I'm very protective of my Facebook account because I don't want my students to find me. Conveniently - it started out as a joke my freshman year of college - I have a "The" in front of my real name, so when my students search for me, there are hundreds of people in front of me.
But someone found me.
Last week, a student came up and said so nonchalantly, "That's the shirt you wore in your Facebook pic with your wife." I tried to play it off, but they found me. Well, apparently that started a firestorm of kids looking at what little information is provided on my private account. So today, as I'm leading them to lunch, the conversation occurs.
TW: "Mr. Lowe, your wife's fine! Miss Utah 2009!"
(My wife competed competed in Miss Utah in 2008 before we were married)
Me: "What are you talking about?"
TW: "I googled your wife. She's pretty hot, but I guess she'd have to be in order to be Miss Utah."
Me: "How did you even find out her name?"
TW: "I have my ways."
EW (one of my favorites, she said it in the most innocent way): "Yeah, I looked, too. She's very pretty, Mr. Lowe, how did she end up with you?"
I got owned by a 14-year-old girl.
Me: "I went to college. College does wonders. My wife's beauty quotient is infinitely higher once I got my degree. Take a hint."
It still stings.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
I Heart Technology
Grading assignments sucks. Bigtime. And if you're a teacher and you refute that statement, you're lying to yourself. It takes forever. It becomes monotonous. The time could be much better spent on bettering the classroom in other ways.
For those who are not teachers, you have no idea of the treachery. What seems like it should take maybe an hour ends up occupying an entire afternoon and evening. It's miserable. Hot lead to the eyes is the closest comparison.
I hate grading. But then came this lil' guy.
My school, because it's brand new, had funding to buy a bunch of cool technology to enhance the classroom experience. One of the purchases was a set of remotes that wirelessly connect to our SmartBoards and make it possible for the kids to take tests and quizzes without using paper. And the best part:
NO GRADING! It does everything for you. It has changed my life infinitely for the better.
Thus, I am thankful, in this season of thanks, for technology that allows me to not grade for seven hours straight.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, from your favorite teacher.
For those who are not teachers, you have no idea of the treachery. What seems like it should take maybe an hour ends up occupying an entire afternoon and evening. It's miserable. Hot lead to the eyes is the closest comparison.
I hate grading. But then came this lil' guy.
My school, because it's brand new, had funding to buy a bunch of cool technology to enhance the classroom experience. One of the purchases was a set of remotes that wirelessly connect to our SmartBoards and make it possible for the kids to take tests and quizzes without using paper. And the best part:
NO GRADING! It does everything for you. It has changed my life infinitely for the better.
Thus, I am thankful, in this season of thanks, for technology that allows me to not grade for seven hours straight.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, from your favorite teacher.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Angst on Thanksgiving Break Eve
Those who know me best know that I am a seasoned veteran in all things sarcastic. I've worked very hard to become the witty, smart-alec that I am, but it has proven very difficult to suppress that part of my personality when a student deserves that sarcasm the most.
In that today is Thanksgiving Break Eve, I just wasn't gonna let anything get to me. Then MS happened to me after lunch.
Me: "M, where are you supposed to be?"
MS: "I'm going to class."
Me: "Where exactly is that class? Because the bell rang 14 minutes ago and you should be in the class, not going to it."
Then MS blew his lid.
MS: "I HAVE TO GO TO GYM!"
But it's Thanksgiving Break Eve, so I kept my cool.
Me: "Why are you shouting? I'm not yelling at you, so why are you yelling at me?"
MS: "I'M NOT YELLING! WHY DO YOU CARE?!"
Me: "Look, it's almost Thanksgiving Break, so if you want to ruin your day, then ruin it, but don't drag me into your misery."
MS: "I HAVE TO GO TO GYM! THEY WON'T LET US IN!"
That last comment made absolute no sense to anybody, but he had pushed me too far. I raised myself up to my full 6'4 frame (he's about 5'10) and got right in his face. I then began to raise my voice, telling him that if he wants to yell, I can yell. So I yelled.
