Some Pig

Color Me Beautiful

The end of the school year is often a race against time.  Every day becomes a challenge to squeeze in one more nugget of information, one more activity, one more homework assignment.  It's also a time when I question what I've done - have the kids done enough reading this week?  Should we have one more formal writing assignment?  Are their skills developed well enough for them to succeed next year?  There's a lot of curriculum to cover in the last quarter of the year, and on top of that, both the students and I are tired.  No, scratch that.  They're tired; I'm EXHAUSTED. 

Of course, we have a lot to cover this week, and of course, we have the usual panoply of interruptions and disruptions to our schedule just to make it even more fun.  But I've put the kiddos through the wringer over the past week, and there's only so much a body can take.  So today, I broke out the colored pencils and the outline maps and had the kids shade the Confederacy, the Union, and the border states.  Without exception, even at the end of the day when the kids with attention deficits have lost focus and the kids who hate school can't take it anymore and the kids who want to do a good job are distractable, everyone settled down to work without a murmur of protest.  Even better, every class experienced that golden moment of Zen calm when there's not a sound to be heard except for the soft shushing sounds of pencil on paper.

Tomorrow, we're going to have to get back on the bandwagon.  We have notes to take, primary sources to read, skits to perform, quizzes to complete.  But today, we experienced the simple pleasure of listening to rain patter on the roof while we applied color to paper.  And that was just what today needed.

Nicotine, Visine, Dexedrine

I'm choreographing the middle school musical, y'all! Yeah, I'm familiar with phrase "glutton for punishment," why do you ask????

As I described to my Facebook peeps earlier in the process, choreographing middle schoolers is like herding cats. Cats with ADD. Cats with ADD who forgot their meds, and who just chugged a gallon of Mountain Dew. WHEEEE! LET'S DANCE! OH LOOK - SOMETHING SHINY!!!! I must be nuts.

Admittedly, I did this to myself. I've wanted to choreograph a musical ever since I saw All That Jazz at a very impressionable age, mostly because I love the idea of waking up, looking in the mirror and yelling, "Showtime!" at myself every day, the way the Bob Fosse guy did in that movie. (An aside: My parents, of all people, took me and my sister to see All That Jazz in the movie theeyayter when it came out in 1979; after all, what's more suitable for your impressionable preadolescent daughters to see than a film about a dipsomaniacal, pill-popping sex addict working himself to death? On the other hand, it was the '70s, so perhaps that looked like wholesome family fare in the era of key parties and coke binges; what the hell do I know, anyway?) Besides, I coached JV cheerleaders for years, and they're barely one step removed from middle school themselves, right? Ha. Little did I know. Let's just say that middle schoolers aren't known for their keen insight into themselves, or their ability to view their own efforts objectively, or even their ability to know what the hell their limbs are doing at any given moment in time. As a result, we have a lot of discussions that run along the lines of, LADIES! PLEASE PUT YOUR FEET TOGETHER. TOGETHER. YOUR FEET. THOSE THINGS AT THE END OF YOUR LEGS? MOVE THEM SO THEY ARE TOUCHING.  ALL OF YOU.  LOOK DOWN.  LOOK. DOWN. AT. YOUR. FEET. et cetera, ad nauseam, ad infinitum. And no matter how many directions I give, one little Martha Graham is standing in the middle of the kick line, looking like a member of that famous Irish family, the O'Blivious, as my sainted dad likes to say. Seriously, no matter how much I remind them to focus! and look! and count! in their heads and not out loud!, there is always one kid who looks for all the world like she's waiting for a bus and just happened to have wandered into the middle of a dance rehearsal. What's more, as soon as my eagle eye turns from them for the briefest microsecond, all hell breaks loose. Yesterday, I turned my head long enough to answer a question, and in the time it took me to answer a simple query, all discipline and decorum had evaporated. Half the girls had wandered off their marks, two girls were swinging one another around in circles, and a couple of 'em were standing around looking dazed, as if they had just woken up and realized that this was not, in fact, the bus stop.  It took me five minutes to get them back from a five-second mental lapse, and that was doing pretty well.

So, just to get us all in the mood for Showtime!, I leave you with a montage of clips from the aforementioned movie... if only so you can bask in the whuck-tasticness that was 1970's cinema.

