Study Skills

My sixth-graders collectively bombed a recent vocabulary test, and their poor performance had me scratching my head because they have done pretty well on similar assessments in the past. The vocabulary lessons are structured to allow students to uncover the definitions of prefixes, suffixes, and affixes. There is also ample opportunity for them to apply the information to both familiar and unfamiliar words, but when it comes down to it, there is a necessary element of memorization.

As such, these kids had access to several online study tools, including slide decks, practice quizzes, and games, some of which we did together in class. Still, the results were disappointing, and reviewing and reteaching were necessary. It occurred to me while planning that maybe we should set the devices aside and go old school. Each student got 9 cards, one for each suffix, and then they consulted their notebooks to find the verified definition. After that, they quizzed themselves and a partner, played matching and concentration, moving, viewing, reading, and hearing the information on those flashcards until they were ready for a retake.

Which? Many of them aced and all of them improved upon their former grade. After celebrating our group victory, I addressed the class."You know what we just did to prepare for the test?" I asked and there were nods all around. "That's called 'studying'!"

Plus ça Change

"Leadership team looked at the survey results and we decided that every student will have a binder next year," our team leader informed us at our weekly meeting today. "Dividers for all seven subjects AND a paper agenda," she continued.

Her report was met with silence; everyone present agreed that, even in this oh-so-digital age, a binder is a good organizational tool for students. The agenda? Not so much, but we can work with it. 

"They're forming a committee," she laughed, "to formalize the binder expectations. In case anyone feels strongly enough to join."

There were no takers, but the offer reminded me of something. Our school building is 50 years old. Having spent my entire career there, I am rather fond of the sprawling old brick fortress it is, but I am a minority. Many others have good reason to wish that our district will finally earmark the funds to tear the place down and start again. 

From the mice in the ceiling, to the lack of windows and ventilation, the leaks, the mold, the foundation repairs, the place is showing its age, but when I first started, it was still a sprightly structure of just 20, one of the newer buildings in the system. Ten years later, when the place turned thirty, we created a time capsule to commemorate the event. Each team was asked to choose or create an artifact that would show the world thirty years in the future what middle school was like in the early years of the new millenium.

Our sixth grade team? Put together the best binder you could ever imagine! Surely this will be a thing of the past, we thought. But twenty years later, despite iPads and smart panels and mobile phones in every pocket, here we are talking about the same things. 

And? Unless something huge changes, when they open that time capsule our artifact is going to get a great big yawn. Except, it is a really great binder-- there is that!

The Devil You Don't Know

Over the weekend my brother and I were talking about the tricks of time. He will be 60 in a month. "It seems crazy," he said, "that 60 years before I was born was 1904! That has always seemed so long ago, but now I have 60 years of memory myself."

Perhaps I was subconsciously thinking of that conversation when today I asked, as a warm-up question, if the sixth graders in my class would rather live 100 years in the future or 100 years in the past. 

I'm not sure what I expected, probably an attraction to the future and its promise of new technology. To be sure, a lot of kids mentioned just that-- new games, no question, and some are actually holding out for flying cars (although they quite clearly specified that theirs will be electric). 

What I did not anticipate were the many students who chose the future because of our racist past. "Look at me," said one girl in a head scarf, "people probably would not like me or trust me." 

Others were familiar enough with history to know that they wanted to avoid both the Great Depression and World War II. And one boy had a very personal reason for his choice. "They never could have cured my cancer back then," he told me matter-of-factly.

I was surprised that not a single kid expressed concern about the challenges of the future, like climate change, the end of democracy, pandemics, or war. "We'll figure it out," shrugged one.

I'd like to think they will.

Not Even Close

I read somewhere that today, the Monday after DST begins, is National Napping Day, which makes sense, even though I'm not really a napper. I do hate Daylight Savings Time, though, as almost anyone who knows me can verify.

This year, I didn't even have to go to work today. Many of my friends congratulated me on having the luck to be out of town for a family gathering on the shortest weekend of the year. "Maybe when you get back on Tuesday, losing an hour won't bother you at all," they said.

I was skeptical.

And as it turns out, staying up late playing games with your nephews because your body thinks it's an hour earlier, and then getting up to pack the rental house, load the car, drive home, unload the car, unpack, and then sit down to catch up on schoolwork is not really an ideal way to ease into the time change.