Me (post-yelling): "Get into my classroom, we've got some things to fix before you go anywhere else."
MS: "I'M NOT GOING! I HAVE TO GO TO GYM!"
Me: "Get into my classroom, but don't you dare disrupt my class."
He came in, yelled and hollered some more, then slammed himself into a seat and stared at the class.
And then came out the sarcasm.
Me: "M, turn around, nobody wants to see your face. Stare at the whiteboard."
More shouting on his part.
The assistant principal, who definitely does not shy from discipline, pops his head in laughing because he heard what I had just said and asks if he can help. I let him know that I've got it handled. MS starts shouting again.
Assistant Principal: "Little guy, you better make Mr. Lowe your best friend because he's the only thing that stands between you and me. If he gives me the go-ahead, we'll go down to my office and you'll be out of here - not for today, not for tomorrow, not for Thanksgiving. For forever. We'll send you to Treadwell and they LOVE kids like you because you're fresh meat, raw meat. And I'm more than happy to dangle you above their cage. So you better get Mr. Lowe on your side because it's rough on my side."
My whole class was freaked out. At that point, the AP leaves and I think he's gone. MS shouts "I NEED TO GO TO GYM!" With every syllable, he slams his hand on his knee really hard. I've calmed down because, again, it's Thanksgiving Break Eve.
Me: "M, you shouldn't hit your knee like that, it's just not nice, your knee doesn't deserve it."
The class explodes in laughter. I'm so far past done with this kid that I didn't hold back.
Me: "Class, are we laughing with him or at him?"
Class, in unison: "AT HIM!"
Once the classroom dies down, I hear the assistant principal laughing at my door. I thought he had left, but he had been there the whole time and heard my question to the class.
Success. The kid spent the next 2.5 hours in my classroom doing write-offs.
It's Thanksgiving Break Eve and nobody's getting in the way of that.
In that today is Thanksgiving Break Eve, I just wasn't gonna let anything get to me. Then MS happened to me after lunch.
Me: "M, where are you supposed to be?"
MS: "I'm going to class."
Me: "Where exactly is that class? Because the bell rang 14 minutes ago and you should be in the class, not going to it."
Then MS blew his lid.
MS: "I HAVE TO GO TO GYM!"
But it's Thanksgiving Break Eve, so I kept my cool.
Me: "Why are you shouting? I'm not yelling at you, so why are you yelling at me?"
MS: "I'M NOT YELLING! WHY DO YOU CARE?!"
Me: "Look, it's almost Thanksgiving Break, so if you want to ruin your day, then ruin it, but don't drag me into your misery."
MS: "I HAVE TO GO TO GYM! THEY WON'T LET US IN!"
That last comment made absolute no sense to anybody, but he had pushed me too far. I raised myself up to my full 6'4 frame (he's about 5'10) and got right in his face. I then began to raise my voice, telling him that if he wants to yell, I can yell. So I yelled.
Me (post-yelling): "Get into my classroom, we've got some things to fix before you go anywhere else."
MS: "I'M NOT GOING! I HAVE TO GO TO GYM!"
Me: "Get into my classroom, but don't you dare disrupt my class."
He came in, yelled and hollered some more, then slammed himself into a seat and stared at the class.
And then came out the sarcasm.
Me: "M, turn around, nobody wants to see your face. Stare at the whiteboard."
More shouting on his part.
The assistant principal, who definitely does not shy from discipline, pops his head in laughing because he heard what I had just said and asks if he can help. I let him know that I've got it handled. MS starts shouting again.
Assistant Principal: "Little guy, you better make Mr. Lowe your best friend because he's the only thing that stands between you and me. If he gives me the go-ahead, we'll go down to my office and you'll be out of here - not for today, not for tomorrow, not for Thanksgiving. For forever. We'll send you to Treadwell and they LOVE kids like you because you're fresh meat, raw meat. And I'm more than happy to dangle you above their cage. So you better get Mr. Lowe on your side because it's rough on my side."
