The other day I was talking to my lunch buddies at work about retiring. "As much as I'm ready to let go of all the work," I said, " I could live 20 years or more." I knocked on wood. "What am I going to do all that time?"
They nodded, sympathetically. "What about Heidi?" asked one. "How much time does she have?"
"To live?" I asked, wide-eyed.
"No!" she laughed. "Until she retires!"
Before she headed off to school yesterday, Heidi modeled her wardrobe choice for me. It was a T-shirt that always makes her giggle because it reads, Hey Trainwreck! This ain't your station.
"You know what the funniest thing about this shirt is?" she asked me.
I laughed because she had read my mind. "Yeah," I told her. "It really is their station. With you? It's always their station."
Despite the blustery cold, there were a bunch of kids hanging around the soccer field when I left school this afternoon. Just as I rounded the corner to start down the sidewalk toward them, I saw a ball fly through the air and bop one kid on the head. I laughed as he shook it off like a cartoon character, clearly now the worse for the unfortunate kick.
As I continued on, I saw that several of my current students were in the group. They waved and trotted down, excited to see me outside and after hours. We exchanged greetings and a bit of small talk. "Did I see you laugh when that kid got hit in the head?" one girl asked, wide-eyed.
"Well, yeah," I shrugged unapologetically. "He was obviously fine, and? It was funny!"
"You're so cool for a teacher," she said.
"Just human," I laughed. "Have a good weekend!"
I always forget how much I love the poetry unit every year. Kids have such a fresh and quirky take on the world, and poetry is just concentrated enough to showcase their creativity and fresh perspective. Even a form as brief as haiku can be stunning or hilarious or both.
The rain yesterday inspired many of the young poets in my class, among them this writer:
It rains heavily.
The children are not playing.
I don't like the rain.
I laughed out loud when I read it. "That's so existentialist of you," I told her, "to recognize the absence of the children!" I knew she was one of the few 12-year-olds around who would understand my point.
She brightened at the comment. "I do like considering existence," she confirmed, "but I was kind of thinking of The Cat and the Hat when I wrote that!"
Today was an Anchor Day at school when the schedule has us seeing all of our classes for a quick 42 minutes. Today was also the day when students received their March writing challenge prizes, AND the day when I introduced the April poetry challenge AND taught a lesson on syllables and Haiku.
To say it was busy?
That would be an immense understatement. There was applause and candy and wheel spinning. There was a little commercial I made for the poetry challenge that had students calling out its virtues. There was clapping out syllables of one's own name, and then the actual composition of the poetry, all compressed into a little more than half an hour.
But it was fun!
There happened to be a substitute for the co-teacher in one of my sections, and as the bell rang and she filed out with the students she stopped me. "That was the most interactive class I have ever been in!" she gushed.
I thanked her kindly and said, "Well, you came on a good day!"
Of course, I know there's been inflation over the last three years or so; it's obviously been a significant economic and political story. Even so, I am fortunate enough that the news has only had a tangential impact on me: Although we have a loose budget, I can easily afford to buy our essentials without carefully tracking the cost.
Recently, however, as I have shopped for the monthly prizes for our annual writing challenge, inflation has become glaringly apparent. For example, candy that used to cost 99 cents not so many years ago is now 1.39 on a good day. And other items have risen by more than that 40 percent, so our expenses have nearly doubled. In fact, the grand prize t-shirts' price has literally doubled in the last 5 years.
Oh, in the larger scheme of things, the money for these purchases, whether subsidized by a PTA grant or a GoFundMe campaign, or not, is little enough, especially for someone who can buy whatever she wants at the grocery store. But I know that not everyone is as advantaged as I am, and I'm sorry I haven't been more empathetic.
"Are your shoes untied?" a student asked this morning.
"No," I said.
"April fools!" he shouted.
"That's not how it works," I shook my head.
"I tried," he answered with a shrug.
A little while later the same student approached me again. "Is your hair made of metal?" he asked.
"No," I replied.
"April fools!" he tried again.
"That's still not how it works," I told him. "What's that on your shoulder?" I pointed.
He looked down.
"No, over there by your neck," I said. "I don't think you can see it, but it's like a big... thing!"
I threw up my hands and he did, too, brushing off his shoulder.
"April fools!" I cried.
"Oh," he nodded. "That's how it works."
