The Worst Night of the Year

In all my years of teaching, I have yet to find anyone, either teacher or parent, who enjoys Back to School Night. 

I counted my blessings and then counted them again the last couple of years when the entire event was reorganized to be first asynchronous and then virtual due to the pandemic. But we are back in person with a vengeance, (Social distancing is over, an administrator told me flatly, the other day), and so BSN is on the calendar for tonight, in its original, time-honored, conformation. 

Even as I type, I am dreading bolting my dinner, changing my clothes, returning to school, greeting parents with forced jocularity, and rushing through the same boring information five times, so I can go home late and drag my tired self back to work in the morning for another full day of corralling kids. It is a historic example of how little teacher time is valued.

At the very least? The ordeal should count as a floating half day toward our contract time. A little acknowledgement of and compensation for our inconvenience and overtime would be a step in the right direction.

Welcome to the Club

A few years ago some kids asked me to sponsor an anime club. "We'll run it," they assured me, "we just need a room and a teacher after school." Never a big fan of anime, unless you count the original Speed Racer series, I agreed anyway, assuming that it would be a relatively quiet hour I could spend working while they were watching. 

I couldn't have been more wrong! That anime club was a gathering of loud kids engaging in cosplay and other reenactments of the marginally inappropriate shows they tried to sneak by me. My role involved much more active supervision and contention than I expected, and I ended up with a splitting headache at the end of every meeting. 

Thankfully, COVID put an end to that club; by the time we were back at school in person for extracurriculars, the founders had moved on the high school, and another teacher agreed to sponsor the new anime club, which always seems much more tame whenever I happen past.

Today a couple of boys asked me if I would sponsor a new club, a Dungeons and Dragons Club. I confess that I have never played D&D, not even once, but I did grow up in the 70s, attend college in the 80s, and I have seen Stranger Things. I'm intrigued.

How bad could it be?

Trilingual

At dinner the other night, Heidi was regaling our neighbors with a tale of another 90s phenomena becoming a current, retro trend. The 20-something daughters of one of our colleagues are all into the idea that there are five love languages, popularized in the 1992 book by Gary Chapman. 

"Dad's love language is physical touch," they tell their mom, gleefully. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Mine is words of affirmation," she responds. "What's he going to do about that?"

Our group was of mixed ages. Some of them were in their 20s and 30s themselves when the notion first gained popularity, but others were not even in their teens then.

"I don't even know what they all are," admitted one woman. "I think I remember my dad talking about it, though. Is there a spending time one?"

"That might fit your dad," her husband pressed her playfully, "but what do you you think you are?"

She looked around at the people she had just hosted for dinner, the baby monitor with her daughter's slumbering image, and the man who was teasing her. "I just like to make sure everybody is taken care of."

"Acts of Service!" the group said in unison.

"I still think she likes to receive gifts," her husband shook his head.

"Who doesn't?" she scoffed, and we all had to agree.

SMH

What I saw:

A man on a bike stopped in the crosswalk staring at the driver of the car he was preventing from moving, even as the light changed. He waved other bikers past, holding his position until the light changed again.

What I heard:

F*ck you! F*ck you! Eat sh#t and die! as the biker finally pushed off and wobbled on his way.

What I thought:

Where has all this anger come from?

What I did:

Turned and walked away.

How I felt:

Angry at the man, furious, really. 

What I understood:

Emotions are contagious. I need to be mindful of what I'm spreading.

No Need to Go into Details

One of the new sixth graders was acting up a bit, so I invited him to my desk for a private conversation. His behavior was so ridiculous that I thought it best to invoke his former schooling to begin. "What elementary school did you go to?" I started.

"Who was your teacher?" I asked when named a school down the road, one where one of my neighbors happens to teach.

Sure enough, my neighbor was indeed his fifth grade teacher.

"Well," I shook my head, "I actually know her. She lives right down the street from me."

His eyes widened a bit and I continued. "What should I say when I see her and tell her that you are in my class now? Can I tell her you are following all the rules and doing what you should?"

He looked down at his feet. "Or should I tell her about how you are behaving today?" I regarded him seriously. 

He lifted his head and shrugged. "Just tell her I said, hi," he answered with a cheeky grin.

I do admit, I laughed.

Choppers

When we were kids, my mom took us to the dentist every six months, without fail, and going to Dr. Jacobs was never bad. We read Highlights magazine in the waiting room and picked out a lollipop after our exam. (Yes! A lollipop! I guess he wanted to secure repeat customers.) And I remember my mom praising the flouride in our water for ensuring our heathy teeth, almost like it was a talisman warding off whatever happened to my dad, who had full dentures by the age of 27.

At any rate, maybe I'm a weirdo, but I still kind of like going to the dentist. I'm sure it helps that I don't have sensitive teeth, in fact I've literally never experienced pain while at the dentist, but I also really appreciate a system that efficiently schedules me every six months, and over the years, I have only missed one regular appointment, and that was because I was out of town for my mother's funeral. 

Even so, I am not immune to the pressure that health professionals seem to naturally apply. The practice I go to touts their sensitivity in their slogan, We cater to cowards,  and the employees are clearly advised to never shame the patients for their hygiene practices. An attentive patient, however, can probably read between the lines when described as having "sensitive gums" after confessing that she does not floss regularly.

And it is indeed flossing that is my weak spot when it comes to dental care. I like to think that it's because I still have my wisdom teeth, and that makes it exceptionally tough to thread my teeth with that length of waxed string, but it could be laziness, too. After running that electric toothbrush over my pearly whites for 2 minutes, I'm ready for bed.

But regular readers may remember, that last March, when my students embarked on their annual 100 day writing challenge, I challenged myself to floss for 100 days. Ever the creature of habit, I succeeded in my challenge, and have continued it, so I was especially eager to go to the dentist today. I wanted to see if Danny, my regular hygienist, would notice any difference.

To be honest? I didn't really think it would make a big difference, but the minute he looked in my mouth, he was even more positive than usual. And when the dentist came in to do his 2 minute check? He gave me the thumbs up. "Keep doing what you're doing," he said over his shoulder as he tossed his exam gloves into the waste bin. "Enjoy the fall and the holidays, and we'll see you next spring!"

Signs Point to Ridiculous

Because we have block schedule, my lesson is the same for two days.

So, what were some of the favorite animals today, you might wonder? Meal worms and tardigrades.

Yeah, this year is going to be a doozy.