My whole class was freaked out. At that point, the AP leaves and I think he's gone. MS shouts "I NEED TO GO TO GYM!" With every syllable, he slams his hand on his knee really hard. I've calmed down because, again, it's Thanksgiving Break Eve.
Me: "M, you shouldn't hit your knee like that, it's just not nice, your knee doesn't deserve it."
The class explodes in laughter. I'm so far past done with this kid that I didn't hold back.
Me: "Class, are we laughing with him or at him?"
Class, in unison: "AT HIM!"
Once the classroom dies down, I hear the assistant principal laughing at my door. I thought he had left, but he had been there the whole time and heard my question to the class.
Success. The kid spent the next 2.5 hours in my classroom doing write-offs.
It's Thanksgiving Break Eve and nobody's getting in the way of that.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Quiz Funnies
Vocabulary quizzes each week usually produce some real gems, here are the latest:
I wasn't aware that a hand cream was the most hated thing in America. It's a good thing that Osma ben Lotion was found.
Apparently, his sister doesn't trust her boyfriend.
Ms. Misconish is their math teacher next door and, apparently, two girls aren't very happy with her...
I wasn't aware that a hand cream was the most hated thing in America. It's a good thing that Osma ben Lotion was found.
Apparently, his sister doesn't trust her boyfriend.
Ms. Misconish is their math teacher next door and, apparently, two girls aren't very happy with her...
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
...but he eats his boogers.
The funniest e-mail I've received yet as a teacher.
She was moved today thanks to her mother's delicately-worded statement of facts.
She was moved today thanks to her mother's delicately-worded statement of facts.
Friday, October 28, 2011
"I Hear America in Need"
Each year, I like to have my students re-write Walt Whitman's poem, "I Hear America Singing." It allows me a glimpse into how they see America in its current state. My only criterion is that they have to entitle it and use the first line "I Hear America __________," where they include the word they feel is appropriate.
Last year, this was a success and I received two very well-written responses. They were very personal and very insightful.
This year, one of my favorite students, TP, wrote a great free verse poem that actually gauged the current state of affairs quite well. He wants to be a journalist when he grows up and I think that's a fantastic idea.
I Hear America in Need
I Hear America in need
In need of a leader that can settle everything
That can bring balance between the parties
That can handle healthcare
That can handle employment
That can handle taxes
America is in need of a change
America needs a leader
Can't you hear the crying?
The pain that our economy is in?
It's not that bad as of now
In the future - it will be
I open my ears and I try to see
I hear America in need.
Boom.
TP: 1 - Walt Whitman: 0
Last year, this was a success and I received two very well-written responses. They were very personal and very insightful.
This year, one of my favorite students, TP, wrote a great free verse poem that actually gauged the current state of affairs quite well. He wants to be a journalist when he grows up and I think that's a fantastic idea.
I Hear America in Need
I Hear America in need
In need of a leader that can settle everything
That can bring balance between the parties
That can handle healthcare
That can handle employment
That can handle taxes
America is in need of a change
America needs a leader
Can't you hear the crying?
The pain that our economy is in?
It's not that bad as of now
In the future - it will be
I open my ears and I try to see
I hear America in need.
Boom.
TP: 1 - Walt Whitman: 0
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Middle School Dating
Today, I was allowed an ultra-exclusive glimpse into the dark world known as "middle school dating." I went in not knowing what to expect. It was a scary place. It all started with a conversation.
EW: "Mr. Lowe, I'm going on a date tonight! To church!"
Me: "Wait, you're going on a date? You're 13. And to church?"
EW: "No, it's a halloween party at church. Well, it's not really a date because we're not seeing each other, but we're going together."
Me: "What's the difference?"
EW: " 'What's the difference?' Well, the difference is that we're not dating or seeing each other, but we're going together. Huge difference, Mr. Lowe."
