The Importance of What We Do

Today was a big fat reawakening of the importance of what I do. I am a teacher. I spend my day with children who will one day become men and women. These people will wear my touch. What and how I say and do will change who they become. The power that I hold is humbling.

Over my 19 years of teaching I have been affected by the children I teach in countless ways. They say and do such sweet and humorous things. I laugh every single day. There aren't many people in the world that can say that about their jobs. But sometimes along with that laughter come tears. Today was one of those days. We had an IEP for a child that has had a childhood that no one would want. This child went to school everyday not knowing if his mom would be alive when he got home. Domestic violence is a horrible thing. He is now being raised by his grandparents. His grandmother told his story today with such honesty and compassion, no one left that room unchanged. I cannot imagine what it would be like to have the strength to take on the responsibilities of raising your grandchild while leaving your daughter behind. Neither my brain nor heart can go there. This wonderful woman implored each of us as her grandson's teachers to help her raise this precious child.

Since my move to middle school my foucs has been much more on curriculum and content. Today was a reminder that no matter how old our students are, we as teachers are critical partners in the development of the hearts and minds of these children who indeed will very soon become men and women. I know that when I walk through that classroom door tomorrow, it will be with a new awaeness of my role in the lives of my students.

Aging

For the first time in my life I can feel my body aging. This sounds extremely bizarre coming from the middle grandchild of a 101 year old man but it is true. I have been through some interesting events in my life but have always depended on my body to heal itself and have never been disappointed. I never understood people who were always complaining about all their little aches and pains. I'm not whining but I can definitely feel a change in the air. In the past 3 years I have had (self induced) tendonitis in my elbow, a weird thing in my neck, a strange unexplained and extremely painful swelling in my foot and now a frozen shoulder. All of these involved anti-inflammatory drugs, several doctor's visits and follow up physical therapy that required repeated exercises at home. I'm just feeling a little tired of it all. It isn't the way I thought it would go. I expected to slow down as the years went by but I didn't expect for specific parts of my party to completely quit on me. It is humbling and I am slowly but surely learning to accept the hurdles that seem to keep popping up in my path. The good news is that my shoulder is with my obsessive exercise regiment increasing in flexibility and I can't wait to go back to therapy for more pressure and oscillations.

Home

After my visit with my parents and grandfather, I am filled with thoughts of family and home. Just as I have many definitions of family in my head, so too are there numerous mental images that come to mind with the word home. Home is first and foremost my little green house on Fremont Street. Even though I only share it with Jack, I have succeeded in creating a refuge that suits who I have become at this moment in time. It is my safe place to land. Interestingly enough the next picture that comes to mind is the house on College Ave where I raised my children. That house still makes me feel warm and loved inside. Although some sad things happened there I never ever remember it with anything but happiness. After that, home and family seem to morph together. No matter what structure my parents live in, it feels like home. So there are all kinds of pictures that float by - the houses I grew up in as well as the houses they have lived in after I left. There is something so comfortable about being home with Mom and Dad. My parents are two people who at times can be mistaken for one. They move and converse together as they have for 58 years. If Dad says "X" you know that Mom will say "Y." It is the predictability that creates the feeling of safety. You know how each day will go. It follows a rhythm that you can almost reach out and touch. Breakfast is first thing in the morning, lunch is at noon and happy hour is at 5. Mom cooks and cleans. Dad is /thinks he is in charge. They each know and fulfill their given roles without complaint or issue. It is something I often envied as a wife. Everything in the house is familiar. The dishes, pots and pans, linens and knick knacks are the same as they have always been. There is a story that goes with each one - the crystal from Aunt Marie, Grandma Larson's hand crocheted doilies, and the wooden carving purchased on our honeymoon. And then there are the photographs. They are in every room and once placed remain there. As I age I become more aware of the importance of stopping time with pictures so I am much more understanding these days of seeing photos from various stages of my life looking back at me as I move from room to room. It is clear that for me, it is the predictability that creates the familiar feeling of home.

