As an extension to the personal narrative assignment we offered writers a chance to create a graphic version of their stories using an online app. The results have been charming-- kids are so visual and so technology-savvy, and I have thoroughly enjoyed reading the distillations of their memoirs.
I especially got a kick out of one that featured me, in avatar form:
I feel so seen!
My watch buzzed as we were stepping out the door for our walk to pick up Lucy. Rain starting soon in Arlington, VA, it warned.
"Should we drive?" I asked Heidi.
"We need the walk," she reminded me. "I'm going to bring an umbrella."
"I'm going to wear a hat," I said. "I don't care if I get a little wet. I"ll shower when we get home."
And off we went: down the winding steps, across the condo complex at the bottom of the hill, left at the corner, jaywalking (or jogging) across Walter Reed, down the bike path, up the winding hill, through the high school campus, across George Mason, around the corner, and up the street.
We heard the first rumbles of thunder a mile and a half in as we made our last turn. "I didn't see anything about thunder!" I said to Heidi. "Because that might have changed my mind."
"No kidding," she nodded as we climbed the steps to get Lucy.
"Do you guys want a ride home?" Sarah, our dog walker offered.
"Do we?" I asked Heidi.
"We need the walk," she reminded me again, and we quickly leashed up Lucy to head home.
"Call me if you need to," Sarah said helpfully.
We were just past the stadium, which had been full of athletes practicing three different sports on our way, but was now deserted when the wind almost turned Heidi's umbrella inside out and the skies opened. "Run for the snack bar!" I shouted over the storm, before my hat blew off and I had to reverse course to retrieve it.
We were both soaked by the time we got to the covered space. "I think it's going to let up soon," I said, pointing to the noticeably lighter sky to the southwest.
We stood dripping for a while, but just when we were about to call for help, the torrential rain turned to a very manageable downpour. "Let's go!" I said, and out we stepped into the rain.
Heidi's umbrella was fully protective, and my hat? Well, it stayed on my head, and to be honest I didn't care that I was wet. The wind was fresh and the rain was too.
We decided to vote early today and headed out to a community center just up the hill from us. There was a bit of a line, but the day was beautiful, quintessentially October, golden sun, flaming leaves, luminous sky, and it was a pleasure to wait. A candidate for county board chatted us up as we stood. "I'm here for questions, or complaints, or--" he paused.
"Or votes?" I teased him. "You have ours."
"Thank you!" he laughed and moved on down the line.
There were several volunteers from the local Democrats, and at the top of the hour they had a mini-shift change. One young man made his way to the card table they had set up as a command center. He walked steadily on forearm crutches and said introduced himself in a loud voice. It was a name recognized from the sixth grade class 15 years ago. I turned to look at more carefully, and sure enough I could just make out the 11-year-old boy in the thin and rangy man with shaggy blond hair: the blue eyes were the same. I went back to say hello, removing my sunglasses and mask so that he might recognize me, too.
In sixth grade, he was on our team, but not in my English class. He was in our school's functional life skills program, but he was full of personality and known to all. He didn't have many conversational filters back then, and I found the same was still pretty true.
"How have you been?" I asked.
"Physically?" he replied, and waved his crutches at me. "I have these."
"I'm sorry that happened to you," I told him.
"That's muscular dystrophy," he shrugged.
"How's your mom?" I asked.
"She has a blood clot in her leg!" he reported. "From running."
"Well, at least she's staying active," I said, a little unsure where to take the conversation next.
"I think it's your turn to go in," he nodded to the door where Heidi was holding my place.
"I'm going to tell your teachers I saw you," I said. "They're going to be a little jealous."
"I know," he answered. "They liked me."
Lately Heidi has had a bee in her bonnet, or perhaps more seasonal and precise, a bat in her belfry, about her Halloween costume. This year she plans to go as Maleficent, the evil queen from Sleeping Beauty, and Lucy and the cats are going to dress as her bat minions. So yesterday as soon as our conferences were over we headed to Spirit Halloween where we found her costume, and subsequently ordered some bat wings for our pets.
She was so excited that she tried it on this morning to preview the look. After the two of us thoroughly discussed the headpiece (cool), and cape-caftan gown (also kind of cool), and what her make up would be like, she decided to go show her friend down the way.
"You're just going to walk around the neighborhood dressed like Maleficent?" I asked.
"Yep!" she answered cheerfully and out the door she went.
I could hear though the kitchen window when she ran into our next door neighbor. "You look amazing!" she said, “so elegant and evil!” and then they proceeded to discuss the make up plan again.
"What about a staff?" our neighbor asked. "There's something very empowering about carrying a staff."
We had actually debated the staff situation at length, and Heidi finally decided against one because it would get in the way when she was walking Lucy.
