Dear sister,
I overheard the following conversation yesterday, when we were on a field trip to Goodwill Park. (Don't get me started on the merits-v-losses of a day-long field trip to play tag football and eat hamburgers instead of spending more productive time in the classroom and yes I know it's team building but the idea that that can only be done outside of the classroom is one with which I vehemently disagree and while I do find it enormously helpful for us teachers to see our students outside of the usual context from time to time because yes it does help us remember they are full human beings and not just "struggling readers" or "strong writers" nevertheless my predominant problem with this kind of thing can best be summed up by one of my fellow team teachers saying to me at the end of the day, "hey, this is way better than a day spent teaching" ... oh. Wait. Sorry. Um ... hand me a chair.)
Anyway, I overheard this conversation, and I found it hilarious but had trouble conveying why I thought it was so funny to my fellow teachers. So I thought I should check with you and see what you thought. Because generally, you know, we crack us up.
8th grade girl: Oooh, look, I found a grasshopper! He's my new friend.
8th grade boy: Cool.
girl: What should I name you, little grasshopper?
boy: Barry.
girl: (stares at him in disbelief) Barry is the name of my dead grandfather.
boy: Um, I didn't say Barry. Gary. I said Gary.
girl: Oh, ok! Hello, little Gary ...
I mean ... right? The number of things that is funny about that just overwhelms me.
Also, yesterday we played duck-duck-goose with the 8th graders, but when it was our newly-arrived-doesn't-speak-English-yet student's turn, we played duck ... duck ... duck ... SHOES!
I almost fell over laughing.
Much love,
your I-made-every-class-take-a-unit-test-first-period-before-they-could-go-on-the-field-trip-because-I'm-a-mean-teacher-who-refuses-to-lose-an-entire-day-to-duck-duck-goose-and-hot-dogs sister
Showing posts with label educating the future of America. Show all posts
Showing posts with label educating the future of America. Show all posts
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
shhh ...
Dear sister,
So, a few things have happened of late, all of which you know about, and all of which have kept me from remembering to blog to you. I mean, I remembered, but never at opportune times. It was always when I was doing something like sitting through new teacher orientations, signing up for my first-ever union card, working overnight shifts at PitS during the advent of a hurricane, lighting candles with Grandma during and after afore-mentioned hurricane, sitting through more teacher orientations, setting up my classroom, celebrating my 28th birthday and my godson's 1st, and/or listening to StrongDad and BeachMom's fret about Super Tiger. All of which has happened in the past two weeks (except for that last one which, as I know you know, has happened pretty much every day).
But since you already know about all of that, I thought I should tell you a few things that you didn't know. About me. That's right - there are things you don't know about me.
For instance, I am a gardener. I know, I didn't know it either, but the brothers at the monastery thought it was true and, as it turns out, I was pretty good at keeping the vegetable gardens growing. I even managed to keep some of the flowers alive, after diagnosing them with things like leaf miners and lily beetles and black spot mold. I tried to explain to the brothers that my success therein wasn't due to any inherent knowledge on my part but a somewhat haphazard combination of common sense, general information collected from the internet and the local greenhouses in town, and dumb luck. They were duly unimpressed by my confessions, and continued to refer to me as their "master gardener." Eventually I kind of gave up professing my innocence, and figured that even real "master gardeners" must have started somewhere.
I will take absolutely no credit for the zucchini growing rampant in the compost pile, though - that is obviously a force of nature unto itself.
Second, I am an adventurer. Stop laughing. Clean up the wine you just spat out all over your laptop. (Sorry for making you do that; I hope the keys are still all ok.) But seriously, someone said this to me recently. I went in to fill out all my paperwork with HR and they actually said, regarding summer paychecks, that I might want to take them all in one lump sum at the beginning in the summer, "so that I don't have to worry about them when I go off on another one of my adventures."
All this time I've found it funny when people are astonished to learn I was born in Kalamazoo, but let me tell you -- casually mentioning that I lived for a time in Alaska is an even better game. Never mind that it was only for five months, and that, obviously, I came home instead of sticking it out for the long haul. I am now the kind of person who goes on "adventures." And none of the people who have known me as a child can hear me say that and keep a straight face. (When I told Rolo about this, she laughed for a good five minutes and then giggled for another ten.)
So. There's that.
The last thing I would like to tell you is that starting tomorrow, roughly 85 or so eighth graders will take their turns walking into my classroom. Because I am now their competent, qualified, and generally all-around-respectable English teacher. I'm relying on your discretion and undying admiration of me to keep your mouth shut about this one as well. As this summer has shown, "fake it til you make it" can sometimes lead to hilariously successful results.
