This is What We've Come To

After the kids left on their last day of school, I was cleaning and packing my room this afternoon when I found an orange post-it note clinging to the underside of a table. On it in neat letters was the full name of a student, the date of the lockdown, the current time, a description of the lunch bag where her phone was located, and the passcode to access it. 

I could only surmise that she had created it as we waited huddled in the dark and then left it there in case someone needed it to identify her and contact her family.

What a World.

Expiration Date

There is a time capsule in the lobby of our school. 

I was present when it was put in place in 2003, the 30th anniversary of our building, and scheduled to be opened thirty years later,  in 2033. Recently, some students noticed it and became curious about its history and contents. They imagine themselves returning in 10 years just to see what's in there.

"You have to stay here teaching until then!" one told me today. "It will be your 40th year! We can have reunion!"

I laughed, noncommitally, and later at the end-of-the-year staff picnic I was recounting the conversation to Heidi and my friend Mary. 

"No way I'm teaching until I'm 71!" I scoffed. "Unless I do," I hedged.

"You'll have to re-certify," Mary reminded me practically. "Our licenses are only good until 2032."

"And mine expires in 2031," Heidi said. "Sorry, Babe, I'm not teaching past then."

"Well, at least I know what's in there," I sighed.

Not Today, Sixth Graders

Late last week, two girls proposed making muffins for the class and planning a lesson based on the recipe for teacher of the day. 

"Can you make them gluten-free?" asked one of their classmates.

"I think so," answered one of them.

"No!" groaned another student. "They will taste awful!"

"Why don't you guys make two batches, one gluten free and one regular, and let us do a taste test?" I suggested.

"Yes!" said the other partner. "We can make them guess which is which!"

Today was the day they taught their lesson, starting with an informative slide show about gluten and gluten-free baking, which included both recipes for the chocolate chocolate chip muffins they had prepared for us.

I love a taste test, and I eagerly sampled the first muffin. It was delicious-- dense and moist and very fudgy. The second muffin had good flavor and a fine crumb, but it was a little dry. I re-examined the recipes. The gluten-free were baked with almond flour and coconut oil, the regular had eggs and vegetable oil. I knew the first one was the gluten-free version, and it was frankly a much better muffin.

The students asked each of us to make our guesses as they tallied our predictions on the chalkboard. I went first. "I think the muffin on the left was gluten free," I said. "It was also delicious!"

"No way!" another kid said. "That one was definitely regular." His classmates nodded.

I could tell by the tickled smiles on the bakers' faces that I was right and that they were enjoying fooling their friends. "I think they just like to disagree with you," one of them said to me, and we laughed because all year long, they were a very contrary group who never had a problem taking me on. 

Even though they had never won a debate with me, the class doubled down on this one, and all but one voted the opposite way.

When it came time for the big reveal, the class moaned in defeat. "She's a former chef!" said the student who voted with me. "And she never loses an argument!"

Maybe Tomorrow

It's been a lovely early summer here this year, but in the spirit of Murphy's Law, the first really hot and humid day coincided with our end of the year activity, with many of the activities planned for outside. The sun was unrelenting at 8:30 AM and the air so heavy and humid that there was not even a stir of a breeze in the trees, let alone on the new synthetic turf field where I was scheduled to spend my day. 

And so many of the kids were woefully unprepared, too, no water bottles, dressed in heavy, dark clothing from head to foot, wearing masks even outdoors. The whole situation kind of took the wind out of the sails for a fun day featuring kickball, capture the flag, a Survivor-style relay race, and a personalized scavenger hunt all over campus. The teacher at the doors was busy, line to the water fountain was long, and arts and crafts and inside games were a welcome relief. 

A similar activity was wildly popular in 2019, the last time we planned such an event. Back then, we were winding down the year with one of the toughest groups of kids I've ever taught, and that day was hot, too, but those kids navigated their teamwork and independence beautifully, despite all the challenges of the year.  AND our team of teachers was strong, and as needy as the kids were, they hadn't been hit with 2 years of pandemic disruption.

My reflection on today reveals so many variables, couldas, wouldas, shouldas, but I'm too tired and disappointed to unpack them all.

HBD Frannie!

The phone rang when I was driving to the store. (Wait! People of my generation: think about that! The phone rang on my way to the store, and I answered it because I had it with me. 🤯) It was a FaceTime from my brother and sister. (Again. Pause. I could see them live as I drove my car. Yes, it is very dangerous. I was careful, though.) Today is my mom's birthday, and talking to them was really the only thing I wanted to do (except get chocolate cake from the store to eat with the cauliflower tart I was making in her honor). We agreed to reconnect in 45 minutes (that call? Lasted over 3 hours!) 