Middle School Valentine's Day

Cute is the word for the day. Believe it or not it was only a year ago that I was on yard duty in elementary school on Valentine's Day. I remember so clearly thinking about how darn cute the little ones were as they wished one another a Happy Valentine's Day. And by little ones, I mean 1st graders. There they were, dressed in all the red, white and pink that they could dig up. They would just walk up to a friend, say "Happy Valentine's Day" and give one another a big hug. Neither gender, age nor size had any impact on who you shared your good wishes with. It didn't cost a thing and it was obviously right from the heart. Well that is exactly what I saw this morning before school. The kids were a little taller and ganglier but the sentiments were identical. I even watched 2 Sutter graduates play it out before my very eyes. There was nothing romantic or odd about it in the least. And somehow the fact that I had watched these kids move from elementary to middle school made the connection that much more concrete. Girls and boys alike bobbed on campus bearing gifts of chocolate and balloons and hugs galore just waiting to be released. Several students skipped up to me, handed me a piece of candy and blurted out, Happy Valentine's Day, Ms. Allen. They were all so darn cute. Everywhere I looked I saw kids sharing from the heart.

It all makes me wonder if we are missing the boat by having those elementary school Valentine's Day parties. The rules have been clearly spelled out. You are not required to bring valentines but if you do you must bring one for everyone. Of course valentines today come with some sort of candy attached. So the fun I recall of reading hand written valentines has been replaced with s non-stop sugar high as each kid competes to see who can give the most candy disguised as a valentine When in reality all our kids want to do is give a hug and wish their friends a happy Valentine's Day.

My Wake Up Call

Uh oh. My bad dream is coming true. One of my greatest concerns about teaching ancient history was born when I first saw the standards many months ago. Early humans, Mesopotamia, Egypt, Hebrews, India, China, Greece and Rome... What? Are you serious? You could take one of those a month and still not get through anything of importance. Early on I knew I wanted to spend most of the time on Egypt, Greece and Rome. I've had a sinking feeling that I was running a little behind but I really thought I was doing OK until I looked at the pacing guide this morning. Yikes! I need to finish India and cover China in the next 4 weeks just to allow 6 weeks each for Greece and Rome. This is not going to be a pretty sight. It might be time to find some very informative DVDs.

This is slightly humorous knowing my education history. I received my credential at that crossing point between Back to Basics and Whole Language. This means we had to do all our lesson plans according to the 6 points of Madeline Hunter but you couldn't dare mention the word phonics. I quickly learned that the best way to "cover" a textbook was to sit on it. The text was only a resource. Back in those days, I created my own curriculum based almost completely on observational records. At the end of the day I evaluated the reading and writing that was accomplished and the next steps for tomorrow. It seemed so easy back then before the age of standards. I was also extremely lucky to work with someone who shared my great love of the workshop model. Well if Nancy could see me today she would not believe I am the same teacher who was the curriculum coordinator of a small Catholic school and would go head to head with the principal on a regular basis and even won a few battles from time to time. Now, the social studies textbook is one of my best friends. I wouldn't have had the first clue about how to teach Judaism without getting into trouble. So here I am stuck between India and China refusing to let any of it go. My kids deserve the best I have to offer. So somehow we will muddle through and hopefully all the pieces will fall into place in their brains. I will definitely need to make some changes the second time around.

