We All Win

It was a two-point game at halftime when I made it down to the fieldhouse this afternoon to support our girls' basketball team.  

A sparse crowd of kids in the stands watched as the ref tweeted his whistle and handed the ball to our point guard to commence the second half. The only staff on the sidelines was the assistant principal and me, and we stood, arms crossed, as the girls raced up and back on the court. We all cheered when at last our team wrested the lead from the visitors and kept it until the end of the quarter. 

Duty called, and the assistant principal led all of the students riding the late bus out of the gym and up to the front of the building. By that time, the principal herself had joined us and she was quickly caught up in the game, the score going back and forth, but staying within two.

"This must be a good one if you're still here at the end," the wrestling coach cracked as he came over after his team practice.

"Definitely worth the price of admission," I joked back, as our coaches burned a timeout to save a player in trouble with the press. 

But as we watched the girls hold their lead to win by one at the buzzer, their teammates emptying the bench and fans swarming onto the court to congratulate them on the victory, all of us knew that this experience was pretty priceless.

Along Those Lines

We were doing a vote-with-your-feet kind of activity on the topic of courage. Students were presented with different scenarios and then asked to move to one side of the room if they thought the story illustrated courage and the other side if they felt it did not. 

We got to one about a secret service agent who takes a bullet for the president he is protecting. "Is that courage?" I asked.

The students sorted themselves based on their evaluation of the situation, and as I stood in the center of the room my eyebrows raised. All the boys were on the side of not courage, while all the girls were on the courage side.

"He literally risked his life to save the president!" one of the girls explained her position.

To which all the boys roared, "It was his job!"

Not sure what to make of that split.

I Know When to Stay In?

This is the time of year when we usually dedicate ourselves to watching new movies to prepare for our annual Oscar weekend. But sadly, going to the theater still seems fraught and somehow less enjoyable than it once was. 

I'm hopeful that sad situation will change, though, because watching the many nominees we have been able to in the comfort of our living room is just not the same as seeing them on the big screen. Maybe that's why in addition to watching 30-year-old Groundhog Day on Friday, last night we watched 27-year-old Titanic, which also holds up nicely.

In fact, the movie was way better than that dumb exhibit we went to today, which was just a big rip-off. The so-called "experience" ended up being a rehash of all the same old well-known stories and information, staged in an unfinished office space and organized around large-scale photos and second-rate artifacts, most of them from other ships. It was an enormous disappointment and a huge waste of time and money, just as I intuited back when I first heard of it. 

Groundhog Day

Happy Groundhog Day! 
Happy Groundhog Day! 
Happy Groundhog Day! 

I posted the above greeting on the daily agenda for my English classes yesterday. "Does anyone know why I wrote the same thing over and over?" I asked, but none of my students had ever even heard of the movie Groundhog Day, and so they were unable to get the joke.

"It's from an old movie," I explained, "where a weatherman reporting on the groundhog gets stuck in a time loop. No matter what he does, it's always Groundhog Day whenever he wakes up."

"Is it good?" one kid asked me.  

I paused before answering. "I haven't seen it in a really long time," I confessed. "I think it was funny?" I shrugged and moved on with the lesson, but the conversation stayed with me.

"I know what we should watch tonight," I told Heidi when we got home after school. "Groundhog Day!"

She groaned but agreed to the plan, and so after dinner, we settled ourselves on the couch and turned on the TV.

"What year was this made?" Heidi asked, examining the hair and the clothes and the cars. 

"1993!" I answered, for I had already looked it up. "The same year I started teaching."

The movie was a little slow to start. Bill Murray's unpleasant character was not entertaining, and reminded me of a lot of cinematic jerks from back then: Dan Ackroyd in Trading Places, Val Kilmer in Top Gun, James Spader in everything. I actually nodded off after the first two wake-ups, and Heidi poked me and told me to go to bed. "No, no," I insisted, "I'm awake now."

 I was, too, but Heidi went to bed anyway and I watched the rest of the movie alone. 

