Confederatio Helvetica

 Do you need a CH sticker? my friend texted me the other day. We were making plans for her visit this weekend, and I had suggested a Swiss restaurant that is a favorite of ours.

I have one! I replied. Always. You?

She sent a picture of her back bumper festooned not only with the oval sticker that all Swiss drivers are required to have before entering another country, but also the crest of the canton of Ticino and a Collina d'oro sticker as well. 

I wasn't surprised, but I was impressed. The two of us met over 45 years ago at boarding school in Lugano, Switzerland, and despite the fact that I have lived in the U.S. since graduating in 1979,  I have had the sticker required by the 1968 international convention on road travel on every car I've owned, from my yellow 1976 VW Rabbit to the 2017 Subaru Outback I drive today. Maybe it's because of all the places in the world I have been fortunate enough to visit, to me Switzerland remains the most beautiful.

Over the years it's been kind of interesting who has recognized the sticker at all. Our school social worker once came to my room to tell me that she had driven into the parking lot behind me. "What's your connection with Switzerland?" she asked, and I was confused until she mentioned the sticker. "My mother was from Basel," she told me, "and I used to spend every summer there with my grandparents."

Another time I was riding shotgun in my car with my sister at the wheel. We were in Atlanta, where she lives, and it made more sense for her to drive. At a red light, a car pulled up to us on the passenger side. The man driving gestured wildly for me to roll down the window. 

Honestly? It was my instinct to ignore him, but my sister shrugged and suggested I see what he wanted.

"CH!" he cried when at last he knew I could hear him. "Switzerland!"

"Yes," I nodded.

"The most beautiful country on Earth!" he said.

"No question!" I agreed with a smile. 

The light changed, he gave me a thumbs up, and we were both on our way.

"Aren't you glad you rolled down the window?" my sister asked.

Self-esteem

"Tell me the truth," a seventh grader whispered to me this morning. She was visiting my homeroom, first to borrow my carpet sweeper on behalf of her own homeroom teacher and an unexpected granola catastrophe, and then to play Taco, Cat, Goat, Cheese, Pizza with me and my current sixth graders when she returned the sweeper.

I raised my eyebrows as she leaned in conspiratorially. "How much better did you like us than these students?"

I laughed. "These kids took a while to grow on me," I admitted, "but now they are pretty close to as amazing as you guys were."

She only looked a little disappointed. She had seen for herself the affection we all have for each other, and she had felt how welcome she was. That's one of the things I love about kids-- they are usually so sure that they are my favorites. 

I had a similar conversation with one of my craziest classes just yesterday. After spending the first half an hour redirected them so that they might accomplish something before lunch, I was feeling a little aggravated. Even so, I said, "I know it's hard to settle down right before lunch, but I can tell you all are working hard at it. I still think we can do better, though."

"Are we your favorite class?" asked a particularly twitchy kid. 

My eyes widened, and I laughed. "I don't have a favorite," I said.

"Right..." another kid said. "Wink, wink, nudge, nudge!"

"We know we're your favorite!" a girl added. "Just say it!"

"You are definitely in the top five," I promised, and rather than be annoyed by their lack of self-awareness, I was glad that they felt so confident of my high regard. 

That's gotta count for something!

Anecdotal Evidence

Teaching is hard.

I taught a quick lesson on similes today, a topic that should be review for sixth graders. After the warm-up discussion What's your favorite form of figurative language? we moved on to the poetry challenge. 

Students were given the definition of simile, a list of examples, and the direction to write a poem which was a chain of tnen similes. Then we looked at a model, discussed the poet's choices, and moved into 20 minutes of workshop time. 

As the young poets wrote, I circulated through the room, answering questions and offering advice. Write about your dog, I might suggest, or your little brother, and then I'd stay until there were a couple of lines of similes and a direction to work in. 

When kids were finished, there was an additional Jolly Rancher challenge to come give me a simile about themselves. "I'm done!" one writer exclaimed triumphantly, brandishing his. poem with 10 fine similes about his dog. "What's the Jolly Rancher challenge?" 

"You know where to find it," I told him. "Go read the directions and come back." 

He returned a minute later with his iPad in hand, reading from the screen. "It says to tell you a simile about me," he said. 