Love,
your tone deaf (as in, dammit-I-still-can't-tune-a-guitar-no-matter-how-many-times-I-try-to-pretend-like-I-can) sister
So, a few things have happened of late, all of which you know about, and all of which have kept me from remembering to blog to you. I mean, I remembered, but never at opportune times. It was always when I was doing something like sitting through new teacher orientations, signing up for my first-ever union card, working overnight shifts at PitS during the advent of a hurricane, lighting candles with Grandma during and after afore-mentioned hurricane, sitting through more teacher orientations, setting up my classroom, celebrating my 28th birthday and my godson's 1st, and/or listening to StrongDad and BeachMom's fret about Super Tiger. All of which has happened in the past two weeks (except for that last one which, as I know you know, has happened pretty much every day).
But since you already know about all of that, I thought I should tell you a few things that you didn't know. About me. That's right - there are things you don't know about me.
For instance, I am a gardener. I know, I didn't know it either, but the brothers at the monastery thought it was true and, as it turns out, I was pretty good at keeping the vegetable gardens growing. I even managed to keep some of the flowers alive, after diagnosing them with things like leaf miners and lily beetles and black spot mold. I tried to explain to the brothers that my success therein wasn't due to any inherent knowledge on my part but a somewhat haphazard combination of common sense, general information collected from the internet and the local greenhouses in town, and dumb luck. They were duly unimpressed by my confessions, and continued to refer to me as their "master gardener." Eventually I kind of gave up professing my innocence, and figured that even real "master gardeners" must have started somewhere.
I will take absolutely no credit for the zucchini growing rampant in the compost pile, though - that is obviously a force of nature unto itself.
Second, I am an adventurer. Stop laughing. Clean up the wine you just spat out all over your laptop. (Sorry for making you do that; I hope the keys are still all ok.) But seriously, someone said this to me recently. I went in to fill out all my paperwork with HR and they actually said, regarding summer paychecks, that I might want to take them all in one lump sum at the beginning in the summer, "so that I don't have to worry about them when I go off on another one of my adventures."
All this time I've found it funny when people are astonished to learn I was born in Kalamazoo, but let me tell you -- casually mentioning that I lived for a time in Alaska is an even better game. Never mind that it was only for five months, and that, obviously, I came home instead of sticking it out for the long haul. I am now the kind of person who goes on "adventures." And none of the people who have known me as a child can hear me say that and keep a straight face. (When I told Rolo about this, she laughed for a good five minutes and then giggled for another ten.)
So. There's that.
The last thing I would like to tell you is that starting tomorrow, roughly 85 or so eighth graders will take their turns walking into my classroom. Because I am now their competent, qualified, and generally all-around-respectable English teacher. I'm relying on your discretion and undying admiration of me to keep your mouth shut about this one as well. As this summer has shown, "fake it til you make it" can sometimes lead to hilariously successful results.
Love,
your tone deaf (as in, dammit-I-still-can't-tune-a-guitar-no-matter-how-many-times-I-try-to-pretend-like-I-can) sister
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
who v. how many?
Dear sister,
(This post will be interspersed with outtakes from SuperTiger brother’s senior photo shoot this past weekend, even though you’ve probably seen them all on facebook. Oh, and they have nothing to do with the content of this post. Not saying anything, just sayin’ …)
Election confession: I didn’t vote. I know, I know. When I turned 18, SuperTiger Brother wrote me a birthday card that just said, “Happy Birthday – don’t forget to register to vote!” And I did, that year. And then I’ve voted shamefully few times since then … it bothers me every time. But when you move every 9 months or so, as I seem to do these days, it’s hard to remember to change your voter registration each time … along with your license, vehicle registration, insurance garaging, cell phone, bank, and credit card addresses, and on on, and so on …
I think our country’s leaders, the ones who want us to vote, are making the same mistake I often make in teaching. They’re asking “who” instead of “how many.” Try it some time with a group of teens: ask them “who has the answer to #4?” and you’ll get the few, the proud, the courageous raising their hands. The others, the ones who know but don’t care, can’t be bothered.
For some reason, asking “how many have the answer?” generates a much larger response. Maybe because it somehow makes you feel that the response is obligatory, instead of optional, since the question is looking for a head count and not a volunteer. Or maybe because they’re not used to hearing that question and it wakes them up. Who knows. Either way, sometimes I think our voting system might want to try asking "how many" sometime, instead of the usual "who?"
Anyway. I was thinking about this, and I was watching the “Rally to Restore Sanity” (since working 7 days a week makes it hard to travel anywhere these days …). I’ve been to two different marches in Washington D.C., both to protest the war, and both times I was struck by the same impression that the point of the rally was not actually to make a statement, or send a message, or even to change anyone’s mind. The point of the march was simply to march – and the point of the rally, to rally. In other words, what was great about the experience was the feeling of community, of being surrounded by like-minded strangers coming together from across the country, of solidarity and unity and vocal, visual similar points of view. A call to answer the question "how many" instead of merely "who."
