A Rescue

Every quarter my students have the assignment to write a micro-personal narrative about a rescue they have experienced when we read the two chapters in Ralph Fletcher's memoir Marshfield Dreams about the family's chickens being attacked and rescued and endangered and rescued again.

Today was that day, and as usual, I was prepared with several examples or prompts for students who were having a hard time making a personal connection. This time, however, my assistance was not required as the class had all witnessed a small rescue a couple of days before.

Several kids wrote about the same thing, and although the effect is kind of like a game of telephone, it's also rather amusing. I'll let them take it from here, but please! Note the figurative language.

Take1

The best rescue that I have ever witnessed was when Ms.S rescued Ms. M. We just going through the normal class when someone noticed that Ms. M was lying on the ground. Then Ms. S quick as a flash ran outside to help. She was like a first responder as she directed people to go get help and call the ambulance. Meanwhile we were all in the classroom watching through the window one kid even used the binoculars to see what was going on. Because the doors to the school lock behind you she to send one student to get the nurse and one to holds the door. I think those kids were the lucky ones because they got to see what was going on while we waited to see what would happen. When the ambulance finally arrived it’s siren was wailing like a hurt child to take her to the hospital. After that we finished our class like it was just a normal day.

Take 2

Ms.S looked out the window and rushed out the door calling G. with her. Everyone else in the class blew up with excitement.
“Why did she leave the class like that?” some said.
Others said, “ Why did she take G?”
I just sat there bemused. What happened? Did she run out of the room to yell at someone on the hallway like Mr.G does sometimes? The students sat waiting. Bam! The door opened and Ms.S flew into the room.
She announced, ”Someone just hurt her head and is bleeding, the ambulance is going to arrive soon.”
She then started to talk about the story from her point of view and why she needed G.
“She had to hold the door for me and call the Nurse,” Ms.S exclaimed.
After that the ambulance arrived and some students rushed to the window to get a better view. There were an explosion of questions and Ms.S was in the middle of all of it. She was like the Queen of Knowledge as she was surrounded by her little followers.

(Some parts may not be the exact words people said)

Take 3

One day, I was sitting in English class, and all of a sudden, our teacher, Ms. S ran out of the classroom and brought G with her. She didn't tell us anything, she just ran out of the classroom. We were all confused, but then we saw Ms. S outside! We all ran and crowded around the window. Ms. S was outside helping a teacher who was sitting on the sidewalk. We didn't know what was happening, but then we saw Ms. S coming back inside, and we all ran back to our seats. Boom! There was a crash behind us. Someone's chair had fallen down because they were rushing to sit down. Then, Ms. S came back in and we all asked what happened.

“Ms. M fell and hit her head on the sidewalk. There is a lot of blood. It is like a river,” Ms. S said. We all gasped. Then, Ms. S ran back outside and brought another student out. We all rushed back to the window to see what was happening, and we saw the nurse and Ms. S helping Ms. M. A few minutes later, Ms. S started coming back inside, and again, we all rushed back to our seats.

“Ms. M fell and hit her head on the sidewalk. She is a little disoriented,” Ms. S started. “I saw her sitting there, and she wasn't getting up. No one was out there helping her, so I went out, and she told me what happened. Then, she asked for some tissues, and the nurse, so I had G get the nurse, and I brought the tissues out to Ms. M. Ms. W called an ambulance and it is on its way now. She has a head injury, so we want to get it checked out to make sure she is ok.” 

Then, we all tried to get back to work, but it was hard because we were all so distracted. But one thing is for sure, Ms. S is a superhero! With superhero powers!

Take 4

On the third of April 2017, Ms. S saw a teacher outside sitting on the ground like a tired hippopotamus. She flew out the door with G. and went outside to see what happened. G. was the door holder so she held the door when Ms.S came inside and got the tissues for the teacher who had fallen and her nose was split and she had a black eye. She took the another student to get the nurse. Then after the nurse came Ms. S went to a teacher that was on break and said to them “call nine, one, one you slow poke get a move on.” In an instant the ambulance's siren was a piercing yell like a baby. The teacher was eventually taken to the hospital. The class was still in Ms. S room. We were all secretly looking through the window, so that is why this whole class is witnesses to the heroics of Ms. S.

Epilogue:

My colleague is fine, resting comfortably at home after a bad spill, with no lasting injury. AND, for the record? I did not call anyone a slow poke!

