Hey! That's Me

Sometime last week I changed my profile picture on our LMS to my sixth grade school picture. I found it when we were going through family photos at my sister's house a couple weeks ago, and I thought my students might get a kick out of it, if they noticed at all. 

In the photograph, the sixth grade me looks directly into the camera with an amused gap-toothed grin. The shag haircut my mother gave me frames my face and tumbles to the top of the floppy purple collar on the blouse I'm wearing under the bib of my quilted pinafore. I look a little sassy and a lot more confident than I know I was.

I definitely underestimated how much attention kids pay to such things, though, because my new profile was a big topic of conversation in each class. 

"Who is that?" they asked.

"It's me!" I said. "When I was in sixth grade! Can't you tell?"

"Maybe?" they replied.

I honestly didn't expect anyone to say that I hadn't changed in in 49 years, but I was a little dismayed that so many found the photo to be unrecognizable. Maybe it's the masks...

Even so, I forgot all about my picture until yesterday, when I was reading through some discussion board posts. A tiny circle with our profile image stands to the left of our names on anything we post, and there I was right next to one of the student's names. They had copied the picture and used it as their own. If it had been another kid I might have thought they were messing with me, but I have a feeling that this choice was not motivated by mockery or mirth.

Because of conferences today, I haven't had a chance to talk to the student, and I'm kind of glad I have the weekend to think about the conversation. I can't decide exactly what I want to say, because it's kind of flattering, but also a little perturbing.

Thoughts?

A Promising Exposition

At the beginning of each unit we ask our young writers to give us an "on-demand" writing sample of the genre we will be working in, both as a pre-assessment and a baseline that both the students and we will use at the end of the unit when we reflect on their learning. 

Today my sixth graders composed their on-demand fiction pieces, and even though I know how much kids love to write fiction, their sheer glee was both surprising and a little intoxicating. They giggled and whispered as they wrote, and many could not contain their enthusiasm: they were out of their seats begging for readers, either me or their peers.

When I could, I asked them to read an excerpt to me, and their voices were engaged and engaging, funny, dramatic, and true. They wrote tales of injustice, heroism, tragedy, and every day life, and there was fantasy, fairy tale, science fiction, mystery, and a bit mild horror among the mostly realistic fiction. 

And although there is certainly room for growth (it's the largest room in the house!), I was also certain that this was going to be a good unit when I heard one writer eagerly ask his reader, "Do you think it's glorious?" 

Endangered

As I walked out of the school building on my way home this afternoon, I passed 2 colleagues in animated conversation. "There she is!" one of them pointed at me. "You know this whole safety oversight thing started with her!"

I took the comment as a joke and shrugged. "You know it," I replied. "Me and safety got nothing to say to each other."

"No seriously," the other colleague said, "you know I was on the phone the other day and they were telling me that anyone who wants to drive kids on a field trip has to be drug-tested, which I'm okay with," he added parenthetically. "But when they started talking about insurance, I said, 'I have an insurance story for you!'"

I knew what they were talking about then. Years ago, when the safety oversight office was first established, we submitted the paperwork for our annual sixth grade dolphin watching field trip. We had been chartering buses to take us to the coast for years, picnicking on the beach, and then going for a 2 hour cruise. The new office wanted a copy of the boat company's liability policy, and when I contacted the owner, he not only refused to comply, he was offended. "I've been doing business with a handshake all my life," he told me. "I'm not stopping now."

It turned out the guy didn't have insurance, and needless to say, we found another field trip to end the year. And these days? Even before COVID, our field trips were scaled back because of time and resources, and our sixth grade has stayed on campus for the end of the year activity for the last several years.

When people say it was a different time, this is what they mean, which is a little sad, really. As my students prepare for their spring conferences, I've asked them what they are looking forward to in 7th grade. All the field trips, wrote one. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he was probably looking backwards on that.

Self Improvement

As I embark on this annual writing ritual, my students are beginning another. Our Sixth Grade 100 Day Writing Challenge has kicked off on March 1 for the last ten years or so. We make it as fun and achievable as possible, with different levels of participation, monthly prizes, daily mini-challenges and shout-outs, and the kids get excited about writing and publishing on the discussion board of our LMS. 