Me: "I'm lost."
EW: "Well, there are five steps to dating someone and we're not on step five yet."
Me: "Five steps? That's too complicated. You like him or you don't. You date him or you don't."
Obviously, I'm not learned in the arts of middle school relationships.
EW: "Yes, there are five steps and you have to follow them closely to get anywhere."
She said it in such a condescending, Duh-Mr.-Lowe tone that I almost felt like I was an idiot for even asking.
And the steps are as follows (and don't you DARE deviate from the list or your relationship will never, ever, in-a-million-years work for you.
1. You like each other
2. You text each other
3. You talk to each other
4. You're seen in public together
5. You're in a relationship
At first, I thought this was a bit absurd, but as I measure up the steps of my relationship with my wife, I realized that these 13-year-old girls might be onto something.
My wife and I were set up on a blind date by my fraternity brothers. So we didn't really have the chance to like her prior to speaking, but I had seen pictures and that was enough to spark an interest. Then I called her (instead of texting). We talked. We were seen in public. Then we were in a relationship.
I guess middle school relationships never end....until 4th period.
EW: "Mr. Lowe, I'm going on a date tonight! To church!"
Me: "Wait, you're going on a date? You're 13. And to church?"
EW: "No, it's a halloween party at church. Well, it's not really a date because we're not seeing each other, but we're going together."
Me: "What's the difference?"
EW: " 'What's the difference?' Well, the difference is that we're not dating or seeing each other, but we're going together. Huge difference, Mr. Lowe."
Me: "I'm lost."
EW: "Well, there are five steps to dating someone and we're not on step five yet."
Me: "Five steps? That's too complicated. You like him or you don't. You date him or you don't."
Obviously, I'm not learned in the arts of middle school relationships.
EW: "Yes, there are five steps and you have to follow them closely to get anywhere."
She said it in such a condescending, Duh-Mr.-Lowe tone that I almost felt like I was an idiot for even asking.
And the steps are as follows (and don't you DARE deviate from the list or your relationship will never, ever, in-a-million-years work for you.
1. You like each other
2. You text each other
3. You talk to each other
4. You're seen in public together
5. You're in a relationship
At first, I thought this was a bit absurd, but as I measure up the steps of my relationship with my wife, I realized that these 13-year-old girls might be onto something.
My wife and I were set up on a blind date by my fraternity brothers. So we didn't really have the chance to like her prior to speaking, but I had seen pictures and that was enough to spark an interest. Then I called her (instead of texting). We talked. We were seen in public. Then we were in a relationship.
I guess middle school relationships never end....until 4th period.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Proving Me Wrong
Baby days are upon us! The "Teen Living" class at the school issued out plastic, crying, life-size babies to students so that they can have a smack in the face of how bad it sucks sucks sucks to have a kid when you're not ready.
In one of my classes yesterday, there were four plastic offspring that wouldn't shut their soundboxes off. Finally, all of them were silent at the same time and it was bliss.
At the beginning of the 8th grade hall at my school is the classroom that houses the severely-challenged or mentally disabled students who have around the clock care. The door is always shut and nobody really knows they're there because the classroom is entirely self-sufficient (stove, washer, dryer, etc.)
Yesterday, as soon as my room was free of crying babies, the door swung open and a young girl ran in. I had never seen the girl before, but it was immediately apparent that she had severe problems. Somehow, she had broken away from her teacher and had, for some reason, picked my class to enter.
Now, I was a 14-year-old kid once, so I know how easy it is to find the faults in someone else and laugh them to scorn. In my experience as a teacher, I have found that more often than not, kids will jump at every opportunity to tear someone else down. When the girl ran in, I thought that the kids would erupt laughing and make her the center of attention for the wrong reasons.
I was wrong.
The entire class sat there silently and watched as the embarrassed teacher ran in to corral the young woman. When the girl and her teacher left the classroom, nothing was said and we were able to get right back on task.