Happy Birthday Grandpa

It's time for Grandpa's annual birthday letter. After 95 or so there really isn't anything you can buy for a person. All we can give is our time and thanks. So here is the 101 installment.
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Happy Birthday Grandpa,
You are my own personal super hero. Superman may be faster than a speeding bullet and able to leap tall buildings. But you have done so much more than that. You have lived a long healthy life. You have been the patriarch of a still growing family that has taken on your values for their own. You have shown us all the importance of the connection to earth, air, and water.
I no longer have an explanation for your long life. You have now lived for more than 101 years with very few physical problems. You are up and att’em every day. You cook, clean and take care of your house with no assistance whatsoever. Your latest experience with a colonoscopy has caused me to question exactly what you are. I have never known another human being to endure that without some sort of uncomfortable side effects. Perhaps you are a remnant of the little pink Energizer Bunny commercial that just keeps going and going and going.
You have led your family and its descendents through the challenges of living a moral life into a time where ethics are truly a rarity. You taught us all the value of honesty, integrity and the importance of hard work. There isn’t one of us that doesn’t wear our moral code like a badge of honor. In many circles, the name Allen alone has come to mean trustworthy and that all came from you. It must be in the DNA.
You have modeled many things for me but the gift that is most in fashion today is your knowledge of the balance between earth, air and water. You are closer to the earth than anyone I’ve ever met. One of the most important lessons you have taught me is that Mother Nature always wins. Along with this you have also shown me the value of patience. You have always known that Iowa heat and humidity will eventually cool, the snow and ice will melt and the rain will come. It may not be on our timeframe but it will happen. We just have to learn to wait for it.
Yes, Grandpa you are my super hero. Given a choice between you and Superman, I will pick you every time. The gifts you continue to shower upon me are truly priceless. Much like the Allen family tree, my gratitude for you continues to grow in depth as well as breadth as the years go by. What I give in return is my undying love and respect.
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I found some sort of perverse humor in the fact that after I read this over I discovered that it somehow ended up being a 5 paragraph essay this year. My students will be so proud!

I love my bed

I am no longer a good sleeper. I used to be the 8 hours or else kind of girl but I guess menopause took care of that. I still need to be in bed for 8 hours but they are no longer all spent sleeping. It has been more than 2 years now since I got my new bed. I finally came to terms with the fact that I am single and there was no need for a double bed and furthermore my tiny 10 x 10 bedroom could use the extra space. So out went the futon in the extra room and in went the double. The extra room finally had a true identity as a guest room and I became the proud owner of a single bed.

Developing a relationship with a bed is very similar to one with new people. I often like then when I first meet them but then I begin to see the flaws. This bed I absolutely loved in the store. It was perfect, the bed I had been waiting for all my life. A few weeks later I wondered how I could have bought such a firm mattress. Was I out of my mind? Time passed and I just accepted my bed for what it was, a functional piece of furniture to provide me with my necessary sleep. It was fine. The past few months has been an especially challenging sleep period in my life. My mind races back in time to ancient Mesopotamians, Egyptians, Israelites, India Indians, you name it. I ponder ways to teach grammar to enhance writing. I think about our limited water supplies, the crappy financial condition of our country and the ridiculous people who are in government. How could anyone possibly sleep? So in these troubling times my bed and I have become much closer. I have learned the beauty of accepting support and in return my bed has begun to soften around the edges. I feel myself give into just being there, me and my bed. I love the feeling of being awake in the morning but not allowing myself to be a part of the world just quite yet. To think and ponder or plan out my day is such a gift. I am filled with the awareness that I am in the world but apart from it. I can take the time to observe from a distance the person I am in the world and plan the next step on the journey. I am thankful for my bed and the sleepless time that allows me to think my deep slow thoughts.

Ebbing and Flowing

I am once again beginning to surface for air. I just can't quite get my rhythm on a daily basis. Some days feel just perfect and then I'll have a day or two where I am working from the the time I get up until I go to bed. That is exactly what I did yesterday and that is not healthy. Most of it is because of all our afternoon meetings and most of those are for my new teachers. So I will leave school at 3:15, come back at 4:30, work for an hour or so and still have papers to correct after dinner. Block schedule is usually a catch up time because social studies is often something out of the ordinary. Today was one of my good days. I knew exactly what I was doing from the minute I stepped into my classroom. Perhaps it helps to teach first period rather than be swamped in lessons plans and piles of papers during my prep period. I love my first period prep but I think I would like it no matter when it was. It was block schedule for writing today. My writing classes go much better when I have 100 minutes. Then I can actually get in my spelling lesson without cramming everything in. So today I finally passed back their essays and during our early release time analyzed the winter assessments. The piles on my desk are gone so I think that means that I'm back in balance once again. It will be a pleasure to walk in the door tomorrow, look at my desk and actually see my desk.

