Stay Free!

My students have this habit of leaving trash on the floor or not picking up after themselves. Their desks are kind of small, so sometimes they unknowingly knock things (paper, pencils, erasers, shavings, scraps, etc.) to the floor. I seem to be nagging them constantly about "checking their area". Today, I should have kept my mouth shut.

As I was pacing the room, monitoring work (yes, my students are still doing work with a week and a half left in the year), I noticed out of the corner of my eye, a fragment of something, paper, if you will, lying on the floor. It was lying next to Sabrina Duncan's desk. So naturally, without hesitation, and straight out of habit, I asked her, "Sabrina, is that trash on the floor yours? and if so, could you please pick it up?"

There was some hesitation for a couple of seconds and then she replied that it wasn't hers. I was going to ask her to pick it up and throw it away anyway when I heard Bosley, a boy that sits behind her, say under his breath, "Is that what I think it is?"

Then, I heard another boy, Charlie, respond, "That's a pad!"

Then, like all boys of that age, he started to giggle. Not more than a second later, Bosley started to giggle as well. I looked at the item in question, and yes, it appeared to be a pad in an unopened yellow wrapper. It was on the floor next to Sabrina, and it was obviously hers. It didn't just appear there.

Of course, she denied it again. The boys giggled more. I sat down at my desk, nodding my head side to side, with my forehead resting in hand. I had absolutely no idea how to handle the situation. I was dumbfounded and felt like Ward Cleaver. The boys saw me nodding side to side and started laughing at my dumbfoundedness. The dumbfoundedness was existing on many levels: I was dumbfounded on what to do, I was dumbfounded on why she just didn't quickly pick it up, and I was equally as dumbfounded to find out that 4th grade boys knew what a sanitary napkin package looked like. While still nodding, I looked up for a split second and made eye contact with one of the boys. Then I did what all people of my age do: I started to grin.

I fought it tooth and nail and saved face pretty quickly. How did I do it? Well, I suddenly had the urge to look up something very important on my computer screen. I looked away from my class, peering into the computer screen and not reading a thing. Only one thought was on my mind: At all costs, you must suppress the urge to laugh.

Well, seconds seemed like hours and the pad was still on the floor. Now Sabrina, the owner of the thing, started to giggle as well and continued to deny her involvement with the pad (giggling the whole time). Sabrina has a good friend, Kelly Garrett, that sits on the total opposite side of the room. The two girls are good friends and they talk incessantly when near each other (hence the opposite sides of the room arrangement). They are such good friends, that they can communicate with looks as well. So when I saw them "communicating" with each other out of the corner of my eye, I knew without a doubt, unequivocally, that the pad belonged to Sabrina. Kelly started to laugh as well, and even got up out of her chair to take a look at the pad lying on the floor by Sabrina's desk.

Laughter started creeping back up to my face. My mouth was twitching. I kept raising my eyebrows so that maybe it looked like I had a headache and I could put my hand up to my forehead and cover my face in the process. Luckily, like in all the Rocky movies, I was saved by the bell. Whew... Time to go to specials classes.

Sporadic giggles were popping up here and there. Students were coming to take a look at the neatly-packaged pad as they lined up to go to art. You would have thought we were in the Smithsonian!

I usually line them up in the classroom, but I had to get them out of there (too much rubbernecking). I had them move into the hall and line up there. Giggles were still going on in the hall, and I was trying my best to ignore the whole thing. Again, the urge to laugh crept up through my body, and I had to think of an excuse to go back into the room. Ahh! My pen! I forgot my pen! I walked into the room, chuckled, took a deep breath, and then went back out into the hallway.

I escorted my kids to the art teacher, dropped them off, and let out a deep sigh and a big grin. By the time they got back to my room, they had forgotten about the whole thing. How typical. Just like math.

Bittersweet Symphony

The results to the dreaded test arrived yesterday.