I'm not sure if they noticed their behavior, but I absolutely did. I was very impressed at how they all decided to not make this girl's life harder than it already is. I was impressed that they had the maturity to understand that it's not her fault that she's disrupting our class. I was impressed that they understood the magnitude of the girl's problems and chose to give her the benefit of the doubt.
There are many days when my students reinforce my belief that 8th graders make stupid, careless decisions.
But there are also days when they prove me wrong. Very wrong.
Yesterday, I was proud to be their teacher.
In one of my classes yesterday, there were four plastic offspring that wouldn't shut their soundboxes off. Finally, all of them were silent at the same time and it was bliss.
At the beginning of the 8th grade hall at my school is the classroom that houses the severely-challenged or mentally disabled students who have around the clock care. The door is always shut and nobody really knows they're there because the classroom is entirely self-sufficient (stove, washer, dryer, etc.)
Yesterday, as soon as my room was free of crying babies, the door swung open and a young girl ran in. I had never seen the girl before, but it was immediately apparent that she had severe problems. Somehow, she had broken away from her teacher and had, for some reason, picked my class to enter.
Now, I was a 14-year-old kid once, so I know how easy it is to find the faults in someone else and laugh them to scorn. In my experience as a teacher, I have found that more often than not, kids will jump at every opportunity to tear someone else down. When the girl ran in, I thought that the kids would erupt laughing and make her the center of attention for the wrong reasons.
I was wrong.
The entire class sat there silently and watched as the embarrassed teacher ran in to corral the young woman. When the girl and her teacher left the classroom, nothing was said and we were able to get right back on task.
I'm not sure if they noticed their behavior, but I absolutely did. I was very impressed at how they all decided to not make this girl's life harder than it already is. I was impressed that they had the maturity to understand that it's not her fault that she's disrupting our class. I was impressed that they understood the magnitude of the girl's problems and chose to give her the benefit of the doubt.
There are many days when my students reinforce my belief that 8th graders make stupid, careless decisions.
But there are also days when they prove me wrong. Very wrong.
Yesterday, I was proud to be their teacher.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Arkansas Lovin'
A couple weeks ago, we were reading the story, "On The Sidewalk Bleeding" by Evan Hunter, which is about a gang member who gets stabbed and is lying in the street, dying, and contemplating the life decisions that led him to this point. I was trying to teach my students how to use context clues to determine certain details about the story that the author doesn't just come out and say. We read the following passage...
He wondered if Laura would be angry. He had left the jump to get a package of cigarettes. He had told her he would be back in a few minutes, and then he had gone downstairs and found the candy store closed. He knew that Alfredo's on the next block would be open. He had started through the alley, and that was when he had been ambushed.
...and then I asked my students who they thought Laura was to the main character, Andy. Based on very little information, guesses ranged from girlfriend to fiancee to cousin to sister. All were legitimate guesses because this is the first time we had heard about Laura. We then read...
He could hear the faint sound of music now, coming from a long, long way off. He wondered if Laura was dancing, wondered if she had missed him yet. Maybe she thought he wasn't coming back. Maybe she thought he'd cut out for good. Maybe she had already left the jump and gone home. He thought of her face, the brown eyes and the jet-black hair, and thinking of her he forgot his pain a little, forgot that blood was rushing from his body.
Someday he would marry Laura. Someday he would marry her, and they would have a lot of kids, and then they would get out of the neighborhood. They would move to a clean project in the Bronx, or maybe they would move to Staten Island. When they were married, when they had kids.
...and I re-asked the question: "Who is Laura." Everyone shouted out that it was his girlfriend.
I asked, "How do we know it wasn't a family member?" A student replied that he would never talk about marrying a family member or fantasize about her hair or eyes.
I then said, somewhat tongue-in-cheek, "Great answer, at least I hope he's not talking about his sister."
One student who is pretty funny, but pretty quiet and doesn't say a whole lot, raises his hand and I call on him, thinking he has something good to add to the conversation. I was wrong, but couldn't stop laughing at his response.
