Children Get Older

In the spirit of Friday Night, I decided to look for a movie to watch when I collapsed on the couch at the end of mt first full week back from summer break. What I landed on was When We Last Spoke, a film that takes place in a small town in Texas in 1967 and follows the lives of two young sisters living with their grandparents because their dad is in Vietnam and their overwhelmed mom took off. Starring Melissa Gilbert and Corbin Berenson ad featuring Cloris Leachman in one of her last rolls, the movie seemed targeted at folks like me. 

And it was pretty good, if a little predictable-- that is once I got past Melissa Gilbert playing the grandma!

Angel

I got a chance to meet most of my homeroom at our annual open house. In past years, the event has usually drawn a little less than half the rising sixth graders; the kids have already visited the school in the spring, and families are often too busy or off enjoying their last days of summer. But COVID injected more of a sense of urgency into the tradition, and in addition to the high turnout for sixth grade, many seventh and eighth graders attended as well. 

The plan called for us to meet our students outside, direct their parents to a Q&A with the administration, and then bring the kids inside for a quick ice breaker and a tour of the building. The sun shined in my eyes as I held a piece of paper with my name above my head, and one by one, a group of eleven-year-olds formed around me. I recognized one or two from the outdated pictures in my gradebook, but I asked for all of them to introduce themselves.

One guy was wearing a pair of khaki shorts, a short-sleeved button down that was a size too small, and a clip-on tie that only made it to the fourth button. There was something about him that I like right away. "How many of you guys were virtual the whole time last year?" I asked, and when he raised his hand I realized that he was wearing his good school clothes from 4th grade. 

Back in the classroom, one of the other students was struggling with the icebreaker. "Are you stuck for ideas?" I asked her, but she told me in broken English that although she understood the directions, she didn't know how to write her answers in English. 

I wrote a few sentence stems on the board to help her, but I also told her she could write her answers in Spanish if she preferred. "I'll do my best to understand,"I smiled, "and if I don't get it, you and I will be the same!"

The guy in the tie waved his hand. "I speak Spanish!" he said. 

"Great!" I replied. "If I need help, I know who to ask!"

When it came time to reading the questions the students had turned, I saw that there were some in Spanish, so I walked over and handed my volunteer the papers. 

He looked panicked. "I said I could speak Spanish, I didn't say I could read it!"

"It's okay!" I reassured him. "I can try it."

But he insisted, and after a few minutes, and consulting with the other student, he did great!

And just like that? I was ready for the year to begin.

Beginning of the End?

Late yesterday afternoon a a group of six or eight people walked purposefully by my classroom door to the dead end just beyond. There they poked their heads into Heidi's new room and the room across from hers which has been occupied by our friend Laura since 1998, murmuring and taking measurements. As I watched through the inside windows, Heidi came through the door. "What are they doing in my classroom?" she asked with alarm.

Just then, the assistant principal passed by, and never one to be shy, she stepped into the hall and asked him the same question.

"You're killing me!" I heard her say. "I just moved in there!"

"It was always going to be for just one year," he said, which was news to her-- it's taken the whole week to get the place put together and ready for students.

"It's security," I heard him explain. "In most other schools you can't get into the building without going through the office."

It was only 5 or 6 years ago that they locked all the doors, and gave staff key cards to a few entrances. All visitors have to be buzzed in, but our building is a mixed use facility, and the main entrance opens onto a large lobby with a community theater on the left and a hallway that leads to the main office and school on the right. Evidently, that's too much space: people can get buzzed in and slip into the school, bypassing the office. 

My eyebrow is raised here, too-- wouldn't the buzzer be aware if the buzzee never made it to the office? Ideally, yes, but I also know how many honest distractions there are in any given school day. Practically speaking, in the absence of is a dedicated door monitor, making visitors enter into the office is the best way to keep track of them.

And so, the powers that be have decided that the best way to secure our school is to cut through brick to create a whole new entrance and move the main office right to where Heidi and Laura's classrooms are. And although it was not directly mentioned, I really don't think there's a plan that saves my classroom, either. 

A Shift

I spent part of the day going through one of the bookshelves in my classroom. After 28 years of teaching, I've assembled a pretty nice professional library, full of what once was cutting edge philosophy, advice, and strategies. But while I've added to my collection over the years, I've never taken the time to prune it, reviewing and tossing the books I no longer need or want. 

I filled a box with discards, and I had the sense that this is how it will be moving forward: relinquishment will take the place of acquisition, as I pare my professional possessions. Oh, my students will not suffer-- I have all that I need to make my classroom a comfortable and welcoming place, plus more! in the storage closet down the hall. And I will always provide the consumables that fuel learning-- school supplies and healthy snacks for the kids and chocolate for the adults.