Overwhelmed Again

For some reason this week is putting me over the edge. I feel like it's the middle of September again and I have only a glimmer of an idea of what I am doing. I have a sketchy outline of my lesson plans and am planning the details day by day. It is all I can do to keep up with the paperwork. I have had meetings everyday this week and they have all seemed like the first time I've ever done it. I guess the most memorable one was what our counselor calls a "Come to Jesus Meeting" for one of our students. It had its highs and lows but the crux of the issue has become that this kid is in everyone's belief, ADHD. It has been another awakening for me of that shift from elementary to middle school. ADHD in elementary is a piece of cake to ID. They fall out of their chairs, run around the room, talk out of turn, and seem to do anything they can to avoid what's going on in the classroom. After 18 years I could pick them out of a crowd with my eyes shut. Year 19 has opened another door. An ADHD kid in middle school is in and out of a classroom activity, a class clown, charismatic, and totally inappropriate. They wear the wrong things to school just to be a distraction and"forget" their stuff when they come to class. Assignments are never completed but yet they know the stuff. They are smart and totally capable. Yes, that's the piece I struggle with. It is so hard for me to let go of kids that CAN do the work. I bend over backwards to help every kid in my class succeed. Sometimes that means being a mom. Sometimes that means being "mean." But when they have the ability to do the work and something else gets in the way, I am really challenged to make it all come together. For this one, (and I don't say this often) drugs are the answer. For now, I'll just do what I can.

Another new experience for me this week was the 5th grade parent orientation night. It is slightly stressful to feel even remotely responsible for the registration of students for a middle school within a somewhat competitive district. But now the first one is in the books. I now know what it is and the role I might play in it in the future. That is the story of my year. I now know what it is and the role I might play in it in the future. I constantly have the feeling that I have been called to be here. I mean that both in a spiritual and professional sense. It is so refreshing compared to my feelings in the past of wondering how I ended up wherever I was. I finally know that this is what I am supposed to be doing.

And now here is my all time favorite experience of the week. Picture this in your mind: Faculty meeting, a huge agenda, lots of verbal interchanges between the outspoken ones about everything from emergency drills to WASC stuff. And then, lo and behold, someone has fallen asleep. That's right, asleep. Not only is he asleep but everyone knows he is asleep and draws the principal's attention to the fact that he is sleeping. Never in my wildest dreams have I ever imagined a scene like that. Oh, Yes! I do love Middle School.

My Saturday School Journal

Here I am in Saturday School. My only reference to this experience is "The Breakfast Club" and this is definitely not that. There are 10 kids in my room breathing my air and adding all kinds of negative energy to my life. 9 boys. 1 girl. No one even looks pleasant let alone someone I would like to have in my classroom.

My first greeting was by one who asked if he should bring his stuff with him. Good beginning, don't you think? Yes you should definitely bring your stuff with you. 3 hours can be a very long time with nothing to do.

So here is what our students do to entertain themselves in Saturday School:
Attenpt to toss wadded paper across the table or further if they think they can get away with it
Push the lead of a mechanical pencil through a glove into their hand. Yes, I said glove
Incessant turning around in their chair just to see if the teacher is watching
Slumping down in chairs to somehow disappear
Watching the clock that can't be found because it is covered by a penguin poster that says "Chill Out."

Out of the 10 students
2 are reading
1 is working
1 is holding a book that he might possibly read at some point
4 have backpacks on their desks evidently serving as pillows
1 has her binder on the desk but it remains unopened - this might be her first time. She has that deer in the headlights look.
1 is just sitting with nothing at all on his desk.

And then there were 9...
When asked to change seats he refused and when threatened with calling his parents, responded "I don't care."' Those are fighting words. Bye Bye.

