Small Moment

The interpreter arrived a little early for my next conference, and since there was nobody else in my room, I invited him in to wait. He was a friendly guy; introducing himself as Julio, he walked around the perimeter of my classroom as if it were a gallery.

"Look for small moments?" he read from an anchor chart, and then gazing up he read from the banner above, "How can we become better writers?"

"I love writing," he told me, "and this is good advice. There is so much meaning in the small moments."

I nodded agreeably, "That's what I tell the students."

"Do you mind if I take a picture?" he asked.

"Not at all," I answered.

He moved to a poster with an Ethiopian proverb. "When spider webs unite," he read, "they can tie up a lion!" He snapped another photo and turned to me. "What a fantastic message for your students! Small things together create greatness."

"Thanks, Julio!" I replied.

Next he read the series of posters from the Academy of American Poets that hang over the bookshelves in my room. Each April the organization releases a new one in honor of National Poetry month. "Nature is a haunted house," he read as he clicked another picture, "but art is a house that wants to be haunted."

"Emily Dickinson," I said.

"Wonderful!" he said. "It goes perfectly with the small things and small moments idea. Think how many miracles we overlook every day! You are teaching your students to stop and notice them, to see all the miracles all around them!"

Am I? I wondered and looked at another quote I had scribbled nearby.

Hope is a thing with feathers.

Da Nada

I admit that I was a little cranky this afternoon as I waited well after my contract hours for my first conference of the year. The halls were deserted and the light from the sinking sun was slanting into the west-facing windows when my student and her mom tapped on the door.

The fact is, teachers often suffer from a lack of professional respect. If I can't find a convenient time within the office hours of my doctor, lawyer, accountant, or dog groomer that works with the hours of my job, then I must take time off. If it's important, then I do. But teachers are often not afforded the same professional courtesy. We are frequently guilted into over-committing our own time because it is what's best for the students. And sometimes it undeniably is, but other times it's just a matter of your convenience over mine.

So anyway, there I was tonight, guiding an extremely poised 12-year-old as she explained her grades, study skills self-evaluation, academic goals, and community service interests to her mom, switching back and forth between Spanish and English for our benefit. All I did was answer some questions, encourage the student to stay after school for some math help, and compliment her on her achievements so far.

When the student got to the end of her checklist, the part that says Thank your parents for coming, she turned to her mother and said, "Gracias Mami!" And then she turned to me and said, "Thank-you for staying after school."

"You're welcome," I answered, and I really meant it.

Getting it Done

The assistant principal and director of guidance were standing by the door after school this afternoon just as I was busting out of one meeting trying to get halfway across the county to another in 12 minutes.

"Good luck with your presentation!" one of them called, and I must have made some kind of sour face when I thanked her, because she continued, "You'll be great!" and gave me a thumbs up.

Truth be told, my mind was elsewhere. On a day in the middle of a week that includes preparing sixth graders for their first student-led conferences, finalizing interim grades, planning for a major schedule change and additional class prep, stuffing all the business of an interdisciplinary team into 2 45-minute periods, and oh yeah, teaching, assessing, and planning, I was already way past worrying about that particular commitment.

"I know!" I waved as I pushed through the double doors toward the parking lot.

"I like a person with confidence!" I heard behind me as I went.

#Hashtag

One of the strategies we learned this summer to help young writers get to the heart of their personal narratives in terms of message, meaning, and why the story matters was to have them hashtag it. "Kids are familiar with that!" our instructor told us, and we agreed.

Well, this week I have had some #amusing conversations with my #sixthgraders. Understandably, not so many of them are even on social media, and so the concept is not quite as ingrained in them as perhaps originally presumed. #jumpingtoconclusions

The more concrete thinkers among them want to use the hashtag as a simple label, and that is completely understandable. #shouldaseenitcoming For example, a picture of a goldfish yielded #goldfish, #pet, #Nemo (with a sharp rebuke from the other students) and #thesnackthatsmileback.

"What about #dinner?" I asked.

"EW!" they answered.

"Don't you mean #ew!" I asked.

"Unless you're a cat!" someone suggested. And she was right, because hashtags certainly reveal your perspective.

Even so, most folks have kind of gotten away from the hashtag as a tool for thematic connection, and now it is really more of a witty addendum to a tweet or snapchat.

And yet the exercise of generating several quick labels for my own writing pieces really paid off. Like the kids, I started with the obvious, but with free association, I generally found the heart of my piece by the 3rd or 4th hashtag. To be honest, it was almost therapeutic.

For a sketch I'd written about an environmental club my sixth grade teachers started that was invitation only and which I had not been invited to join. I started with #stupidclub, moved on to #that'snot fair, and finally ended with #whynotme? And I realized that the reason it still bothered me after 43 years was because there is a part of me that assumes that I was rightfully rejected and still wonders why I wasn't good enough.

Hashtag that.

Slam It!

I must have spent a solid thirty minutes out by the car yesterday slamming and opening and re-slamming the back hatch. It just would not latch! I emptied the rear, moved the liner mat, and then removed it all together, used my electronic fob to mess with it, and when that didn't work, used the key itself to push the mechanism in and out of position. No luck! Activating the car alarm gave me the the three beep warning that something was ajar, as did the dash control panel. At last I gave up and returned inside to Google the problem, where I found that, according to the internet, this had never happened to anyone else, ever.


Whoa! An hour in, I knew I had to make a repair appointment, which I did this afternoon. The guy at the place I usually go for inspections and oil changes was polite, but there was just a hint of skepticism in his voice as we arranged for me to drop the car off after work. And when I walked in and told him who I was, his eyes lit up. "I've been waiting for you!" he told me. "Do you mind if I just go out there and have a crack at it?"

I shrugged. "Sure." I wished he could fix it right then, but I doubted he would.

He was back inside a minute, shaking his head. "Wow," he said. "That's a first for me!"

The Original

Oh! You have to see the original first! is what several people told us when we mentioned an interest in the remake of The Magnificent Seven.

We like to think of ourselves as movie buffs, and so we took that advice and cued up the 1948 classic, sitting down to watch it last night. In the opening scene, a gang of banditos descends upon a hard-working village. Their leader arrogantly mocks the citizens, justifying his outrageous trespass as their weakness, and promising to return when the next harvest is in.

"Oh my gosh!" I turned to Heidi. "He's Hopper from A Bug's Life!" We continued to watch as citizens from the besieged community went out to look for heros to save them (ala A Bug's Life), bringing back a collection of misfits (as in A Bug's Life) who ultimately help the village realize that they have it within themselves to be their own saviors (just like in A Bug's Life) all the while rescuing the rescuers themselves (also in A Bug's Life).

As for the original? Once the loooooooong opening credits were over, it was hard to believe that the movie was almost 70 years old, and it distracted me to think that nearly every single person I saw on the screen was dead now. Then there was the Bug's Life thing, which was also rather distracting.

Even so,  I'm happy to have that frame of reference, and I'll be interested to compare all three movies!

That Restorative Elixer

On a rainy day and suffering from some sinus congestion, I did what I had to do...

made chicken noodle soup!

I'm sure I'll be 100% in no time.