AB: "Mr. Lowe, I get what you're saying about context clues, but don't you think it would change depending on where you read the story?"
Me: "Yeah, I guess so, why?"
AB (completely serious for humor's sake): "Well, we in Tennessee think there's no way it could be his sister. But have you ever been to Arkansas? I bet they read this in Arkansas and think, 'Yeah, that could probably be his sister.' "
The classroom erupted and I tried to keep a straight face, but couldn't help but bend over laughing because the joke was set up so well and the delivery was phenomenal.
Being a smart-alec myself, I can appreciate a good joke at Arkansas's expense.
Which leads me to my dad's favorite joke:
"How do you know toothpaste was invented in Arkansas?"
"How?"
"Because if it were invented in any other state, it would be called teethpaste."
Cue the laughtrack.
He wondered if Laura would be angry. He had left the jump to get a package of cigarettes. He had told her he would be back in a few minutes, and then he had gone downstairs and found the candy store closed. He knew that Alfredo's on the next block would be open. He had started through the alley, and that was when he had been ambushed.
...and then I asked my students who they thought Laura was to the main character, Andy. Based on very little information, guesses ranged from girlfriend to fiancee to cousin to sister. All were legitimate guesses because this is the first time we had heard about Laura. We then read...
He could hear the faint sound of music now, coming from a long, long way off. He wondered if Laura was dancing, wondered if she had missed him yet. Maybe she thought he wasn't coming back. Maybe she thought he'd cut out for good. Maybe she had already left the jump and gone home. He thought of her face, the brown eyes and the jet-black hair, and thinking of her he forgot his pain a little, forgot that blood was rushing from his body.
Someday he would marry Laura. Someday he would marry her, and they would have a lot of kids, and then they would get out of the neighborhood. They would move to a clean project in the Bronx, or maybe they would move to Staten Island. When they were married, when they had kids.
...and I re-asked the question: "Who is Laura." Everyone shouted out that it was his girlfriend.
I asked, "How do we know it wasn't a family member?" A student replied that he would never talk about marrying a family member or fantasize about her hair or eyes.
I then said, somewhat tongue-in-cheek, "Great answer, at least I hope he's not talking about his sister."
One student who is pretty funny, but pretty quiet and doesn't say a whole lot, raises his hand and I call on him, thinking he has something good to add to the conversation. I was wrong, but couldn't stop laughing at his response.
AB: "Mr. Lowe, I get what you're saying about context clues, but don't you think it would change depending on where you read the story?"
Me: "Yeah, I guess so, why?"
AB (completely serious for humor's sake): "Well, we in Tennessee think there's no way it could be his sister. But have you ever been to Arkansas? I bet they read this in Arkansas and think, 'Yeah, that could probably be his sister.' "
The classroom erupted and I tried to keep a straight face, but couldn't help but bend over laughing because the joke was set up so well and the delivery was phenomenal.
Being a smart-alec myself, I can appreciate a good joke at Arkansas's expense.
Which leads me to my dad's favorite joke:
"How do you know toothpaste was invented in Arkansas?"
"How?"
"Because if it were invented in any other state, it would be called teethpaste."
Cue the laughtrack.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
My Mini Michael Jackson
We just finished up our short story unit, where we learned about the parts of plot diagram (introduction, rising action, climax, etc.). To introduce plot summary, we took notes on each part and then we watched the entire 13-minute version of Michael Jackson's "Thriller."
All of the students LOVED it because they were familiar with the song and it's one of the coolest videos of all time. Throughout the day, I'd see students mouthing the words and getting into it, but all of that paled in comparison to one student, DJ, who is in my last class and got to groovin'. It's my last period of the day and I was sitting at my desk when he began dancing. It was so good that I had to pull out my phone discreetly and put it behind a stack of books to capture the greatness.
I'd like to especially note how he's still dancing even when he's filling out his plot diagram. Also, the twitching about the 0:23 mark is mirroring the beginning of the "Thriller dance." Hilarious.
