Gate Keeper

I think they knew what they were doing when they decided to house one of the computer carts in my classroom. Soon after it was rolled in two years ago, I untangled the cords, numbered the slots, and printed corresponding labels for each of the 24 lap tops. That way, even though it's not my role to keep track of those machines, it makes it easier for all of us to do so.

My students are also directed to report any vandalism or problem immediately, so discovering the culprit where any indiscretion is concerned is a much simpler task. I also make sure they are sent off for repair as soon as necessary; there's nothing like a missing key to make a kid want to pull a couple more off.

Some may consider me over zealous, but so be it! And it was a matter of course then, that when a student came to borrow a laptop this afternoon after school that I asked him which one he was taking. His brow furrowed as he tucked the computer under his arm.

"This one," he answered.

Buon Appetito!

It has occurred to me, that as a writer?
I need to read more.
As a ukulele player?
I need to listen to more music.
And, as a cook?
I need to eat out more!

Like Riding a Bike

Every quarter I start my new reading class by posing a question to the sixth graders: How is reading like riding a bicycle? I hand out index cards and tell them there are no wrong answers, then collect the cards and share their ideas anonymously with the class. Of course some of the responses are prosaic, Once you learn, you never forget! or They both are fun! Others are more poetic, They both take you places! and When you fall off your bike it hurts and when you come to the end of a really good book it hurts, too.

My point is that they are both complex actions comprised of discrete skills that, once mastered, are combined and implemented unconsciously. It becomes important to know the skills, though, when confronted by a challenge. On a bike it's nice to know how to shift the gears, or stand on the pedals, when going up a big hill. While reading, it's helpful to ask questions, make connections, or analyze a tough text.

As an introduction to this conversation I usually ask who knows how to ride a bike. Even now, thirteen quarters in, I am constantly surprised when kids don't raise their hands. When I think about it, though, I understand that kids spend less unsupervised time outside nowadays. There are also a lot of neighborhoods in our school district that may be a little too urban for young bikers. Still, I think it's a loss. Bike riding has been one of the joys of my life since the first time I was able to keep my balance after my mom let go of the seat when I was 8.

In our county we teach every third grader to swim as a matter of safety and life-long fitness. I heard a piece on the radio this morning about how Washington DC public schools won a grant to buy 1,000 bicycles and then added bike riding to the second grade PE curriculum. The theory is that biking is healthy and good for the environment. Sounds good to me!

High Expectations

Tonight we met an old friend of Heidi's for a celebration dinner. Just a few years older than I am, Trudi retired as of yesterday. After 30 years of teaching, at 55 she's moving back to upstate New York to be close to her family and care for her 85-year-old mom. It was a nice meal, and full of laughter as Heidi and Trudi recounted their many antics working together for 25 years as special education teachers and swimming instructors.

Their approach to the many exceptional kids they have taught over the years may be considered a bit old school these days. Rather than coddle recalcitrant kids, these two are always very direct and firm about their expectations. They believe that everyone can follow rules.

As an example, Trudi told us about a kindergarten student who tore a piece from the bulletin board every time he came into the gym. His teachers scolded him, but shrugged apologetically. Clearly he was unable to understand how inappropriate his action were.

After a few weeks, Trudi grabbed a stapler and took the little boy by the hand. Together they repaired the bulletin board, hand over hand, piece by piece, and when they were done?

He didn't tear it down again. 

Unexcused Tardy

It takes time for new sixth graders to adjust to the novelty of their middle school schedule, which is why the month of September is practically a grace period for tardies and other miscellaneous mis-steps.

This morning, though, as the new month dawned and one of my homeroom students came in late for the third day in a row, it was time for a harder line. Still, I wanted to know if there were perhaps some circumstances beyond his control before I sent him off to the office.

The announcements were already on when he opened the door. I made eye contact. "Is there some reason you're late? I whispered.

"Yeah!" he replied, sotto voce.

"What?" I asked him.

"I was at home," he told me.

Dodging Bullets

On the day after Back-to-School Night, we teachers often sit yawning and around trading war stories. In addition to the majority of perfectly nice people, there's always that parent who wouldn't leave, the one who was rather aggressive in their questions, or someone who was simply bizarre. At the close of my 23rd BtSN, I had seen them all, but not last night.

All my parents were very well-behaved, particularly the couple who had both previously been my students. They listened politely and even seemed to appreciate my humor. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for the other teachers on my team. To my surprise, my colleagues all reported questions, push-back, and follow-up emails from the very same parents who were so tame in my class.

I guess seniority does have its privileges!

Nuts, Ten Ways

I sat next to the French teacher at a meeting this afternoon. "Thanks again for yesterday," she said, and explained to our coworker to her left about the duck, duck, goose-nosebleed incident.

"That's a cool way to teach vocabulary," our colleague said. She used to teach French herself, and so she probed a little deeper. "Do they use numbers, too?"

"Oh sure," the French teacher said. "And, by the way, I finally saw Deez Nuts on the internet. Do you know who he is? The sixth graders can't get past that meme whenever we count to ten," she sighed.

I was checking my email and listening idly to their conversation. "Deez Nuts?" I asked. "Isn't that the kid running for president?"

The silence was deafening. I looked up to see both of them frowning, jaws dropped. My heart skipped a beat, and I wondered for a moment if I had said something terribly wrong. My fingers flew to the keyboard, and fortunately Google did not disappoint.

We were both correct-- and, by the way? Deez Nuts is also a 1992 song by Dr. Dre.