In fact, I almost took a nap.

Lose Some, Win Some

When we woke up this morning (minus our stolen hour), the torrential rain of yesterday had given way to cold, blustery sunshine, so we took a ride down to the Eastern Neck National Wildlife Refuge, known for its resident bald eagles. 

We were disappointed in our efforts to see eagles or any wildlife, with the exception of vultures, though. It seemed like the other animals were smarter than we were, and they sought shelter from the gusty winds. So, after a windblown hour or so, we headed home.

Not to worry, though. This afternoon, we watched four eagles ride the turbulence, diving into the creek and flapping away with small fish, all from the comfort of our living room. 

I still want that hour back, though!

Here's Lookin at You, Oscar

For many years, we used to gather with my brother's family to watch the Oscars in one of our houses or another. We would have a delicious potluck meal, everyone contributing something amazing to share; we would fill out our predicted ballots and throw a few bucks into a pool, and since it was always so late on Sunday night when it ended, we'd take the next day off. 

One year it occurred to us that since we were taking off, we might as well take off for somewhere fun, and a tradition was born. In the decade-plus since that realization, we have spent long weekends in many amazing waterfront homes in places like Hague, VA, Scotland, MD, Dewey Beach, DE, and this year, Rock Hall, a tiny Eastern Shore port on the Chesapeake Bay.

In our part of the world, the weather in March is unpredictable, and so those weekends have been a mixed bag of days when we could hunt barefoot for sharks' teeth and fossils to times when we needed our warmest gear as protection against a howling Nor'easter. Through it all, we've explored tiny towns, nature preserves, parks, and history museums, enjoyed local restaurants, patronized artists and artisans in their galleries, fishermen on the wharf, farmers' markets, and country stores. 

In these homes away from home, we've cooked and laughed and played games. We've seen over 200 awards handed out and heard countless speeches. We witnessed Faye Dunaway accidentally announce LaLa Land as best picture and Will Smith slap Chris Rock. One year, my nephews each made their own short film over the weekend, which they premiered before the ceremony began. (Of course, those were the real best pictures that night.)

Other family members have traveled from Minnesota, Florida, and Colorado to be part of the fun, and one nephew has joined virtually from Western Massachusetts and another from Iceland. 

And here we are again. Cue the orchestra, and... Action!

Off the Market

Like many teachers these days, I have a basket of fidgets on my desk. Although it is ever-evolving, lately, my collection includes an assortment of stress balls, yo-yos, poppers, puzzle cubes, hand grip exercisers, and a boxing ball headband. There is also a Wiz-z-zer.

For those who are unfamiliar, Wiz-z-zers are gyroscopic spinning tops that were popular in the 1970s. Unlike their predecessors, Wiz-z-zers did not use a string to start them spinning. Instead, you swept them at an angle across a plain surface (like the bare floor), revving them up, and then dropped them lightly to spin really fast for what seems like a very long time. 

When we were kids, Wiz-z-zers were a staple stocking stuffer for my brother and sister and me, and we each had several. When we got bored of spinning them, we battled them, and when we tired of that, we held them, buzzing, up to our cheeks, pretending they were electric razors.

Anyhow, it must have been over ten years ago that I saw one for sale in a clearance bin somewhere, and of course, I bought it. I realized then that I hadn't seen one for decades, and a little research revealed that they had been discontinued in the 80s, revived in the mid-oughts, and then discontinued again. My Wiz-z-zer languished in a box of toys in the attic until a recent purge when rather than give it away, I brought it to school.

Oh my! If I had known how popular it would be, I definitely would have dug that spinning top out sooner. Undoubtedly, its novelty contributes to its allure; no one who plays with it now has ever seen its like. In fact, several kids have offered to buy it from me.

"It's not for sale," I rejected the latest request yesterday.

"Not for any price?" replied the interested party.

"Nope," I confirmed.

"You're telling me that if I gave you a million dollars here and now for this thing," he held up the toy, "you wouldn't take it?"

"Maybe a million dollars," I shrugged, "but not a penny less." I laughed.

"How about a million dollars in pennies?" he countered. "By the time you finished counting them, would you even know if you were missing one?"