A Wing and a Plan

I looked up from the announcements when there was a soft thump on the window during homeroom this morning. A puff of tiny feathers stuck to the glass and a cloud of the same floated, suspended on the air beyond. 

"That was a bird!" cried one of the students as the rest of us sat stunned. 

I went over to the window to see if I could triage the situation, but the sheer angle of the wall made it impossible to see anything. Still, it was all we could talk about, and a little while later, when some other birds attracted my attention, I told my first period class about it. Then I picked up the old binoculars I have sitting on the sill and focused on the roofline of the other school across the way.

"Wait!" one of the students said in astonishment, "are you actually using those binoculars to look at birds?"

"It's what they're here for," I shrugged.

"We should totally have a bird-watching club!" the student responded.

"Really?" I turned. "Would you be interested in that?" 

Several kids said that they would. "It should be Monday," one suggested, "because there aren't many clubs meeting then."

"Maybe we could get a grant for binoculars and field guides," I mused, surprised and a little excited by their enthusiasm.

"I'd love to draw birds," said the first student so wistfully it tugged my heart a little.

"Ms. M likes to photograph birds," another student reported, mentioning the science teacher. "Maybe she would teach us how to do that."

"We could ask her," I said, the tiny millet seed of an idea sprouting and taking root. I imagined Mondays spent walking through campus, starting with basic identification of common birds, maybe putting up some feeders, checking off our sightings, moving on to learning about migratory birds and their patterns.

"This is a good idea!" I clapped. "Let's see what we can do!"

Press 6 for Fresh Air and Chubby Cheeks

 There has been a professional difference of opinion around school lately as to whether the kids should *ever* be able to use their phones during the instructional day. It is our long-standing policy that phones should be powered off and put away from bell to bell, but times have changed, and attitudes have, too. 

Some of our staff feel quite strongly that it is unreasonable to ask students, especially 8th graders, to give up their phones for the whole day. These teachers point out that there are valid instructional uses of the devices, as well as the opportunity to use them as incentives and breaks as we all navigate our return to both full-time school and block scheduling. They mention that some parents, too, want to be able to reach their students during the day.

Those on the other side of the debate feel that phones are nothing but a distraction at best and opportunity for mischief and malice at worst. They remind us that our district provides each student with a device to use in school, and so phones are technically not necessary. And in the event of family emergency, they say, every classroom has a phone, and parents can call the main office at any time to reach their student.

There seems to be a generational divide on the issue. Younger teachers who have grown up with phones themselves are more likely to favor a more flexible policy. In high school, students are allowed to have their phones and use them at the discretion of the teacher, so why not have a rule more closely aligned to that one?

Older teachers seem to value consistency, especially when it comes to undercutting student resistance to any rules they don't like. They are more comfortable operating in loco parentis and setting unpopular boundaries in support of what they feel are the kids' best interest. What 11-14 year old can resist the buzz of a text?

It is a dilemma indeed, and in the midst of this disagreement the sixth grade planned a mini-field day activity for our students on early-release day today. After a quick review with administration of some school rules that have slipped a bit (phones included-- our policy still stands, for now), kids headed out into the cool morning and played a variety of old-fashioned games, then had some free time to socialize and play some more with all of their sixth grade peers. 

Because we were outside, masks were optional, and it was a wonder to see some of the sixth graders I've come to know over the last 2 months from the nose down for the first time. Another teacher and I stood marveling at their baby faces. 

"It's so weird!" she said.

"I know," I agreed, "but I sure could get used to it!"

Version of Events

As an extension to the personal narrative assignment we offered writers a chance to create a graphic version of their stories using an online app. The results have been charming-- kids are so visual and so technology-savvy, and I have thoroughly enjoyed reading the distillations of their memoirs. 

I especially got a kick out of one that featured me, in avatar form:

I feel so seen!

Bring on the Rain

 My watch buzzed as we were stepping out the door for our walk to pick up Lucy. Rain starting soon in Arlington, VA, it warned. 

"Should we drive?" I asked Heidi.

"We need the walk," she reminded me. "I'm going to bring an umbrella."

"I'm going to wear a hat," I said. "I don't care if I get a little wet. I"ll shower when we get home."

And off we went: down the winding steps, across the condo complex at the bottom of the hill, left at the corner, jaywalking (or jogging) across Walter Reed, down the bike path, up the winding hill, through the high school campus, across George Mason, around the corner, and up the street.

We heard the first rumbles of thunder a mile and a half in as we made our last turn. "I didn't see anything about thunder!" I said to Heidi. "Because that might have changed my mind."

"No kidding," she nodded as we climbed the steps to get Lucy.

"Do you guys want a ride home?" Sarah, our dog walker offered.

"Do we?" I asked Heidi.

"We need the walk," she reminded me again, and we quickly leashed up Lucy to head home.

"Call me if you need to," Sarah said helpfully.

We were just past the stadium, which had been full of athletes practicing three different sports on our way, but was now deserted when the wind almost turned Heidi's umbrella inside out and the skies opened. "Run for the snack bar!" I shouted over the storm, before my hat blew off and I had to reverse course to retrieve it.