 

I like the ciggie-in-the-shower shot.

 

I love the reference to casual sex and the foul language.  I wonder if the 11-year-old me noticed it.

 

And this?  This is just bizarre.  That was one weird decade, to say the least.

Letter From A Broad, Parental (Over) Concern Edition

Dear Parents,

I just want to warn you that I have a major assignment due next Wednesday.  In the world I live in, that means that sometime between the hours of 7:30 and 2:10, many of you will be getting frantic phone calls from your offspring asking you to please, please, please bring in the project that they left on the kitchen table/on the printer/ in their bedroom/ up on the computer/ on the thumb drive they left in their friend's mom's car, and if you can't make it in, could you please just open it up and email it to school and make sure Mrs. S. gets it?

My students learn a lot from the work I assign.  Some of it is the stuff I intend for them to learn, such as the three branches of government, the events that led to the Revolutionary War, and the impact of slavery on our economy.  However, a lot of it is stuff that you teach them, whether you realize it or not - lessons such as, Your Mom Will Always Dig You Out of a Jam.  Deadlines Do Not Apply to You.  You Deserve Preferential Treatment No Matter What You Do.  Now, before you get all in a twist about how dare I say such things about your amazing Malyssah and your genius Jaxon, hear me out.  One of the things we're supposed to be doing here in the public education system is teaching your child some life lessons, in addition to academic lessons.  Unfortunately, it becomes extremely difficult to do that when the adults keep inserting themselves between the actions and the consequences.  Think back on your own school days:  Do you remember the assignments that you completed thoroughly and handed in on time?  No?  Now what about the time you really, really screwed up, and had to pull an all-nighter/ face the wrath of your teacher/ take a zero and redo the assignment anyway?  I bet you learned at least one thing, that being, "I'll never do that again."  And chances are likely you didn't, or at least, you didn't for a good, long while after that.

So let's apply this to your own precious offspring.  Guess what?  They need to learn those life lessons just as much as, if not more than, they need to learn about the science or math or English or history or what-have-you.   I ask you, would you rather have them learn about the need to be on time, take care of their things, and get their work done in middle school, when the worst thing that can happen is they lose credit on an assignment, or would you rather have them learn it when they flunk out of college because they can't manage their courseload?  Or they lose their job because they don't understand how to plan for deadlines?  Or fail in their marriages because they're self-centered little egotists who think that everything should revolve around them and their convenience???  Okay, that's a little extreme, but only a little.  And don't bother trotting out the arguments about how the teachers are arbitrary, the assignments are inscrutable, and the grading system is unfair, because as anyone who has any powers of observation knows, LIFE is arbitrary, inscrutable, and unfair, and the sooner your kid learns how to handle that, the better off they will be in the long run.

I leave you with this final thought:  Every time you rush to the rescue, you are infantilizing your child and ensuring that he or she will never learn the skills s/he needs to be a fully functioning member of society.  If I proposed that I would take your child from you and refuse to teach him or her how to function, you'd claim it was child abuse.  So why is it any better when you do it? 

Think about that.

Love,

Mrs. S.

P.S. If you need help, practice saying the following phrases in the mirror to yourself so you'll be ready for the onslaught on Wednesday:

"You forgot your assignment?  Wow, honey, that's really too bad.  I guess you're going to have to tell Mrs. S. she's not getting it today."

"I'm sorry, honey, but I didn't plan to drive over to the school today, and I have a lot to do.  I'll see you when you get home."

"Wow, that's a bummer.  It's too bad you're not going to get full credit for that work.  Well, we'll talk about it later.  I have to go now."

And, if all else fails, there's always that old stand-by:

"I told you so."

After all, that phrase is a parental favorite for a reason.

The Psychology of the Individual

If you are a fan of P.G. Wodehouse, you'll recognize this as the phrase Jeeves uses to describe how he manipulates manages Bertie Wooster in his capacity as a gentleman's gentleman.  Keep that in mind as the story progresses.

