Imagination Station

I spend so much time with sixth graders that I sometimes forget how childish their perspectives still are. I do not mean this in a bad way; in fact, it's very endearing. 

Take the commercials they are producing, for example. This year, I made an investment in some costumes. I shopped at the thrift store and online to find an inexpensive lab coat, construction vest, scrubs, a cowboy vest, a velvet vest, a double breasted blazer, a black choir robe, some aprons, a couple of neck ties, and a bunch of hats and glasses to go with them. To me, it gives them a jump start when they are planning their productions, and it's fun for them to try different things on, so they are more engaged in the assignment. For them? It's a whole other level. 

"Look at me! I look like a legit business man, Bro!" said one guy sporting the blazer and tie. 

"You look exactly like Harry Potter!" another student told a girl in the choir robe, round glasses, and pointed hat. "I really can't believe it! And that broom I helped make out of a yard stick, duct tape, and construction paper? Every class has somebody using it in a commercial because they think it is so authentic. 

Yesterday, I paused a group who was recording video at a table in my classroom. They were supposed to be in a house somewhere. "Don't you want to turn the SMART Board off?" I asked. "It kind of ruins the home effect to see our class announcement behind you."

"Oh, yeah!" Good idea!" they agreed.

"What if you drew a window on some chart paper and hung it up there?" I suggested.

They thought that was another great idea, and excitedly drew a window with some curtains. When we put it on the board by their table, and they turned the camera on to see the effect, they were stunned. "I can't believe how good it looks! It's like we're in a real house!"

Except, it really wasn't. I love how their imaginations still fill in all the blanks, though!

Know Thyself

In 2018 the Commonwealth of Virginia added the requirement that all middle school students participate in a career investigations course, and that's what my homeroom students were online doing this morning when one of them called me over. 

"What if someone doesn't have any strengths?" he asked.

"Oh, everyone has some strengths," I answered. 

He nodded, and I stood watching over his shoulder as he began to make his list. Wiggle my ears, he typed. 

I looked at him to see if he was joking, but he really wasn't. "I think maybe you could add some school strengths," I suggested.

"Those I don't have," he shook his head.

"You are really good at participating in class discussions," I said, "and you have a lot of creative answers to questions."

"Maybe you're right," he shrugged. Talking in class, he entered, answering questions, and then he added Raise one eyebrow really high. 

"You need one more, " I told him, and left him alone to continue pondering his strengths.

Professional Learning

I did 3 1/2 hours of required training this afternoon. The session was offered via Zoom, and strangely enough, started 18 minutes before my last class of the day was finished. It worked out for me: my sixth graders were taking a test, and they were more than happy to quietly cooperate in the novel situation of their teacher having to be a student before their very eyes. 

The topic of the course was meeting the needs of English Language Learners, specifically by using Higher Order Thinking Skills when planning questions and activities. It was a good reminder and also an affirmation of many of the strategies I already use. The group was relatively small, only 13, and there were several moments of complete crickets when we were asked to share our thoughts and observations. At those times, I was somewhat uncharacteristically quick to turn my camera on, unmute, and participate. Someone had to, and as I said, I was pretty comfortable with the material.

A mainstay of that type of workshop is always viewing a video of some long ago teacher somewhere instructing a class and then filling out an observation chart noting the strategies you see in the recording and their effectiveness. Sometimes I jot questions as well; even though the teacher can't answer them, I know I'll probably be popped into a breakout room where I can pose them to colleagues should the conversation lag. This time, the video was of a sixth grade science teacher and her class of perhaps eleven years ago. The students were working in groups; they had no personal devices or computers; it was kind of an old school lesson on molecules and polarity.

As we started our debrief, one of the other participants unmuted. "I have to confess," she said, "that that recording was me. I still teach sixth grade science, too."

You could have bought me for a quarter. The group offering the training is a national organization, and there was no reason to think that the teacher was local. When we were asked to offer observations and critique, the silence was even deeper than before. I glanced down at my chart and unmuted. "How were the students grouped?" I asked. "Did you match the level of the questions with the level of the students?"

And we were off! Because when do you ever get to ask real questions about those things? "Would you do anything different?" asked one of the facilitators.

"I wouldn't be videotaped!" the teacher quipped. "No seriously," she continued. "That was a lot of work. The students needed permission, we filmed through lunch, and the editing took a long time."

Everyone onscreen nodded sympathetically. 

"Then? Even though I'm the demonstration for higher order teaching, they made me take this class anyway, because they said it was too long ago to count towards our requirement!"

"Oh look! We're out of time," said the facilitator.

Quiet on the Set

There was a moment today when every single student in my class was off with their group recording their commercials in some quiet corner of the school. I had checked their scripts and planning, and given them the responsibility pep talk and a pass instructing any concerned adult to call me if necessary. So far, all the productions were going very smoothly.

Even so, the quiet of my empty classroom seemed so out of place that I didn't even make it all the way inside before I was off on another loop of filming locations, checking in on my suddenly so independent sixth graders.

Still Plain

In honor of Valentine's Day, the question was What is your favorite candy? and the task was to post a picture and the slogan. It's always been my impression, based on anecdotal evidence, that most kids prefer fruity candy to chocolate, but today that theory was proven incorrect, at least for this group of sixth graders. Kit Kat was an early favorite, and when one student couldn't find the slogan, I burst into song. 

Gimme a break,
gimme a break,
break me off a piece
of that Kit Kat bar.

"What was that?" gasped a student.

"Haven't you guys ever seen that commercial?" I asked.

"Uh, no," the kid replied in a snarky voice. "We're only 11 and 12. That was before our time."

"Really?" I replied. "Let's see." 

A quick internet search revealed that the commercial I was thinking of was produced in 1988. As we watched all sorts of people vigorously belting out the jingle, though, I did notice a silver lining." "Well at least the persuasive technique is obvious!" I told the class.

"Plain folks!" some kids correctly pointed out.

"Plain folks from over 30 years ago!" said the snarky student. " Give me a break!"

Game Winning

Last night we had some neighbors over for dinner and game night. I made vegetable chili and two kinds of quesadillas with all the fixins, and there was salad and corn bread as well. Somebody brought cupcakes and pie, and after dinner we played Left, Right, Center (for dollars! the pot was 24 bucks!) and then divided into teams for a competitive and hilarious game of Guesstures. 

It was a fun evening; seven women and 2 men, from age 33 to 59 and of varying political persuasions, ate, drank (of course!) and played silly games together for 4 hours, and everyone left with a smile and the promise to do it again soon.

One for the W column, for sure.

It's On Again

So much has happened since Early March of 2018 when last we went to Scotland, MD for our annual Oscar weekend. That year Treat drove down from Western Massachusetts, Mom flew in from Minnesota, Kyle took a day off from high school and flew up from Florida, Victor brought his new girlfriend, Emily, and Josh took the weekend off from finishing his senior project. The ten of us spent a windy weekend on the western shore of the Chesapeake. 

One of many highlights was when Emily (prime) and Heidi bought several pairs of leggings at a cute little shop in Leonardtown and everyone wore them to dinner that night. The boys were especially impressed by how comfortable they were. "How is it I've never worn leggings before?" asked Josh. "I think I shall never wear anything else."

Things have changed a lot since then: Victor and Emily are married and living in Iceland, Kyle is a welder, Josh lives in Colorado, there's been a global pandemic, and we miss my mom every day. Four years later, though, we've got a place at the beach in Southern Maryland again for this year's Oscars in late March. And although we will be missing half of our group from 2018, they will certainly be with us in spirit, and as my brother rightly said, "after much disruption high time".