A. felt safe in period six this year, and I am soooooooo happy. I hope she has discovered that making mistakes is no biggie, that she has a voice, and that she has meaningful contributions to make.
Showing posts with label smiles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label smiles. Show all posts
Monday, June 19, 2017
Maybe the best compliment a middle school girl can give her teacher?
"In most classes I am very shy and don't tend to participate but in your class I love to raise my hand and say something even if I am wrong."
A. felt safe in period six this year, and I am soooooooo happy. I hope she has discovered that making mistakes is no biggie, that she has a voice, and that she has meaningful contributions to make.
A. felt safe in period six this year, and I am soooooooo happy. I hope she has discovered that making mistakes is no biggie, that she has a voice, and that she has meaningful contributions to make.
Saturday, November 19, 2016
"Now you are the student, and I am the master..." -Darth Vader
My favorite masked heavy breather perfectly describes a First Day of School I had a few years ago.
From day one I try to establish an open, trusting environment; my goal is to help each student view herself or himself as "gifted and talented" (although not necessarily the kind that comes with a high IQ).
As students are filling out their first day info cards, one of the questions is "What is something you are good at?" I explain that we are all good at something--some of us never lose friends; others can cook for a large family; others can sleep through a tornado; some can burp the alphabet. I tell them they aren't allowed to write "I don't know," but to look for abilities that may be overlooked. That year, I said, "Now me? I may be the slowest runner in the land and I can't do the Dougie [that year's current popular dance]. But I can beat you in Scrabble, all day long!" And so forth.
Sooooo after the final bell of the final class rang, instead of darting out the door to check their phones, one girl smilingly approached me.
"Miss Munnelly, I'm D. You teach people all day, and now it's time for someone to teach YOU. I am going to teach you how to Dougie!"
And she did.
Best first day ever.
From day one I try to establish an open, trusting environment; my goal is to help each student view herself or himself as "gifted and talented" (although not necessarily the kind that comes with a high IQ).
As students are filling out their first day info cards, one of the questions is "What is something you are good at?" I explain that we are all good at something--some of us never lose friends; others can cook for a large family; others can sleep through a tornado; some can burp the alphabet. I tell them they aren't allowed to write "I don't know," but to look for abilities that may be overlooked. That year, I said, "Now me? I may be the slowest runner in the land and I can't do the Dougie [that year's current popular dance]. But I can beat you in Scrabble, all day long!" And so forth.
Sooooo after the final bell of the final class rang, instead of darting out the door to check their phones, one girl smilingly approached me.
"Miss Munnelly, I'm D. You teach people all day, and now it's time for someone to teach YOU. I am going to teach you how to Dougie!"
And she did.
Best first day ever.
Sunday, August 7, 2016
Seeing What We Do Not See: Not for Nothing
His parents and grandparents found out he had flunked out of high school at the moment they waited for him to walk across the stage--and he didn't.
He went on to a life of alcohol, low paying jobs, broken relationships.
Around age 48, he got sober and he realized that if he ever ever ever wanted to rise in the work world, he'd need a diploma, so he went back to school at night - he had a family that needed him to.
At age 50, Phillip Esquibel told this story during his address at his graduation from Grossmont Adult School--his parents were cheering for him, but I swear they weren't louder than I was. (They were glad, but I was crying like a baby. And for the record, some babies cry A LOT--those are the babies to whom I am comparing my crying output.)
I was at his graduation because a student I'd never even had on my roster asked me to come.
I'd met M in an after-school program our 8th grade history department had dreamed up after we realized that most of the Fs in our classes were because kids didn't seem to have one of the two fundamentals a person needs to succeed--adequate personal drive or an adult able/willing to MAKE them take care of business. We decided I'd be that adult, forcing them to come after school, making them stay an hour doing history work. They could "graduate" from our prison of love and responsibility once their habits or grades seemed established (we had only one or two kids exit). I didn't get paid for this, and we didn't have any help beyond the counselor who called the parents and talked to them about this intervention as if it were not an option. We had such limited success and it took so much of my energy that we only did it this one year.
Imagine my surprise when, seven years later, M came to visit the DP teacher's lounge at lunchtime with an invitation for me to come watch her get her GED at Grossmont Adult School. My heart leaped up that she had gone on to TCB on her own, coming to the realization (at age 20) that this was better done sooner than later. (NB: she invited me, not her regular teachers, to the event, although many of them were sitting right there as she asked me. I felt she had given me a crown or a Major Award in singling me out. It was awkward, but while embarrassed, I felt honored and touched to my core.)
I had never been to an adult school graduation and had no idea what to expect. It wasn't like other graduations I'd been to. It was small, for one thing; there were far more graduates than guests, even though guest seating was limited and some had to stand. The air somehow smelled a little bit like privation and the crowd was weathered and worn after the long day's work. Love was there, and all kinds of pride. The teachers in particular stood out to me, relentlessly positive, faces beaming, full of the stories that their students had told them of broken pasts healed, language and learning obstacles surmounted, wasted time redeemed, aimlessness turned to purpose, goals achieved, new goals set. The students themselves were full of hope and encouragement; one grad's mortarboard's glittered message: "I'm a g-ma--if I can, U can!"
It was the best graduation I've ever been to, better than the Harvard commencement address in Latin (which was hilarious because the student kept slipping into commonly used Latin words and phrases and into Pig Latin so the non-Latin speakers understood his gist) or the 1997 address by Madeleine Albright.
It was a validation of the human spirit, of the old saying that you're never too old to start, or it's not how you start but how you finish and dozens more old sayings about tenacity.
And watching beautiful M shake hands, taking pictures of her like mad, I wondered if it was also a validation of that long ago program that we'd jettisoned.
Or maybe it was a testimony to time given, to high expectations, to the influence of relentless attention, to the power of relationship. September is coming, and while I do love my summers and, like a proper Beach Boy look forward to my Endless Summer, I can pick up my new teacher year with a renewed sense of faith in the power of Love, knowing that while we teachers do not usually get to see the direct outcome of our efforts or caring, we do not love in vain.
He went on to a life of alcohol, low paying jobs, broken relationships.
Around age 48, he got sober and he realized that if he ever ever ever wanted to rise in the work world, he'd need a diploma, so he went back to school at night - he had a family that needed him to.
 |
| Grossmont Adult School |
I was at his graduation because a student I'd never even had on my roster asked me to come.