10:00 finally arrives. I'm so excited that the first hour has expired that I announce it to my charges. I hear a voice mutter "I should have brought a pillow. Me too!

10:10 A little diversion when the phone rang and T Mobile was offering some "fabulous solutions."

10:25 A student stands up and asks if he can go to the bathroom. I say no. He asks why and I don't respond. He shouts out, my grandma says it's against the law for a teacher not to let you go to the bathroom. What could I possibly say to that. Nothing. He sits down again amidst a few chuckles around him.

There is a certain rhythm in Saturday School. A human being with nothing to do can only sit silently for so long. Every 7-8 minutes there is a sigh or groan or a pen that flies off a desk to be picked up. A piece of paper is taken out of a binded and folded into an airplane and tossed around a desk sometimes falling on the floor and needing to be picked up. Then suddenly the plane is wadded up. Fingers clicking on the desk. Flopping fingers in the air. Anything to make noise and distract yourself from the silence. Paper footballs are made but unfortunately can not be played with for very long in silence.

The last half hour is definitely the worst. There is a squirming in chairs that simply can't be controlled. The urge to talk is undeniable. Yes, Saturday School is true punishment for everyone involved.

The Journey of Life

A month ago I promised myself that I would go see "Slumdog Millionaire." I finally fulfilled that promise today and I'm glad that I did. It is a good movie and left me with some interesting reflections.

I find it difficult to truly absorb chronic and systemic poverty. Those scenes were hard for me to take it. I realized that I react the same way to that as I do to violence. I see it but I don't allow myself to take in the whole picture. It is just a still shot with no emotion attached. I can't go there. I know it's important to the understanding of the story so I talk myself through it so I can hold onto the importance of it but not feel the depth of it. I was especially interested in the setting of this movie because we have just started our unit on Ancient India (which I knew very little about until reently). The childhood scenes were hard to watch but I was intrigued by the transition to the more recent scenes of the high rise businesses and condos. Where did the poor go?

But for me, this movie was all about my belief that the things we experience are all intended to prepare us for what is yet to be. This boy endured horrible things that no child should ever go through. But each one of them was important for him to be able to answer the questions on the millionaire game show that would come later in his life. We all question the sad things that appear on our life journey that we absolutely can not comprehend at the time they are happening. But they mean something and we will need the knowledge that they bring later in life. It is a reminder for me that the universe is in charge and whatever is on my journey is there for a reason. There is no need in questioning it. I only need to hold onto the lessons that will serve as my guide in what is yet to come.

This movie is also a fabulous look at a boy who is determined to do the right thing at any cost. And then there is the love story. We should all have someone in our lives who cares so deeply about us as Jamal did. What a guy!

A Middle School Smile

I gave a writing prompt today and got a response that truly amused me.

What does it mean to you that Barack Obama is president of the United States?

Having Barack Obama as our new president seems pretty good. He's our first black president and it's awesome that we don't have some old wrinkly man controlling America again. Barack Obama isn't like McCain which is good because McCain just wants to spend money. I'm glad Barack Obama is our new president because McCain is quite old and if he died, Sarah Palin would be president and I'm really not fond of her at all. She seems quite trampy.

Praise Song For the Day

My great love of words made this one of my favorite parts of the inauguration.

Praise song for the day.

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.

A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."

We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."

We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."

Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.

America's Song

The difference is hope

This sounds crazy but during the past few days I have caught myself tearing up while watching the news. That is extremely rare for someone like me. It has happened while watching the Ron Clark kids singing, Obama making speeches on the Whistle Stop Train, and simple shots of crowds of people on the Washington Mall. But this morning it happened while watching, for about the 10th time, footage of Sully's landing on the Hudson River. That was the big ah ha for me. These images are all about hope. It is the dream of what is possible.