Since I write every day, anyway, I always ask my students to suggest a hundred day challenge for me to complete in solidarity with their struggle. In past years I've done 100 daily sit-ups, meditated for 10 minutes a day, and practiced the ukulele. 

This year the challenge coincided with my six-month dental check-up, and I confess I have not been as conscientious about my tooth care routine as I should be. "I know it's boring," I told my class yesterday, "but I think I should floss every day for 100 days. That would be a good habit to form." 

They were understanding. "That sounds good," said one, "but only if you do THE Floss every day, too."

I laughed and agreed. I've been wanting to learn that dance move for a while now.

This afternoon I was telling my hygienist the story. Not surprisingly, he approved completely. "You'll see!" I told him, "in sixth months I will be tartar free!"

"Okay," he said, "but remember, you're not doing it for me. It's for you, AND your teeth."

"Wow!" I said. "You sound just like a teacher!"

For Goodness' Sake

There was a bit of fracas in Heidi's social skills class today. One of her students was very cranky with another. "Why? What did I do?" asked the offending kid.

"You said there was no Santa!" answered the other student with a snarl.

It was true; he had said that, back in December. 

Even though these students are all in 7th and 8th grade, they have developmental delay in common, and so some of their families still keep the myth of Santa alive. Some obviously do not, though, and there has been some contention simmering for months because of this disagreement as to Santa's existence.

The renewed conversation today agitated one of the other kids so much that he couldn't keep his anger in check. "God dammit!" he exploded. "He is a saint! Everybody knows saints are real!"

Fraught

I decided to give the new CDC masking guidance a spin yesterday at the mall. As we entered I was wearing my mask, but I scanned the crowd intently eying each person walking toward me to see if I could read the overall mask vibe. 

As of Friday, our area is now considered "low risk" according to the new metrics the CDC has adopted. As such, anyone fully vaccinated is not recommended to wear a mask. The crowd was mixed, perhaps 60-40 in favor of masks; more white people than others unmasked, but a fair share of all shoppers were mask-free. 

I tapped Heidi's arm, and with broad gesture unhooked my mask from my ears, folded it, and put it in my pocket, momentarily relieved to be without it in public. But that feeling was short-lived. I couldn't relax, and I was anxious and worried. 

Worried that I was being premature, that the CDC was overly political in its decision-making process, that I was making others uncomfortable, that masks were a small price to pay for avoiding even the slimmest chance of COVID. Any sense of liberation I felt vanished, and I pulled my mask out of my pocket and put it back on.

Surely You Are Mistaken?

 We ran a few errands this afternoon: grocery shopping, dropping donations at the local thrift shop, that sort of thing. When we reached the last item on our list, I punched LL Bean into the map app on my phone to find the fastest route. I was irritated when it returned a location 35 minutes away when our trip should have taken no longer than 10. I x-ed out of the app and started again. 

"Bethesda?" Heidi said, looking over my shoulder. "What?" 

I gave up and entered "Tysons Corner" instead. "We know where it is when we get there," I shrugged, and Heidi agreed.

And it wasn't until we were actually approaching the shopping center that it occurred to me that the store might have closed. It had been many months since last we had ventured to any mall, let alone this enormous, ever-crowded one. Even so, we parked and walked inside, making our way around to where the first LL Bean outside the state of Maine had been since 2001. 

Of course we were confronted by an empty store front. It was only then that I bothered to search the internet to discover that the place was shuttered on January 17. Apparently, retail real estate is at a premium these days: all that shopping online during the pandemic has given consumers a new appreciation for brick and mortar, while subsidies and bail outs have driven bankruptcy down. In short, everybody wants a physical presence, so when Bean negotiated with the mall owners to downsize their huge operation, the two sides couldn't come to terms.

The article said that the company is actively looking for another location in the area, and that for now they are directing customers to their Bethesda location.

Just as my map app tried to tell me.