I'd met M in an after-school program our 8th grade history department had dreamed up after we realized that most of the Fs in our classes were because kids didn't seem to have one of the two fundamentals a person needs to succeed--adequate personal drive or an adult able/willing to MAKE them take care of business. We decided I'd be that adult, forcing them to come after school, making them stay an hour doing history work. They could "graduate" from our prison of love and responsibility once their habits or grades seemed established (we had only one or two kids exit). I didn't get paid for this, and we didn't have any help beyond the counselor who called the parents and talked to them about this intervention as if it were not an option. We had such limited success and it took so much of my energy that we only did it this one year.
Imagine my surprise when, seven years later, M came to visit the DP teacher's lounge at lunchtime with an invitation for me to come watch her get her GED at Grossmont Adult School. My heart leaped up that she had gone on to TCB on her own, coming to the realization (at age 20) that this was better done sooner than later. (NB: she invited me, not her regular teachers, to the event, although many of them were sitting right there as she asked me. I felt she had given me a crown or a Major Award in singling me out. It was awkward, but while embarrassed, I felt honored and touched to my core.)
 |
| This Major Award is also awkward and embarrassing. |
I had never been to an adult school graduation and had no idea what to expect. It wasn't like other graduations I'd been to. It was small, for one thing; there were far more graduates than guests, even though guest seating was limited and some had to stand. The air somehow smelled a little bit like privation and the crowd was weathered and worn after the long day's work. Love was there, and all kinds of pride. The teachers in particular stood out to me, relentlessly positive, faces beaming, full of the stories that their students had told them of broken pasts healed, language and learning obstacles surmounted, wasted time redeemed, aimlessness turned to purpose, goals achieved, new goals set. The students themselves were full of hope and encouragement; one grad's mortarboard's glittered message: "I'm a g-ma--if I can, U can!"
 |
| Much nicer than the glitter of the grandma graduating--but the idea is the same. BTW, the g-ma looked to be around 50 years old; that told part of her story. |
 |
| A great speech, sure, but Phillip's made me cry. |
And watching beautiful M shake hands, taking pictures of her like mad, I wondered if it was also a validation of that long ago program that we'd jettisoned.
 |
| Beautiful M shakes hands, ready for the next step in Life |
Sunday, June 12, 2016
It's the Final Countdowwwwwn! Beach chairs, hard work, and carbonated rewards
Every September, I tell the kids that students who score 103% in my class in June are exempt from taking the final.
Every test, I remind kids that the final is given after textbooks are turned in, AND that the final comes out of the questions on their tests; I remind them that our test correction sessions are very valuable for their future June selves.
Every assignment, I give a bonus point to students who really did a fine job. This is how people are able to earn more than 100%.
Every June, I give a comprehensive final that covers everything from Jamestown all the way up to wherever we land; this year, it's the end of the Civil War (no assassination, no Reconstruction, no Jim Crow: where did the time go?).
Every test, I remind kids that the final is given after textbooks are turned in, AND that the final comes out of the questions on their tests; I remind them that our test correction sessions are very valuable for their future June selves.
Every June, I give a comprehensive final that covers everything from Jamestown all the way up to wherever we land; this year, it's the end of the Civil War (no assassination, no Reconstruction, no Jim Crow: where did the time go?).
Every June, the students who have achieved that dizzying number (ok, so it's really 102.5% because I believe in rounding up) sit in lawn chairs outside the classroom, drinking the soda of their choice (which I supply), munching on snacks (which they bring), playing with their electronics, listening to music, signing yearbooks, chatting, and basically feeling care-free and special as a reward for their commitment and fine work in my class over the school year. Mathematically speaking, even if they scored a zero on the 50 point final, they'd still have an A- in the course. Scholastically speaking, dang.
Every year, I am delighted to celebrate their outstanding achievement with their names in my window.
 |
| This is how it looks in my brain. The reality contains considerably more blacktop and zero grass. |
Every year, it's a pain to round up beach chairs from the teachers and search for the sodas they like (inevitably, someone wants a @#$! Cactus Cooler or a !@#$ Welch's Grape Soda--WHERE CAN I BUY JUST ONE CAN OF THESE?), but I don't really mind....it's the least I can do for the kids who've done the most.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Gone with the Wind? Wind out of His Sails? Caution to the Wind?
Eighth grade boys....
Though George Washington's official inauguration was on April 30th, 1789, it happened today in B-5. I was teaching the students the difference between the two key words "president" and "precedent," and explained that as the first president ever in the history of the known universe, every time Washington did anything, he was setting a presidential precedent.
O. chirped out, "I wish I could be the first president to fart!" I returned, "I'm afraid you are far too late for that, my friend." O. shook his fist and stage whispered, "Curse you, George Washington..."
Monday, January 12, 2015
Haiku for a Beginning Teacher
At each day's ending,
write down these TWO THINGS: what worked
and what made you smile.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
October 31
So I do not enjoy this holiday. Its origins bleed through in all the fear and horror and ugliness that folks seek out and that is thrown at us, and as a believer*, that's bad enough for me. Add to that the excuse for our children to dress slutty (yes, in middle school we have had prostitutes, pimps, and a Hooter girl, not to mention the whole menagerie of sexy bunnies, cats, Minnie Mouses, you name it, I've seen it). I'm ever tired of tired costumes, store-bought costumes, hours spent on makeup to make gunshot wounds, zombies, things calculated to nauseate.
BUT.Every so often the creativity and boldness of a kid will blow me away. Here are the best of this year. (All boys, probably because of the pressure on girls to be "hot" at all costs. Ever see Mean Girls?)
Here, A. is dressed up as my favorite starfish, Patrick. You can't see his pink tights and his pointy head is drifting west, but he is definitely Patrick. My only regret is not seeing him with his friends; I understand there was a Spongebob and Squidward, too.
If it were up to me, D.'s Pizza Samurai would have won first prize. His whole costume was beautifully crafted, completely original, and hey, eco-friendly.
This last one wins my heart. Today was our Declaration of Independence test, and J. came as The Natural Rights Pumpkin who rises out of the pumpkin patch once a year delivering good grades to those who have studied. Yes, those are flowers coming out of his "stem." How can you not melt when a kid is so inspired by your class that he wears something like this to actual school???
 |
*Philippians 4:8 : Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.
Saturday, September 27, 2014
Cookies, Money, Compassion, and Cookies
On the first day of school, I found out Batman was in my class.
On the THIRD DAY, people!
 |
| cookies not homemade. me no care. |
During the second week of school after I shared with the kids that I had a foreign money collection, four separate kids brought me currency from Fiji, Mexico, Vietnam, and the E.U.
During the third week of school, I couldn't find my reward candy. I shared my sadness with the class that the only time I'd had stuff stolen from me was once years ago, in the notorious Year of the Stolen Sodas, and that I was sad my candy was gone. The next day, two separate kids brought me candy to replace what was lost.
