Profiles in Teaching

Once again, the end of the year finds my students interviewing one and another and writing journalism-style profiles using the simple structure of a lead anecdote that describes the subject in action, a description of how and when they started (past), what they are doing now (present), and what they hope to achieve (future). The whole piece is about 500 words and ends with a quote from the subject. "Give your person the last word," is how I explain it to my students.

Despite many models, this is a hard assignment for them. Evaluating and synthesizing the information gained in interviews with their classmates and at least two others is very challenging for your average 11 or 12 year old. Still, they forge through, mostly because they want to do right by their peers and so they are motivated to write the best piece they can.

Of course, I am available to assist them, and I willingly do so by stepping in to model on-the-spot follow-up interviews to glean the information and quotes they need to craft their articles. I'm also a whiz at providing just the right secondary source quote to move the profile forward, and should someone be stuck for a transition? Why, I am only to happy to offer a suggestion.

Such was the case today when a student approached me with her dilemma. "Can I say, Anthony isn't all that great in soccer because he didn't even make the school team," she asked. "Or is that too much of an opinion?" She frowned. "It's important information, but I'm not sure how it fits."

I was happy she recognized the importance of journalistic objectivity. "Why don't you write something like, Despite working hard and practicing daily, Anthony has had some disappointments when it comes to soccer...?" I suggested.

"Wow!" she said. "That's not bad! I guess you do know what you're doing with this writing stuff!"

Meat and Three

There was a time when one of the best meals you could get eating out was at Morrison's Cafeteria. The food was not fancy, but it was darn good, and a bargain, too, something like 5 dollars for a meat and three sides.

Morrison's was gone before the turn of the century, but my writing group is coming over tonight, and as I was planning the meal I wanted something simple and delicious. After a while I hit upon this menu: Fried Chicken, Green Bean and Tomato Salad with Warm Country Ham Dressing, Corn on the Cob, and Butter Lettuce with Homemade Buttermilk Dressing.

I hope it lives up to good ol' Morrisons!

Beware, Trees!

Didn't I feel vindicated this morning listening to a piece on NPR about the benefits of analog writing over digital. One study they cited in particular was especially interesting. They split a college class in half and gave each group the same lecture, one set took notes by hand while the other typed theirs. Then they gave each group a test. The hand note takers did much better, despite the fact that the transcribers had more thorough notes. It seems that in the act of hand writing one must synthesize and evaluate the information rather than simply record it.

What about those fancy iPads all the students have?  Well, maybe they can use them to take a picture of their notes, in case they get lost!

Charlie

"You are soooo cursed!" I overheard one of my homeroom students mutter to another this morning.

"Hey, now!" I interjected, "Why would you say that?"

"It's a game," the first student explained, but there was definitely some sheepishness in her tone that hinted at more than a simple little amusement. Perhaps reading my facial expression, she quickly added, "Everyone is playing it!"

"Tell me about this game," I invited her, and she was only too happy to do so. In fact the whole class crowded around my desk while she demonstrated.

"It's called Charlie," she started. "You draw a cross on the paper, like this," she continued, dividing a sheet of loose-leaf into quadrants with a green marker. "Then you write YES NO NO YES in the boxes. Next you need two pencils-- wait! Do you have two pencils I can borrow?"

I sighed and produced them. "Why should today be any different? You guys never have pencils!" I chided as I handed them over.

"Then you balance them in the middle," she said and leaned over my desk, placing one pencil along the x-axis of her YES-NO chart, and attempting to balance the other one on top of it along the y-axis.

"When the end touches the paper like that it means that side is heavier," I told her as she struggled; it was a teachable moment. "Scootch it the other way." She did and soon the pencils formed a cross.

"Now you say, Charlie, Charlie are you here? But I'm not going to say it! The top pencil will spin to YES and you'll be cursed!"

I looked at the half-circle of kids surrounding my desk. They were definitely engaged. "Well, I'm going to say it," I said, and I did. The group pushed closer, 20 eyes fixed on a number 2 pencil. Nothing happened.

"Wait for it," someone whispered. I leaned my head on my hand, my elbow next to the sheet of paper and scanned their faces again. Their expressions ranged from scared to interested to amused. Without moving, I blew gently on the pencil, it spun slowly toward the YES.

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

They all jumped back. Several chairs clattered and fell in the students' haste to get away from Charlie. The group recovered quickly. "She blew on it!" one of them assured the others.

I laughed. "I'm sorry!" I said. "I couldn't resist. It's so silly! People are just telling you stories to scare you. I don't want you to be frightened!"

Some kids laughed, too, but others were uncertain. "You didn't say it right," the first girl told me.

"Well at least I'm not cursed then," I replied.

I had almost forgotten the whole thing when a little while later one of those kids approached me in English class. "Can I borrow a pencil?" he asked.

"There's a couple right there," I said, pointing to my desk. "You can have one of those."

He hesitated. "Um, can I borrow a different pencil?" He looked at me meaningfully. "Those are Charlie's."

Labor Days Weekend

This year, our garden is better than ever (there's even watermelon and a corn corner!), and a big portion of the credit goes to Treat, who put in 9 hours over the last three days. His contribution allowed us to get everything in.

Now comes the waitin (and the waterin and the weedin, of course).

Peel and Eat

Many years ago, I lived with my brother and sister at the beach. Back then we never had a shortage of house guests– we were at an age when neither we nor our visitors cared about formal sleeping arrangements, so all summer long people came to stay with us at the beach. I'm not sure how beer-boiled shrimp with plenty of Old Bay, french fries, and salad became our standard meal for company, but it did, and in the days before farmed shrimp, we could stop into the seafood market and get all the fresh, local shrimp we wanted for not that much money. Some lettuce, tomato, cucumber, a few potatoes, and a couple of six packs of beer turned that seafood into a feast.

I remembered those days yesterday when, after several hours of gardening in perfect weather beneath a gorgeous blue sky, I wanted an equally perfect holiday meal to kick off the summer. When my grocer had fresh Carolina shrimp at the seafood counter, I knew I had found my menu.

It could only have been better had my brother and sister and several random friends been crowded around that same teak dining table we had at the beach with me, peeling shrimp, dipping fries in cocktail sauce, and swigging beer, too.

Early to Bed

After a very busy week, even an interesting episode of Who Do You Think You Are? couldn't keep me from nodding off in front of the TV before nine last night. "Get up!" Heidi poked me. "It's obviously your bed time."

"But, but, it's Friday!" I protested.

"You're already sleeping," she pointed out, and I had to admit she was right.

Still, when I climbed the stairs to our darkened room I saw that the last light of day had not yet drained from the western sky, and I felt like the little girl I was almost 50 years ago. Even then it just seemed wrong to go to bed before the sun set.

But that was my last thought before I faded, which the day did, too, just a little after me.