I was leading a class discussion about poetry and called on a student who had raised his hand to comment on the figurative language in the poem.
"The first paragraph has personification," he noted.
"Stanza," I corrected him.
"And the second paragraph has metaphor," he continued.
"Stanza!" I repeated.
He jumped to his feet, a bit rattled. "The second paragraph also has rhyme," he added shakily.
"STANZA!" I said.
"I am!" he told me. "I am!"
The question was Which of the poetry tools we've learned during the unit did you enjoy most? Why? So many students stop before the "why" that I have taught the person leading the discussion to be sure to ask them before moving on. And so it was today.
"Olivia says simile," the student read. He turned to her and asked, "Why?"
She made a face and shrugged. "Because I like an ass," she informed us.
The room went still.
"You mean you like using like and as?" the other student primly followed up.
She nodded and the air returned.
A pair of robins kept me company in the garden today. Somewhere they have learned that weeding often uncovers some tasty treats for them, and they were fearless in their companionship. They were also right-- I dug up a bunch of grubs, and although I personally wished them no harm, I knew they would not be beneficial to my future crops. And so I sacrificed them to the robins, tossing them just a few yards away where they were quickly consumed and died not in vain, but rather in service to the food chain.
Or so I like to think.
The day dawned gray and raw, even for late April. It mattered little that we knew it would be near 90 in a few days; the house seemed cold, so we built what will likely be the last fire of the season. The cats were so happy! And we kept the crackle and warmth stoked throughout the day. Outside the temperature rose until it was tepid and muggy, but in here? It stayed dry and snug.
Years ago I made the decision that I would never say no to a student who asked to go to the clinic, even if I considered the request unnecessary or flagrant avoidance or attention-seeking. I figured that's why we have medical professionals in the building, even if the only thing they can prescribe is ice in a baggie with an institutional paper towel wrapped around it.
Since then I've seen little bags of ice held over eyes and on top of heads, tucked into socks and waistbands, and ultimately almost always abandoned. And I've chosen to overlook the inevitable puddles on the tables and floor, as well as the students who bite a little hole in their bag and suck on the cold ice melt before discarding the panacea altogether.
And although it mystifies me why kids still want to go there for maladies that ice won't help, they continue to ask. "They're only going to give you ice," I warn as they grab the pass and go, limping or grimacing or groaning only to return a short while later with a couple of neatly packaged cubes, born like badges of honor.
For the warm-up to a lesson on hyperbole, I asked students to choose a category and identify their G.O.A.T. Their answers were predictable but still fun. For example, Takis was named the greatest snack of all time. Messi and Ronaldo were both G.O.A.T.s of soccer. Some kids chose themselves as the greatest person of all time. We let them all pass without judgment.
I offer a little guessing game for those who finish to encourage kids to answer quickly and avoid dragging out the warm-up. Sometimes it's guessing whose name I drew to lead the discussion, sometimes it's guessing the card from Taco, Cat, Goat, Cheese, or Pizza, sometimes it's something else, anything to speed them along. Today, I got all the goats from Taco, Cat, etc, and an equal number of other cards and we played "Goat or No Goat?"
It was a fun variation, but I was surprised that it took until the last class of the day for someone to notice the connection between our game and the Chat Snap question. "I see what you did there," she nodded appreciatively, and I laughed, because as much as I'd like to think that happens all the time?
I'm afraid it really doesn't.
A few sixth graders were suspended today for fighting.
There was a time when I could have said such an occurrence was rare at our school, but that hasn't been true for the last few years. Even so, these sixth graders fight and talk about fighting more than any group I've ever taught: it seems like their go-to when it comes to resolving differences outside the classroom.
When I think about recent history, this uptick in physical conflict makes some sense. These kids lost one-third of second grade and most, if not all, of third grade was either virtual or heavily reliant on social distance. They lost a lot of in-person socialization opportunities over that time, and it shows.