I've brought in donuts to the Seminerds already for having 100% homework turned in three times (the bar is upped to four, now).
This fourth week I found the candy--I am losing my brain cells in this stupefying heat, or maybe old age--and I got to rejoice with them ALL for being upright and trustworthy!
AND this fourth week the same kid again brought in cookies for the class.
Yeah, ridiculously hot and humid weather aside (and no a/c in sight), we're off to a great start.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Super Start
First day moments:
Coolio, the portable a/c a friend lent to me, shuts down before period 1. So sad. My high hopes are dashed.
No ants this year!!! A billion hurrahs! I cut and distribute the power pie, insect-free.
As I near the white board, a funky smell reaches me. It is NOT the smell of stinky teenager. It is the smell of something organic. I try not to think about it, and after that class, I put a powerful odor catcher in the offending zone. Dear Lord, please don't let it be what I think it might be.
Not one kiddo complains of heat (or stinky zone).
Colleague brings me a gorgeous lavender plant and an uplifting note on a beautiful card.
At lunch I buy a soda from the vending machine. It is warm. Is Coolio conspiring with other campus appliances to keep me from cooling down?
Today was a minimum day! ANNNND we got to leave without going to any meetings! WHooP!
Under the heading "Something I should know about you," a student writes, "I'm Batman."
Coolio, the portable a/c a friend lent to me, shuts down before period 1. So sad. My high hopes are dashed.
 |
| Coolio sort of looks like this. |
No ants this year!!! A billion hurrahs! I cut and distribute the power pie, insect-free.
 |
| Last year they were EVERYWHERE. |
As I near the white board, a funky smell reaches me. It is NOT the smell of stinky teenager. It is the smell of something organic. I try not to think about it, and after that class, I put a powerful odor catcher in the offending zone. Dear Lord, please don't let it be what I think it might be.
 |
| Truly thought this trouble was behind us. It might be under us. |
Not one kiddo complains of heat (or stinky zone).
 |
| Good sports--love them already! |
Colleague brings me a gorgeous lavender plant and an uplifting note on a beautiful card.
 |
| A visual reminder to stay calm. |
At lunch I buy a soda from the vending machine. It is warm. Is Coolio conspiring with other campus appliances to keep me from cooling down?
 |
| So glad our fridge has an ice maker. |
Today was a minimum day! ANNNND we got to leave without going to any meetings! WHooP!
 |
| I wish. I went to Vons. |
Under the heading "Something I should know about you," a student writes, "I'm Batman."
 |
| (Tomorrow I will tell him, "No, I'M Batman.) |
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Don't get me wrong--
I get a little down in September and it's NOT because I don't love what I do.
It's because I love my summers. Long mornings, being fit once again, naps, BOOKS. I get down because all that disappears AND because I start all over again.
Come June, the kids and I have become a strange learning family. We have all kinds of shorthand and inside jokes. They know when I am joking around and when I am deadly serious. They can read my face and body language. They ask about my family and they bring me chocolate and cookies. And I can read them, as well.
Come September, I am playing to a tough crowd. I crack all sorts of hiLARious jokes and they are scared to laugh--I'm serious--they will snigger into their hands because "what if this crazy teacher lady isn't trying to make us laugh and we get in trouble?" I forget how difficult it is to cleanly launch a class on a successful learning trajectory, how tough it is to teach them that we often enjoy our learning, but Fun is not the point--LEARNING is the point.
It's all good by October. The cookies start coming, and they learn they can joke back and we laugh with abandon as long as we stay en pointe.
Here's to a new year with kids who catch on quickly!
It's because I love my summers. Long mornings, being fit once again, naps, BOOKS. I get down because all that disappears AND because I start all over again.
Come June, the kids and I have become a strange learning family. We have all kinds of shorthand and inside jokes. They know when I am joking around and when I am deadly serious. They can read my face and body language. They ask about my family and they bring me chocolate and cookies. And I can read them, as well.
Come September, I am playing to a tough crowd. I crack all sorts of hiLARious jokes and they are scared to laugh--I'm serious--they will snigger into their hands because "what if this crazy teacher lady isn't trying to make us laugh and we get in trouble?" I forget how difficult it is to cleanly launch a class on a successful learning trajectory, how tough it is to teach them that we often enjoy our learning, but Fun is not the point--LEARNING is the point.
It's all good by October. The cookies start coming, and they learn they can joke back and we laugh with abandon as long as we stay en pointe.
Here's to a new year with kids who catch on quickly!
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
Get the Kleenex--Promotion 2014
Every year I fall in love, and every year I'm left.They have flown away to high school.
All of the promotion speeches are terrific--I especially appreciate the way N. expresses his initial fears of entering the sixth grade, something like "I was apprehensive, given my diminutive stature and what I'd heard about the social hierarchy...I was a baby gazelle, easy prey to lions that shaved twice a day...." Oh my gosh! His speech is hilarious and inspirational, and yes, that's really how he writes. His delivery is natural and wreathed in smiles, but my eyes get all teary.
The promotion music is fabulous. A. confidently strums her guitar--I didn't know she plays the guitar! And then she confidently sings. I didn't know she sings!--and my teary eyes don't get a break.
I get into a compliment war with K.'s mom. "You taught her so much and have enabled her to get this far!" "She only came this far because you have supported her at home!" "But the lessons you gave her will shape and affect her entire career!" "And her drive and work ethic were right there from day one, because of your fine parenting!" (We hug it out. Truce.)
J's dad says, "You are much prettier without your beard." I don't know how to respond until he reminds me that he'd first met me at Open House when I was dressed up in honor of International Talk Like a Pirate Day, complete with pirate whiskers. Now J. has to move to Okinawa--dad's military orders. J. is not glad about this, so our hug has some sorrow, and J. does not promise to come visit as so many of them do. I try to give him the bright, you'll-get-out-there-and-it'll-be-awesome smile (one of dozens of smile types a teacher uses), but we both have trouble...
They are resplendent. I do not exaggerate when I say that this was the best year yet. One proof? Every year I pass out sweaters to enforce our school dress code. Not one sweater this year. I'm telling ya. The boys are sharp and the girls look like butterflies.
They finish strong and classy and are utterly beautiful. There is no question that I love me some summer, but instead of the usual mad and delirious whoops of joy, I leave campus with some seriously damp eyes.
Monday, March 31, 2014
"Are You Really Reading This, Thomas Jefferson?"
As a kid, I had the feeling most teachers didn't really read what I wrote. They passed out hundreds of "worksheets" and who could stay on top of all that paper?