One Thing I Know is True

Today was the second of three pre-service days entirely devoted to professional learning and meetings. I do appreciate the model our district has adopted over the past few years, one where staff can choose from many offerings (including those we have found or developed ourselves) and document the hours we spend learning to improve our practice. And yet, these days might be a little too unstructured for the likes of me; I am most productive with some specific direction and a firm deadline (which is why I always meet the requirements by the end of the year, although sometimes with a racing heart and a sweaty brow).

But perhaps the best lesson of all is being in the learner position for a while. Just as I acknowledge a preference for structure, I know many of my students have that, too. And my appreciation for choice and voice when learning is also pretty universal. There are specific experiences, too, that I recognize must inform my practice. For example, many, many times when I am asked on the spot, in the name of collaborative learning or reflection, to express my thoughts on a complex question, I feel unprepared and even unwilling to participate. 

In fact, I exited a Nearpod activity this morning when the interaction became too stressful, and I knew for a fact that the same thing had happened to some of my virtual students on several occasions last year. Drawing a blank in a situation that you feel is high stakes is not that uncommon.

And so, with that in mind, I made sure to look at the agenda for my next meeting, and when I saw another interactive experience planned, I considered the questions in advance, and attended the meeting prepared with some ideas. What I missed, though, was the icebreaker, and when I ducked into the group a couple of minutes late because a colleague had stopped me in the hall to ask some questions, my stomach siezed and my brain froze when I realized what was happening, and that the only seat left in the room put me third in line to compose an articulate response.

Of the three questions I could choose from, What brings you to the school? What did you read this summer? and What is something you hope for? I could only think of one thing. 

"I came to this school a while ago," I said. "because I wanted to be a teacher, and the principal offered me a job. I think it's worked out so far."

At least that thing was true.

And Counting

 Here's a story that I wish my mom could have read.

A former student, who is going into 8th grade, stopped by my room today to introduce me to their sister who will be in my class this year. Their mom is a colleague at our school, and so I was aware of the rising 6th grader, but it was still nice to meet her in person and also really great to see her older sister, who I hadn't met in person since we went out for COVID in 2020.

"I'm excited to work with you as a writer this year!" I told my future student. 

"Me too," she said, and then nudged her older sibling. "Tell her!" she urged, sotto voce.

"Oh, yeah," shrugged Bella. "Since the 100 Day challenge, I kept going. I haven't missed a day."

"She's on five hundred something!" her little sister boasted.

"Oh my gosh!" I said, stunned. "I can't believe it! You're the only one whose ever kept writing!"

"Except you," they said.

Wink, Wink

When I was 7, my dad and Dave, a friend of my parents, took my 5-year-old brother and me to Disneyland. This was the original park in California, (Disneyworld, in Orlando was still years away). We lived in New Jersey at the time, and although our family was of very modest means, my father worked for TWA, and so travel was a luxury we enjoyed all of our lives. 

My parents are both gone now, but I wish I could ask them why we went on that particular trip then. My sister was three, and I vaguely remember some talk about her being too young to enjoy the park, but I can't figure out why they decided that my dad should take us without her and my mom. A couple years later, we all did go on another California vacation that included Disneyland, but that first trip will have to remain a mystery.

And to be honest, I don't remember much about it. I sort of recall the excitement of being on the airplane, and as both a kid int the USA in 1969 and a faithful viewer of The Wonderful World of Disney each Sunday Night, I just knew we were going to have an amazing time. But of the actual time spent in the Magic Kingdom, I vaguely recall the Mad Hatter's Teacups, Captain Hook's boat, It's a Small World, Pirates of the Caribbean, and the Flying Dumbos. I kind of remember seeing the Matterhorn, the Monorail, and the cablecars, but the one ride that really made an impression on me was the Jungle Cruise.

The red and white striped canopy of the boats, the sway of the gangplank as we boarded the boats and took our seats, the safari uniform of the guides, and the animatronic animals and "natives" are still very clear to me. Maybe it was because even at the age of seven I could get the jokey sarcasm of the "captain" as he narrated our tour down the river. Perhaps, for the first time in my young life I felt like I was part of the grown up crowd who laughed not at the jokes, but at how corny they were. 

In any case, you can imagine my interest, 52 years later, when I heard that Disney was making a live-action movie based on the ride and starring Dwayne "the Rock" Johnson and Emily Blunt. For a moment I could even smell the chlorine of the fake river and see the gaping maw of the hippo that the captain must always, always shoot with his pistol. How could anything billed as a cross between The African Queen and Raiders of the Lost Ark go wrong? And so on the first Saturday night of the school year, I suggested we check it out.

And... it was fine. Likable actors usually make likable movies, but it was merely a playful, tongue-in-cheek shadow of both the movies it was compared to, completely missing their spark and magic. And somehow? I think they knew that, just as they have down at the Jungle Cruise since 1955.