This Week

This week feels a little bit like a driving in a freak snow storm. You can't figure out where it came from and there is no way that you can see your way out of it. Every school calendar has one of those periods where you think the devil must have planned it. Who in their right mind would put all of these things together in a 5 day period? The quarter ended on Friday which meant final grading of projects in order to close out report cards along with comments for all those below C students. Today is the District Science Fair. Tomorrow is Open House. Wednesday and Thursday are block schedule days and the district scheduled both the science and writing end of year performance based assessments to be given on the same days. In addition to all of this, I also have 3 separate BTSA meetings this week. And in the meantime, I am attempting to sell my car. The e-mails flying back and forth are something to behold. It is a great lesson in taking one day at a time. It truly is all I can handle during times like this.

I Love Flour Babies

The 7th graders at my school do a one week project where they take care of a baby for a week. They are required to take the baby everywhere throughout the school day. These babies are five pounds of flour that are enclosed inside the body of a stuffed doll. It is just the sweetest thing to see our goofy little 7th grade boys hauling around their babies before school. There is a seriousness to it because anyone caught disrespecting their babies is of course reported to the office. I have really enjoyed our TA coming in with her baby this week. On Monday the baby was faceless and nameless. During the course of the week, she has acquired a name, some beautiful blue eyes and really long eyelashes along with a cute little frog outfit. Our little mother was having a bit of trouble filing while holding the baby today so I got the pleasure of carrying her around the room for a bit while my students worked on their Greek god posters. My kids went kind of cuckoo for a moment but it was great fun to just think about babies for a bit.

That Time of Year Again

Spring in Santa Clara means junk in the street, loose papers, dust blowing across the lawn and scavengers cruising the streets in search of treasures out of trash. It is our annual clean up time. For years I have said that no one could possibly have this mush crap stored away in their homes to be brought out year after year. And yet, year after year, that is exactly what happens. I am so happy to find my little space of empty curb as I come home each day. I am proud to be junkless this year. My remodeling days are over and I do my best to move my unused clothing and household goods to the Goodwill on a regular basis. In my mind, junk belongs in the trash and we already have a truck that comes by every week for that purpose. I'm not a saver so there is no way I can understand the amount of just stuff I see in the street. Mattresses, broken down furniture, old appliances, boxes and boxes of c-r-a-p. But the most fascinating part of the whole process is to watch the scavengers. They always know the weekend that each part of town is scheduled to put their stuff out. The go getters are out bright and early on Saturday morning and often are putting things in their trucks as quickly as you can bring them to the curb. I fluctuate between thinking that it's a great way for the poor to get things they can use to build what they need and just being irritated at the parade of vans and trucks that puruse the neighborhood throughout the weekend. It is just part of our Santa Clara culture. This year it is expecially messy because of the mixed up weather. Our nice warm afternoons somehow morphed into cold, rain and wind. Not a good mixture with piles and piles of c-r-a-p that have been stored in some distant corner of a dusty, moldy garage for the past 11 months. I am defintely not a neat freak but I am ready for the big truck to come take it all away.

Who we become

It seems that lately the paper has been filled with deaths of teenage boys. I was most touched by the Los Gatos high school student who didn't come home from the beach and was assumed drowned. This touched me for a myriad of reasons. Death of the young has a profound effect on the loved ones left behind. P, D and I had an interesting discussion over dinner and wine a few nights ago about the way we have each as individuals been changed by losing a brother and son. Losing my brother at a young age changed who I would become. It changed my place in the family. I went from being one of the middle children to the "baby." I liked being third a lot better. Middle kids can get away with a lot. It changed how I felt about the world. It was no longer a safe place. And it changed me spiritually. I was just certain that I would be the next to go. As I have aged, I have been able to sort and classify a lot of the feelings that resulted from his death but nothing can change the fact that one single event can forever change who I became. I viewed life as a sister who had lost her brother. P and D had similar feelings in the death of their son. Everyone in the family felt that loss in many different ways. But the end result is that they are all different people today because of that event.

In the classroom, we as teachers like to look out at our students and think that we are looking at 11 or 12 year olds, boys and girls, high, middle and low achievers. But that is an injustice to who they really are. Each one of those kids is different. They have had different experiences that have changed who they are becoming. They have had loved ones die, they are living in divorced homes, they have parents who are losing jobs and fighting to hold on. There is only one way I can look at those 60 some kids - as children who are trying to make their way in the world, who are being changed day by day by events of which they have no control, and to look deeply and see the reality of who they truly are.

Lost Generation

Hope is the answer.

I Just Can't Decide...

Today felt like the first day in I don't know how long that I didn't have a meeting after school. I was so excited just to have some time to get my head together on my Ancient China unit. Actually, in all honesty, I don't know if you can call it a unit or not. Not knowing much about ancient China or having any other activities to teach with, I just stuck with the book. We are all incredibly bored and I just want to get it over with so we can get to Greece. Well there was no head-getting=together time today because of the piles of papers that needed to be corrected. So I turned on Pandora and just got busy looking forward to the idea of not taking any work home for a change. I am very focused when working in my classroom and I know I actually get through it faster but I also love, love being at home on the couch. It is an on-going dilemma for me with the additional paper work in middle school. Should I put the extra time in at school so that when I actually do go home I can relax without grades on my mind or do I get out of there as soon as I can and fit the work in at home as the evening progresses? As an elementary teacher, I was adamant about never taking school home but it is much more challenging these days. I am determined to not let the paperwork get ahead of me and so far I have stayed on top of it all. BTSA meetings with the new teachers I support just do not make it possible to finish my work at school on a daily/nightly basis. So today I hung in there until it was all done including my note taking on Taoism for tomorrow's lesson. The problem is I was still sitting at my desk at 6:00. That's not good. But I did enjoy my walk home with a completely empty head. I saw flowers I hadn't noticed before, enjoyed the sun falling into the rising fog and exchanged greetings with the guys hanging around the liquor store panhandling for "bus fare." That's certainly worth something. So my dilemma continues but I don't worry too much about it. This like all dilemmas that I try to make into decisions, will be taken care of by the universe one way or the other.

