Membership Has its Privileges

Three days before the world shut down in 2020 I was on a field trip to Mount Vernon. The outing was an annual event, and I had been to George Washington's home many times. That day in March was warm and sunny, and in my memory everyone had a good time and learned a lot. The bus ride home was a little bumpy, but kids were singing and laughing all the way back to school.

Sometimes I wonder if that will be the last field trip I ever take-- my career is waning and resources for such activities were waning, too, even before COVID. There may be another ride on a yellow bus or two in my future, but probably not too many.

Today, though, on our unplanned spring break staycation, Heidi and I took Lucy to Mount Vernon. The estate is privately run by the Mount Vernon Ladies Association, and they, like George Washington himself, welcome dogs on the property. Years ago we had annual passes because our first dog, Isabel, was so fond of the farm and its animals; we used to hop in the car and head down the parkway just to spend an hour or so strolling the grounds.

Today it seemed right to purchase a two-year membership, which comes with unlimited visits. Even though Lucy had never been there before, Heidi rightly assumed she would love it. Seeing Lucy joyful and engaged makes Heidi happy, and the sun was shining, the sky was blue, we watched an eagle build her nest in the top of a tall tree, and the mansion and grounds seemed just as I left them 2 years ago. 

I think we made a good investment.

Parking Karma

 We were trolling for a parking space down around the Tidal Basin when a car just ahead of us pulled out of one. I put my blinker on and rolled forward to begin a parallel park, but as I did the car stopped. "What's he doing?" I said to Heidi. "Is he leaving or trying to get into the space?"

"He's getting out of the car," she said. "Here he comes."

Generally? I am not a competitive parker. If someone sees the space at the same time as I do, or flips their blinker on, or even if they stare me down, I will wave and continue my search. It's just not worth the negative interaction to me.

So I was fully prepared to apologize to this guy and move on when I saw that he was waving a little white slip of paper. 

I rolled down the window as he approached. "There's another hour on this," he told me as he handed the parking ticket over.

"Hey! Thank you!" I said and slid the pass on the dashboard. "I think that's all the time we'll need." 

After the two mile loop we loaded Lucy into the car, and before easing back out into traffic I drew the ticket from its place and glanced at the time stamped on it: 4:58. 

Then I checked my watch: 4:58.

For the Teacher

"Here ya go!" a student said cheerfully as she deposited a zipper plastic bag with an apple into my hand yesterday morning. "An apple for the teacher!"

"Uh, thanks?" I said.

She laughed. "You like apples don't you? Of course you do. They are very healthy!"

"You're right about that," I agreed. "Thank you very much."

Kids giving you random gifts is one of the oddest things about being a teacher. Just the day before, another student opened a re-used water bottle full of homemade horchata and offered me some. I dutifully dug out a small paper cup and he poured me a shot of the beverage. I thanked him warmly, and he happily replaced the cap on his drink and went to lunch.

As for the present yesterday, no other teacher received an apple. Not to be ungrateful, I wondered if it was part of her lunch that she didn't want. Even so, I removed the shiny red delicious apple from the bag, and placed it on my desk where it gleamed iconically all day long.

"Did you eat your apple yet?" the student inquired after lunch.

"Oh no," I said. "I'm going to take it home and bake something with it."

"Apple pie?" she asked.

"Apple bread, I think," I told her, "or maybe muffins."

She nodded with approval. "I knew you would appreciate it," she said.

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.