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.

Old Habits

When I was a student, I was a terrible procrastinator; I needed the urgency of a deadline to make me get started on even the biggest project. As such? I spent many late nights and even a few all-nighters getting my work done at the very last minute. 

Quality-wise, I often felt it was a trade-off. The pressure inspired me and I came up with a lot of stuff from who knows where, not all of it bad. Of course, time to edit, revise, and polish my work would have been nice, but back then everything had to be typed on a typewriter or written by hand, and so those stages of the writing process were time-consuming and laborious. I probably would have stuck with an early draft even if I'd had more time.

These days, I find myself in a similar situation at the end of each quarter. For example, I finally finished grading the last of the argument essays today, which was a good thing, since grades are due at midnight. But happy ending! I'm all finished and ready to head home.

After 50 years or so, what's the point of changing now? As awful as it was to have all that hanging over my head, the liberation of having it done is kind of exhilarating.

No Favors

Since Heidi started teaching social skills around ten years ago, we always say that it's the adults in our school who could really use the curriculum. Why narrow it down, though? Our subsequent awareness of social interactions has become a comical lens on so many everyday interactions.

Take today for example. Since it was a grade prep day, we were working at home. Our dog walker came by as usual to pick up Lucy, but since we were her, she stayed to chat a while. "What's the bread for?" she asked, nodding her chin at the pair of sourdough boules cooling on a rack. 

"Oh, I bake bread almost every week," I told her. "It's easier to make extra than to scale down the recipe, and it doesn't cost much, so I give away a couple of loaves weekly."

She nodded and looked down at her phone.

"Those are spoken for," I continued, "but if you have any interest, I can hook you up next week."

"Huh?" she said.

"The bread," I gestured. "Would you like some next week?"

"If you're baking it," she shrugged, "I guess I could take some."

"I'll let you know," I said.

Swift Effect

We watched a recording of the opening monologue from last night's episode of SNL this morning. Host Dakota Johnson was recalling the time she attended the 40th anniversary of the show as an audience member and a photo of her then flashed on the screen. The year was 2015 and right behind her was Donald Trump. "Who would have thought the future most powerful person in America would be there?" she asked as the camera panned to Taylor Swift, who was seated in front of her.

That must have been on my mind this afternoon when we ran into one of our neighbors. He was out for a run and we were walking home from running a few errands. "Sorry about the Bills," I told him since I hadn't seen him since last weekend. "Who are you rooting for today?"

"Oh definitely Baltimore and the Lions," he said. "If they both win, I'll be happy."

We wished him good luck and he jogged on his way.

"I don't know," I told Heidi as we continued home. "I have a feeling Kansas City is going to the Superbowl, and it's because of Taylor Swift."

"What does she have to do with them winning?" Heidi said.

"This just seems to be her time," I answered. "She's got a lot of good mojo, and it's rubbing off on the Chiefs."

Sorry, Ravens.

Doldrums

We are in a wide Sargasso Sea of TV watching. As much as there is on television, it's all like too much seaweed clogging up the airwaves.

It's ironic, really. There are hundreds of channels these days, and there are also many lists and recommendations, literally at my fingertips. This morning I sent Heidi links to "The Fifty Best Shows on Netflix Right Now" from the NY Times and IMDB's 2024 TV Guide, but so far? We're drifting aimlessly from show to show, discontent lapping the sides of our evenings in front of the TV.

I've even used AI, asking ChatGPT what shows I should watch based on the shows I have liked in the past. I guess the algorithm is working because it mentioned many shows I've already seen. Unfortunately, though, ChatGPT only knows what it knows through 2022. Anything newer than that doesn't exist for it, so there's not a lot of forward momentum there.

Oh, we'll keep rowing. I'm sure a fresh breeze will pick up soon, maybe when we least expect it, and we will sail into seemingly endless entertaining evenings in front of the TV again.

Done and Done

I called my 86-year-old aunt this afternoon to coordinate our next visit. "I am sitting out on my deck reading and listening to all the birds chirp!" she reported. "Can you believe it's January?"

"Considering there were six inches of snow on the ground when we talked last Friday?" I replied. "It's crazy."

"Well I am truly enjoying this!" she told me.

"Why go to Florida when Florida will come to you?" I joked.

"Like Mohammed and the mountain," she agreed. "Just call me Mo!"

We laughed and then she continued, "I'm just your old Aunt Harriett, but take some advice from me. When you get out of school today? Go outside! Enjoy the day!"

I agreed that I would, because what else would you do you do with a 70-degree Friday in January? Besides open all the windows and fire up the grill, of course.

Only So Much Spirit

Secret Spirit Week the subject line read, and the email contained details about staff dress each day. But don't tell the students! the message ended. 

The idea was a novel one to me, something that we have never done in the many years I've been teaching at this school, and all but one of the themes were easy for me to get behind: Monday dress in school spirit wear, Tuesday wear all black, Wednesday wear a hoodie, Thursday wear plaid flannel, Friday dress for the prom.

It was fun to see so many of my colleagues dressed alike all week, too, although as Heidi predicted, none of the kids even noticed. Today at the basketball game, as we stood on the sidelines in our plaid flannel shirts, one of the other English teachers stopped to chat on her way out. "You know what I noticed?" she said.

I raised my eyebrows expectantly.

"We are all dressed like you!"

"And we have been all week!" I agreed. 

"That ends tomorrow though," I told her.

"No prom for you?" she laughed. "Well, I guess I expected so."