Youthful Optimism

I ran into a former student and one of his buddies while walking the dog the other day. I spotted the duo from afar; they were climbing the steps to a porch and knocking on the door. I watched as they spoke to whoever answered and saw their shoulders slump slightly as they retraced their steps and started down the sidewalk towards me, pulling a heavy wagon behind them. I waved as they approached, and they greeted me with huge smiles.

"Whatcha up to?" I asked, pointing at the wagon, which I could now see was loaded with a hose, buckets, sponges, and rags.

"We're trying to do car washes to earn some money," my student told me.

"To buy pit bikes," his friend added.

"That's very enterprising!" I said. "How much are you charging?"

"Twenty-five," they told me together.

"How much are the bikes?" I asked.

"A thousand twenty-five," the other kid said, and my student sighed.

"Each?" I clarified, and when they nodded, my eyes grew wide. "That's 82 car washes!" I tried not to sound too discouraging, but it seemed pretty daunting to me. "How many have you done?"

"None," he reported.

"But we just started," his friend shrugged confidently.

"Well," I said, "I better let you get back to it. Good luck!"

"Thanks!" they replied and rolled their wagon on down the hill.

Resist the Invasion

I noticed her right away.

The woman was blond, in her late 40s, and looked for all the world like a former neighbor, but she was also standing in a patch of brambles with a ratty ball cap and frayed backpack, scanning the ground in an unexpected way. I decided to avoid eye contact and walk on by with Lucy.

"Tracey?" she said, and I stopped and turned around.

"I thought that might be you!" I said, "But then I also thought, Why would she be doing that?" I laughed, and she did, too.

"I'm looking for evil, invasive honeysuckle," she told me, "so I can cut it down and yank it out!"

"That sounds therapeutic," I commented. "Especially in these fraught times."

"Oh, it is," she answered. "It really, really is."

Impressions

When Mary introduced me to her first class yesterday a hand shot up in the front of the room. She nodded at the boy to let him know she saw him but didn't stop speaking. His hand waved and he made intense eye contact with me until she reached a point where she paused and called on him. "You taught my mom and my uncles!" he said breathlessly.

"I did?" I replied. "What's your mom's name?" 

"Farhana," he told me, and I laughed and told him the names of his uncles. 

"Do your grandparents still live on Barton Street?" I asked, and he said they did.

"How did you even know she taught your mom?" Mary asked logically since I haven't worked at the school since he's been there.

"They just told me about her," he said.

In contrast, this morning Mary texted me from her all-day meeting. "Did you teach M-- H--?" she asked. "She's my sub today."

"I did!" I replied, trying to calculate how long ago it had been. "She must be pretty young."

"She looked young, although she said she was here a long time ago. She only remembered P-- A-- so that wasn't all that long ago."

As it turns out, she was in sixth grade 12 years ago, which is half her life, so understandably seems long to her. But? She didn't even remember me!

Service Teaching

My friend Mary asked if I would be willing to come to school as a volunteer and help coach the young writers in her class as they work on their children's book projects, and I happily agreed. The assignment was one I am well-acquainted with, having developed and taught it with my sixth-grade CLT over the last 5 or 6 years, and I was eager to see how the new historical fiction spin they added this year was working. 

This morning, I stationed myself at a table in the back of Mary's room, and she explained to each class who I was and what I was there to do. Business was slow at first, but Mary sent a few kids my way and then asked them for reviews of the experience, which were positive and encouraged a few other students to give it a try.

The conferences were set up so that I could see their work in progress on my laptop as we talked, and I asked clarifying questions and made suggestions in real-time as they sat next to me and wrote. To me, the meetings seemed helpful and productive, and they were fun, too. 

"Awesome!" I answered when anyone asked how it was going. "It's like a dream job-- I just get to listen to kids tell me about their ideas and writing and make some suggestions, and then they say, "Thank you!" and it's on to the next kid. No planning, no discipline, no grading, just straight-up teaching."

"It really is the best part," noted Mary. "You're welcome."

What Are We, 12?

A group of friends organized a game night this weekend at 6 PM on Saturday. On the text chain, someone offered to bring pizza, and I said I'd bake a cake since there was a birthday to celebrate, too.

Who knew that would be all we had for dinner?

The games were fun, though.

I Think I'll Pass

I received an email this afternoon from the job site where I'm enrolled informing me of all sorts of opportunities with the federal government.

Ummmm. Really?

Impervious

You know it's cold when the cat runs into the living room because she hears the fireplace screen move. And it has been cold, almost dauntingly so. But I remembered something I learned when I was in college in Upstate New York. 

I didn't have a car until I was a senior, so I walked everywhere. There were days when it was so cold I could feel the hair in my nose crisp up a bit when I took my first breath outside on my way to class. I also recall being able to walk on the snow because it had a thick top layer that was frozen solid, which was helpful since I liked to cut across the field hockey pitch if I was running late. 

But what I didn't do was lower my head and hunch my shoulders against the cold. That just made it worse! Instead, I threw my shoulders back and strode purposefully in the direction I needed to go. After all? It was just a little cold weather.

And I've found that strategy still works 40-something years later.

But a fire sure is nice, too.