Hai Jinks

A simile to consider: 

like trying to get a class of sixth graders to focus on the Friday before spring break

Oof!

Hai Praise

The sixth grade assistant principal was visiting one of my English classes the other day when I was conferring with a sixth grade writer about the plot chart she had created for the children's book that she is working on. 

"My main character is a girl in third grade," she told me.

"What does she want?" I asked.

"She wants to do science and math and engineering," she answered.

"Why can't she?" I responded. "What's stopping her?"

"She lives in a place that doesn't support girls who want that," she replied.

"Where is it?" I said. "What's your setting?"

"I don't know? Texas?" she suggested. "Isn't everyone sexist in Texas?"

"Well..." I started.

"That sounds like a country song to me!" noted the AP with a laugh as she slipped out the door on her way to visit another class.

Hai Stakes

The pressure was on. 

With the March writing challenge in the books, it was time to award prizes. Last year, with hybrid instruction and its many complications, I took the sage advice of my friend Mary and had the winners fill out an online form indicating their choice of candy. Mary and I spent a couple of pleasant asynchronous Monday mornings basking in the sunshine and congratulating young writers, many of whom we had never met in person. 

This year I was also inclined to streamline my previous wheel-spinning extravaganza, and so I sent a similar form to the 40 (YES! 40!) kids who had written 20 days or more in March, but old habits die hard. In addition to candy and snacks I was pretty sure I could get for a dollar, there was a "Surprise me!" option. I threw it in both as a gesture to kids who might not want candy and as a nod to the past, figuring I'd buy a few things from the dollar store and clearance bin and resurrect the wheel. 

And I would have been fine with the plan until I overheard one student advising another on his choice of prizes. "Dude! You have to pick Surprise Me! You know it's going to be awesome!"

His classmate was not so convinced. "Okay," he decided after some deliberation. "I'm trusting you."

"It's Ms. S!" said his friend with a confident nod.

And at first? It went pretty well. I had the excitement of spinning the wheel, a variety of prizes, and a few pretty cool things that made that choice seem like a winner. But I did feel a little deflated when the same kid who had been my biggest booster took a look at the options and raised his hand. 

"Is it too late to switch?"

Hai Brow

We usually start the poetry unit with haiku because its form is relatively simple to understand and students are typically familiar with it from elementary school. This year, however, I was surprised at the number of kids who had never heard of haiku or even those who could not say what a syllable was. 

After some consideration, I realized that this group has not had any direct instruction in poetry since third grade. We went out for COVID before they reached the unit in fourth grade, and poetry was part of the content that was dropped last year in order to streamline the curriculum for hybrid instruction. 

So for the last two days I've found myself actually teaching haiku rather than delivering a cursory review of its rules. It has been a surprisingly satisfying intellectual experience to take a deeper dive into the form: 17 syllables of observation leaves no room for the extraneous nor any repetition; perfect verbs and adjectives etch the fine strokes of these profound and exquisite sketches.

Or not. The writers I spend my days with are still in sixth grade, and so I got a few poems like this:

The sky is ugly.
The kids are ugly, too.
The birds are stupid.

Hai Jacked

When the poetry section of our 100 Day Writing Challenge begins in April, my friend Mary always reminds us that kids love to plagiarize haiku. As simple as it seems to write seventeen syllables, she is always right, and this morning was no exception. 

No sooner had I opened the electronic challenge and was going over it with my first group of students than a writer in another class posted three haiku. "Wow!" remarked one of his peers, "that was fast!"

It was the second poem that gave him away:

An ocean voyage
as the waves breaks over the bow
the sea welcomes me

and the third that sealed the deal:

The flowers wither
beneath the weight of the sun,
yet the weeds stand proud

I read without comment, knowing I would speak to the plagiarist later, and continued my lesson. "Make sure that your poem is original," I stressed. "I've been reading your writing for seven and a half months, and I know your voice. I'll probably be able to tell if you copied from somewhere else." 

Plus? Kids are terrible at picking believable poems to steal, I noted silently.

The Past as Prologue

Two years ago, when the COVID shut down was just getting started, we would pass some time by meeting friends to walk on the National Mall. Back then, it was eerie how deserted the place was. All the museums were closed, and people were unsure about the safety of anything, even being outside in public. At the same time, it was amazing to have such a beautiful place to ourselves, and to wander world-famous monuments and spaces alone.

Yesterday afternoon, Heidi and I loaded Lucy in the car and drove downtown for a walk. The place was packed. The Cherry Blossom 10 Miler had gone off earlier in the day, and scores of food trucks and ice cream trucks lined the cross streets, blaring their electronic jingles. And even though the trees were quite past their peak, thousands of tourists and residents strolled along in the warm spring afternoon, snapping photos, lounging on the grass, and wandering in and out of museums,

almost as if the last 2 years had never happened.

Cultural History Lesson

As an IB MYP school, part of our mission is to raise awareness in students of organizations that serve the community, so the homeroom lesson the other day was to explore the local animal welfare league website. The kids were most interested in browsing the animals that they have for adoption, and spent a few minutes scrolling through profiles of cats and dogs, and bunnies, guinea pigs and hamsters, too. 

"I like the names of the Hamsters!" I said. "Bobby? Cindy? Greg? They are kind of quirky!" But when I saw the next two hamsters, Jan and Marcia, I literally slapped my forehead. "Oh! Duh! It's the Brady Bunch!"

"What's the Brady Bunch?" asked one of the students.

"You don't know?" I replied with an incredulous head tilt. "Really?"

I looked around the room. "Has anybody ever heard of the TV show the Brady Bunch?"

"Maybe?" said a single student. "But I've never seen it."

"It's about this guy who has three sons and this woman who has..." I started, and then paused and opened a new tab on the browser to pull up a few videos. The opening credits and theme song sort of rang a few bells.

"It's so old, though," noted one kid. "Why would you expect us to know it?"

"Because it's classic!" I replied hitting play on the Marcia, Marcia, Marcia scene. "This part is practically a meme!"

Now I was talking their language! They were watching Jan complain about her big sister when another teacher from the team came in to borrow a lap top. "Mr. G!" called a student. "Have you ever heard of the Brady Bunch?"

"Oh yeah," he waved his hand dismissively. "My mother loved that show."