And, like always, the results were bittersweet. So many successes, and a couple of disappointments.

This school year has been very trying, and it was the first time in 11 years that I honestly didn't know what to expect from these kids. These kids were majority "new" to our student body because of attendance zone changes at the begining of the year (to accommodate for the opening of a new school). They were not the kids that I was used to. They were not kids that had been educated by my peers at the lower grade levels. They were giant question marks in the back of my head. Throughout the year they just seemed to be so inconsistent to me. I was definitely preparing myself for a letdown.

But, in the grand scheme of things, there was no letdown at all. They grew right before my eyes unlike I've ever seen before. Well.... not all of them, but a good lot of them. Of course, there are those that are classified as highs and medium highs: The growth with them isn't too noticable because they are already at a high level to start off the year. But, some of the lows!! They were the bane of my existence! I was pulling hair, chewing on fingernails, sucking my thumb (well, not really). But most of them showed extreme growth and I am so proud of them... and myself (to tell you the truth). No, they didn't all pass, which is sad, because the state will see them as failures. But, I don't. I see them as successes: Mostly latchkey kids in an urban district with one parent; born into circumstances beyond their control; dealt hands that most of us would fold with. In the end, they took what I had to offer and applied it.

They were lucky to have me!

Does that sound conceited or what?


Then...there was student "N". She is a good reading and writing student, but a struggler in math. Like some of the others, I was worried about her the whole year. I worked with her. I tutored her. I made her feel safe. Yet, she still failed the math portion of the test. I wasn't disappointed in her, because I know she tried. I really thought she would be able to pull through, but she didn't. She came up to me today (the day after they found out their scores) and asked me, "Are you mad at me?"

And I told her, "No, of course not, what for?"

And she replied, "Because I didn't pass the math test."

That broke my heart! I reassured her and told her that I was not mad and that I knew she had tried her best. In the end, all she was concerned about was me and my feelings. She is such a sweetheart! I'd take a million like that and have them fail every single test.

.....but then, I'd be out of a job.

Roll Over Beethoven

The music teacher assigned my students to do some research on various composers the other day. I'm not sure how much of a project this actually was because I really haven't heard anything about it since Tuesday. But, what I heard Tuesday would definitely make any connoisseur of fine music cringe, and would surely make poor Ludwig turn over in his grave.

When I picked them up from their music class this Tuesday, they were in a rather cheery, singy (is that a word?), and jovial kind of mood. Some of the girls were singing a melody to some tune they had heard in their class that day. This is unusual because, sorry to say, most kids don't really like music class. I'm not sure if it's because they are embarrassed to sing...which I can understand, since I have a terrible voice. Or if they just think the overall concept is lame. I mean, why sing when you can crap? Did I say crap? I meant RAP.

Well anyway, the girls were singing and one of my boys, Dr. J. (the one from my 4/16 blog, "Apology Accepted") made an interesting comment. He said the song they were singing sounded like it was something by Beth Hoven.

I asked, "Beth who?"

He replied, "Hoven."

I once again asked for clarification, because I really wasn't comprehending what he was saying, "Who?"

His quizzical look (mentioned in my 4/16 blog) returned. His reply, with a little trepidation and a slight stutter (he was trying to get it right) was "Hu..hu..hoven."

Then, it finally hit me. Beethoven. Of course! I said, "Oh!!! You mean Beethoven?"

He replied, "Uh, yeah. Beethoven."

It was slightly funny, but slightly sad. He thought Beethoven was a girl named Beth! Maybe it was the wig. I mean, I knew who Beethoven was when I was in 4th grade (maybe even 1st grade). And this poor little guy, had no idea. Maybe its because I took piano lessons. I wonder if my peers knew who he was back then. Boy, maybe they didn't and I was just a nerd. Oh well.

Take Me Out To The Ballet

The other day, during recess, another teacher was playing baseball with the kids. It wasn’t an actual game or anything. Actually, it was more like just pitching and hitting…no base running. He would pitch the ball until someone hit it or struck out, and then it would be someone else’s turn.