Enjoy.
All of the students LOVED it because they were familiar with the song and it's one of the coolest videos of all time. Throughout the day, I'd see students mouthing the words and getting into it, but all of that paled in comparison to one student, DJ, who is in my last class and got to groovin'. It's my last period of the day and I was sitting at my desk when he began dancing. It was so good that I had to pull out my phone discreetly and put it behind a stack of books to capture the greatness.
I'd like to especially note how he's still dancing even when he's filling out his plot diagram. Also, the twitching about the 0:23 mark is mirroring the beginning of the "Thriller dance." Hilarious.
Enjoy.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
I Better Watch My Back
Today, my classes took their first unit test of the year. On the test I included a section that assessed the vocabulary words that we have covered so far this year. A question required the students to use the word "hesitate" correctly in a complete sentence.
I didn't have any hiccups until one boy, HK, an honors student, raised his hand while taking the test.
HK: "Are you going to be grading these?"
Me: "Of course I'm going to grade them."
HK: "Oh, okay, I just wanted to make sure."
It struck me odd that he would ask that, but I moved on with my day. As I was grading his class's tests during a later period, I figured out why he wanted to know if I was grading them.
Response: "Before TPing Mr. Lowe's house, we all hesitated for a moment to think of the possible consequences."
I better get my hose and flood lights ready for the assault. Except that I have his address, but he doesn't have mine, so I might go on the offensive. HK won't even know what hit him.
Other funny responses:
TP: "I predict that we will beat Snowden on Monday because I'm sick and tired of losing." (He's the starting quarterback of the 0-3 football team)
KJ: "I predict that B & R will win homecoming king and queen because they are the perfect couple." (Young love)
And DR's gems...he mos def got an F.
Question: "What does AIMS stand for?"
Answer: "Am I Missing Something?"
DR's Response: "It's a disease."
Question: "What does ISLAND stand for?"
Answer: "I'm So Lost And Need Details."
DR's Response: "Where ppl go for vacations."
Question: "Find two examples each of direct and indirect characterization."
Answer: "Anything remotely associated to ANY character in the story."
DR's Response: "Yes."
Oi vey, he's got some work to do.
I didn't have any hiccups until one boy, HK, an honors student, raised his hand while taking the test.
HK: "Are you going to be grading these?"
Me: "Of course I'm going to grade them."
HK: "Oh, okay, I just wanted to make sure."
It struck me odd that he would ask that, but I moved on with my day. As I was grading his class's tests during a later period, I figured out why he wanted to know if I was grading them.
Response: "Before TPing Mr. Lowe's house, we all hesitated for a moment to think of the possible consequences."
I better get my hose and flood lights ready for the assault. Except that I have his address, but he doesn't have mine, so I might go on the offensive. HK won't even know what hit him.
Other funny responses:
TP: "I predict that we will beat Snowden on Monday because I'm sick and tired of losing." (He's the starting quarterback of the 0-3 football team)
KJ: "I predict that B & R will win homecoming king and queen because they are the perfect couple." (Young love)
And DR's gems...he mos def got an F.
Question: "What does AIMS stand for?"
Answer: "Am I Missing Something?"
DR's Response: "It's a disease."
Question: "What does ISLAND stand for?"
Answer: "I'm So Lost And Need Details."
DR's Response: "Where ppl go for vacations."
Question: "Find two examples each of direct and indirect characterization."
Answer: "Anything remotely associated to ANY character in the story."
DR's Response: "Yes."
Oi vey, he's got some work to do.
Friday, August 19, 2011
..........And We're Back!
So, after a terribly boring summer on the Trentoblog, packed full of random funny things that I put up just to keep you reading to fill that horrible void in your life, SCHOOL IS BACK IN SESSION!