In high school, the English teachers (or was it the school?) employed what they called "readers," college students who would read the papers, correct them, and even assign suggested grades. I knew my teacher at least read mine, anyway, because she'd often write a different grade on top, once with the little note, "I don't know why this reader consistently underrates your work." Smiley face for me.
I had a half-hearted (perhaps broken-hearted, but that's another story) Spanish teacher who assigned work for us to do each day, but collected the whole lot on one day. Now I most assuredly did NOT do one bit of that homework until the night before it was due when I frantically ripped some paper out of my spiral notebook and began typing out those jillion ejercicios. But after doing a few, it occurred to me that this lazy man was not going to read all of pages. I began skipping numbers:
1.
2.
3.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
11.
12.
And sometimes an ejercicio called for me to do 1-12, but I only hammered out 1-10. I probably shaved off about 15% of the actual assignments on the calculated gamble that this fellow wasn't going to check my work.
I began typing nonsense sentences, sprinkling them throughout the ejercicios:
9. El viejo quiero una banana para su perro ("The old man wants a banana for his dog")....
13. "Hay una banana en mi cuarto, a veces en el piso" (There is a banana in my room, sometimes on the floor).
(I wrote many sentences about bananas. I don't know why; it was a fun word to type, perhaps.)
And then this very bold sentence I'd put in more than once: ¿Ud. esta leyendo esta tarea? No creo que Ud. esta leyendo esta tarea ("Are you reading this homework? I don't think you are reading this homework").
And when I got my ejercicios back, there was the large red A- with an arrow pointing to the raggedy spiral notebook margin I hadn't bothered to cut. Clearly he'd counted the number of ejercicios and was fooled by the dignity the typewriter lent them. Clearly the raggedy notebook margin was the reason for the minus part of the grade.
Clearly this has impacted me as an educator.
I am compelled to actually read what the kids write, to comment on their thoughts, to circle errors and question their answers. Over the years, I find expressions of my same doubts: "Are you really reading this?" And I respond: "Of course not." Sometimes a student writes asides or doodles little cartoons, and I add to the art and write my own asides. "Miss M was here, paying attention to your work," my additions report.
This commitment makes me testy when kids turn in half-hearted work. But is my annoyance directed at the right target? Have other teachers taught them that their work is merely checked for completion, not content? Didn't I have a history of dodging work when I could? Kids soon learn that I truly read their papers, so it isn't until December that I get really truly annoyed when someone turns in hasty, shallow, poor work that promptly receives a pathetic score.
Anyway, with super smart kids, their "Are you really reading this?" queries can be a bit more subtle:
And the answer is, was, and ever shall be: "YES. I am dignifying your thoughts and analyses with thoughts and analyses of my own. This is a dialogue. I care about the time you spent doing work I asked you to do because I believe it will help you better grasp this skill, content, or idea. I grade your work because I sometimes never received essays back from teachers and I suspected my time and efforts went into a trashcan, leaving only a checkmark in a gradebook, and I promised I'd never disdain a student's work that way. Even as I begrudge the time it takes me, I grade your work because I want to dignify your work with my time. I grade your work because I care about you."
That's the truth.
In high school, the English teachers (or was it the school?) employed what they called "readers," college students who would read the papers, correct them, and even assign suggested grades. I knew my teacher at least read mine, anyway, because she'd often write a different grade on top, once with the little note, "I don't know why this reader consistently underrates your work." Smiley face for me.
I had a half-hearted (perhaps broken-hearted, but that's another story) Spanish teacher who assigned work for us to do each day, but collected the whole lot on one day. Now I most assuredly did NOT do one bit of that homework until the night before it was due when I frantically ripped some paper out of my spiral notebook and began typing out those jillion ejercicios. But after doing a few, it occurred to me that this lazy man was not going to read all of pages. I began skipping numbers:
1.
2.
3.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
11.
12.
And sometimes an ejercicio called for me to do 1-12, but I only hammered out 1-10. I probably shaved off about 15% of the actual assignments on the calculated gamble that this fellow wasn't going to check my work.
I began typing nonsense sentences, sprinkling them throughout the ejercicios:
9. El viejo quiero una banana para su perro ("The old man wants a banana for his dog")....
13. "Hay una banana en mi cuarto, a veces en el piso" (There is a banana in my room, sometimes on the floor).
(I wrote many sentences about bananas. I don't know why; it was a fun word to type, perhaps.)
And then this very bold sentence I'd put in more than once: ¿Ud. esta leyendo esta tarea? No creo que Ud. esta leyendo esta tarea ("Are you reading this homework? I don't think you are reading this homework").
And when I got my ejercicios back, there was the large red A- with an arrow pointing to the raggedy spiral notebook margin I hadn't bothered to cut. Clearly he'd counted the number of ejercicios and was fooled by the dignity the typewriter lent them. Clearly the raggedy notebook margin was the reason for the minus part of the grade.
Clearly this has impacted me as an educator.
I am compelled to actually read what the kids write, to comment on their thoughts, to circle errors and question their answers. Over the years, I find expressions of my same doubts: "Are you really reading this?" And I respond: "Of course not." Sometimes a student writes asides or doodles little cartoons, and I add to the art and write my own asides. "Miss M was here, paying attention to your work," my additions report.
This commitment makes me testy when kids turn in half-hearted work. But is my annoyance directed at the right target? Have other teachers taught them that their work is merely checked for completion, not content? Didn't I have a history of dodging work when I could? Kids soon learn that I truly read their papers, so it isn't until December that I get really truly annoyed when someone turns in hasty, shallow, poor work that promptly receives a pathetic score.
Anyway, with super smart kids, their "Are you really reading this?" queries can be a bit more subtle:
 |
| D. sends out a test. Miss M. passes again! |
And the answer is, was, and ever shall be: "YES. I am dignifying your thoughts and analyses with thoughts and analyses of my own. This is a dialogue. I care about the time you spent doing work I asked you to do because I believe it will help you better grasp this skill, content, or idea. I grade your work because I sometimes never received essays back from teachers and I suspected my time and efforts went into a trashcan, leaving only a checkmark in a gradebook, and I promised I'd never disdain a student's work that way. Even as I begrudge the time it takes me, I grade your work because I want to dignify your work with my time. I grade your work because I care about you."
That's the truth.
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Pigasus, Pasta, Pennies, and Student Strategy
We hate cancer. We love competition.
So we love The Olive Garden's Pasta for Pennies competition at our school. The period 1 classroom that brings in the most money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society wins an Olive Garden lunch.