After observing this little "interaction" between teacher and students, I came to the conclusion that baseball is a dying sport. Actually, I’ve had this opinion for a long time now. I haven’t been to a major league baseball game since probably around 1996, whatever year that was that the Texas Rangers made their first post-season appearance. I was already a little disillusioned from the strike that had occurred a couple of years before that, and my attendance to games had severely dipped. Sure, I followed it on TV somewhat (especially during the Mark McGuire/Sammy Sosa homerun derby year), but I never really got back into it. I suspect many other people (including dads, uncles, and grandfathers) didn’t get back into it as well, thus alienating it even further from a younger generation.

Anyway, back to my observations....

The kids were lined up to take a swing, and the first thing I noticed was that the first person in line to bat was not more than 2 or 3 feet away from the actual current batter. Last I heard, a baseball bat was longer than 2 feet. I would just cringe each time a pitch was made and the bat would swing. Surely, someone was going to get hit. The teacher pitching had to constantly keep telling the kids in line to back up. They absolutely had no concept of "batter's box". They might as well have been umpiring the pitches. Anyway, we can just chalk that up to over-anxiousness. Everybody is always dying to get their chance, and these kids were definitely hungry for a chance to hit the ball.

The most tell-tale sign though (that baseball is on its way out) was the at-bats. You could tell that some of these kids have never held a baseball bat in their lives. I’m talking N-E-V-E-R. Some kids were holding the bat with their left and right fingers intertwined. Oh my gosh! Back in my day, that would’ve branded you as a sissy! Only girls could get away with holding the bat like that (apologies to the ladies). And, by no means am I saying that these kids are sissies. Some are, but most of them aren’t. Yet, there they were, holding the bat in the most passively demure of ways.

The next noticable tell tale sign was the swinging pirouettes that I witnessed. Sorry (again) female readers, I don’t want to sound sexist because I’m not. But the swinging pirouette is so-o-o-o-o-o girly! For those of you who don't know, the swinging pirouette is when the batter takes a futile swing at the passing ball. Of course, the batter whiffs and then commences to spin on his foot (Newton's little known 4th law comes into play here--for every whiffed baseball, there is an equal and synonymous 1,080 degree spin). These kids would’ve had more success in a ballet class, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. They actually, in fact, probably have a better chance of becoming a dancer later on in life than becoming a world-famous soccer, football, or basketball star.

The last tell tale sign has got to be the influx of butterfly collectors into the baseball arena. Some people might consider butterfly collecting a demanding physical exercise that requires exceptional skill with a net, but don’t ever get that confused with baseball. Sure the baseball doesn’t flutter around directionless like a butterfly, but the butterfly doesn’t fly staight at you at speeds approaching 100 miles per hour (40 or 50 miles per hour in the case of these kids). Anyway, you’d think these kids were hunting butterflies. Swinging the bat with one hand while leaping gracefully into the air is not going to get you a base hit. Amazing. You might have some luck netting a buttefly in this manner, but you will not net a chance on base, that’s for sure.

So, to sum up.....

These kids suck! These kids are much better shooting a ball through a hoop, kicking a ball into a goal, and leaping into the air to catch a football while defenders are eagerly converging on them to make a hit. They are much better at these because they have the experience and the practice. They are in leagues for these sports, its obvious. But baseball? The kids have no concept. Don’t even get me started with the concept of bases. I have a strange suspicion that some of them wouldn’t know what to do or where to go if they actually had the sheer luck to connect on a pitch.

As for me......

I’m actually scheduled to see Rangers vs. Bosox next month with my dad, uncle, and brother. It will be my first MLB game in over 10 years. But, I’m not even really going for the game as much as I am going for the nostalgia of going to a game with my dad, brother, and uncle. Of course, beer and jumbo dogs come in a very close second. Actual interest in the players and the game: a distant third.

