Convenience at What Cost?

Maybe I shouldn't have.

But when a month or so ago I noticed the biometric scanner as I stood in line at the grocery store, I played along and, as the cashier scanned my purchases, I scanned my hand. 

"I haven't actually seen anyone do that yet," she told me in a neutral tone which I read as a mixture of impressed and dubious. "They just installed those this morning."

I laughed and completed my purchase the old-fashioned way, tapping my smartwatch on the reader, and then went on my way.

Heidi was with me yesterday when I returned to the store for the first time since then. "What are you doing?" she asked as I raised and lowered my palm over the small rectangle at the end of the belt.

"Paying for the groceries, I think," I answered, and just then a small chime let me know I was correct. The cashier did not react at all as she handed us our bags, and I assumed the novelty of the system had worn off among the employees.

On the escalator back to the garage, I remembered that I had run back to the car when we first got there because I'd forgotten my phone and its magnetic wallet, and I considered a day when all anyone would need to shop was the swirls on their skin. 

It was kind of cool, but a little terrifying, too.

Character Development

A student came by my room after school the other day, visibly upset. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he explained that he had misunderstood the information about an after-school meeting: it had ended at 3, but his mom wasn't coming to pick him up until 4. "And the wifi in this stupid school sucks" he added, "so I can't even call her on my watch."

"I'm sorry that happened to you," I told him. "You can use this phone to call, though." I pointed to the landline on my desk. 

He sniffled a little and lifted the receiver, and he was almost recovered until he heard his mom's voice when she answered. Then he collapsed into tears again as he explained the mix-up to her. After a few moments, he hung up. "My dad is coming to get me," he reported, his head down.

"Oh, good," I said. "And don't worry, stuff like this happens a lot," I explained. "There's so much going on here, both during the day and after school; it's easy to get confused about the details."

He wiped his face on his sleeve.

"And it seems like it all worked out, right?" I finished.

He nodded and headed out to catch his ride.

The next day I was teaching a lesson on character analysis. One of the videos we show has a vignette about a student who gets very upset over a minor misunderstanding. In the story, after the student leaves the room crying, the teacher tries to keep the class on track, and says, "It looks like Delores is having a bad day."

"And doesn't the teacher handle it beautifully?" I laughed ironically when we were going back over the details of the plot, acknowledging that she seems a bit heartless.

"What would you do?" a student asked.

"I understand where the teacher was coming from," I said, "because I always feel a little anxious when someone is upset. But I would do my best to be empathetic and helpful."

"Has that ever happened?" another student asked, and I raised my eyebrows because it was the same boy from the day before.

"Sure," I replied, tilting my head to examine his face. He seemed guileless. 

"When?" he asked, clearly looking for a good story.

"Well," I started, "just yesterday somebody came in after school, and they were pretty upset."

His face reddened a little. "I bet you were really nice," he said.

"Thanks," I answered. "I tried to be."

Outer Child

A friend texted last night to see if we were going to the farmer's market today so that he and his wife and their little boy might meet us there. At 10 a.m. on a beautiful October Saturday, the place was hopping, and the five of us chatted amiably and slowly explored the market. As we strolled, four-year-old Charlie loved everything, especially the mini donuts, pumpkins, and free samples of apples and cider. 

"It's great that he's having such a good time!" Heidi said. "It kind of reminds me of how awesome it is here."

"Kids are good for that," his mom agreed. "They notice so much and they really appreciate it."

"That's right!" his dad laughed. "Charlie can make just walking down the sidewalk fun!"

A Little Help

Weeks ago I saw an announcement that two of my favorite authors, Ann Patchett and Kate DiCamillo would be appearing together at the Library of Congress. Tickets were free, but reservations were required, so I jumped online and made mine. 

What I didn't realize at the time was that this event would be the night before student-led conferences, a day that still ties me up in knots, even after so many years. When I left school yesterday at 5:00, I knew that the trouble and traffic I might encounter on my way from here to there was daunting enough that, with regret, I decided to skip the appearance.

And I was still sorry to have missed the conversation this morning when I checked my email during a break in conferences. Imagine my delight, then, when one of the newsletters I subscribe to had a link to the recording of the evening. 

I got to spend most of my free time today listening to the two authors banter and offer advice and counsel on reading, writing, and living. It was fun to hang out with a couple of funny, talented and wise ladies, and it made the day just that much easier.

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."