While I have huge reservations about "giving to get" charitable drives, there is no denying that the competition makes it far more about winning than eating. Hm, is that much better? OK, then, there is no denying that the drive to win makes for some wonderful team building.
Our class leaps ahead of Mrs G's class by $40 on the first day. I mention that if each kid in class brings in $10, we'd have $360 (stupid California class sizes); I remind them that I pitch in, too. The kids whine that Mrs W's class always wins. I point to the two first place pennants from The Olive Garden hanging by the door. "By 'always wins' do you mean 'always comes in second to Miss M's class?' " The kids perk up.
That afternoon, our collection box returns from the money counters in ASB decorated as a pig, er, Pegasus, er, Pigasus with a unicorn horn:
So the race is on. Mrs G, a new teacher, gains the lead. My students decide the way to win is to withhold some of the money we bring in; they decide to put only one third of the donations into Pigasus and the rest into this special jar my daddy had bought for me:
We watch as Mrs W takes the lead; the class groans--they had her in 6th grade and know she has very persuasive techniques to make sure kids bring in money! Some kids in another class contribute to Pigasus. We learn that Mrs G's class has a hidden stash too, and our "spies" press in to discover the estimated amount. Some other classes find out about our hidden stash, but do not seem to know how much we have. At some point, the ASB box decorators make Pigasus's nose 3D. (I have no photographic proof....but trust me, it's a thing of beauty.)
The jar is too small to hold all of our rolled coin, loose change, and bills, so we hide the rolled coin and bills in a project on display, a project shaped like a bald eagle; it feels patriotic somehow. The students vote to stop putting more than five or so dollars daily into Pigasus and hoard almost all of it for Friday, turn in day.
Friday, yesterday--Pigasus is almost full. His top won't close properly. His legs buckle. He is taken to the ASB to have his innards counted.
After lunch, five ASB kids--all my first period students--come in. "We have good news and bad news!" N says sadly (but with dancing eyes and a persistent grin), "The pig's legs didn't make it....but the pig did! We won by $200!" It's actually kind of a pain for me, because I have to race out to La Mesa during my prep period and then deal with my fourth period kids drooling over bread sticks they can't have, but Mrs W has offered to help me serve, and frankly, my period 1 kids are so delightful that I absolutely look forward to lunch with them all.
The formal announcement is made over the intercom, period 7, right before the end of school. My period 7 graciously cheers and whoops as if it were they who had won. That's what I love about our school--we are good sports, and in the end, the more we raise, the more research we fund. That's a win-win in my book.
So we love The Olive Garden's Pasta for Pennies competition at our school. The period 1 classroom that brings in the most money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society wins an Olive Garden lunch.
 |
| Money goes to research to get rid of this horrible disease |
Our class leaps ahead of Mrs G's class by $40 on the first day. I mention that if each kid in class brings in $10, we'd have $360 (stupid California class sizes); I remind them that I pitch in, too. The kids whine that Mrs W's class always wins. I point to the two first place pennants from The Olive Garden hanging by the door. "By 'always wins' do you mean 'always comes in second to Miss M's class?' " The kids perk up.
That afternoon, our collection box returns from the money counters in ASB decorated as a pig, er, Pegasus, er, Pigasus with a unicorn horn:
 |
| AB, NT, and RT show off their amazing creation |
 |
| I don't keep this on display. But it came in handy for this activity. |
The jar is too small to hold all of our rolled coin, loose change, and bills, so we hide the rolled coin and bills in a project on display, a project shaped like a bald eagle; it feels patriotic somehow. The students vote to stop putting more than five or so dollars daily into Pigasus and hoard almost all of it for Friday, turn in day.
Friday, yesterday--Pigasus is almost full. His top won't close properly. His legs buckle. He is taken to the ASB to have his innards counted.
After lunch, five ASB kids--all my first period students--come in. "We have good news and bad news!" N says sadly (but with dancing eyes and a persistent grin), "The pig's legs didn't make it....but the pig did! We won by $200!" It's actually kind of a pain for me, because I have to race out to La Mesa during my prep period and then deal with my fourth period kids drooling over bread sticks they can't have, but Mrs W has offered to help me serve, and frankly, my period 1 kids are so delightful that I absolutely look forward to lunch with them all.
The formal announcement is made over the intercom, period 7, right before the end of school. My period 7 graciously cheers and whoops as if it were they who had won. That's what I love about our school--we are good sports, and in the end, the more we raise, the more research we fund. That's a win-win in my book.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Elie Weisel and the Little Rock Nine: Unbelievable but True
The first time I ever taught Night by Elie Wiesel, as I scrambled for resources to do this memoir justice, I stumbled upon wonderful materials that were written by one Dr Chris Frost. Mr. Google told me he was a professor at a nearby university. I sent him an email asking if he'd mind if some precocious 8th graders used his materials as we studied the book. He said we could--and offered to come lecture the students--for free.
I was floored by the generous gift of his time (and that he was unafraid of 8th graders, as many adults seem to be). As it turned out, he was one of just 18 students to sit under Wiesel at NYU the first time Weisel taught his own book. Can you even believe it???
His presentation gave our students rare insight into Night and afforded us an opportunity to ask loads of questions. At the end, we presented him with three carnations--a white one for Elie and those who endured the Holocaust, a red one for those who, like Dr. Frost, were teaching truth, and a pink one to represent the students and their promise--he was visibly moved. He said, "I'll have to tell Elie about this today." Can you even believe it???
When asked what courses he was teaching next, he said he was teaching a summer course comparing C. S. Lewis and Sigmund Freud....in Oxford, England. It so happened that I was going to Oxford to spend a week at the C. S. Lewis conference. "We'll have to meet up," he said. "I'd love to crash a class," I said. Can you even believe it???
It turned out the last full day the students and he would be in Oxford was my first day at the event so I couldn't sit in on his lecture. But then I got my agenda for the conference and that first evening Lamb's Players Theater was presenting "Freud's Last Session," a play about....ohmigosh, an imagined meeting of Freud and Lewis. He was able to get permission to see it with his students. Can you even believe it???
So this year is the first year I am teaching Warriors Don't Cry by Melba Patillo Beals, one of the Little Rock Nine who integrated Central High School in 1957. A parent of one of my kiddos forwarded a flyer informing us that Carlotta Walls LaNier, the youngest of the Nine, was to speak that very week at a local community college. And after a riveting evening of insights and stories and questions answered, I was in line to buy her book when one of my students came over to present me with a copy as a gift!! Can you even believe it???
Mrs. LaNier signed our books and agreed to a photo with us. I don't ordinarily rub shoulders with historical figures...and I want to have proof that it really happened. Because I can hardly believe it.