One goal I strive to accomplish each year is getting my little charges to broaden their intellectual horizons by interacting with one another.  However, as I've mentioned before, middle schoolers are wily little critters who are naturally distrustful of adult intentions and suspicious of any social interactions that smack of grown-up intervention.  Usually, when I ask them to pair up for partner work, they automatically hew to their close circle of friends. Efforts to mix them up randomly by counting off, rolling dice, matching kids up by sock color and the like are usually greeted by responses ranging from "unenthusiastic" to "passive-aggressive," replete with heavy sighs, anguished looks, and monosyllabic answers.  Good times, good times!

Today, I took a different approach.  Step 1:  I told the kids I was going to tell them something very, very politically incorrect.  That got their attention.  Step 2:  I asked if anyone knew what a 'Chinese fire drill' was.  This got a huge positive reaction from a portion of the class, usually the "goofy boy" population.  Step 3:  For those not in the know, I explained what that term meant, adding for emphasis that I was NOT suggesting that ANYONE should EVER EVER EVER get out at a dangerous intersection, run around their vehicle, and re-enter by another door, especially since I like my job and want to keep it (An aside:  All I need is to have a TV anchor outside Upper Socioeconomic Middle School, intoning, "Several students were seriously injured today after attempting what is known as a 'Chinese fire drill,' which they learned about from their social studies teacher..."  The thought gives me chills.  Seriously.).  Step 4:  Introduce our class activity, now renamed the "social studies scramble," in which they would change seats and partners between questions.  The kids had fifteen seconds in each round to find new seats and new partners, followed by thirty seconds to share answers.

Well.

You'd think I'd promised everyone a double-dip ice cream cone and a free pony by their reaction.  The same kids who baaaarely have the energy to drag themselves to their seats when *I* partner them up were running around the room like their hair was on fire to get to a new partner.  Even the most reluctant, unenthusiastic kids were racing around with the best of them.  AND, as a nice little side bonus, I overheard the incessant talker who got put in the Cone of Silence and wasn't allowed to participate say to himself, "I really wish I was doing this."  Then he perked up and asked me, "Can we call it the Cone of Shame?" (a la Dug in Up.)  Being ever munificent in victory, I graciously acquiesced. 

So let me recap what, exactly, we did in class today:

The kids answered questions.

They shared their answers with partners.

They changed partners between answers.

And I got them to think it was the greatest thing since the ball-point pen. 

I am the MASTER.

 

Occasionally, The Good Guys Prevail

I know I share a lot of stories of heartbreak and woe on these virtual pages, or at least, I gripe a lot about what pisses me off, but once in a while, I hear a heartwarming story that makes me want to stand up and cheer. In the spirit of the new year, I thought I'd share: Over the holidays, I got to spend some time with a good friend. She told me a story about her nephews, who are high school- and middle school-aged. Younger Brother has Asperger's Syndrome, including the problems with social skills and peer relations. Older Brother, being a good sibling, has made a point of looking out for Younger Brother through the years. However, once Older Brother went to the high school, he could no longer be the eyes and ears he had been.

Well, Nature abhors a vacuum, so you can imagine that once Older Brother was out of sight, someone else stepped in to fill the gap - cue the entrance of one Juvenile Delinquent, newly returned to the community and, of course, assigned to the same bus as Younger Brother. You can fill in the rest - the harassment, the intimidation, the lack of effective intervention from authority figures, all of which continued until Little Brother had to be driven to school every day.  Older Brother was, needless to say, beside himself, but being at a different school, there was nothing he could do about it. Then school started in September, and - guess what! - Juvenile Delinquent was now in 9th grade. At the first opportunity, Older Brother sought out Juvenile Delinquent. He tapped on JD's shoulder. "Hi!" he said, "You don't know me, but I'm Younger's brother!" Then, without waiting for a reply, he pulled back, cocked his fist, and clocked the @sshole right in the jaw. The kid went down like a ton of bricks.

My first reaction to this story was surprise - surprise because this story made me realize just how ordinary scenarios like this used to be, and how comparatively rare they are now.  The fact that one kid administered some sorely deserved schoolyard justice to another kid used to be much more commonplace. 

