SOS

What's that metaphor about turning an ocean liner?

President Obama used it in 2016 to explain a truth about governing a big democratic society. "You turn the wheel slowly, and the big ship pivots." His point was that change has to be incremental and far-sighted so that in time, a slight change, with forward momentum, will result in a very different destination than holding the course. His secondary point was that veering too sharply could upset or even capsize such a large ship.

I thought of that metaphor yesterday when a few people at our school tried to organize all 1000+ of us into a human display of the word Unity, for National Anti-Bullying Day. The concept is admirable and cool, but the execution was chaotic. The first news of this event was sent after school the day before, ensuring that many staff members would not know anything about it until the morning of the activity. 

The whole thing was hastily planned and poorly coordinated, resulting in 1,000 folks standing around outside, unclear of what we should be doing. My group was literally told to move six feet to the left by one person, and not 2 minutes later, six feet to the right by another person, while a third person waved wildly for us to stand still.

The whole thing was a mess, which resulted in the loss of 45 minutes of instructional time (from first period only) and illustrated what most sensible folks might presume: you can't be spontaneous when you're dealing with 1,000 middle school students, especially if you don't loop their teachers in first.

Sorry We're Open

Today on the morning announcements a colleague promised that the families of any student who needed to have their photo taken on Picture Make Up and Retake Day would be notified by "close of business" tomorrow. The turn of phrase seemed so out of place for a school that it made me laugh out loud. 

I thought about the concept of COB again a little while ago, as I sat here at home grading essays, posting class announcements, reviewing conference slides, and catching up on other paperwork with impending deadlines. It was after 6:30 when I finally closed all my school-related windows and turned my attention to other things. I'm not an exception at all when it comes to teacher work hours, so I had to wonder: 

Just what time is that notification going out?

Popping the Question

It's the season of fundraisers, and in the last week, I have personally been approached by Boy Scouts, cheerleaders, band musicians, and/or their parents, all with the offer of popcorn. Although the product is relatively new, the solicitation is not: over the years I have purchased dozens of rolls of wrapping paper, bushels of grapefruit and oranges, yards of pine swag, and dozens of donuts. 

Tonight the young scout who solicited for his troop had several varieties of popcorn and other snacks. His mom is a friend and a former neighbor, and we have known this kid since his birth (which I wrote about here.) I had to admire his sales pitch. 

"Would you like to buy some popcorn?" he started. "Well," he shrugged, "it's really more of a donation, and the popcorn is a thank you. The prices are pretty high."

I laughed at his honesty. "Sure," I said. "What do I have to do?"

"First," he answered, "do you have any money? Because you're going to have to pay for your order."

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!