The inauguration coverage has been unbelievable. I have never seen anything like this before and I am so thrilled to be alive at this point in time and witness what is about to happen. There is a new found patriotism and fervor for who we are as Americans. There is a belief that with Obama as our president, anything is possible. Suddenly the image in my brain has changed from Kennedy to Lincoln. This man will bring us back together to forget the anger that has separated us, the distrust of banks and auto makers that has divided us and believe once again that we, as a people can be better.

There was not this excitement for me with either of Bush's inaugurations. What is that about? It's more than the race thing, although I am deeply aware of how amazing it is that in less than 60 years time we have moved from Jim Crow to a Black man in the White House. No, it is more than that. It's those little girls' faces. But Bush had girls. We just didn't connect with them. Bush was all about protecting the rich. We never saw the embodiment of hope in his girls' faces. But these girls, Sasha and Malia are truly hope come to life. They are the children of a man who knows that hope is in the eyes of all children. Obama knows that is our future.

Obama has called America to service. It has resonated deeply within me. Bush called us to serve but it was to save the government money. Obama has called us to serve to make us all better people. We are being challenged to touch the lives of people who are in need. We are being challenged get to know who we are as Americans. That is the thing about these news clips that has touched me. The faces of the people are all races, colors and ages. They are not the people of a typical inauguration. It is truly America's inauguration. People are coming from everywhere just to be there as a witness to the event that is destined to be a turning point in history. This moment is where our past, present and future meet and for a instant become one.

As a lover of language, I am absolutely euphoric about a man who knows the importance of words. When Obama speaks, my heart absolutely melts. We have had 8 years of seeing our president on TV and dreading what may come out of his mouth. This new president knows the importance of inclusive language. He has a rhythm and cadence to his speech that is in stark contrast to anyone in public office in our recent past. But it's more than his vocabulary and articulation. There is a grace in his presence that I've never seen before. It is clear that respect for all people is crucial to his very core.

What a difference a day will make and the difference is hope. Tomorrow America will inaugurate her 44th president and this country will never again be the same.

I love middle school

I feel like "I love middle school" has once again become my mantra. Today was my first middle school field trip. I was a bit of a wreck for no particular reason besides everything that goes into the orchestration of any other field trip - the planning, scheduling, funding, permission slips, parent drivers/chaperones, transportation, and lunches. I woke up at 4:00 with all kinds of scenarios going through my mind. I tried to take it easy and hang out around the house but finally decided there was no reason to be home when I could be accomplishing something at school. I finished up all the little details and before you knew it we were off. The jump to middle school simply brings a more independent human being. There is a sense of trust that comes with these kids - the assumption that they won't wonder off during lunch or any sort of down time the way an elementary kid might. So before you knew it, I actually felt my body letting go of all the horrible things that could possibly happen. We had a lovely day. We demonstrated our knowledge of ancient Egypt, learned a few new tidbits and made it back to school safe and sound. At the end of the day the only drawback was that I had spent my entire day with the same group of 32 kids. That explained that funny little feeling of boredom that had reared its ugly hear around 2:00. I was reminded of how much I love the movement of middle school. No matter what is happening, you always know that in 50 minutes it will be over and a new group of kids will be waiting at the door. I just love that. So my first field trip is in the books as is my first semester. It is hard to believe the year is already half over. A year ago today I was observing at middle school and fell in love. I knew that what I saw that day was exactly what I wanted to do with the rest of my career. And here I am, doing it. Yes, I love middle school.

Happy Birthday

The day is almost over and through it all, I have been so grateful for P's presence in my life. Today is her birthday but it is I that have received all the gifts. She has been such a blessing in my life. Without her peeling back the layers of my protective wall I'm sure I would never have shared who I really am at Sutter. And that all led to who I am today. We both have the distinct feeling that we were destined to meet. All the twists and turns after the divorce somehow led me to Sutter and I am certain that it was because I had to meet her in order to get my life on track. I am thankful for everything that brought me to today and I am so happy to have the continued blessing and guidance of her friendship. Happy birthday, P. And thank you.