"Well you look very elegant, and comfortable, too," our neighbor continued. "I love a caftan!"
Just then another neighbor happened by. "Why are you dressed up?" she asked.
"Who's dressed up?" the first neighbor asked and the three of them were still cracking up when yet another neighbor came upon the scene.
"I have come to receive my punishment," she bowed to Heidi.
"Just stay away from spinning wheels," the other neighbor advised.
A little while later Heidi came back inside. "It's a hit!" she reported.
I would say so.
I confess that, despite the many years of experience I have with it, I often dread conference day. I have more than a little social anxiety about spending the day with a bunch of people I don't know, even for a good cause.
Things got a little better when we moved to student-led conferences: like so many things about middle school, the novelty of that model carries the day with sixth grade students and their parents alike. And it is true that once I shift into teacher-gear, the meetings themselves go quite well, but I am always happy when they are over.
As I am this afternoon, but I was reminded many times throughout the course of the day why we do conferences. For example, there was the student who said at least 10 times as many words today as I have heard her say all year. "She's not quiet at home!" her mother told me through the Thai language interpreter who was dialed in through the mobile phone I held close to the screen. I also learned that one of my students speaks Russian with his mother, another has 2 older brothers also at our school, and still another who is doing phenomenally academically doesn't feel like he has many friends.
One of the kids mentioned in passing that his teachers talk too fast and that he is too shy to ever say anything when working in a group. And another said that the most surprising thing about middle school is all the profanity scrawled in the bathrooms and dropped carelessly in the hallways between class-- to her school is sort of a Lord of the Flies meets KidTown situation, but not so bad as to tell an adult about it.
Pretty much every student had something surprising and relevant to share, and I was reminded again and again that as much as I personally dislike them, I also must admit that they are an important tool to support our students.
To prepare for a mini-lesson on crafting a "terrific title" for their personal narratives, I asked my students to consider the question of if their life was a book, what it would be called. I was a little surprised by how underwhelmed most of them seemed with their stories so far, giving them titles such as
My Very Dull Monstrous Life
Sean's Unlucky Adventures
Downhill
A Boring Life
The Worst Book Ever
An Insignificant Life, or Don't Read This
A Boring, Depressing, Lazy Child
I Am Tired
The Most Unfortunate Girl in the World (But Still a Very Interesting Person)
A Bizarre Adventure
Life is Life
My Life Story
Diana's Unlucky Adventures
My Life's a Crisis
The Standard Life of Juliet
Unexpected
The Longest, Most Boring Book in the World
Misadventures of McKenna
Daily Life of a Kid
Amazingly Normal Adventures
Just ?
Never Ending
It occurred to me as we talked that the COVID crisis, which is going on 20 months now with no real end in sight, is just a little less than 15% of their entire lives, and closer to 20% of their conscious lives. Clearly it has taken a toll.
Even so, there were a few titles that might excite a prospective reader:
Talking to My Shadow
Carnival Time
Sapnap
Welcome to Jurassic Park
The Absurd Actions of Adventure Girl
Tiny Pencil Stealer
Army Brat
The Idiot of Middle School Strikes Back
A Secret that Won't Be Told
In addition to each being more of an invitation and less of a label, there's some resiliency in them, I think.
I haven't worn my exercise tights for a while. Back when stay-at-home orders were issued, they evolved from gym clothes to live-in clothes, and they were a go-to through virtual learning and right up to our return to school last spring. Once we were back in the building, though, it seemed unlikely that I could get a workout in on any kind of break, and as comfortable as they were, tights seemed a little too cas, even for me.
Of course summer is too hot for any such garment, and now we are back at school full time again, so my nice little pile of tights with their practical side pockets has gone ignored, until today. A cool snap has given our area relief from some extended summery warmth, and at first the chilly mornings followed by warmer afternoons had me scratching my head for what to wear when I got home for school, but today? The answer was clear: Girl! Pull on a pair of tights! And so I did, even if it was just to walk down the big hill to the grocery and back up again with my dinner provisions.
I'm not gonna lie-- the old tights felt a little, well, tight, and after a summer of shorts I needed to make peace with just how close they were. But I did that on the walk to the store, where I filled three bags worth of groceries before hefting them back up the hill.
On the way home I passed a neighbor. "Where have you been?" she asked.
"The grocery store," I answered.
"The one down the hill?" she replied with surprise.
"Yeah," I shrugged.
"Impressive!" she said.
"It's not really that far--" I started.
"Still!" she interrupted. "The groceries! That's a load. And you're looking strong!"
I considering arguing, but then I thought better of it. "Thanks!" I said with a mock flex and a squat.
We laughed, and as I strode on up the hill, the tights were feeling pretty good.
