Neverending Story

Our conversation on the eight-hour road trip to Buffalo today was fun and far-ranging, as always. We talked about music, books, kids at school, politics, history, Christmas, dogs, and more, waxing both practical and philosophical. 

We were playing name that tune somewhere in Pennsylvania and Brittany Spears was singing about the only thing she wanted for Christmas (this year), when I turned to Heidi.

"You know what I think?" I asked. Without waiting for her reply, I continued. "All Hallmark Christmas movies have kind of sad endings."

"How so?" she asked in return.

"They're all about the build-up to Christmas," I explained, "but Christmas is always over when they end. It's kind of sad."

She nodded.

"I do think they're aware of it, though," I added. "I've noticed that lately a few of them end with a little one-year later scene. I think they do that on purpose to remind you that Christmas comes every year, and it will be here again before you know it."

"Could be," she agreed.

"I'm sure of it," I said, and hit scan on both the radio and the conversation. 

All I Want for Christmas

With the holiday season upon us, I asked the sixth graders this week if they would rather choose their gifts or be surprised.  In this age of fancy electronic gift lists with convenient links to the gifts of choice, I expected my concrete operationalists to be all about the choice, but I got a surprise of my own when the numbers came in 3 to 1 for being surprised.

And even though Heidi told me the research shows that people almost always imagine a good surprise and that in reality, surprises are more satisfying for the gift giver than the gift receiver, the data warmed my heart.

One for You and You and You

"Every step of this writing piece is a mini-lesson!" my co-teacher sighed this afternoon. We had just spent an hour and a half repeating a unit's worth of class instruction to the 21 individual students in the class, and we were tired and a little aggravated. Generally, it seems like that is where these sixth graders are. They were second graders when schools shut down for COVID and third graders when we started virtually the next fall, and so they were on the verge of independent learning in school but required a lot of hand-holding and supervision at home.

And so here we are: many of these kids have learned that there is no need to listen to whole-class instruction, because before too long an adult will come and explain it to them personally. And that is pretty much what we did.

So now the question is, how to break the cycle?

Stay tuned.

Stop the Train

"That's Zach," Heidi said and stepped over to the family who was checking out with the cashier next to ours.

I looked at the awkward teen and cocked my head. I had seen him staring at himself in a mirror when we first entered the store. Did it seem a little off? Sure, but kids do weird stuff all the time, and I often have a front-row seat. Did I recognize him? Nope, and chalking it up to weird teenage behavior, I promptly forgot.

But now, there he was, the child who had been in my homeroom six years ago, the same boy whose picture I keep framed behind my desk, the kid who challenged us all with his scripting and impulsivity and moody oppostionalism. He was like the purest version of any tween, unfiltered and raw. To love him, which we did, was proof that we were meant to be middle school teachers.

"Do you remember me?" Heidi was saying. "I'm so happy to see you!"

He rocked toe to heel, toe to heel, unsure of how to react to this unexpected turn of events. "It's your teacher from TJ," his mom told him.

"You're so tall!" Heidi said. "You look great!"

"Yes I do," he agreed.

"Do you remember Ms. S?" Heidi asked him, and he gave me a bit of a side-eye.

"Zachary, Zachary, stop the train!" I said, repeating an old script of his.

He stopped rocking. "Oh my Lord!" he answered in a voice deeper but still full of the same energy I knew.

We laughed and the cashier handed his mom her receipt. "Nice to see you," she smiled as they rolled their cart past us and toward the exit. 

"Bye Zachary," we waved, but he was already gone.

It's Coming to Town

My timing is off.

Starting with our school calendar, which keeps us in school for three days after surrounding districts are already on winter break, and adding to that situation a change in our traditional travel plans, plus the loss of Heidi's dad, and a few other things, and I can barely keep track of the date.

The tree is up, the lights are on, but the ornaments are still stored away. As of this morning, I hadn't baked a single tea cake, my personal favorite, but several other varieties were ready to be exchanged and shared. My shopping? Is mostly done, I think, which is good, because since we're teaching the next three days and then heading to Buffalo on Thursday, I'm not sure when else I would finish.

It seems like only yesterday it was late November after an early Thanksgiving, but weeks ago we couldn't find a tree (until we did!). Despite it all, I don't feel anxious or stressed in the least, a little disoriented maybe, but perfectly calm even so. Because, as the Grinch learned,  Christmas will come, even without ribbons and tags, packages, boxes, and bags.

Not that I intend to find out, though!

The Way it Crumbles

"I was looking at the Cooky Book this afternoon, " Heidi told my brother as they chatted at dinner. "Do you know it?"

Bill's eyebrows shot up and a dreamy little smile crossed his face. "Do you mean THE Cooky Book?" he asked.

From my seat down the table, I laughed as Heidi nodded.

"The one where every page is worn because we looked at every picture so many times?" he continued.

"Some of the pages are loose," Heidi confirmed.

I turned to the younger people at the table and explained. "Our mom used to give us that cookbook on rainy days."

"Oh, so you could choose the cookies you wanted to make?" my nephew's wife asked.

My brother and I shook our heads. "We didn't actually make the cookies," I said, and to be honest,  I never even considered that to have been an option, then or in the 50+ years since. "We just looked at the pictures." 

"We don't really think about it, but baking is expensive," my sister-in-law said. "Your family probably couldn't afford just to make cookies because it was raining."

And she was likely right, but I never really thought about it until now. Even so, we sure did love to look at that Cooky Book, and I can’t say I ever felt deprived. 

I Do Have a Job Y'Know

"What are you doing here?" one of my students asked as I walked down the hall toward the library. "You're not in your room?" She seemed genuinely confused, but I laughed as I breezed by. 

"I have a meeting," I explained.

And I had completely forgotten the interaction when the next day I passed through the after-school program in the cafeteria on my way to a basketball game. "What are you doing here?" another of my students asked. Then her face brightened. "Are you here to see me?"

Again I laughed. "I'm on my way to the game," I told her. "Why don't you come?"

And then yesterday, when a few kids were using my room for their Asr prayers during my planning time, I chose to give them some space and take a walk around the building. "What are you doing here?" asked a colleague as I strode down the hall. "It's not often that you leave your area."

Clearly, I need to get out more.

If only I didn't have so much work.