Love you, Mom

This Happened

My students were just finishing a hilarious teacher for the day lesson on "acting" to get out of trouble with your parents, when Heidi knocked purposefully on my locked classroom door. "I forgot my keys," she said, and after I handed her mine, she lowered her voice and continued. "They're putting us in lockdown in a minute." Then she unlocked her door and returned my keys.

I began to prepare, lowering the inside blinds, turning off the lights. "I think we may be going into lockdown," I told the kids, but they were still giggling about the Kahoot! they'd just finished, and it took a minute to register.

"Is it a drill?" someone asked.

"Maybe not," I replied, powering down the SMART Board and moving to the exterior windows to close those blinds. Outside I saw the teachers from the elementary school across the way running frantically, gathering kids, shepherding them inside. 

Just then the principal's voice came across the P.A. "Staff and students, at this time we are in lockdown. Please follow the procedures."

Some students gasped, but I reassured them all. "If I had to guess, I would say it is something going on in the neighborhood, not in the building." Rather than perfunctorily going under the table where they were sitting, the majority of kids moved as far away from the door and into as sheltered a position as they could find. I heard heavy breathing and then soft sobs. There were also loud voices in the hallway, which I recognized as administration, and their presence confirmed my suspicion that there was no imminent threat. Before assuming my mandated position, I moved quietly to check on the students. I handed one the candy jar. "Pick a piece and pass it quietly," I whispered. The promise of a little sweetness snapped everyone out of their fears, for a moment, and we all waited quietly in the dark.

My watch started buzzing a few minutes later; colleagues were texting to see what each of us knew. "I barricaded the door," reported one.

I relayed my inference that it was police activity in the area, but an unsettled exchange continued until one teacher got a message from a neighbor whose child had texted her when we went into lockdown. That mom had called 911, and they confirmed that there had been an armed robbery at the convenience store on the corner. In that case, it seemed like a secure the building was more appropriate, and our principal announced as much a minute or so later. 

Even so, the kids were shaken. We had missed the change of class, and as they gathered their belongings to move on, some were pale and quiet and others loudly processed the experience. I walked with one student to the office so she could call home, and through the lobby doors I saw 15-20 parents waiting anxiously outside to pick up their kids. 

One of our plate glass entry doors was shattered, but not breached, and the principal stood talking to the building manager and a police officer. All around me kids were shouting that someone had tried to shoot their way in, but we shushed them and sent them to their next class. 

The real story was much more in keeping with our times: when he heard that something was happening at school, a young man hurried down to pick up his sisters and ensure their safety. Met with the locked doors and no response to outside communication which are required by our lockdown procedures, he became distraught and began kicking the glass until it shattered. Some reports of the situation indicated that he was armed and ready to confront any threat.

And so it is.

Xtreme Brain Break

When I planned to give the students a choice of brain breaks today, I thought they would think back to some of the activities they enjoyed over the year and pick one to repeat. I figured there would be some discussion, perhaps even a bit of debate about the relative merits of whatever suggestions the group came up with. And that's pretty much how it went yesterday and for the first block today. But when my third period got to the activity the first student who raised her hand suggested that we all scream as loudly as possible. 

"That's a suggestion," I said mildly. "Does anyone have another?"

Determined to rankle me, the next kid I called on proposed that I throw candy in the air and they all scramble for it.

I raised my eyebrows, and I was quiet for a minute. Shooting down ridiculous suggestions was not how I wanted to end the year. I shrugged. "I'll tell you what," I said. "Why don't we go outside, and you guys can scream as loud as you want, AND I'll throw Jolly Ranchers in the air for you."

"Really?" they asked.

"Sure, why not?" I replied. 

As we headed down the hallway one of them fell into step with me. "How are you the most awesome teacher, ever?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm not," I told her, "I just kind of want to see what happens if we do this."

Once outside, we found a nice grassy spot. "Okay!" I announced. "You scream, and I will throw this handful of candy as high as I can!"

Shrieks erupted and Jolly Ranchers rained down on them. Some dropped to their knees for candy, and others continued hollering. It was pretty hilarious, and in less than a minute, we were done and on our way back in. 

"That was awesome!" several students agreed.

"That was a pretty good brain break," I admitted.