"Go ahead," I replied, "Let's hear it!" 

"I don't remember what a simile is," he said. "Did we learn that?"

Frogs and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

 "Are those the rocks that buzz when you throw them in the air?" a student asked this afternoon right after the bell. 

He and his buddies have developed the habit of stopping by my room for one shot at the mini-hoop in hopes of winning a Jolly Rancher for the road. I humored them at first, their stay limited by the fact that they had to catch the bus, but as the days have warmed they are more and more willing to spend a little extra time with me and then walk home. 

Today most of his friends had gone off to track practice, which he was also supposed to attend, but he was busy getting another of his buddies to call his mom so they could have a playdate (their word) after practice. His friend showed me pictures from his spring break in Florida while the first boy tried to contact his parents, and then it was this guy's turn to look at the stuff on my desk while the other kid tried to reach his mom again.

"No," I answered him about the rocks. "They are just magnetic rocks that another kid brought me from spring break over 10 years ago. I smiled remembering that student and also at the endless supply of little boys that I have had the privilege to know over the last 30 years.

"Really?" he said and took a couple. He threw them in the air and was unable to catch them. The second time his toss was better, and the rocks stayed close enough together that they attracted and repelled each other all the way into his hand, making a buzzing noise as they did.

"Well I'll be darned!" I said as both he and his buddy repeated the trick over and over.

"Look what they can do!" I said to Heidi as she came into the room to pick up some printing. 

"Did you teach Ms. S. something?" Heidi asked, impressed. 

The boys nodded proudly, gleefully tossing the buzzing rocks. 

"That's pretty good!" she said.

"I agree," I nodded. "How about a Jolly Rancher before you go?"

Here We Go!

 By the time we get to spring break there is a huge temptation to do something or go somewhere and have FUN! Over the years we've tried a variety of things-- renting a beach house in South Carolina with the family, staycation-style day trips, visiting friends and family out of state, and planning home improvement projects like painting the downstairs. They all had their advantages, but one of them was not rest.

This year? I stayed home while Heidi jetted off to Florida to spend some time hanging out with her college buddies. The demands on my time were few, made even more modest by the fact that I hurt my back on Thursday. But I did discover one thing-- 

Turns out 10 days off is actually enough to catch up on my sleep and work and return to school rested and ready for the fourth quarter.

A Crack of the Back

"So you've never been to a chiropractor before?" the doctor asked this morning as I stood for inspection after detailing my back woes.

"No," I shook my head.

She poked my back and then my hips. "Your spine is a little curved up here," she jabbed a spot between my shoulder blades. "Does that hurt?"

"No," I answered.

"Well," she sighed, "it's a combination of age, arthritis, and that bend in your spine. I can adjust you today, but you'll probably have to manage your condition on and off for the rest of your life."

I sighed. 

"But you do that by moving!" she said. "The more active you are, the better, and then when you need an adjustment you come on back in."

That was news I could live with. 

The adjustment, on the other hand? Was stunning in its vigor as she swiftly cracked my joints in four places, although not without warning. It didn't hurt, but the noises were a little gut-wrenching. Within five minutes, she was done, and I felt better already. Not 100 percent, of course, but definitely on the mend.

"Ice your back tonight, give it a few days, stay active, and come back if you need to," she advised, and I was on my way, happy to have her on my health care team.

Congregation

When I was a child, Easter was one of the big three of holidays. Along with Christmas and Halloween, the preparation and celebration were almost mind-blowingly exciting: new outfits, family from out of town, egg-dying, easter baskets, and egg hunts. What kid could resist such merrymaking? 

Over the years, perhaps as the contents of my basket and my connection to the Catholic church declined, so did my celebration of Easter. Oh, there was egg-dying for many years, especially when my nephews and niece were younger, and for many years we would gather at my brother's in-laws for white borscht and brunch, but they have been gone some time now, and nowadays Easter is often just another Sunday at our house.

And if I don't miss the hunts, or the candy, or the egg-dying (although that is pretty fun), I do miss the fellowship and family. I guess we often use kids as an excuse to celebrate, but as infectious as their joy and fun may be, we are fooling ourselves if we forget the real reason we gather.