Time has no meaning

Today I had to flip my language arts classes and my social studies classes in order to fit into the computer lab schedule. It was amazing to watch the reaction of the kids. They just could not understand it. My 2nd period class thought they were having 2 periods of language arts followed by 2 periods of social studies. What they thought the other class was going to be doing all day is a mystery. 3rd period always begins with 20 minutes of SSR. So when that class came into language arts, which is normally social studies they could not figure out why we were having SSR. There seemed to be no understanding that 3rd period is actually 20 minutes longer for SSR every single day. It had nothing to do with social studies. It was all quite amazing. I am astounded at how little observation of the world happens in the mind of a 6th grader. I tend to gloss over a lot, thinking they know what's going on. I really do need to tell them about the details of life.

Middle is the right word

Middle school. That's exactly what it is. These kids are in the middle of moving from their parents' loving guidance and protection to making decisions about who they are and who they want to be. This was especially apparent to me today in a very glaring dichotomy. My day started with one of the funniest things I have ever seen in my life. It was 2nd period, the first teaching period for me. Something caught my eye and as I followed the flash I realized that one of my most dramatic students was wearing a bright pink bracelet. But as I looked closer, I realized that, yes indeed it was a florescent pink slinky. She had hooked the end over her thumb and there she was with a shocking pink bracelet that went from her wrist to her elbow. I could hardly stand it. The day rolled along but the pink slinky bracelet reminded me of how much I love these kids. After lunch we were missing one of our students and no one seemed to know where she was. She had clearly been at lunch hanging out with her regular group of friends. As time went by, she eventually showed up with a note from the AP; not necessarily a good sign. After school the little group came in, eager to chat. It tuned out that this girl was involved in fingering a kid who had been rumored to be selling drugs. Somehow she managed to trap him in his answers and she took the information right to the office. These two events really brought the term middle school home to me. These kids are definitely in the middle. They are so desperate to fit in but yet stand out from the crowd they will look around their room and light on something as ordinary as a slinky to make it happen. The other extreme are the kids looking for the boundary between being bad and bringing out the police.

Now this all caused me to think back to my own 6th grade experience. At the time there was no middle school in my neighborhood. My school went k-12 but I do remember 6th grade being a transition year preparing us for Jr/High school. My teacher was Mrs. Miller. I have no doubt that she has passed on as she was on the older side when I had her. She was one of those loving, nurturing teachers that you rarely find in the upper grades. She had one of those dye jobs that turned her hair blue but we loved her dearly. That was back in the day when girls didn't wear pants unless it was freezing and it was improper for them to whistle. I clearly remember her reciting the proverb: A whistling girl and a crowing hen Both will come to a bad end. I had never heard it before but it obviously stuck with me. Although that was the year my brother died the only other thing I remember about 6th grade is the constant question of when my period would start. So the thought of wearing a slinky to school or confronting some kid who may be selling drugs were the furthest thing from my mind. I didn't even know about drugs and our slinkies were all made of metal. Both of these actions take such an incredible amount of courage. It is a reminder to me of what my students are bringing into the classroom along with their binders and brains.

There's just something about cake.

Do you know how much a young child loves taking cupcakes to school for her birthday? Well, the teachers at my school enjoy cake just as much as little kids for our birthday celebration. It hasn't taken long, but I have quickly garnered a reputation around school as a baker. So when our team science teacher's birthday rolled around, I volunteered to bring the cake. You just can't beat the Perfect Chocolate Cake recipe on the back of the Hershey's cocoa can. If that thing was a drug, I would be an addict. So today we ate our very healthy lunches and after a few minutes of obligatory admiration, J cut the cake and passed it around the table. On the first bite you could hear the communal sigh (or maybe it was a moan) as that first taste of chocolate frosting hit our tongues. There is just nothing like it. It is sweet and soft and soothing. One swallow follows another. You take the last bite and once again you sigh and say, "That was good cake." Our science teacher thought I was just the nicest thing ever to have made him a cake. No. There is just something about cake. And the ability to eat it at school seems somehow just a little bit sinful.