Rough Morning

Well, folks, the honeymoon is over. 

On this Monday morning, the sixth graders were acting like, well, middle schoolers. The school day hadn't even officially started when a girl dropped the f-bomb over her shoulder as she sauntered down the hall. She seemed surprised that I objected to her language. "Really?" I asked. "Do you talk like that around your parents?"

She shrugged.

A little while later I asked another student to change seats so she could collaborate with a small group, and at first, she flat-out refused. I was pretty insistent, but I could see her sizing me up and calculating whether it was worth the hassle, before she slowly moved over.

Then, after the brain break, a young man sat red-faced at his table, tears rolling down his cheeks. The three-minute activity had only involved bouncing ping-pong balls into solo cups with a partner, and so I was unsure about his situation. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"My partner threw the ping pong ball really hard and hit me in the groin," he sniffled. Upon return from the clinic, he had the only thing they prescribe, a baggy of ice wrapped in a paper towel. I can only assume it was a comfort to him as he applied it to the affected area under the table. I didn't really need to see it for myself. 

And that was all before 9:30.

The Wonder of It

As my sister and I chatted on the phone this afternoon, our conversation made its way to a cat we had 35 years ago, Noah. She was comparing her new kitten's jumping skills to his, and the image of Noah, leaping three feet straight up and catching a bouncing superball midair with his paws and then tucking it into his mouth before landing, flooded into my memory. 

"Wow!" I told her, "I had completely forgotten how he did that!"

I shouldn't have been surprised. Just yesterday, while listening to the AT Top 40 from this week in 1975, I literally gasped when the song Rocky came on. "Oh my gosh," I told Heidi, "I haven't thought of this song in at least 40 years!" But still I could sing every cheese lyric. She said Rocky I've never had a baby before, don't know if I can do it, but if you let me lean on you, take my hand I might get through it.

And then again today, an email made me look back to the October 2016 archive of this blog. Skimming through the entries, I read my thoughts and reports of that month, and again, I don't really have much recollection of what I was talking about. 

I have read advice to approach aging with confidence and wonder, rather than fear. I get that, especially in the sense that I wonder what else I've completely forgotten!

Go West, Mature Women

The day was so pretty, quintessential September blue skies, cool air, and warm sun, that I couldn't stay put. "Let's go somewhere!" I said to Heidi.

I tapped the map app on my phone and pinched it in a bit to widen the area. Then I swiped a bit to the right and dropped my finger randomly on Gore, VA. Next, I opened my hiking app and searched for nearby possibilities. I ended up with the trails at the Museum of Shenandoah Valley in Winchester, which wind several miles through 90 acres, through woods and pastures and past engaging landscape features and art installations. And, while the museum and its gardens have an admissions charge, the trails are free.

The trip out there was about 90 minutes, but I offered Heidi the chance to break it in Marshall, VA, home of the famous Red Truck Bakery, named one of America's best small-town bakeries by Travel+Leisure Magazine, which she of course accepted. And so we set out, American Top 40 from 1975 on the radio, and the mountains ahead.

And the day was just as sublime as it promised to be.

Working Harder, Not Smarter

After a shake-up in our central office department, we are teaching grammar and vocabulary in a new way this year. Adding new content to a curriculum requires a lot of work; whether or not you are provided with materials and resources, no one ever hands you anything that's ready to go. 

Earlier this week I was struggling to adapt slide decks, anchor charts, and practice exercises to my students and their academic needs, and coming up with an engaging and collaborative way to present the lesson and assignments was especially challenging. Perhaps I needn't have worried quite so much, because when I presented the three pages to them, several kids actually cheered, "Yay! A worksheet!"

I did not see that coming.

Well-trained

At the end of the day, Heidi and our principal were swapping stories about funny interactions they had had with kids lately. "I got one for you," the principal said. 

We are all familiar with her routine for signaling students to quiet down in assemblies. She does a call-and-response routine involving the initials of our school. She will say, "TJ!" and the students are supposed to answer, "MS!" She'll repeat it a few times until she has everyone's participation.

Today she was walking down the hallway when she spotted a 7th grade cutting up. She called his name, but he tried to get away from her by pretending not to hear and then joining a line of 8th graders on their way to the library. Not to be fooled, she called his name again louder and more firmly. "TJ!"

He still ignored her, but the 8th graders didn't. "MS?" they answered, confused.

Their response didn't even register with her as she focused in on the mischievous 7th grader. "TJ!" she said again.

"MS!" the 8th graders replied more loudly.

Then it hit her. "No," she laughed and pointed. "That TJ!"

The kids laughed too, and one of them pushed him out of line. "Go talk to her, man!" he instructed him, shaking his head.

Better than Meh

 I finally did it.

After decades of trying to figure out a way to make Back to School Night more fun and interactive for parents (and myself!), it occurred to me the other day that I could structure my presentation using the online quiz game I favor for my students. 

So yesterday afternoon I went through the slide presentation I would otherwise have used and turned every topic into a true-false or multiple-choice question. Then I created a QR code for the game sign-in and taped a copy to each table. As parents entered, I gave them the option to scan the code and play along. Once the game began, I paused after every question to clarify or add a little information, just as I do when kids play,

The format worked great! For example, the first question was True or false, this is Ms. S's first year at our school. After revealing the answer, I was able to give a little background on myself and, in my co-taught classes, allow my colleagues to do the same. 

Ten minutes later, we applauded the winners. I had given each parent a card to write questions on, and they all came back blank. The final question of the game had been a poll: How has BSN been so far? The options were Great! Good! Meh. and Needs improvement. Everyone was gracious enough to pick Great!

Best of all? Several kids told me today how much their parents enjoyed the class. And I didn't even give them Jolly Ranchers!

Feeling Senior

The phone was ringing in my classroom when I arrived yesterday morning. It was our facility director calling with some sad news: a young man we both knew, I as a former student and he as an employee of the community center attached to our school, had unexpectedly passed away. The director was at kind of a loss as to who to inform; the guy had been a student in my class 30 years ago, my first year of teaching, and we talked about who is still around who might remember him as a middle schooler.

Turns out, nobody but me. I have been in the building the second longest, one year behind my friend and colleague Laura, and one year ahead of Heidi, but neither of them knew him. I considered reaching out to the few of his former classmates I'm still in touch with, but decided against contacting them with sad news after it's been a while since I last reached out. 

Later in the day, a younger colleague stopped me to recount how her students had asked her if she was here, teaching, on September 11, 2001. "I was in 7th grade!" she informed them, and her comments were similar to those of another colleague earlier in the day who had been in 5th grade at the time.

"You were here, though, right?" she asked me, and I told her I was. She teaches social studies, and I could tell it was the historian in her who listened to my account of that day 22 years ago. To me, it was a memory of a time that seems both distant and not that long ago, but to her I was a primary source and witness to history.