I was floored by the generous gift of his time (and that he was unafraid of 8th graders, as many adults seem to be). As it turned out, he was one of just 18 students to sit under Wiesel at NYU the first time Weisel taught his own book. Can you even believe it???
His presentation gave our students rare insight into Night and afforded us an opportunity to ask loads of questions. At the end, we presented him with three carnations--a white one for Elie and those who endured the Holocaust, a red one for those who, like Dr. Frost, were teaching truth, and a pink one to represent the students and their promise--he was visibly moved. He said, "I'll have to tell Elie about this today." Can you even believe it???
When asked what courses he was teaching next, he said he was teaching a summer course comparing C. S. Lewis and Sigmund Freud....in Oxford, England. It so happened that I was going to Oxford to spend a week at the C. S. Lewis conference. "We'll have to meet up," he said. "I'd love to crash a class," I said. Can you even believe it???
It turned out the last full day the students and he would be in Oxford was my first day at the event so I couldn't sit in on his lecture. But then I got my agenda for the conference and that first evening Lamb's Players Theater was presenting "Freud's Last Session," a play about....ohmigosh, an imagined meeting of Freud and Lewis. He was able to get permission to see it with his students. Can you even believe it???
So this year is the first year I am teaching Warriors Don't Cry by Melba Patillo Beals, one of the Little Rock Nine who integrated Central High School in 1957. A parent of one of my kiddos forwarded a flyer informing us that Carlotta Walls LaNier, the youngest of the Nine, was to speak that very week at a local community college. And after a riveting evening of insights and stories and questions answered, I was in line to buy her book when one of my students came over to present me with a copy as a gift!! Can you even believe it???
Mrs. LaNier signed our books and agreed to a photo with us. I don't ordinarily rub shoulders with historical figures...and I want to have proof that it really happened. Because I can hardly believe it.
 |
| Here is a picture with two world changers--one of the Little Rock Nine who courageously stood up for justice and my student MRC., an incredible girl who is so gifted I can't believe I get to teach her and I can't wait to see how she impacts our future. |
Friday, January 3, 2014
Fats Waller Was Right: "One Never Knows, Do One?"
One girl's smile as I
opened the huge, heavy box,
filled with teenaged joy:
Shimmer body mists,
candy, two lotion bottles
And.....a stuffed turtle!!!
This bounty she gave
despite her low grade, despite
her classroom silence
And so the truth, proved
once more, that teachers can't know,
can't guess, whom they touch
G. handed me the giant box, heavy, shifting, right before lunch (all kinds of sweet things have happened this year with period four, right before lunch). I hugged her and told her I'd open it on Christmas morning. "No, open it right now," she urged, eyes shining.
Uh oh, I'd better put on my "appreciative teacher face" because sometimes kids give the darndest things, even things I can't identify, and I have to step diplomatically and enthusiastically through emotional land-mines.
But this time, I was blown away. Every one of the items was something G. would love to keep for herself, but she gave to me out of love. I know her family doesn't have a ton of money, but whatever they gave her for shopping, she had poured so much on to me that I got a little dizzy and my eyes leaked. I looked up at her and her face was beaming, gratified that she had overwhelmed me. Big hugs, and off she went.
And so I know now that G., despite the tug of war grade between a D and an F, despite her stream of Fs on tests, despite me routinely asking her to re-do assignments because they don't make sense, despite her lack of voluntary participation in class--loves period four as much as I do.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
opened the huge, heavy box,
 |
| Overpowering scents...and love |
Shimmer body mists,
candy, two lotion bottles
And.....a stuffed turtle!!!
This bounty she gave
despite her low grade, despite
her classroom silence
And so the truth, proved
once more, that teachers can't know,
can't guess, whom they touch
G. handed me the giant box, heavy, shifting, right before lunch (all kinds of sweet things have happened this year with period four, right before lunch). I hugged her and told her I'd open it on Christmas morning. "No, open it right now," she urged, eyes shining.
Uh oh, I'd better put on my "appreciative teacher face" because sometimes kids give the darndest things, even things I can't identify, and I have to step diplomatically and enthusiastically through emotional land-mines.
But this time, I was blown away. Every one of the items was something G. would love to keep for herself, but she gave to me out of love. I know her family doesn't have a ton of money, but whatever they gave her for shopping, she had poured so much on to me that I got a little dizzy and my eyes leaked. I looked up at her and her face was beaming, gratified that she had overwhelmed me. Big hugs, and off she went.
And so I know now that G., despite the tug of war grade between a D and an F, despite her stream of Fs on tests, despite me routinely asking her to re-do assignments because they don't make sense, despite her lack of voluntary participation in class--loves period four as much as I do.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
That Moment When the Class Finally.....
I was beginning to think it would never happen, that inner click you feel as an educator when your class corporately buys into the book you are reading. But it happened today, and what a relief.
DAY ONE: Name choosing and nametag making was fine, fun, childish, unacademic, and silly--but good team-building.
DAY TWO: It did NOT go well. We began with a Golding bio--fine as it went, and then started the book from the Pulitzer Prize winner. But the yards of description Golding pours into the island bogged us down (my exact 10th grade reaction: "Who CARES about all this stuff?? Tell the story, already!"). Boring. Yawn. I brought out the conch--mild interest--passed it around--mild interest. Sigh. I assigned the rest of chapter one for homework. I felt defeated.
DAY THREE: I passed out leadership style readings. This was a bit more interesting. In their islands they had to connect the styles to the boys and write down where in the text their support was. I asked, "Was this activity ok?" B., who LOVES to learn, said sincerely, "This was fun!" But MR. gave me that apologetic head tilted smile that said just as loudly, "Not really." I still felt better because the groups were talking. We launched the next chapter and made lists of the boys, their traits, the symbols, and our designations of meanings. The list-making was full-class but half-hearted. I trusted that list, though. I was thrilled when the kids posted Ralph as democratic and Jack as autocratic. Small victories when things aren't going your way can feel like huge ones.
DAY FOUR: I began chapter three with a handout about characteristics of Christ figures I teacher-stole from a wonderful teacher in Pennsylvania. More interest, especially when we looked at Obi-wan Kenobe, Gandalf, and Dumbledore in that light (they weren't familiar with Cool Hand Luke). "Is Simon going to die?" asked an astute person. "Perhaps, but necessarily--do you think Simon will be crucified or resurrected?" I returned. The normally jolly N. was uncharacteristically scornful: "Number 11 on this list is dumb! No one is a carpenter!" And so we began the chapter only to find the Simon is helping Ralph build a hut. "He IS a carpenter!" someone yelled triumphantly. Things were looking up. They finished chapter 3 over break. The Christ figure trope was a revelation for them, a novelty, cool and adult.
