Everybody's Got Something

Four hours after he arrived, the third technician scheduled to fix our washer confessed that he had not been successful. The ceiling was already beginning to drip as he mopped his brow, underarms drenched in sweat from taking the unit apart and putting it back together twice.

When he told me about the extra parts he had ordered-- They will arrive in 2-5 days, and then you can call and make another appointment to have the washer fixed-- I was annoyed and frustrated. That time line would make it three plus weeks since we had been able to do laundry. Still, I knew it wasn't his fault: the problem had been misdiagnosed by the first technician and the company had not sent him with a full-time helper.

We haggled over the additional price a bit, and when at last he was ready to go, I asked him if he had many other calls to make before the end of his day. "Yes," he sighed, "I have much more work to do, and... I'm fasting! It's a very long day."

"That's right, it's Ramadan," I replied sympathetically.

His face softened and his shoulders relaxed. "I wish I could have done more to fix your washer," he said.

"I hope your day improves," I told him, and we parted on cordial terms.

Three Rings

I knew there was a problem as I stepped out of the stairwell. One student popped his head out a door at the end of the hallway and another kid a little ahead of me called out, Is she the-- before he was shushed and warned of my presence behind him. The door to the classroom closed quickly, and I caught up with the student in front of me.

"There's no teacher in there, is there?" I asked.

"No," he admitted immediately.

"Let's go," I said, "because that's not allowed."

I opened the door and confronted a circus of sixth graders. Two were tossing a football, one was playing on the SmartBoard, a few were under the tables, a couple more were on them, the rest of the group wandered aimlessly around the small room. "Whoa!" I said, and they froze, wide-eyed.

"Go to the office and tell them that you don't have a teacher," I directed the most responsible kid I saw. I turned to the rest of the group. They were coming back to life, and I wanted to get a little control before they returned to their antics.

"Never close the door if there is not an adult in the room!" I started, "And if your teacher is not here, tell the office immediately!"

"But we're not allowed to leave the classroom without permission," a future debater replied with some serious snark in his tone.

"It's the office," I answered, "I'm sure they'll make an exception when they hear your news."

"Why don't you be our substitute!" another student suggested.

"You don't need a sub," I laughed, "you need a ringmaster!"

Math Test

The room was set for the state math test: I had counted the names on my testing roster and set up the six tables with three seats each, plus extra desks for the additional students. So when a few kids remained standing, I knew there were some in the wrong place. "No worries," I told the group, "I'm going to take attendance, and if you don't hear your name, let me know and we'll send you to the right testing room." The already overly-complicated high-stakes situation was complicated by the fact that there were five kids I've never met in my group.

Once through the list, though, and I pointed two across the hallway, but there was still one student without a seat. "Did everyone hear your name?" I asked with authority (and a touch of impatience),

They assured me they had.

"Look," I said, "I know there's an extra person in here because there are 22 of you on my roster, and there are six tables with three seats each, and then three extra desks, so 6 times 3 is 18, plus 3 is... oops! Never mind," I finished sheepishly, but it was too late.

"Twenty-one!" they cried, clearly ready for the test at hand.

Circadian

I have an 18-year-old former student volunteering in my class for the next few week as part of her high school's "senior experience." M. is planning to study education in college, and is both an excellent writer and a really nice kid. In the two days she's been with me so far, she spent day one observing. (Does it bring you right back to 6th grade? I asked her. A little, she confessed, and if I yawn? It's because I was up late last night.)

On day two, I gave her a choice of jumping in and interacting with the kids, or adding some data to a spreadsheet. Still a bit reticent, she chose the record-keeping chore, which was actually extremely helpful to me. When lunchtime rolled around, I stepped out to use the restroom and returned to my room to find her bag on the table, but no sign of the kid. A little while later the construction out the window drew my attention, and when I walked over there I was startled to find M snoozing on the pillows. I let her sleep until the kids barreled back from recess.

Ready for round two? I asked her, and she hopped right up.

Let's Get Together and Feel All Right

They scheduled a single class period before the state tests started today. Take them outside! some suggested, but that plan is not practical if you know how large groups of sixth graders function. Coordinating 350 kids going out, coming in, sweating, getting water, panting, and using the toilet, not to mention the threatening rain, all made that plan rather unworkable.

Still, physical activity was a good idea given the fact that the students were expected to sit quietly for three hours in order to complete a 37 question test. What to do? I ended up playing some music and having the kids in my room pair up to complete quick physical challenges whenever the song was paused. I took requests and participated myself in high-fiving, jogging in place, and dancing.

We were snaking through the room in a spontaneous Reggae-conga line to Bob Marley when a colleague stopped in to pick up some printing. "It almost makes me wish I had to take the test!" she laughed.

We made eye-contact. "Naaaaah!" we said in unison.

Vocabulary Lesson

About a week ago I overheard an unusual conversation between two sixth grade boys. "What are these?" one asked the other, holding up a pair of scissors.

"Shears!" proclaimed the other boy definitively, and they both laughed uproariously.

Such events are hardly uncommon, and I let it pass, but I was curious when I heard another student say, "Shears!" a few days later.

Not curious enough to ask though, until today. "What are these?" the first boy asked brandishing the scissors once again.

"Shears!" I answered.

He paused. "You know about that?"

"No," I shrugged, "I've just heard you say it several times recently. What are you talking about?"

If I expected something naughty, I couldn't have been further from the truth. "We learned about it in Family and Consumer Science," he told me. "These are scissors," he held out a pair with matching thumb and finger hole, "and these are shears!" He showed me a pair with a round thumb hole and a larger opening for more than just one finger.

"Ohhhhh," I said, impressed. "I did not know that."

I turned to the student intern who started today. "See, Maddy? This is what life-long learning looks like!"

Stranger in a Strange Land

As they challenge themselves to write every day, my students reveal all sorts of interesting details about their lives. "I've never been to the movies before," one wrote this morning. "What's it like?"

This particular kid is not underprivileged, not going to the local cineplex seems like more of a parenting choice for her. She has written extensively of her piano lessons and day trips to museums and hands-on educational expos. I'm not sure they watch TV either.

The other students are often shocked by her lack of familiarity with video games, social media, and other pop cultural experiences, and they never hesitate to try and fill in the gaps for her. Like this morning: "Movies are like going to our school theater with a giant smart board in the front," Another student helpfully replied.

"AND you can get popcorn!" I added.