Earth

The cosmos was once thought to be made up of only 4 elements; earth, air, water, and fire. In my early adult years I had a strong affinity toward fire. Perhaps it was just the leftovers of my teenage angst and college rebellion. The baby years were definitely a time of water for me. But the last few years I have felt my spirit mellow into earth. I am one of those people who has an internal clock that is in total sync with the rising and setting of the sun. I have no need of an alarm clock and only use one if I have an appointment that is completely out of the ordinary. I feel sorry for people who have to be jarred out of their sleep by obnoxious noises.

So here we are in the first day of Daylight Savings Time. Winter is bidding adieu and Spring is taking her stand. This is the time of year when I feel the pull to earth the strongest. The increase in light and drying of the land practically drags me into nurseries and out to the back yard. I try to keep up with my weeds throughout the year but it is in March that it actually brings me joy to pull as many as I possibly can. I clear the path reaching out and bringing back handfuls of green stems and yellow blossoms. I am like a farmer who cultivates in great swaths of his field. I move across the yard section by section sometimes vertically and sometimes horizontally, leaving emptiness in my wake. I love the sight of the brown black earth that lies beneath. It is the blank canvas that will bring forth the unknown summer blooms and vegetables. I'm not one of those people who insists on garden gloves. They're nice when I think about putting them on but I actually love the feel of dirt inside my fingernails. I have often thought it is because I work in a job where it is difficult to see what you accomplished in the day to day scheme of things. But dirt in your nails and clear garden paths make it very clear. You can stand back and admire that and say, "Look what I did today." When I am in the dirt I lose all concerns or worries for the future. I feel completely grounded and know that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I am simply there accepting what is and knowing what can never be. Tulips and daffodils only bloom in the spring, tomatoes and zucchini have to wait for their time in summer. I remember once again the importance of allowing the universe to be in charge. As the sun travels across the sky I am being pulled again. I am hesitant to stop my gardening. I want to hold on to the feelings of harmony that have once again returned as I move toward spring. But I know I have a school bag full of papers waiting for me. I promise myself to find time during the week to return to the garden. This is what that mortgage is all about and why I live in a little green house with a big back yard.

First Grade is Such a Distant Memory

Long long ago I was a first grade teacher and I did it for a long long time. As a support provider I once again find myself in first grade classrooms to observe my teachers. The same feeling washes over me each time I cross the threshhold. I did this? I stood in front of these little bodies for 180 days at a crack and taught them to read and write and add and subtract? You have got to be kidding me! As I look at these little ones with confusion over who I was or who I have become I distinctly remember my family saying the same sorts of things to me. How do you do it? Where does the patience come from to work with 6 year olds? I have absolutely no explanation of the journey I have been on. But when I looked at those kids today it was like being on another planet. They have such round little faces and bodies and speak with such squeaky high pitched voices. Looking into their eyes, the word diligence came into my head. They all looked so darned serious about what they were doing. They sit up straight in their chairs and speak with the upmost respect to any and all adults. Seriousness pervades their very being. It is such an opposite world from my sixth grade students who just flop into their chairs and meet your gaze with that "I dare you to teach me look." Glancing around the room you're amazed at the cleanliness, for lack of a better term. The girls are so cute from the top of their perfectly parted hair below a crown of headbands and frilly little scrunchies all the way down to their shiny sparkly shoes. The boys are almost squeaky clean in their tucked in polo shirts and perfect pants. They're even cute when they are getting in trouble. The lower lip gets sucked inside the mouth and you wait for the tears but they are held tight inside. They sulk down in their chairs until you think they will completely melt away. Minutes later someone is walk/skip/dancing across the room. You hear something that resembles a song and realize that one of them is read/chant/singing the directions on the paper. It is close to comical but the seriousness that is everywhere in the room keeps the smile on your face from being vocalized into a giggle. Something catches my eye and I see an upside down index finger being inserted into a mouth like iron to a magnet. Is the seriousness turning into something more? As I rise to leave, I see one of those perfect princesses running towards me. I bend down to meet the outstretched arms and she says, "Thank you for coming to watch us today." How cute is that? But really... I did this? Everyday? For 8 years? It is umcomprehensible but at the same time a wonderful reminder of this amazing journey I am on.

The Comfort of Old Friendships

The comfort of old friendships is a feeling that can not be duplicated. I had dinner with an old friend tonight for the first time in quite a while. Our lives took a few turns that caused us to lose track of one another for a couple years so this was our chance to reconnect. We go back more years than I care to admit but we first met during the days of the vegetable coop and soon after that our kids went to school together. Those "kids" are now 31 years old. Hard to believe. We taught together many many years ago. She was as close to a mentor as I have ever had. I cannot imagine the number of hours we have passed talking literacy in the last 20 years. She has moved on to administration and I to middle school. We have often compared our friendship to a pair of old shoes. One day you rediscover them in the back of your closet and immediately remember how comfortable those shoes are and put them back on just for the pure pleasure of it all. Oh yes. I love my old shoes. The wonder of those tried and true friendships come from being so well known. There's no need to try and explain who you are, where you have come from or how you ended up where you are today. It is all understood. The conversation is easy and it just seems to flow from one topic to another. There is no issue with sharing food or splitting bills. It is all just so comfortable. I am grateful for the journey I am on and all those I have been given to accompany me. But I really like it when I circle back around and have the joy once again of hanging out with an old friend.

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!