DAY FIVE: We pretty much straight read chapter 4 as a class, adding to our list about the boys. I talked about symbols, and the kids were a bit more into the drama. My VP walked into watch. Wish I had something better than reading aloud. Nope.
DAY SIX: But then today. Ah. Half the students read about Rousseau and the other half about Hobbes. Then we had a Chalk Talk--I had prepared the classroom with ten quotes, half from R, half from H, and the students responded to the quotes and to each others' responses using dry erase markers. It was like having ten silent conversations at once! I had warned them about writing stupid things like "I like turtles," but about three boys couldn't help themselves (Hobbes would say that--and I will use that tomorrow as an example in class). When we began to review chapter four, a shift happened. I don't know what, but the kids began to see the story as a story of human nature. I let them talk. "Would the kids treat Piggy differently if he looked different?" "I think Jack punching Piggy is a sign of civilization running down." (!!) "But what about the cover on this book? Why is that giant fly near Piggy? Is he Lord of the Flies?" And off the discussion ran: who WAS Lord of the Flies?
I finally shared what any bible-reading, church-going Protestant fifty years ago would know, that The Lord of the Flies is Beelzebub, Satan. (I did this by showing Wikipedia's entry and scrolling to the verses in the bible in Matthew 12.) The kids got excited about the reference to the house divided--"The island is dividing!" And then they wondered if the Beast, or maybe Jack, was the Lord of the Flies. Someone wondered if Piggy's name was connected to the pigs on the island. "The names are significant," is all I would say until a girl jokingly asked if Ralph was going to vomit since his name is slang for vomit. "His name means 'counselor,' I said. A thrill ran through the class, I felt it. I decided to share with them the secret of names that had captivated me decades earlier. Above the lists of the boys, the students watched as the meanings of the names were written:
Ralph - counselor
Jack - supplanter, usurper
Simon - listener
Roger - spear
Piggy
"Piggy's name is significant because it means what it says." And the class blew up--"Piggy is going to die, not Simon!" "Simon is going to save Piggy because he is the Christ figure!" "Jack is evil and must be the Lord of the Flies!" They were all* so excited and absorbed, making connections and predictions--"Roger is Jack's tool to kill Piggy, just like Jack speared the real pig!" "Jack broke Piggy's glasses, does that mean the end of intelligence?" OK, cue the bell.
Tomorrow we will look for Hobbes and Rousseau in the text and have a quiz contest among the islands groups. But I believe that when I assign chapter five as homework the kids will enjoy it. FINALLY.
*"All" is a relative term. Do 36 students ALL do anything at the same time? In a class of 36, many of whom are introverts, it is sometimes difficult to be accurate about "all." I use it here in the teacher sense of "heavy majority with 36 sets of eyes looking alert."
DAY ONE: Name choosing and nametag making was fine, fun, childish, unacademic, and silly--but good team-building.
DAY TWO: It did NOT go well. We began with a Golding bio--fine as it went, and then started the book from the Pulitzer Prize winner. But the yards of description Golding pours into the island bogged us down (my exact 10th grade reaction: "Who CARES about all this stuff?? Tell the story, already!"). Boring. Yawn. I brought out the conch--mild interest--passed it around--mild interest. Sigh. I assigned the rest of chapter one for homework. I felt defeated.
DAY THREE: I passed out leadership style readings. This was a bit more interesting. In their islands they had to connect the styles to the boys and write down where in the text their support was. I asked, "Was this activity ok?" B., who LOVES to learn, said sincerely, "This was fun!" But MR. gave me that apologetic head tilted smile that said just as loudly, "Not really." I still felt better because the groups were talking. We launched the next chapter and made lists of the boys, their traits, the symbols, and our designations of meanings. The list-making was full-class but half-hearted. I trusted that list, though. I was thrilled when the kids posted Ralph as democratic and Jack as autocratic. Small victories when things aren't going your way can feel like huge ones.
DAY FOUR: I began chapter three with a handout about characteristics of Christ figures I teacher-stole from a wonderful teacher in Pennsylvania. More interest, especially when we looked at Obi-wan Kenobe, Gandalf, and Dumbledore in that light (they weren't familiar with Cool Hand Luke). "Is Simon going to die?" asked an astute person. "Perhaps, but necessarily--do you think Simon will be crucified or resurrected?" I returned. The normally jolly N. was uncharacteristically scornful: "Number 11 on this list is dumb! No one is a carpenter!" And so we began the chapter only to find the Simon is helping Ralph build a hut. "He IS a carpenter!" someone yelled triumphantly. Things were looking up. They finished chapter 3 over break. The Christ figure trope was a revelation for them, a novelty, cool and adult.
DAY FIVE: We pretty much straight read chapter 4 as a class, adding to our list about the boys. I talked about symbols, and the kids were a bit more into the drama. My VP walked into watch. Wish I had something better than reading aloud. Nope.
DAY SIX: But then today. Ah. Half the students read about Rousseau and the other half about Hobbes. Then we had a Chalk Talk--I had prepared the classroom with ten quotes, half from R, half from H, and the students responded to the quotes and to each others' responses using dry erase markers. It was like having ten silent conversations at once! I had warned them about writing stupid things like "I like turtles," but about three boys couldn't help themselves (Hobbes would say that--and I will use that tomorrow as an example in class). When we began to review chapter four, a shift happened. I don't know what, but the kids began to see the story as a story of human nature. I let them talk. "Would the kids treat Piggy differently if he looked different?" "I think Jack punching Piggy is a sign of civilization running down." (!!) "But what about the cover on this book? Why is that giant fly near Piggy? Is he Lord of the Flies?" And off the discussion ran: who WAS Lord of the Flies?
 |
| God bless this ambiguous cover |
Ralph - counselor
Jack - supplanter, usurper
Simon - listener
Roger - spear
Piggy
"Piggy's name is significant because it means what it says." And the class blew up--"Piggy is going to die, not Simon!" "Simon is going to save Piggy because he is the Christ figure!" "Jack is evil and must be the Lord of the Flies!" They were all* so excited and absorbed, making connections and predictions--"Roger is Jack's tool to kill Piggy, just like Jack speared the real pig!" "Jack broke Piggy's glasses, does that mean the end of intelligence?" OK, cue the bell.
Tomorrow we will look for Hobbes and Rousseau in the text and have a quiz contest among the islands groups. But I believe that when I assign chapter five as homework the kids will enjoy it. FINALLY.
