermelon.

I felt a little sad, but it was fine; as several veteran teachers pointed out to me, the kids don't know what they're missing, and the weather was really, really hot today, so less time in the sun was probably for the best. As I circulated through the groups of students playing and talking, I couldn't help but remember other picnics in other years. The group we had six years ago are seniors in high school now, and the day of their picnic was just as hot as today.

Back then the turf soccer field we have now was a crushed gravel pitch that had to be watered regularly to keep it playable. There were timed sprinklers all around the perimeter, and right at the end of the picnic they all came on. The students let out a collective cheer and flooded on to the field. The teachers let out a collective gasp and tried to wave them all away, but it was no use. In the end it was so hot it didn't matter-- everyone cooled off AND dried off by the time we had to go back inside, and as a group they were exhilarated.

I walked back in with a trio of girls, still chattering about the dousing. "That was awesome! Did you guys plan this special for us?" they asked.

I laughed and said nothing, because in a way? I wished we had.

Security Level Strong

Life in our contemporary culture can be full of aggravation, and coping successfully is all about how you deal with it. You can always minimize your grievances by comparing them to even worse things, or distract yourself by focusing on more pleasant things, or slog through annoyances with the attitude that they are relatively fleeting. I guess I personally mix and match these strategies, depending on how irritated I am. As a rule, I try my best not to lash out at other people when I am frustrated, but lately I have found a satisfying outlet for my ire. I simply allow my password to speak for me. My current favorite?  thisisbullshit.

It works for me.

In Loco Parentis-hood

Hey guys hope the kids are behaving and all is well, the text started.

Well, isn't that nice, I thought. Then, Hmm, maybe a little TOO nice.

Just wanted to check to see if I could have my friend from home visit and stay with us? I wanted to show him around, it continued.

Sure, I texted back. When?

Later tonight I think. He is driving over.

All righty then.

Surpassing Expectations

Today we did an activity that allowed the students to pair up a few times and share their ideas. As always, I instructed them to have a friendly conversation first. "Ask your partner how the first day of school has been," I suggested.

As usual, I participated, too, and so I got to talk to many kids and check in personally about how the day was going. Of course, they got to check in with me, too, and I gave them a straight answer. "I was a little nervous this morning," I started, "because, let's be honest, I don't know you guys." Here, most kids' eyes widened a bit. "But," I continued, looking around at all those industrious and engaged students, "it has been great! I think we're going to have a good year."

Nods, all around.

Seventy-Four Days Later

When one countdown ends, another one begins, but as the new school year starts, let's not count the days, let's make the days count.

Or something.

Crying's Not for Us

It seemed like such a good idea. On the last Sunday of a summer where the weather has been nothing short of fabulous, a trip to a not-so-far-away national park for a moderate hike to the largest waterfall in Maryland, which also happens to be in the same park where my mom went to summer camp 66 years ago?

It was such a no brainer that Josh got up early and Riley and Seiyoung drove in the opposite direction of their final destination so that we could all enjoy the outing together. We had sandwiches and dogs and we gleefully watched the car thermometer plunge from 93 to 91 to 87, 85, 83 as we traveled first north, and then up the mountain. It was only a little sticky as we headed into the woods and began our climb.

The tall trees kept it shady, and we hardly noticed the gathering clouds. The patter of drops on the leaves high above our heads was not in the least alarming; the canopy kept us mostly dry, but as we continued steadily on so did the rain, and soon we found ourselves stopped and huddled near the trunks of trees, trying to stay dry.

The trail was soon a wash, and we reluctantly decided to turn around. As impossible as it seemed, it poured ever harder as we made our way back to the car.  Now the saturated forest offered us no shelter and soon we were completely drenched ourselves, literally dripping.

In a you-can't-make-this-up twist, the rain let up the last hundred yards to the trail head, and we emerged from the woods into brilliant sunshine, wet, really wet, incredulously wet, but not unhappy in the least.