Full TIme

It was touch and go there yesterday, but now that my first five day week of the new school year is behind me...

I think everything is going to be just fine.

Lucky Number

I had a busy day yesterday-- in addition to teaching, I attended a meeting on a new web application our school is considering purchasing and submitted a revised self-assessment for students to use in conferences. I also decided that the 23rd is my new favorite day of the month.

While waiting to use the restroom in the main office, I noticed that the last day of school is June 23rd, which was exactly nine months away. Still waiting, I noted that 10/23 is Friday, an early release for students. November 23? The Monday before Thanksgiving, a two-day school week. December 23 is during Winter Break, and January 23 is a Saturday. February 23 follows a three-day holiday weekend; March 23 is Spring Break; April 23? A Saturday. May 23 is one week before Memorial Day and one month before... yes! The last day of school.

I explained my new-found felicity for day 23 to a colleague until at last a restroom opened up. A few minutes later, with clean hands and empty bladder, I headed back to my classroom. "Tracey!" the principal's secretary called. "Ms. B. likes the way you think!"

I frowned, flattered, but also a little confused. The principal had been in the meeting with me and had also seen the new self-assessment I designed. Could it have been my contributions in one or both of those things that she appreciated?

The secretary noticed my uncertainty. "The 23rd?" she said. "9 months from today? She loved that!"

A Box to the Left

I like to think of myself as a liberal, unconventional, student-centric kind of a teacher, and yet when this morning after a meeting I walked into my classroom which was under the supervision of a colleague and found all 21 of my students sprawled about-- lying on the floor, sitting under the tables, perched on yet-to-be-unpacked cardboard boxes of books and windowsills, I literally gasped.

"What is going on here?" I demanded, scanning the room for some adult presence.

"I knew they had to take a standardized test, and so I let them get comfortable," my coworker whispered from over in the corner.

I looked around. With the exception of those kids who were staring at me because of my disruption, the rest were all quiet and focused on the laptops in front of them. I walked to my desk and checked the teacher dashboard for the test, and they all seemed to be making progress.

"Sorry if I overstepped," my colleague said as she headed for the door.

"No, no," I assured her. "You were in charge. Thank you for covering my class! Really!" And I meant it-- but as for me? I think I will continue to administer tests to students sitting in chairs at tables.

Choice Words

I was helping students organize their binders when I overheard a couple of guys having what I considered to be a questionable conversation.

"I'm not saying you're actually fat," said one to the other, trailing off meaningfully.

"What are you saying, then?" I asked.

"I wasn't talking to you," the student responded, and his disrespect took me a little aback. I was not, however, at a loss for words.

"Well, I was listening to you," I told him, "and I did not like what I was hearing."

He took a breath. I could see by his face he was thinking about his next words. I made eye contact. He turned to the other student. "Sorry," he said.

Joining 'Em

As I took attendance on the first day of school I came across a name on my roll that I had never had in my class before. "Marco?" I called.

"Polo!" several students answered.

Marco himself looked a little grim as he gave me a little salute along with his mumbled 'Here'.

"I think he's heard that one before," I said. "So let's not do that anymore."

Still, I knew it would be hard, mostly because I, myself, had the impulse to cry out that famous rejoinder whenever I said his name.

It's been a couple weeks, now, and the problem has faded considerably, at least from my perspective. Or at least that's what I thought until I looked through a stack of assignments that the kids had turned into my substitute last week.

There was a name scrawled across the line at the top of one sheet that I couldn't make out. I squinted trying to match the squiggles with letters and the letters with students' names. Is that a 'P'? I wondered, and indeed it was.

Looks like someone has re-named himself Polo.

Reinvention

It was a bit chaotic at Orlando International Airport this morning as we waited in line to drop our checked baggage. People from all over the world are drawn to the many theme parks and resorts the region is known for, and Sunday must be the last day of many a vacation. Lines were long and accents were loud and various as our flood of travelers flowed toward so many homes.

I idly scanned the crowd as our queue trickled along. I was surprised to see a woman of about my age actually carrying her soft-sided Samsonite up to the scale. Looking around more carefully, I also saw a couple of guys hefting big, olive drab canvas duffle bags, and even someone with an aluminum-framed backpack. They were all bags that my family had packed around 30 years ago.

I glanced at my own luggage, upright and wheeled, rolling them smoothly along as we moved up in the line, and considered the many forms of progress.

Flock Together

After another extravaganza of a day of Disney rides and shows, someone asked me what I liked best about my park experience. "Honestly?" I replied, "it was the bird show."

He raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Was it that good?"

"Oh yes," I assured him.  "Two middle-aged ladies and a bunch of animals trained to do clever tricks?" It was my turn to raise my eye brows. "You betcha it was good!"