We were both soaked by the time we got to the covered space. "I think it's going to let up soon," I said, pointing to the noticeably lighter sky to the southwest. 

We stood dripping for a while, but just when we were about to call for help, the torrential rain turned to a very manageable downpour. "Let's go!" I said, and out we stepped into the rain. 

Heidi's umbrella was fully protective, and my hat? Well, it stayed on my head, and to be honest I didn't care that I was wet. The wind was fresh and the rain was too.

Locally Famous

We decided to vote early today and headed out to a community center just up the hill from us. There was a bit of a line, but the day was beautiful, quintessentially October, golden sun, flaming leaves, luminous sky, and it was a pleasure to wait. A candidate for county board chatted us up as we stood. "I'm here for questions, or complaints, or--" he paused.

"Or votes?" I teased him. "You have ours." 

"Thank you!" he laughed and moved on down the line. 

There were several volunteers from the local Democrats, and at the top of the hour they had a mini-shift change. One young man made his way to the card table they had set up as a command center. He walked steadily on forearm crutches and said introduced himself in a loud voice. It was a name recognized from the sixth grade class 15 years ago. I turned to look at more carefully, and sure enough I could just make out the 11-year-old boy in the thin and rangy man with shaggy blond hair: the blue eyes were the same. I went back to say hello, removing my sunglasses and mask so that he might recognize me, too. 

In sixth grade, he was on our team, but not in my English class. He was in our school's functional life skills program, but he was full of personality and known to all. He didn't have many conversational filters back then, and I found the same was still pretty true. 

"How have you been?" I asked.

"Physically?" he replied, and waved his crutches at me. "I have these."

"I'm sorry that happened to you," I told him.

"That's muscular dystrophy," he shrugged.

"How's your mom?" I asked.

"She has a blood clot in her leg!" he reported. "From running."

"Well, at least she's staying active," I said, a little unsure where to take the conversation next.

"I think it's your turn to go in," he nodded to the door where Heidi was holding my place.

"I'm going to tell your teachers I saw you," I said. "They're going to be a little jealous."

"I know," he answered. "They liked me."

If I Know You

Lately Heidi has had a bee in her bonnet, or perhaps more seasonal and precise, a bat in her belfry, about her Halloween costume. This year she plans to go as Maleficent, the evil queen from Sleeping Beauty, and Lucy and the cats are going to dress as her bat minions. So yesterday as soon as our conferences were over we headed to Spirit Halloween where we found her costume, and subsequently ordered some bat wings for our pets. 

She was so excited that she tried it on this morning to preview the look. After the two of us thoroughly discussed the headpiece (cool), and cape-caftan gown (also kind of cool), and what her make up would be like, she decided to go show her friend down the way.

"You're just going to walk around the neighborhood dressed like Maleficent?" I asked. 

"Yep!" she answered cheerfully and out the door she went. 

I could hear though the kitchen window when she ran into our next door neighbor. "You look amazing!" she said, “so elegant and evil!” and then they proceeded to discuss the make up plan again.

"What about a staff?" our neighbor asked. "There's something very empowering about carrying a staff."

We had actually debated the staff situation at length, and Heidi finally decided against one because it would get in the way when she was walking Lucy.

"Well you look very elegant, and comfortable, too," our neighbor continued. "I love a caftan!"

Just then another neighbor happened by. "Why are you dressed up?" she asked.

"Who's dressed up?" the first neighbor asked and the three of them were still cracking up when yet another neighbor came upon the scene. 

"I have come to receive my punishment," she bowed to Heidi.

"Just stay away from spinning wheels," the other neighbor advised. 

A little while later Heidi came back inside. "It's a hit!" she reported.

I would say so.

Why Do They Have to Be So Good?

I confess that, despite the many years of experience I have with it, I often dread conference day. I have more than a little social anxiety about spending the day with a bunch of people I don't know, even for a good cause.

Things got a little better when we moved to student-led conferences: like so many things about middle school, the novelty of that model carries the day with sixth grade students and their parents alike. And it is true that once I shift into teacher-gear, the meetings themselves go quite well, but I am always happy when they are over.

As I am this afternoon, but I was reminded many times throughout the course of the day why we do conferences. For example, there was the student who said at least 10 times as many words today as I have heard her say all year. "She's not quiet at home!" her mother told me through the Thai language interpreter who was dialed in through the mobile phone I held close to the screen. I also learned that one of my students speaks Russian with his mother, another has 2 older brothers also at our school, and still another who is doing phenomenally academically doesn't feel like he has many friends. 

One of the kids mentioned in passing that his teachers talk too fast and that he is too shy to ever say anything when working in a group. And another said that the most surprising thing about middle school is all the profanity scrawled in the bathrooms and dropped carelessly in the hallways between class-- to her school is sort of a Lord of the Flies meets KidTown situation, but not so bad as to tell an adult about it. 

Pretty much every student had something surprising and relevant to share, and I was reminded again and again that as much as I personally dislike them, I also must admit that they are an important tool to support our students.