Apology Accepted

Its amazing what today's kids don't know. We spend so much time trying to ingrain the academic stuff, sometimes we forget about the social stuff. Actually, I'm not taking all the blame here, its the parents that neglect the social stuff. We, sometimes neglect to "fill in the blanks". Today there was an incident involving the use of the "N" word. And no, it was not nincompoop, ninny, or nitwit.

A sweet little (not to be confused with smart) hispanic girl from my 4th-grade class walked up to a somewhat likable (not to be confused with angelic) African-American boy today while we were lining up to come in from recess and said, "Hey, N**ga!". She, of course, used the modern day hip-hop pronunciation and not the circa 1800-1970's pronunciation. No doubt, she had been influenced by today's rap culture, MTV, Hollywood, and quite possibly fellow students, as well.

Anyway, the boy was somewhat offended, and I guess he had a right to be. I just wonder if it offends him when 50 Cent and Snoop Dogg use the word as well, but I digress. What was really strange (and the subject of this blog) is the way the boy didn't know how to accept the apology.

I called the girl out into the hallway for some clarification about the incident. I asked, "What did you say to Dr. J? He seems to be really upset about it." She replied back, with a hint of shame, the truth. I told her that it was not okay for her to use that word even if she had heard it on the radio, TV, or from her own friends (some of whom are African-American as well). I could tell that she kind of had some sense that it was wrong before she actually said it, because tears were flowing. If she really had no clue about the offense, she probably wouldn't have been tearing up like she was. I told her that I thought she should apologize to him and she agreed.

So, I called him out into the hallway and told him that Ms. Swoops had something she wanted to tell him. I looked at her to give her her cue and, looking down at the floor in shame, she said, "I'm sorry for calling you that."

And he said, with a straight face, "You're welcome."

I looked back at him with a quizzical look on my face, and I asked him what he had said, just by the off chance that maybe I had misheard him. He repeated, with a straight face, "You're welcome."

I asked him if he was sure that that was what he was, in fact, trying to say. Then it was he who had the quizzical look. He had absolutely no idea where I was going with my questions. I didn't want to make him feel weird or like he had done something wrong, so I just bluntly told him that when someone apologizes to you for something they did, you don't say that they're welcome. You tell them that you accept or don't accept their apology. I told him that he could shrug it off and say, "That's okay!" or "It's alright." I told him that the last thing you want to do, is tell them that they are welcome to do it again.

He said, "Oh, okay." and it was over. I'm sure he put that one in the "Information To Know" file in his brain. Well, actually I'm not so sure. But, he'll figure it out eventually. I just find it weird that he didn't know the proper words to use in this situation.

Today's kids are exposed to so much vulgarity, raunchiness, and inappropriateness, and they seem to learn how to apply that vulgarity and what-have-you to their daily interactions with peers. But, many don't have the slightest clue about proper social etiquette. Am I asking too much? I guess I should be glad that she at least agreed that she needed to apologize. But, then again, I had to suggest it.

EAT!!!

Sometimes I really like my job as a teacher. Its the funny little things that occur that just make it all worth it sometimes. I was not in a good mood today. I've been suffering from a cold all week and was on the brink of losing my voice.

Fortunately the voice stayed and today, I decided I was out of the woods... The worst was over. It was a pretty short and sweet virus, starting on Tuesday, and almost gone by today. Lately, the viruses...(virii? what's the plural anyway?) I've been getting have been long-lasting little buggers. Anyway, for the last 3 days my voice was practically gone. My "innocent" little 4th graders kind of took advantage of me because of my inability to raise my voice in certain "disciplinary" circumstances.

Well, today my voice was "somewhat" back. We are on a 4-class rotation and my last class came in a little "off the wall" so I let 'em have it, especially a select few of them. The rest of the students quickly fell into line like perfect little duckies. The minute one of the students started to stray, my "raised" voice did not fail me. I was a junkyard dog today, barking orders here, chastising there, reprimanding here. I was on a roll.