Second, this story brought home just how much we have infantilized and disempowered our children in the name of making schools and other institutions safe, welcoming environments for everyone.  The fact is, school shouldn't be a safe and welcoming environment for everyone; it should be a safe and welcoming environment ONLY for those people who are willing to reciprocate in making it safe and welcoming for others.  The kid who makes homophobic, racist, or sexist comments should NOT find school a warm and cozy place to be.  The kid who picks on littler or weaker or less able kids should NOT think s/he is going to get away with it.  The kid who thinks it's funny to be mean to the kid who's different SHOULD be looking over his or her shoulder and wondering when it's going to catch up to them.  In reality, all the security cameras and no-tolerance policies and such have had a paradoxical effect in giving the jerks more power instead of less, because the good kids who used to stand up to these kids are actually concerned about their reputations and records, while the jerks don't give a sh!t.  Furthermore, we have managed to eliminate or subvert all the opportunities the good kids used to have to learn how to handle the jerks.  This is scarcely an original sentiment, but it's true - thanks to scheduled playdates, supervised sports, structured enrichment activities, and hyperinvolved parents, we have managed to raise a generation of kids who don't know what to do when life spits in their eye. 

[A lengthy aside is necessary here, lest a certain element of my readership try to claim that this is the fault of FDR, the nanny state, and/or Great Society programs.  Let me state for the record that the forces that have created the atmosphere of enablement and entitlement know no color, creed, or political persuasion.  I am definitely in the "knee-jerk liberal" camp, but I firmly believe that my girls have to experience at least their fair share of hard knocks and deal with them without benefit of parental intervention; by the same token, many a enabled little princeling or entitled junior diva pulls up to school in a vehicle plastered with Tea Party bumper stickers.  So let's not make it a political issue, mmmkay?]

The fact is, kids are pack animals (to a greater or lesser extent), and they do act as a corrective force on one another.  If you were lucky enough to grow up in the 70's, think about it:  How many times did your parents get on you to wear clean clothes, take a shower, and comb your damn hair once in awhile?  Did that change your behavior?  Now when your peers started saying, "dang, man, you smell," - what happened then?  I'm willing to bet that far more kids got turned on to the benefits of personal hygiene by fear of their peers' disapproval than by their parents' efforts.  Looking back at the story that started this post, is Juvenile Delinquent likely to see the error of his ways?  Maybe, but probably not.  Is he likely to think twice before picking on Little Brother or any other atypical kid again?  I bet he is.

I need to be clear here that I am not advocating for allowing unchecked vigilantism or wishing for a return to the law of the jungle.  We can't have kids walking around decking one another over every social infraction, real or perceived, or we'll never get anything done at school.  But let's face it, peer influence is a form of power, and like all forms of power, we need to teach kids how and when to use it appropriately.  To return to the example above, kids aren't born knowing that it's okay to call someone out for behaviors they can change or control, but it's not fair to do so if they can't.  But nowadays, we don't even try to teach kids to discern between using peer pressure the right way or the wrong way.  Instead, we treat peer influence like a pair of extra sharp scissors that has to be kept far away from the curious toddler.  We lock the scissors away and then wonder why, when it comes time to send the little dears to college, none of them has any idea how to cut a piece of paper. 

Because Every Girl Needs A Hobby

Today, during the end of the day announcements, several young crusaders - um, announced is the only verb coming to mind here - that tomorrow is Hobby Day at school!  They invited all and sundry to wear clothing that reflects our individual pursuits and passions so that we all can appreciate the range and diversity of interests at Upper Socioeconomic Middle School.

"My hobby is naked sunbathing!" I exclaimed merrily to my class.  "I can't wait to wear that outfit to school tomorrow!"

Twenty-five heads turned in my direction.  Twenty-five pairs of eyes focused on mine.  Behind those eyes, twenty-five brains kicked into action.  Gears turned.  Dots were connected.  Other shoes dropped.  Then, in 5...4....3....2....1....

BAAAAA-HAHAHAHAHAHA!  OMG!  NAKED SUNBATHING!  HAHAHAHAHA! 

It was a good thing the day was over anyway, because with that, they were gone.  "But I thought your hobby was kicking kittens," one student wondered.  "That was last week," I explained.  (Clearly I am not embracing Hobby Day in the spirit in which it is intended.) (Clearly I am also not a suitable role model for the young and impressionable.) (But I digress.) 

