YZA

We were talking generations in one of my classes today. I mentioned that Gen Z often uses emojis in ways that older folks might misinterpret. For example, a skull means something is so funny you are dying of laughter. 

One kid was having none of it; maybe she didn't like an adult talking about the things she and her friends took for granted. "This is so cringe," she sighed and rolled her eyes. "We're not even Gen Z anyway. We're Alpha."

"Nah uh," one of her friends corrected her. "2012 is the last year of Gen Z. That's when your birthday was."

"I know what it's like to be born at the end of a generation and not feel like it's really you, though," I agreed. "Technically, I'm--" I stopped, imagining the Boomer comments I might hear should I continue. "Well," I finished,  "let's just say I'm at the end of one and I feel more like the next one."

They let my comment go; they weren't really interested in me and my experience, and we had things to learn. Later, it occurred to me that as of this year, I have taught all the Millenials and all the Zs. 

So if I'm still teaching next year, it will be Generation 3 for me!

2031

I noticed that one of the students was taking an inordinately long time to go to the restroom, so I told my co-teachers I was going to check on the situation. I strode purposefully to the door of the boys' bathroom and called his name. "Are you in there?"

There was a pause, and then he answered, "Just wiping."

I know I rolled my eyes. "Well, hurry up!" I replied. "You are missing the whole class!"

If it sounds like I wasn't surprised by such unexpected behavior, you are reading correctly, because anecdotally? I find this class of sixth graders to be more immature than any other in recent memory, but perhaps it is understandably so. 

As we get further and further from the pandemic, the impact it has had on kids as students have become less predictable, although the trends make sense.

The first kids to come back full-time are in 8th grade now, and their eagerness to return coupled with the newness of middle school made them a willing group. With the exception of a few students entrenched in the I'll just turn my camera off and pretend I didn't hear you approach, most of those kids were easy to guide in terms of behavior and expectations.

The next year, the class was a bit squirrely, a trait I attribute to the fact that their elementary schools cut them a lot of slack as they returned, now the oldest kids in the school. We saw it happen in our school, too, the year before. The eighth graders came back with their own ideas about how and when they would learn, and they were comfortable enough in our school to push back on restrictions. Likewise, staff had a lot of sympathy for them as they transitioned from learning alone to learning as part of a school, and so they were a little wild. Even so, our sixth graders last year were in a new enough situation that they were open to adapting to the culture we created for them.

This year the students we have were in second grade when we went out for COVID, and they learned at home for up to a year and a half. They were too young to do so independently, however, and so this group probably had a lot of parent involvement in their education, and only a couple of years to grow beyond that level of support.

And what will the next class of kids offer? Not sure, but I did recently have a conversation with a colleague where I pointed out to him that in the fall of 2027 the students who enter sixth grade will not have been affected academically at all by this pandemic, and his response was, "What year will it be when we get the first kids who weren't even born yet?"

The Eye Roll

The scenario: A professional development session on bias

The key information provided: Be aware of the "third person effect" where people tend to perceive that mass media messages have a greater effect on others than on themselves, based on personal biases.

The exercise: Contribute descriptors that come to mind when picturing a "North American, multi-million dollar lottery winner" considering residence, race, gender, socio-economic status, and education.

The outcome: The results of our group matched those of all the other schools already surveyed; the prevalent answers that the 100 or so of us provided mirrored those of the 4,000 people before us. 

The upshot: A common assumption* exists about this particular case, and one might infer, about others, as well.

The white male: Raises his hand and when called on announces, "I didn't answer that way. I put I don't know for every question."

*a rural, white male, lower middle class, high school education.

Told You So

 To kick off the argument writing unit, the question of the day was Do you like to argue and debate or would you rather walk away from a disagreement?

Predictably, the split was pretty even in my first two sections, with several of the young writers making the point that context and content were important. 

When my last block of the day roared in, as they often do, bickering and talking smack, I looked appraisingly at the group. Then I gave the directions and went to my desk to send the attendance. 

When it was time to share everyone's thoughts, I called for the class's attention. "I haven't looked at your answers," I told them, "but I have a pretty good idea that we have a bunch of arguers in here!"

"I think you're wrong!" somebody called out.

"There's one," I laughed.

And in the end? It was 19-3 in favor of a good debate, or standing up for themselves, or making sure other people knew when they were wrong, or winning, or just being right as usual.

Fiasco

I knew nothing good could be happening inside when I saw a colleague in tears coming out of the door where I had just dropped Heidi. 

In an effort to address the outcry that followed the decision to make all employees switch insurance plans, the central office of our school system offered the opportunity for staff to meet with representatives from the new company and have their transition questions answered. The event was scheduled today, during our professional learning time from 8-5 at one of the high schools. 

In another colossal failure of planning, however, there were only three representatives from the company present, who could get through about 18 people an hour. Mind you, this change affected nearly 6,000 people, and over half of them are in a position where they must find an entirely new medical team and navigate different coverage for prescription and medical devices. Not surprisingly, they have questions.

Nearly 1,000 people showed up, and an hour into the session, wait times were estimated to be 3-4 hours, with at least 75% of those attending unlikely to see anyone at all. Compounding the situation is the fact that none of us can contact the new company ourselves until our start of coverage date, January 1, 2024.

Members of the HR team were overheard to express their dismay, not at the obvious poor planning, but at how ridiculous it was that so many people had questions. "Didn't they read their email?" sniped one.

As for Heidi, she waited in line to sign her name documenting her attendance. At 11:30 am she was given the number 7A, uncertain as to where it fell in a numerical sequence where they were just calling numbers 70-80 to come up and meet the representatives, and other employees she knew had numbers in the 500s. Then she gave up and we went home.

It's Official

I saw the first Christmas commercial of the season last night. Even though it was for spending the holidays at Disney and it aired on the Hallmark Channel?

It still counts.

Happy Holidays, y'all!

Borderline

"Excuse me!" a woman hailed me from the other side of the chainlink fence that surrounds our community garden. Our plot is on the perimeter, and so the sidewalk and street are right there. Most of the time passing pedestrians ignore me as I work in the garden, although I do get an occasional greeting or wave, but as the season progresses and the herbs and flowers grow up along the fenceline there is a bit more privacy. But yesterday, I had just finished clipping the dry stalks of some sunflowers and zinnias, and there was a clear view of me and my garden.

"Yes?" I replied politely, standing up from where I had been gleaning the last of the sun gold cherry tomatoes.

"How does this place work?" she asked. "Do any of you ever sell your vegetables?"

I explained that it was a community garden where we grew produce for our own use. "We do donate extra to the food pantry," I finished.

"But no one sells anything?" she repeated.

I shook my head apologetically.

"But those tomatoes! That basil!" she pointed at the plot next to mine.

"She has some beautiful stuff," I agreed.

"What about you? What do you have growing?" She looked over my shoulder.

"All I have left are some hot peppers and the tail end of the tomatoes," I said.

"We love hot peppers!" she told me. "We eat those more than anything else!"

I laughed at her brazen hint and shrugged. "Well I've got extra," I assured her and went to the potting bench for a bag. 

I picked a half dozen heirloom paprika peppers and was on my way to hand them over when she called, "What about a few tomatoes?"

I nodded and pointed to the gate where I could hand her the bag.

"Thank you so much!" she said sincerely.

"You're welcome," I answered, and walked back to my garden shaking my head.