Thinking of rallys, and of solidarity, and of the fact that I owed you a post, I was watching the rally with a notepad at my side, jotting down my thoughts on a minute-by minute-basis so I could share them with you later. It started out like this:
11:55 – how do I get the TV to turn on?
11:56 -- (ring, ring) why doesn’t SuperTiger brother ever answer his phone?
12:02 – oh, there we go.
12:03 – are they having mic problems? why is every one running around behind the drum set?
12:14 – Did John Legend just take his cell phone out of his pocket as he sat down to sing?
12:16 – (ring, ring) Hi SuperTiger brother. No, I just wanted to know how to turn the television on. No, I got it. No … well, yes, I am related to StrongDad.
12:17 – is my cell phone ringing again?
12:18 – oh, no, that’s part of the song. that’s … weird.
12:44 – Hi, Bode. Oh – ok, okay, okay .. Ok, good dog. Lie down. No – no, lie down. Good boy..
12:58 – They’ve managed to make our national anthem sound amazingly like a contemporary Christmas carol.
1:05 – Huh, I really wish I could talk to Ella right now. I mean … oh, wait.
1:07 – (ring ring) Hi Ella!
And yes, that was the point at which I realized I could just call and talk to you. Which means this is the end of the blog post, because you know what happened from there.
Love,
your sister
(This post will be interspersed with outtakes from SuperTiger brother’s senior photo shoot this past weekend, even though you’ve probably seen them all on facebook. Oh, and they have nothing to do with the content of this post. Not saying anything, just sayin’ …)
Election confession: I didn’t vote. I know, I know. When I turned 18, SuperTiger Brother wrote me a birthday card that just said, “Happy Birthday – don’t forget to register to vote!” And I did, that year. And then I’ve voted shamefully few times since then … it bothers me every time. But when you move every 9 months or so, as I seem to do these days, it’s hard to remember to change your voter registration each time … along with your license, vehicle registration, insurance garaging, cell phone, bank, and credit card addresses, and on on, and so on …
I think our country’s leaders, the ones who want us to vote, are making the same mistake I often make in teaching. They’re asking “who” instead of “how many.” Try it some time with a group of teens: ask them “who has the answer to #4?” and you’ll get the few, the proud, the courageous raising their hands. The others, the ones who know but don’t care, can’t be bothered.
For some reason, asking “how many have the answer?” generates a much larger response. Maybe because it somehow makes you feel that the response is obligatory, instead of optional, since the question is looking for a head count and not a volunteer. Or maybe because they’re not used to hearing that question and it wakes them up. Who knows. Either way, sometimes I think our voting system might want to try asking "how many" sometime, instead of the usual "who?"
Anyway. I was thinking about this, and I was watching the “Rally to Restore Sanity” (since working 7 days a week makes it hard to travel anywhere these days …). I’ve been to two different marches in Washington D.C., both to protest the war, and both times I was struck by the same impression that the point of the rally was not actually to make a statement, or send a message, or even to change anyone’s mind. The point of the march was simply to march – and the point of the rally, to rally. In other words, what was great about the experience was the feeling of community, of being surrounded by like-minded strangers coming together from across the country, of solidarity and unity and vocal, visual similar points of view. A call to answer the question "how many" instead of merely "who."
Thinking of rallys, and of solidarity, and of the fact that I owed you a post, I was watching the rally with a notepad at my side, jotting down my thoughts on a minute-by minute-basis so I could share them with you later. It started out like this:
11:55 – how do I get the TV to turn on?
11:56 -- (ring, ring) why doesn’t SuperTiger brother ever answer his phone?
12:02 – oh, there we go.
12:03 – are they having mic problems? why is every one running around behind the drum set?
12:14 – Did John Legend just take his cell phone out of his pocket as he sat down to sing?
12:16 – (ring, ring) Hi SuperTiger brother. No, I just wanted to know how to turn the television on. No, I got it. No … well, yes, I am related to StrongDad.
12:17 – is my cell phone ringing again?
12:18 – oh, no, that’s part of the song. that’s … weird.
12:44 – Hi, Bode. Oh – ok, okay, okay .. Ok, good dog. Lie down. No – no, lie down. Good boy..
12:58 – They’ve managed to make our national anthem sound amazingly like a contemporary Christmas carol.
1:05 – Huh, I really wish I could talk to Ella right now. I mean … oh, wait.
1:07 – (ring ring) Hi Ella!
And yes, that was the point at which I realized I could just call and talk to you. Which means this is the end of the blog post, because you know what happened from there.
Love,
your sister
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