Aftermath

My afternoon class was antsy and unfocused today. The situation was hardly surprising: there was a new desk arrangement, a modified schedule, they were just back from lunch, and oh, yes, this morning was the state reading test. 

As such, I moved around the room as I taught and struck an even more animated demeanor than usual. At one point, after using my signature wolf whistle to refocus the group, I said, "Geesh you all! You act like you spent the whole morning sitting quietly and taking a state reading test!"

"We DID!!!!" they howled.

"Well," I opened my hands in an exaggerated shrug, "what about me?"

They looked blankly at me.

"That's right!" I told them. "You think it's bad to take that test? At least you had something to do! How would you like to spend all that time just watching other people take the test?"

At least one student laughed, and I knew they saw my point. 

It sure didn't matter though; they were ruined for the day. Which? Was hardly a surprise.

Mightier than the Sword

Back when I was in high school, I wrote everything in fountain pen. Call me pretentious if you will, but we were in Europe where they sold all manner of fountain pens from a twirly rack in every department store. 

My friend Amy shared my affection for that implement, and our pen of choice was a work-a-day model from Pelikan, the German factory. It was lightweight and inexpensive and made for students. The basic options when it came to ink cartridges were black and blue, but we sometimes entertained ourselves with turquoise and Fuschia. 

When we graduated, we both got fancy Mont Blanc fountain pens, which were heavier and of course, more expensive. Those pens also took a different-sized ink cartridge, one that was a little longer and that you could refill yourself from an actual bottle of ink. But the trade-off was that the smaller cartridges fit neatly two to the barrel, with one always in reserve for when its mate ran out. 

You can probably tell that I never did cotton to that fancy pen, but back in the States for college, I couldn't buy the right ink cartridges for my Pelikano, either, and so both pens ended up dry and in the back of my desk drawer, and over the years, I've lost both of them. 

Oh, I've found other stand-ins, and to be honest, I own three inexpensive fountain pens. The cartridges must be easier to come by now, in this age of easy, global mail-order. Even so, I never use those pens, and in fact, the ink cartridges I have are all filled with dried-up ink. It's hardly surprising: I think I probably purchased them when I visited Paris in the year 2000.

When Amy came to town for a visit back in April, she whipped out her fountain pen to sign the credit card receipt for her part of our "Raclette Experience." 

"You have to try this," she told me and handed it over. 

The thin and easy flow of ink on paper stirred a muscle memory in me, and I smiled in total agreement. 

Since then, she has sent me two handwritten letters, one of thanks for the small bit of hospitality I showed her when she was here, and the other a proposal that we hearken back to our younger years and become fountain pen pals. I do like that idea-- so much so that I dug into the back of my drawer and found those fountain pens, along with the one cartridge that still has liquid ink. Then I popped it in, wet my thumb and forefinger, and primed the nib, scribbling a bit back and forth on an index card until I was rewarded with a continuous flow of blue ink.

Look Out, Worms!

It was cool and breezy when I took Lucy out this morning, and at 7:30 on a Sunday we had the complex all to ourselves. 

Except for the birds, that is. They, too, must have been invigorated by the sun, the breeze, and the blue sky, for they seemed to be singing their little avian hearts out. On a lark (see what I did there 😉) I pulled out my phone and launched the bird identification app, then hit the sound i.d. button. The program disaggregated the chorus into the songs of a Mockingbird, Brown Thrasher, House Sparrow, Red-bellied Woodpecker, House Wren, Crow, Robin, Mourning Dove, Blue Jay, Cardinal, House Finch, Cedar Waxwing, and Rose-breasted Grosbeak. 

Who knew we had so much company?

Monkey Business

In case I needed a reminder of the whimsy of sixth graders, a student walked into class yesterday with a stuffed monkey in her pocket. I wouldn't have known, but for the fact that she made it peek out and talk to a friend across the room. "Why don't you go put that in your locker?" I suggested firmly, "So that it doesn't become more of a distraction."

"No! Please!" she cried, "I won't take it out again."

"How about I put it on my desk for the rest of class?" I offered and she agreed. As she handed the stuffie to me, I flipped it over to take a look at it. I held in my hand an 8-inch monkey wearing pink and blue pajamas.

"That's child abuse!" she said. "You made the baby's head shake."

"This 'baby's' pajamas are filthy," I responded. "That's neglect." 

"It was her fault!" she pointed to the friend across the room. "You were supposed to keep the baby clean."

I shrugged. "Listen, ladies," I advised them. "Do your work today--" I met both of their eyes, "or the monkey gets it!"

Everywhere We Go, People Wanna Know

 “Is it the Dolphin Team?” I heard a voice ask as the 30 of us, middle school girls and their mentors, entered a neighborhood restaurant for our end-of-the-year celebration.

“It’s Jefferson,” said the assistant principal, but if you want a Dolphin–” she gestured to me as I turned around. 

A young man of about thirty was standing by the bar. “Nam?” I said as he came forward and embraced me in a huge bear hug.

“I can’t believe you remember me!” he laughed. “It’s been at least 20 years!”

I wasn’t surprised that I remembered him, but I was kind of surprised I recognized him. It turns out he bartends and is one of the managers of the place, so he was in and out checking on our party as the girls ate cupcakes and sliders. The food was plentiful, though, and when they brought in the leftover containers, there was a rush for the buffet.

I looked up from my seat at the now nearly empty table, shaking my head, and caught Nam’s eye. “Are you sure you don’t need a drink after this?” he literally winked. “If you stay, I can hook you up!”

Energy Crisis

It was all a little too much this morning when my smallest, but definitely most energetic, class arrived in the room. Before the bell rang, they were pulling out puppets and soccer balls, and rock-paper-scissoring to determine who got the rocking chair, the wobbly stool, the bungee chair, and the swivel stool. 

And while I am way more liberal than I used to be in terms of non-traditional methods to keep students settled and focused, the ruckus that the 14 of them made in the early moments of class was way more than I could handle. 

Plus? They weren't calm or focused. So I stood and whistled and waved my arms, removing special seating and sports equipment as I made my way through the room. 

Did I stun them into silence, or was it the shock of having all their toys taken? Whatever the cause, the room was silent and the students were seated and attentive.

For about 3 minutes!

Sticking to the Plan

Today was the day when the young journalists in my class conducted their first interviews for the personal profile piece they will write. In classes where there are an odd number of students or an absence, someone has to interview me, so that happened 4 times today. 

Before they begin, I explain that an interview is more of a conversation than an interrogation and that it's essential to listen to the answers and perhaps even diverge from the planned list of questions, especially if the subject says something interesting. Despite modeling and examples, it seems as if that's a hard lesson to learn, though, especially if you are interviewing your teacher. 

That must be why I had several interactions today that went something like this:

Reporter: Where did you go to high school?
Me: Switzerland!
Reporter: How tall are you?

Or this:

Reporter: Have you traveled a lot?
Me: Well, I've been to 48 states and 20 countries.
Reporter: Do you have a nickname?