Haves and Have Nots

A member of the National Junior Honor Society knocked on our door during homeroom. "Do you have any cans for the food drive?" she asked.

We did not. "Are any of you guys going to bring something?" I asked after she left. "Because I know there's a lot going on and it's easy to forget. Remember, I'll match anything that you donate."

There were nods of agreement. "I'll bring something on Monday," one student assured me. "We have lots of cans at our house that we got from the food bank and never use." She shrugged. "I don't think my mom knows how to cook half that stuff."

Let's Not Get Crazy Now

We had an early dismissal for students today so that the staff could use the afternoon to participate in professional development. Such a thing happens about three times a year, and most of the time we have special school-wide activities planned, like the Day of Peace and the International Film Festival.

On those occasions, students spend the whole time with their homeroom groups. As worthwhile as those days can be, the abbreviated version of the daily schedule that we followed today also has its perks. The time flies by, and short classes mean focus is imperative (and possible) for all-- it's like anti-block scheduling.

"I love today!" one of my students said. "The time is going by fast, but we're getting a lot done!"

I nodded.

"I would even give up Saturdays off to have this schedule all the time," he continued.

And there our agreement ended.

Time Well Spent

I confess that there are times when I really want to skip my bi-weekly ukulele lesson. Usually I don't feel like I've practiced enough; other times I'm in the middle of something at school; sometimes it just seems inconvenient to go down there at 5 pm on a Thursday.

I always go, though, and I'm always glad I went. My teacher is nice; he doesn't judge me, he just meets me where I am at the moment, plays duets with me, and gives me really good pointers about fingering, rhythm, and timing.

Tonight, for example, we played a few Christmas songs (which sound muuuuuch better when he plays with me), and he helped me through some tough spots by having me count the notes as I strummed them slowly. Once, when I was stuck, I called out the notes in tune as I pointed to them. "Wow!" he turned to me without a trace of irony. "You can sing, too!"

Broken News

It was drive time when the news of the shootings in California started trickling in this evening. I listened with that sinking oh-no feeling, but it didn't take too long to realize that the news media had very little information. Beyond reserved speculation, they could only repeat the terrible details that three gunman had senselessly attacked an auditorium full of people at a social service facility.

I couldn't listen very long. I lost my appetite for the agonizing pace of live breaking stories years ago. It probably started with the slow speed chase after OJ Simpson, but certainly the night that Princess Diana was killed, when they repeated the facts and that one ten second video clip of her entering the car over and over, rubbed a dull, heavy spot on my consciousness that watching the twin towers collapse over and over again on the days following September 11, 2001 only aggravated.

Even a simple snow storm triggers over-coverage. Flip on the TV and you will hear the same forecast, see the same weather map, and watch the same closures crawl across the bottom of the screen over and over and over. I want to be informed; I want to know what is happening, but a few hours perspective in our crazy 24-7 news cycle?

That will keep me sane.

Rec-ing Ball

There was a lot going on when I went down to the gym after school to walk our enormous indoor track. The weather was wet and raw here today, and so it seemed that lots of people had the same idea as I to escape the cold and rain and still get a little exercise. In addition to citizens of our fair county who belong to the rec center that shares our school facility, the girls on the move club was down there preparing for their big 5k this Saturday. The boys soccer team was practicing indoors as well, and there was a home girls basketball game so that team and the cheerleaders were all warming up as spectators trickled in from this or that afterschool activity.

Music was pumping, kids were laughing, and spirits were high, which made walking in giant circles kind of fun. When the starting lineups blasted through the loudspeaker I found a place in the bleachers, and I was sitting center court when the whistle tweeted the start of the first quarter.

It has been six seasons since I left my coaching position for the team, but my co-coach is still at it. He hasn't really switched up his game play much; I recognized the offense, the defense, and the in-bounds plays, but this team executed them exceptionally well. Not only that, he had three squads of mixed grade levels that he rotated in every couple of minutes, so everyone on the bench got playing time, and they all looked really sharp.

At the end, the team dominated its opponent even more than the 27-12 scoreboard reported, and I had a lot of fun cheering from the other side of the court. I even briefly considered rejoining the coaching staff.

Briefly.

Real World Application

I was just telling my mom and brother and sister how I group and regroup my students all the time. I have a few reasons for doing so:

1. I've observed that it's developmentally challenging  for 11- and 12-year-olds to consistently pick seats where they will be productive.

2. Although choice is a powerful positive, it's stressful for some people to have to choose their own seats.

3. Changing seats frequently makes change less anxiety-producing. It also alleviates complacency and/or boredom.

4. I group students hetero- or homogeneously based on the assignment or activity, and designate a captain based upon different criteria. Everybody earns the position of leader sometime.

Today was a new seat day, and it's always interesting to hear how the groups settle in to their latest arrangement. Sometimes the captains are sure and steady, sometimes strident or silent. This morning though, I was most impressed by the social skills of one new leader. As the students waited for their directions, he made a little small talk with the other kids at his table. "So," he started, "I have a question for you."

His group turned their attention to him. "What's your favorite IB MYP Global Context?" he asked.

And with that?

He had them.

Roadside Assistance

The call came at 10:46 am. "Hi, it's me," Treat said.

I knew he was flying back to college early this afternoon. "What's up?" I asked.

There was a pause. "Well, my dad asked me to drive him to the airport, and there wasn't very much gas, so I kind of panicked, and now I'm stuck."

"Where are you?" I asked and when he told me, I said, "We'll be there in 20 minutes!" without hesitation.

Heidi and I threw on some layers and dashed out the door. We practically skidded into the nearest gas station, bought a gas can, filled it with a couple gallons, and sped to the interstate. On the way, we rolled the windows down to vent the fumes. Treat was parked in a service lot which was pretty much deserted on Sunday morning.

"Ta da!" I greeted him, relishing my role as hero. We pulled out the gas can and set to rescuing. The first snag was the tank cover. We couldn't find the button on the dash or by the driver's seat to open it. At last we resorted to the manual which informed us a simple push on the cover would unlatch it.

Next, our fancy new gas can was the issue. The nozzle had some kind of spring-loaded locking mechanism to prevent it from spilling (or venting-- we should have known then) that was supposed to release when you placed the spout in the tank opening and pushed. Not for us! we dribbled gas down the car and into the puddle we were standing in several times before finally disassembling the nozzle and concluding that it was defective. It didn't help that the directions on the side of the can had been torn off.

"We're going to have to McGyver it!" I said. "Do we have an empty bottle?" Heidi produced one from beneath the passenger seat. I had meant to put my gardening tools in the attic a couple of weeks ago, but fortunately they were still in the back of my station wagon. I rummaged through them and grabbed the pruning saw to clip off the bottom of the bottle.

Unfortunately, the neck was not long enough to open the hinged flap on the tank. Not to worry! I grabbed my soil pH tester and jammed the spike down the bottle to open the hinge. Then we sloooooowly poured the gas directly from the can into our makeshift funnel.

Sure, we all smelled like gasoline, probably because our hands and shoes were covered in it, but Treat started up the car and drove home.

Mission accomplished!