*"All" is a relative term. Do 36 students ALL do anything at the same time? In a class of 36, many of whom are introverts, it is sometimes difficult to be accurate about "all." I use it here in the teacher sense of "heavy majority with 36 sets of eyes looking alert."
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Teaching Is a Scream
 |
| He has alopecia...AND five times as much personality as the average person |
my eyes fill a little
spill a little
Sometimes
my heart beats a little quicker
feels a little bigger
Unless you have taught
and been hopelessly caught
by the fun and the joys
of these girls and these boys....
You
really
can't
possibly
understand
that my job
is truly
the best in the land.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Launching a Novel: A Team Approach
Today was Day One....but the books weren't here yet so I needed to stall.
I already had the kids in groups of four balanced for extrovert/introvertedness and work ethic (they are all bright, so I didn't have to worry about that). On the board were posted nine teams--or ISLANDS, as I am calling them:
Conch Fire Pigs Spectacles The Beast Ralph Piggy Jack Simon
First, we had a rock/paper/scissors war to see which team chose which name. And then, in reverse order, teams select from nine different colored team name tags. And then, teams had to choose an alliterative name and design the name tag. This took all period!
(I felt a little badly, because I know how some of the teams will bond with their character--Piggy's team will be upset, but will they be more upset than Jack's team? And Jack [his real name] is on Jack's team....but....)
....This was team bonding. They were exercising decision-making and tomorrow when we discuss leadership styles and launch the book, they will not only be analyzing the characters in the novel, but the characters on their "island."
So here they are:
Cool Conches
Fergalicious Fire
Petrifying Pigs
Sassy Squid Specs
Bewildering Beasts
Reck-it Ralph
Proper Piggys
Just Jack. (with the period)
Simon Says
These tags are on a board, and there will be a place for the best team for that assignment to move to called "Who's Got the Conch?" Plus, when I was in Puerto Rico I bought a gigantical conch and it will be magical when they see it after Ralph in the book finds it. And they will enjoy David Gunnar blasting it (especially since one Sassy Squid Spec is named Gunnar) :
Don't be fooled by this dorky intro; we will be reading Thomas Hobbes, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Sigmund Freud, leadership theory, and more before we end, and we will each write a serious piece of literary analysis. The culminating salon will be a luau with ROAST PORK, of course, and each Island will decorate their table appropriate to their symbol/character, and will present at the luau how their character or item highlights Golding's theme, adds to the plot, and something else I haven't yet decided.
Having the students on Islands means they have built-in discussion partners, built-in, long-haul team work, and that some days I'll only have to collect nine assignments instead of 36. I am also pitting them against each other (overtures of Jack versus Ralph, right?) for each response and that should up the quality for this highly competitive group. My dream class would be where we could decorate the room like the island in the book as we learned details about it...
I already had the kids in groups of four balanced for extrovert/introvertedness and work ethic (they are all bright, so I didn't have to worry about that). On the board were posted nine teams--or ISLANDS, as I am calling them:
Conch Fire Pigs Spectacles The Beast Ralph Piggy Jack Simon
First, we had a rock/paper/scissors war to see which team chose which name. And then, in reverse order, teams select from nine different colored team name tags. And then, teams had to choose an alliterative name and design the name tag. This took all period!
(I felt a little badly, because I know how some of the teams will bond with their character--Piggy's team will be upset, but will they be more upset than Jack's team? And Jack [his real name] is on Jack's team....but....)
....This was team bonding. They were exercising decision-making and tomorrow when we discuss leadership styles and launch the book, they will not only be analyzing the characters in the novel, but the characters on their "island."
So here they are:
Cool Conches
Fergalicious Fire
Petrifying Pigs
Sassy Squid Specs
Bewildering Beasts
Reck-it Ralph
Proper Piggys
Just Jack. (with the period)
Simon Says
These tags are on a board, and there will be a place for the best team for that assignment to move to called "Who's Got the Conch?" Plus, when I was in Puerto Rico I bought a gigantical conch and it will be magical when they see it after Ralph in the book finds it. And they will enjoy David Gunnar blasting it (especially since one Sassy Squid Spec is named Gunnar) :
Don't be fooled by this dorky intro; we will be reading Thomas Hobbes, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Sigmund Freud, leadership theory, and more before we end, and we will each write a serious piece of literary analysis. The culminating salon will be a luau with ROAST PORK, of course, and each Island will decorate their table appropriate to their symbol/character, and will present at the luau how their character or item highlights Golding's theme, adds to the plot, and something else I haven't yet decided.
Having the students on Islands means they have built-in discussion partners, built-in, long-haul team work, and that some days I'll only have to collect nine assignments instead of 36. I am also pitting them against each other (overtures of Jack versus Ralph, right?) for each response and that should up the quality for this highly competitive group. My dream class would be where we could decorate the room like the island in the book as we learned details about it...
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Profits, Supercookies, and Generosity
 | |
| Yes, gimme dem. |
I love me a BIG good cookie.
For years, our cafeteria sold "supercookies" for fifty cents. And then a few years ago,
apparently someone told the cafeteria people that the price of living had gone up, so they jacked up the supercookie price to .75.
Ouch! That's a 50% increase. I can't think of anything else that jumped that much in one year besides college tuition and One Direction tickets. But these cookies are good, and I love me a good cookie, so I forked it over.
This year they raised the price to a dollar. Now I didn't mind when the cookies, thanks to our former governator, had changed from white flour to whole wheat flour. They were still pretty good. But the cookies have shrunk from really big to just merely somewhat bigger than the average cookie, and paying 100% more for less was just too much for me this year.
Way back in September right before lunch, I shared my supercookie angst with Period 4.
This Thursday, B., a scruffy waif of a kid who struggles emotionally and (of course) academically walked up to me at the end of the period right as everyone was tearing off to lunch.
"Know how those supercookies are a dollar now? Well now you can have one," and he pulled out a crumpled dollar for me.
"Oh, B., this is the kindest most thoughtful gift! I have money, so hang on to your dollar, but I gotta hug you because your generosity just made my day!"
I love my job. More than cookies, most of the time.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Feeling lucky? I can't believe what I just said---
 | |
| If Johnny Depp couldn't bring this style back, | no one can |
As the test goes on, I ask, "Can you just FEEL the luck seeping into your brain from that hat?" Tolerantly, she nods her head.
Soon enough, M. rises to turn in her test. "Can you just FEEL the A-ness of your test?" Instantly
I turn red, and I wish I could, like Cher, turn back time and say "A plus-ness," but it is too late. The class laughs, and pretty swiftly, the kids return to their tests.
 |
| Cher is trying to turn back time |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)