And although I wouldn't go so far as this reviewer, who calls the film "a spiritual and philosophical masterpiece" and compares Phil Connors to Siddhartha, I would say that, despite being a bit dated and Phil's initial tiresome snarkiness aside, the movie is warm-hearted and entertaining with more than a few laugh out loud moments. 

But I don't need to rewatch it any time soon.

Same Old Story

As I've written before, I have been fascinated by the story of the Titanic since I was a child. Back then the ship was still lost and had seemingly vanished forever. It wasn't until I was in my early 20s that Robert Ballard and his crew located the wreck, nearly two-and-a-half miles below the surface. 

After that discovery, the Titanic became a huge industry; exhibits of recovered artifacts were everywhere, and I attended quite a few. The popularity of the ship was helped along by the 1997 blockbuster movie and then rekindled again in 2012, the 100th anniversary of the sinking. Back then, we went to a great exhibit at National Geographic, but as I made my way through the galleries, I realized that there wasn't much information that was new to me. I knew everything I cared to about the disaster. 

So when a few months ago I received an e-mail about a traveling exhibit on Titanic, I summarily deleted the message. And when our district added a required common text for sixth graders that was an excerpt from a survivor's account of the sinking, I explained to anyone who cared to listen that my objection was not made out of ignorance or disinterest, but rather relevance. Why should we teach every single kid about a random tragedy that happened over a hundred years ago? Don't they have enough bad news in their lives without adding to it?

But, as the saying goes, I don't really run anything except my mouth, and so I a couple of weeks ago found myself teaching about the Titanic. (And, as it turned out, writing raps about it, too.) Of course, the recent catastrophe of the Titan sub had brought the ship back into public attention, and the kids were fairly engaged by the grim tale. Although I still felt like studying the topic was a bit of sensationalism and rubber-necking, I also remembered what an interesting story it is, and while planning my lessons, I watched some new videos about recent explorations of the wreck with new technology. It's amazing to me that it's been nearly 40 years since it was found. 

Oh, and that exhibit? Well, I got an email that it's been extended a few weeks, so this Sunday? We're going.

Helping Helpers

A friend texted to ask if we could stop on the way home to help move her old couch to the curb and carry her new(ish) couch in from her truck. 

So 4:45 PM found us struggling a little bit under the weight of an old-fashioned claw foot settee, trying to maneuver it through the storm door and down the concrete steps of the stoop and the walkway without stepping on the two tiny papillons she was doggy day caring for. Meanwhile, she held her own mini cockapoo to keep him from escaping, and three other dogs yapped impatiently in the backyard. Just then Heidi bumped her end forward a little too fast, causing me to stumble slightly. 

"Would you ladies like a hand?" a voice offered. It was the postal carrier coming down the street. "There seems to be a lot going on here," he continued.

"Yes please, strong guy," I laughed, holding my end steady while he placed his neat stack of mail on the hood of the truck before stepping in to relieve me.

"You all seem like pretty strong ladies yourself," he replied as he and Heidi moved quickly to the curb and deposited the couch. "But there's nothing wrong with getting a little help."

Nothing at all.

School of Life

Our team of sixth-grade teachers had a conference with a student and his parent this afternoon. The student is a good kid, but impulsive and silly at times. Other kids really like him, too, so he has the knack of spreading disruption in class at times. And, like many eleven-year-olds, he has a hard time accepting responsibility for his mistakes.

After we described the situation, his mother was having none of his half-baked justifications and excuses, and she gave him a firm scolding, right there and then, making clear her expectations for his conduct in school. 

In truth, it was a little uncomfortable to hear, and I waited for the right moment to step in, when she had said her piece and we could refocus on strategies to help her son be more successful. After I spoke, she allowed the conversation to be redirected, but before we entirely shifted gears she told her son one more thing. 

"You are surrounded right now by people who love and care for you. We all want the best for you, but the world is not like that," she shook her head. "The world does not love you. The world does not like you. You have to learn to make better choices now, so you won't..." 

She trailed off and my breath caught at the implications of her unspoken warning to this very young man of color. The stakes seemed so much higher then, the mission so much more urgent.