Ups and Downs

When it comes to the spring writing challenge I do with my students, I try to find prizes that are economical but enjoyable. (Even though, as I take pains to remind them frequently, writing is its own reward.) Of course candy is always popular, but sometimes I think a more tangible reward is, well, more rewarding.

When I was in sixth grade, yoyos were all the rage. Back then you had to have at least a Duncan classic, but it was better to carry a Duncan Butterfly. With its distinctive hourglass shape and dual coloring-- red on one side and yellow on the other, the Butterfly was the yoyo for serious yoyoers, and I had a Butterfly. As a result of those days, I can still yoyo quite well; I can even do around the world and walk the dog, with the alacrity, if not quite the same proficiency, as my 11-year-old self. I keep a yoyo in my desk drawer, and any time I bring it out, my current sixth graders are amazed, because yoyoing really isn't that easy.

Imagine my dismay, then, when the writer who won the yoyo for the March challenge was very disappointed in his prize. What else could I do, but borrow it from him and give a quick demonstration and lesson? Pretty soon his yoyo was rolling off his fingertips and spinning up and down with consistency if not fluidity.

My intervention paid off immediately.

"Can I win a yoyo, too?" asked several students.

"You might if you write all month," I told them.

A Tisket

It's that time of the year when our school asks homerooms to come up with a theme and put together a basket to be raffled off as a fundraiser for the PTA. It's also time for me to register my dismay.

Personally, I find the practice an example of consumerism at its most wasteful: families buy inexpensive things that other families buy chances on, all in the name of supporting the school. Sure, it's fun to bet, and even more fun to win, but most of the items will end up in the landfill or ocean in a few year's time. It's either that, or basketful of candy or other junk food that nobody really needs.

Surely there is a better way to entertain ourselves?

8 Miles

This is how it happened:

The sky was cloudless, the air was crisp, and the sun was warm. There was a flat, sandy path strewn with spring ephemerals, white, yellow, and pale blue, along a flowing stream, with the promise of a boardwalk, an abandoned pyrite mine, and some waterfalls beyond.

And so we kept on walking.

Return of the Hot Seat

We have reached the part of my word study class that is more developmentally appropriate for the age of the students that I have taught for my entire career, and so it was with confidence and redemption in mind that I volunteered for the hot seat activity again this morning. The category was eponyms, and I was waving my hand the minute the instructor moved the stool in front of the screen. As before, the premise was simple: I sat with my back to the screen and my fellow participants read clues about things that were named after people or places.

Named after a president who loved to hunt was the first one.

"Teddy Bear?" I answered.

The class applauded. The instructor read quickly through the clues I hadn't needed.

Food from England was the second one.

I smiled and shrugged. "I need another clue."

Can be white or orange.

"Cheddar cheese?" I guessed.

"Wow!" said the instructor, "You're pretty good at this!"

I beamed, and made quick work of bikini (named after an atoll in the Pacific, site of nuclear testing) and marathon (named after a battlefield in Greece, a messenger ran all the way to Athens).

"You should go on Jeopardy!" suggested one of my classmates as I made my way back to my seat.

"I actually auditioned for the show once," I said, "but I never got a call back."

"Their loss," she winked.

Three Ring Lesson

On the last Friday in March, with an assembly scheduled and still one more week until spring break, I pulled out some serious bells and whistles for my lesson plan today.

Using the work they have done this week in their writing notebooks, my students competed in a figurative language tournament. We had an online bracket powered by Challonge that set the pairings, a "Wheel of Figurative Language" courtesy of Wheel Decide, and they were able to vote for their favorite simile, metaphor, hyperbole, etc., using Kahoot on their iPads, so that real-time results popped up on the big classroom screen.

If that sounds like a lot going on, it was!

Fortunately, I have been practicing with my wireless mouse.

Differentiation Is not always Different

March is nearly done,
and April brings us respite~
welcome poetry!

As my students jog into the homestretch of their first month of daily writing, I feel their fatigue. More and more of their posts are about having nothing to say. As much as I try to encourage them, explaining that writing through the block by finding the meaning of small moments everyday is part of the reward, I know they want a break.

That's why the writing challenge in April is always poetry. I try my best to find daily activities that not only address the standards, but also provide a balance between structured support and opportunity for creativity.

"I hate poetry!" some student will inevitably groan.

"Then this is the challenge for you!" I answer brightly.

"I love poetry!" someone else will add.

"Then this is the challenge for you, too!" I clap my hands. "How about a haiku?"