Shine On

After all the rain yesterday, I was doubtful that our 7:15 engagement would go on, but it did. As the skies cleared and a full moon rose, dusk found eight people and two dogs in the school parking lot just at the top of the hill. 

We were there to honor Ben and Blasket on their birthday, two congenial old fellows who our dog community had recently lost. To do so, someone had brought flying lanterns: hot air balloons made of paper with a wax and cardboard wick that when ignited fills the lanterns with hot air and sends them soaring hundreds of feet into the sky before they are consumed by the flames that make them rise. 

Aside from the rain, I was a little hesitant to participate. Some internet sources described the lanterns as dangerous, and even illegal in 29 states, including our own. Once at our meeting point, I was put a bit at ease by one of the other folks. "I've done this dozens of times," he said, ticking off the names of people he had lost, "it's perfectly safe." The wet weather was also reassuring-- everything was still damp; nothing seemed dry enough to burst into flames.

And so we began assembling the lanterns and lighting the squares. It took a nerve-wracking minute or two of holding a light paper structure with an open flame attached before the warm air filled the ballon and it was able to be tossed aloft to float up and up. 

But when they did take flight, I was unprepared for how moving it was to watch the glowing light drift up and away. Soon there was a line of them stretching toward heaven, tiny orbs shining in the darkness as they flew away into the night, almost as if they knew where to find Ben and Blasket.

Good Times

There are a couple days on the calendar that, as a sixth grade teacher, I have come to dread: Valentine's Day and St. Patrick's Day. These minor holidays have the tendency to become huge distractions in school, fueled by sugar and misdirected emotions. 

When I was a kid the rule was to either bring a Valentine for everyone or no one. I'm not sure how it goes down in elementary school, but in middle school? Some kids walk away with an armful of candy and gifts from their friends while others go empty-handed, which is obviously disappointing at best and devastating at worst. Our student council even runs a candygram fundraiser where for a dollar kids can send notes and sweets to their friends. 

It's tough to strike the right balance in homeroom as you dole out the deliveries, so this year I forked over fifteen bucks to make sure that every student would have one. "I can't believe I got one!" said one student as I handed him his anonymous Valentine. 

Soon enough, though, they started comparing the handwriting. "All of these in red are pity cards for people who would never get one anyway," concluded the same student a few minutes later. 

"They're actually from me," I confessed. "I wanted you all to have a nice start to the day."

"Told you so," he whispered to the kid next to him, then ate the candy and tossed the note I had composed for him in the recycling bin.

And then just a month later we get St. Patrick's Day? Oof. 

Pity the sixth grader who forgets to wear green or doesn't even own anything green, for they are destined to spend the day getting surreptitiously pinched between classes, their claims of green underwear or socks falling on deft fingers. If they are not given an Irish-themed sticker by some sympathetic teacher then they may draw a shamrock in green marker on their hand or face to ward off the attacks. All day long shades of green are carefully evaluated to determine if they are green enough to pass.

At least that's how the day looms in my memory. Today the sixth graders were relatively restrained in their celebrations and surprisingly forgiving of those not in green. I wondered if my recollections were blown out of proportion, until I did I did a little calculation. Because of weekends, the COVID shut down, and virtual learning, the last time St. Patrick's Day was an in-person school day was 2017. These kids were in first grade then! They never the learned the shenanigans I've come to expect of the day.

If only we could keep it that way!

In Praise of Micro Classes

I'm a teacher who is a supporter of block scheduling for 6th graders. As long as there are movement opportunities, brain breaks, cooperative learning, and plenty of guided practice built in to each session, the extended class time without transitioning from one place to another is efficient and effective. I also like planning once for two days, and I think giving students a chance to take a deep dive into fewer subjects each day helps with learning.

Even so, I confess that I love the early release day schedule, too. On days like today we see everyone for 21 minutes. We can use the time as a catch-up day, or an extension day, or like I did today-- a fast and furious review of concepts. I read out loud The Legend of Rock, Paper, Scissors; then we had a quick rock, paper, scissors tournament, and next we played a 20 question Kahoot on conflict, and finally the kids filled out a 2 part exit ticket before packing up and heading on their ways.

In 2 hours? I was finished teaching for the day, and I had evidence that my students had learned.

First Day on the New Feet?

I was on the ground before I realized I was falling. 

Landing on my left elbow and knee, I rolled over onto my back and sat up. "I'm okay!" I said, without really knowing if it were true. It was only then I saw the runner and biker who had stopped to help, looking on with concern. 

"Really?" asked the biker doubtfully.

