New Habits Die Hard

I spent around 3 hours today sitting with my friend Mary in front of the school in lawn chairs. We were there to give out prizes to the students who had met the monthly writing challenges over the last 99 days. It was a pleasant way to wile away a morning in early June, sitting in the shade of the building with a light breeze keeping the steadily climbing heat from becoming too oppressive. 

And of course, there were the kids-- what fun to meet dedicated writers I've never had the pleasure of teaching in person! They were pleased as well with the token prizes, mere symbols of their accomplishment and discipline. 

One mom asked if she could take a picture of me with her son, and I was happy to oblige. As we stood side by side, he reached over and put an arm around my shoulder. It made me laugh, so I hope the photo was good. As he turned to leave, I congratulated him one more time and stuck out my hand to shake his. His eyes widened above his mask, and he quickly pivoted and offered me his elbow.

"Safety first!" he cautioned.

"You just had your arm on my shoulders!"I told him as I bumped my elbow to his. "I thought a handshake would be okay!"

Where's Tibby?

I was sitting out on the downstairs deck when I heard a cat meowing plaintively somewhere nearby. Scanning the surrounding area and seeing no felines in distress or otherwise, I returned to the word puzzle I was solving. Lucy and Milo were out there with me, but Tibby was off somewhere else, keeping her own counsel I assumed. 

The mewing began again, this time a little more desperately, and I would have thought it was Tibby, but for the fact that there were no windows open upstairs. Still, I thought it strange that she was not outside with us: she's a cat that rushes the deck anytime the doors are open. So, I went into the house to investigate, calling her name. 

First I checked the downstairs powder room; it's another door she rushes, and she's been known to get closed in. No Tibby. I made my way upstairs, and the kitty cry got a little louder. Where is she? I wondered and poking my head in the master bedroom saw that all the closets and the bathroom were open, but the meowing was definitely coming from somewhere nearby. 

Could she have gotten out on the deck? I thought, but dismissed the idea-- I had been out there briefly to water the plants, and despite the fact she had tried to dash out there I had deftly used a foot to block the way. It's too hot out there, I told her and stepped away closing the door behind me to keep the ac in. Even so, I pulled the door open to check, and there she was-- not on the deck, but squeezed between the screen and the door. 

Oh! There was a lot of white fur floating, and the screen was well scratched when she dashed into the house, no worse for wear and probably no wiser either.

Cicadian Rhythm

I spent a little time lounging on the upper deck this morning. The sun was warm but a light breeze kept the heat from being too oppressive. Of course I was a bit wary of the cicadas, their chorus was robust, and gazing up, I could see dozens of them flitting from tree to tree, but with the sun shining through their wings they looked for all the world like tiny sprites or fairies glimmering in the blue sky. It was a sight I may never witness again, and I appreciated the moment just as it was.

A Star to Steer By

One of the kids is doing a teacher for a day project on cicadas because, well, Brood X. "Did you know that some cicadas have blue or green eyes?" I asked when she was working on the "fun fact" portion of her presentation.

"No they don't," another student scoffed. "Their eyes are red."

"Why would I tell you that if it wasn't true?" I asked him.

"You can't trust anyone," he shrugged. "Where did you hear that anyway?" 

"Pretty sure it was a NY Times article," I answered, "but it may have been Scientifica American. They are both pretty credible sources."

Meanwhile the first student was busy researching. "They can have blue or green eyes," she reluctantly admitted, "but it's RARE."

"I know," I said, "because that's what I read in the article."

This conversation came just a day after one of my homeroom students told us that he was skeptical that men had ever landed on the moon. "I'm not saying it didn't happen," he shook his head, "I'm just saying that 1969 technology really wasn't up to the job. Think about it."

As the only person in the room alive in 1969, I did think about it, with some concern. 

When some of his classmates pushed back a little, he retorted with a facile, "How do you know? Were you there?"

The issue of fake news, trusted sources, and firsthand experience will be one of the central issues of this generation. As a global community, we have to agree on some basic facts, but that very consensus is being eroded by the same technology we rely on to provide us with information. People who are just a little older than these kids grew up in a world where most of us did trust the majority of information from verified sources and we did not assume that other people were intentionally misleading us. 

Without such an anchor, we can only do our best to prepare these kids and provide them the tools they will need to invent new navigational systems that will allow them to move forward through this storm of information.

That's New

 I was standing outside my classroom door greeting students as they entered for class.

"Happy Pride Month!" waved one student as she approached.

"Thanks," I answered.

Let Them Think So

To round out the year, our sixth graders are doing a series of mini-projects that they have selected themselves. Today I was checking in with a student who was getting ready to pick his final activity of the year. 

"Which project are you going to do?" I asked him.

"Just to make you happy, I'm going to do... Teacher for a Day!" he answered.

"Yay!" I cheered. "That does make me happy! But how did you know it would?"

"Because, obviously, you're a teacher," he told me. "Of course you would be happy for someone else to do it for you."

At Least We Got That Straight

This morning I opened an electronic message from a student that was sent yesterday. "Do we have any asynchronous work?" it read. "I can't find any."

As luck would have it, the student walked in the door at just that moment. "I was just reading your message," I told him. "No assignments yesterday-- it was a holiday!"

"Thanks," he said. "To be honest I have no idea what any day is anymore," he laughed.

"But," I added, "you are missing that mini-project that was due a couple of weeks ago. And you have another one coming up today."

"I haven't had time to finish that," he said quickly.

"Really?" I asked. "Why were you looking for new work yesterday, when you knew you had this to do?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. 

"I guess you just like to know what you're not doing!" I shook my head.

"That sounds about right," he nodded.