As the rest of the class chuckled to themselves, one young lady started to look a little panicky.  "You're...not.... you're not going to....do that?"  she said nervously.  To be honest, if I were a young adolescent, and MY kinda-mom-aged teacher had threatened to show up to school in her birthday suit, I would've sweated it a bit, too.  I quickly set her mind to rest - although one little, teeny-tiny corner of my brain considered playing on her gullibility, if only for a second.

Yet another reason why I love my job.

 

It's True - Everything They Need to Know, They Learned in Kindergarten

The other day, I took my young charges to the library - whoops, I mean the media center - to do some work.  At the end of the period, I walked them back upstairs to my classroom before dismissing them for lunch.

By the way, that rumbling sound?  Followed by the shrill cries of adolescent voices?  Yeah, that was my 26 students, stomping through the damn halls and yakking fit to break the bank.  I think they attained sonic boom at one point from sheer volume alone.

The next day, we had the same routine - media center, work, back to my classroom.  "ALL RIGHT," I told the assembled scholars. "Before we leave, we need to go over some things.  We cannot have a repeat of yesterday.  There is no need to go clamoring through the halls like a herd of wildebeests stampeding across the savannah to get to the one remaining watering hole before it dries up.  SO," I continued, shooting them my best stink-eye for emphasis, "Today we are going to try something different.  Today, when you go through the halls, I want you to use your six-inch voices and your walking feet.  As in, if you need to say something, you can say it just loudly enough that the friend walking next to you can hear it.  And we are walking - not running, walking - through the halls to get back to the classroom.  Capish?  SIX INCH VOICES.  And WALKING FEET.  Okay, let's go."

Of course, they reacted to this pronouncement as though it were the Stupidest.  Thing.  Ever.  They rolled their eyes.  They heaved great sighs.  They shot one another meaningful glances of the Uhmahgahhd-this-teacher-is-totally-like-weird-and-stupid variety.  But you know what?  When we moved through the halls, they were talking in their six-inch voices, and they were using their walking feet. 

Clearly, I owe a great big thank you to a kindergarten teacher or two out there.

First World Problems, Teacher Edition

A couple days ago at school, I was terribly inconvenienced by ... something, and being me, I had to share the love with my long-suffering coworker.  (By way of an aside, I feel as close to my teaching team members as family.  I am the older sister they never wanted.)  Anywhat, I grumped to my colleague about whatever it was that annoyed me for that nanosecond, and he responded with, "Wow, that's a first-world problem."  This got me thinking:  If RFML can have a Mommyland edition of first-world problems, well, by gosh, so can teachers!  Here's what I've come up with so far:

I hate having a first-period class to teach, because my coffee gets cold by the end of the class.

Ohhh, no, not THAT copier - that one leaves a faint line across the bottom of every page!

The on-line calendar doesn't automatically update itself.  I have to click on a bunch of links and do it myself.

The hallway smells like lunch, and they never cook anything good.

There's no automatic hole-puncher on the copy machine, and a kid broke my heavy-duty hole punch, so now I can hole punch only three copies at a time.

Sometimes I have to get out of my seat to walk across the room and talk to a student.

YouTube doesn't have any interesting videos about this concept, so I'm going to have to figure out how to teach it without a video.

The laptop carts are all signed out for next week, except for the sucky one with the door that sticks.

There's only narrow-lined paper left in the supply closet, and I prefer the wide-lined.

The loudspeaker makes an annoying background buzz when they're reading the announcements.

There's never any good chips in the snack machine now that the school vending machines are all supposed to be 'healthy food only'.

Believe me, I could keep going - but now I think it's time for your turn.  Fellow educators, what problems do you have that anyone in the developing world would die to have?  Leave your thoughts in the comments (instead of on my FB page) so we can all share!

More Reasons Why I Do What I Do

We completed standardized testing this week, which always becomes an endurance contest for the kids who have  to sit silently for hours at a stretch.   After testing the other day, we took them outside  so they could run around like morons get some fresh air and exercise. 