"Really," I assured him.

Heidi and Lucy had been a few paces ahead of me, but they were back by my side now, freeing the good Samaritans from any further obligation.

"What happened?" Heidi asked.

I had been walking purposefully along into mile 3 of a 5 1/2 mile jaunt on the W&OD trail. Crossing a bridge, I pulled my sunglasses off and dug in my pocket for my phone to snap a photo. Evidently that was a couple of tasks too many, because my right foot slipped off the side of the asphalt trail, and I rolled my ankle. 

Now, still sitting on the ground, I could feel my ankle begin to throb and probably swell. I reached for my Ray-Ban Wayfarers, but they had been snapped in half at the bridge of the nose in my fall.

It was then, when I knew that I was okay, but I saw the damage to my shades, that I considered how bad such a fall might have been. My elbow, my knee, my ankle-- any of them could have been broken instead of bruised. 

As it was, I made the decision to walk it off, knowing that there were lots of family and friends who would have come to my aid in a matter of minute. Instead I headed home, breathing through the ache and taking the next 2 1/2 miles one step at a time.

Keeping It Simple, Students

"I think one of the boys at my table ate my Hershey Kiss," a student whispered to me this morning."

"Why do you think so?" I replied, looking at her two classmates who seemed the picture of engagement as they watched an animated short film and collaborated to diagram its plot.

"I was working on my plot chart," she reported, "and when I looked up from my iPad the kiss was gone! The weird thing is that there was a little ball of foil in its place-- the wrapper."

"But you didn't see anyone come over?" I asked.

"No," she shook her head in confusion.

"Go ask the guys nicely if they saw anyone," I suggested, and I watched as she went over. 

I observed them remove their ear buds, heard her ask very politely if they had seen anything, and saw them shake their heads. 

"I just ate mine," one told her, gesturing at the tiny slip of paper in front of him.

"I had a Jolly Rancher," said the other. 

My teacher sense tingled, telling me they were being truthful. I surveyed the scene again and walked over. "Where's the wrapper from your candy?" I asked the guy who had the chocolate.

He flushed and pointed across the table to the foil ball by the first student's seat, then elbowed his partner. "He threw it!" 

"Sorry," the other kid confessed.

Their story added up: one Kiss, one wrapper, one plume of paper. I looked at the original student. "Are you sure you didn't put your candy away somewhere?"

She frowned and jammed her hands thoughtfully into the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie. Her eyes widened, and a moment later she pulled out a little silver-wrapped drop of chocolate. "Oops," she said and returned to her seat.

Doing My Homework

When the daily challenge on Friday involved voluntarily singing a song of their choice, in addition to "Happy Birthday," "The ABCs," and "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," I heard 3 renditions of "We Don't Talk about Bruno" (no no no) from Encanto.

"I still haven't seen that movie!" I told one duo after they sang their hearts out.

"Oh you have to!" one of them said. "It's soooooooo good!"

The same student checked in with me before she left for the day. "What are you watching this weekend?" she prompted.

"Uh... Encanto?" I replied.

"Yessssssssss!"

So I dutifully streamed the newest Disney movie this morning, and I confess that I was not disappointed. The animation was gorgeous and the music was amazing. I can't wait to tell my student that I did my assignment, plus? As I watched, I mentally completed a plot diagram in my head, because you can never have too many examples ready!

A Pinch

This morning I had a few baking projects going at once. They were multistep recipes, and it seemed to make sense to skip from one to another while this one was resting, that one was rising, the one over there was soaking, and the other was in the oven. But when it came time to put the sandwich bread in its earthenware bowl to rise, the dough tasted a little flat to me. This was my new favorite sourdough, and I knew it was off, but why?

Years ago I heard a folk tale about a vain king who asks his daughters how much they love him. 

"More than all my gold and jewels," the oldest replies.

"More than all my beaus and pretty dresses," the middle daughter tells him.

His youngest pauses before answering. "I love you like the salt in my bread," she says, "no more and no less."

The king is offended by this answer, and he banishes his daughter, ordering her to leave the palace the next morning. That night, the princess sneaks down to the kitchen, and asks the cook to leave the salt out of her father's bread. 

After his first bite at breakfast the next morning, the king summons the cook to his dining table and demands to know what is wrong with the bread. "Your highness, it has no salt," he is informed, and he understands the lesson immediately.

That's what was wrong with my bread, too. In my multitasking, I had forgotten to add the salt. Fortunately, I was able to knead in some flaky sea salt and salvage the loaf, grateful for the reminder about love.