I gave them their assignment, and they began working like nice little 4th graders. Not more than 5 minutes had passed when a couple of 3rd graders came into my room with a cupcake and a juice box. It was one of their birthdays and mom had delivered too many cupcakes. Since they have kind of taken a "liking" to me they decided to bring me one of the extra cupcakes and juice box. Awwww.. ain't that sweet? That isn't even the funny part. Anyway, I said thanks and they went back to their class.

Now my class was still quiet, but they were not focused on the work that they had been working on just before the interruption. They were focused on me, the cupcake, and the juice box. I wiped a little of the frosting off the top of the cupcake because it was just too much. I'm not a big frosting fan, but I digress. I peeled the paper wrapping around the cupcake, and all eyes were trained on me. I don't know what they expected to see. Had they never seen a grown up eat a cupcake before?

Anyway, their assignment was just a distant memory as their wide eyes and gaped jaws stared at me as I took a bite of the cupcake. When I noticed they were all looking, I glared at them, and in my junkyard dog-disciplinary-raised-voice, I said, "EAT!!!"

Of course, I meant to say, "WORK!!!". I was the one that was eating. Anyway, I quickly corrected myself and said, "Work!", but it was too late. Someone was already snorting, I was already grinning, and no doubt my face was probably red as well.

For all you non-teachers out there...when the teacher smiles, the gig is up. That's all she wrote. Time to hang up the towels. Soon, everyone was laughing. There was one girl in tears, she thought it was so funny. And, yeah, it was.

That's the best thing about kids, even the rough exterior ones that don't have the best home lives. They really are just kids. And they really are for the most part, innocent. And they know something funny when they see it (even though they still may not be able to grasp the concept of perpendicular lines). It was a good, and much needed laugh. There is too much tension right now with TAKS test on the horizon next week. They went home on a good note, and so did I.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Every once in awhile, something happens that reminds me why I like this job of mine. And usually, 90% of the time, that reminder comes from a 10-year-old. Kids are really pretty simple and innocent when it comes right down to it (even the low-socioeconomic, minority children attending an urban district like mine). Not all, mind you, but most.

This past Friday was our last day of school before our highly-anticipated spring break. But, before we could get on with the day at hand, my class and I had to have an official ceremonial observance of St. Patrick's Day. The holiday, unfortunately for the kids, falls in the middle of spring break week (which is a big plus for this green-beer-drinking blogger, I might add). We had discussed the week prior that Friday, March 9th, would be our official "observance". Of course, I had slept since then and had no recollection of the discussion. But, kids: They may not remember the difference between finding the area of a rectangle and finding the perimeter of a rectangle, but they will remember the revised St. Patrick's Day observance date.

The very first thing in the morning, I had kids pinching each other and trying to pinch me. Thankfully, they were kind enough to give me a warning and some grace time to see if I could find anything green to attach to my body. I finally found a green overhead pen and made a few green marks on my hand to stop the pinching attempts. It was a nice little bonding moment with these kids.

I haven't had too many moments like that this year. I blame that on the ridiculous first-semester-1-hour block schedule that we had in place. It was assembly-line education. I didn't get to interact with these kids on anything more than a formal level. There wasn't any time for nonsensical stuff like an early St. Patrick's Day observance. If I deviated from my plans even just a little, the "brains" on the assembly line would pass me by without getting the "parts" that they needed, like in that famous "I Love Lucy" episode. I'd eventually end up shoving "brains" down the wayside or putting them in my pocket or down my shirt, like a zombie trying to horde his food for later consumption.

They are just kids. Sometimes it is so easy to lose sight of that when your so busy trying to cram all the stuff that they "need" to know inside those little heads in one hour's time. And sometimes, they need something other than what is written in the district's curriculum planning guide. Sometimes they just need to be kids.