We noticed after awhile that a group of kids was loitering around the maintenance shed.  The shed had been left open, which was unusual, leaving the contents - a garbage can, some empty lockers - exposed.  Anyone who works with middle schoolers would recognize immediately the opportunity for chaos and anarchy that presents to the average 13-year-old mind, so the cluster of giggling adolescents quickly registered on the radar.  The team teacher outside with me shuffled over to investigate what they found so enthralling.  A fellow schoolmate stuffed in a garbage can?  A locker full of teen spirit?  What?

A couple minutes later, she shuffled back, but the students remained where they were. 

"What's going on?"  I asked.

"They're playing Storage Wars," she answered.  "I didn't want to stop them."

Yep.  You read that correctly.  Our little charges were pretending the maintenance shed was a newly-opened storage unit and placing bids on the loot they speculated it might contain.   For fun. 

Who says imaginary play is dead?

Why Every Day Math Can Suck It

Okay, we've had waaaay too much serious heartfelt arglebargle round these parts lately.  You know what we need?  A good ole rant, that's what!  So pull up a nice, comfy grudge and make yourself at home, because I am locked and loaded to go OFF.

Where to begin?  Oh yes, the start:  India brought home one of those blasted "Home Link" jobbies from that accursed Every Day Math program the school inflicts upon us.  Of course, the first parent letter was ALL ABOUT how critical it is that we parents be involved!  and engaged!  and proactive!  in our child's math education.  According to this letter, if we parents are not intimately involved in our child's every mathematical effort, if we don't point out how often we use numerical reasoning in our everyday lives and explain why you just can't function without good math skills, then our children will grow up to be chowderheaded ignoramuses who can't figure out how to count to 20 without taking their shoes off.  To which I answer, bollocks!  I've seen hundreds of kids who have gone through the EDM program, and I can attest that there are plenty of them who still can't count to 20 without taking their shoes off, despite having gone through EDM!  And I don't think my involvement is going to make one iota of difference, beyond telling India to quit whining and do her homework already, or there's no dessert.  In fact, I would be willing to bet cash moneys that if you tested the efficacy of the integrated-parenting-advice approach versus the no-dessert approach to teaching math, the no-dessert group would win hands down every time. 

Furthermore, I am morally and philosophically opposed to the odious practice of giving parents homework to do at night.  FFS, do I have nothing better to do than practice my vowel blends and math facts at 7:30 p.m.???  Tonight, India's homework challenged us to write down three things about math that we find interesting.  Wanna know something interesting about numbers?  Here's a number for ya:  1985.  That is the last year in which I had to give a rat's @ss about mathematics, because I had to gimp through Algebra II to be considered by any serious four-year college.  You know what else I find interesting about math?  Nothing!  So now I'm forced to be a hypocrite and lie to my daughter about finding the number zero utterly enthralling.  Great. 

You know, I've read about eight million different articles and books about teaching and learning, and nowhere in there did I read anything that indicates parents should have to do homework alongside their kids.  If I had come home and announced to my parents that they had to do homework with me, they would have laughed so hard, they'd've choked on their bourbon old-fashioneds (they were the last of the cocktails-before-dinner generation).  My parents were of the mind that schoolwork was MY problem, seeing that a) I was the person actually in school at the time; and, b) they had been through school already, so clearly they shouldn't have to do it again.  Now we've got "home links" and "parent help tips" and all this other bullpucky, all of which boils down to making ME somehow responsible for my kid learning her math.  To which I say, bushwa! I'm sending India to school precisely so that I don't have to teach her that stuff.  Why?  BECAUSE I HATE IT, THAT'S WHY.  If I *wanted* to teach elementary math and count cows and subtract chickens, I would have gotten myself into ridiculous amounts of student loan debt for elementary ed instead of secondary ed.  And then I could spend my whole entire DAY immersed in math facts! But I didn't.  I am a full-grown woman, dammit; I am NOT doing second grade math homework, AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!

I'd like to write all this out on India's math homework and send it to the elementary ed curriculum coordinator, but truth be told, I'm a coward.  I helped India with her stupid "parent link" homework.  I pretended to be fascinated by numbers.  I try (and mostly fail) to think up times when knowing math has been critical to my continued health and well-being.  But I'm telling you, I'm bound to snap one of these days.