Aaaah Waaah

It's Monday morning, and everyone is feeling a bit sluggish in homeroom, but still? There are things to be done. 

So I make a management decision (one of the 1,500 the average teacher makes per day-- think on that a moment) to move our class circle discussion outside. Now, in my experience (this was just the most recent of the 8 million or more decisions I have statistically made in my career), most kidsmin school love to go outside, and at first, this group of 17 did not break that mold. 

However, once we get out there, that chill in the air balanced by the morning sun shining right in their eyes has several students reconsidering this turn of events. Sitting on the cold pavement and answering such questions as, "When was the last time you learned something hard? How did I make you feel?" only adds to their displeasure.

Oh, I know enough not to give in to silly complaints from tweens right away, but I also know enough to cut an activity short when it's not working. "That's it!" I tell them brightly when we finish the second to last questions, biting my tongue not to add, "You big, fat babies!" 

And as we all stand up and head back to the dreary comfort of the building, I turn once more to face that golden October sun and fill my lungs with the crisp morning air, before swiping my badge to open the door.

Fair Trade

Heidi's phone buzzed at 10 am. "Lauren wants to know if we're going to the farmers market," she reported. It's an informal Sunday morning tradition for the three of us to walk up there with the dogs and get our fruit, veggies, and eggs for the week.

I sighed. "I'm tempted, but I have so much school stuff to do. I also have bread in the oven, so I wouldn't even be able to go for another half hour." 

Reluctantly, I decided to pass. "Will you ask her to pick up some spinach for us, if she goes?" I requested.

The response was quick. "LOL! I was going to ask you the same-- I'm too busy too!" She added that she might be able to talk her fiance, AJ,  into going, but she wasn't hopeful.

About an hour later the doorbell rang and when I answered, AJ stood there with a big bag spinach. "Thanks!" I told him. "Hang on a sec-- I have a loaf of bread for you and Lauren." 

A minute later, I handed over the still-warm sourdough boule. "How much do I owe you for the spinach?" I asked.

"Just the bread," he answered. "Gotta love our barter economy! Who needs cash around here?"

Parable of the Pumpkins

I saw four people and a dog as I exited the grocery store late this afternoon. The two young men were hefting huge pumpkins for the approval of an older and a younger woman, and I assumed that they were choosing one to take home and carve. I had another errand to run in the shopping center, and you can imagine the rise of my eyebrows as I headed home a few minutes later and saw them walking with four enormous pumpkins and the dog. 

They had divvied the load with the youngest guy carrying two, one in each arm, and the other guy and the young woman with their arms wrapped around one; the senior member of their group had the dog. They were laughing, but when I stopped at a stop sign, I noticed them stop, too. When I drove past, one of the pumpkins was rolling in the grass and another was set on the sidewalk. 

I watched them redistribute their cargo: the same guy had two of the pumpkins, but now he carried one under his arm and another by the stem. I was captivated by their progress as they lumbered forward, and when I had stop again at an intersection, I watched in my sideview mirror as the one-pumpkin dude took the leash so that the older woman could relieve the other guy of the smaller (but still huge!) pumpkins. 

I debated making a U-turn and going back to offer a ride to one or two of them and relieving them of their burdens, but when the light changed, they were still laughing and smiling, and, understanding that this was their journey, I made my turn and left them to make their own way.

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.