It's the end of the second week of school and I feel pretty good about things. I've moved to a new school due a demon in Memphis City Schools called "surplussing." Basically, a school receives a projection of how many students they'll have the next year and if that projection is lower than the current number, teachers have to go. I really loved my old school, Kingsbury Middle School; it was run incredibly efficient, which is a testament to the great administration and teachers there, but all good things must come to an end. I was the least senior teacher on staff, so I got my packing orders. I am now at Kate Bond Middle School, a brand-new school in northeast Memphis and it's a dream come true. Wonderful facilities, great resources and great kids. They're all (well, not all, but a good chunk) so well-behaved, it's kind of scary that I'm not more stressed out. Oh well, I'll take it. But, more behaved means less hilarious stories from kids who speak without thinking about it first. But I'll do my very best to bring you the funnies.
Journal Prompt: "Where do you see yourself in 5 years? In 10 years? What can you do now to ensure that you get there?"
AJ's Response: "I see myself being a biomedical engineer. A biomedical engineer makes leg implants and hip implants. In five years, I see myself in high school preparing to go to Princeton..."
Way to go, A, way to go.
Journal Prompt: "If you could fly somewhere for 7 days, where would you go and why?"
DR's Response: "I would go to Mexico to visit all of my family there...The last day I would get me some nice intelegent fine looking girls & party with them."
Well, at least they're intelligent.
It's the end of the second week of school and I feel pretty good about things. I've moved to a new school due a demon in Memphis City Schools called "surplussing." Basically, a school receives a projection of how many students they'll have the next year and if that projection is lower than the current number, teachers have to go. I really loved my old school, Kingsbury Middle School; it was run incredibly efficient, which is a testament to the great administration and teachers there, but all good things must come to an end. I was the least senior teacher on staff, so I got my packing orders. I am now at Kate Bond Middle School, a brand-new school in northeast Memphis and it's a dream come true. Wonderful facilities, great resources and great kids. They're all (well, not all, but a good chunk) so well-behaved, it's kind of scary that I'm not more stressed out. Oh well, I'll take it. But, more behaved means less hilarious stories from kids who speak without thinking about it first. But I'll do my very best to bring you the funnies.
Journal Prompt: "Where do you see yourself in 5 years? In 10 years? What can you do now to ensure that you get there?"
AJ's Response: "I see myself being a biomedical engineer. A biomedical engineer makes leg implants and hip implants. In five years, I see myself in high school preparing to go to Princeton..."
Way to go, A, way to go.
Journal Prompt: "If you could fly somewhere for 7 days, where would you go and why?"
DR's Response: "I would go to Mexico to visit all of my family there...The last day I would get me some nice intelegent fine looking girls & party with them."
Well, at least they're intelligent.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
A Shout-out to Office Space, an Apple Hipster and a Comcastastrophe.
To preface my remarks, a cinematic representation of my feelings toward technology and the people who make that technology go.
Since it's my birthday, I feel like I'm allowed to vent a bit about the technological/interpersonal issue I've dealt with in the last week.
Wednesday, June 29:
The iPhone that was supposed to change my life was actually making my life more difficult because it didn't want to work correctly. My earpiece just stopped working, so I had two options:
A) Walk around talking to myself on my headphones looking like a lunatic until people realize that I'm not actually talking to myself, but just talking into my headphones to someone really important, OR
B) I could put my conversation on speakerphone for all the world to hear, which, actually, is even awkward when you're having just a normal conversation because EVERYONE around you feels the need to listen to how your wife's day is going.
So I go to the Apple store and see (no exaggeration) 17 sales associates roaming the floor helping no more than 6 customers. I'm numero seven. Nobody offers to help me. I awkwardly walk up to a group of four hipster salespeeps chatting - I felt inferior because, in the back of my head, I knew I only had a MacBook at home and not the MacBook Pro and, no, I don't have the latest app for that and, no, I haven't yet bought the super-exclusive Kate Spade iPhone cover and, no, I don't know who that band is and, no, I didn't go to that latest gallery showing that hipsters love - and asked for some help.
The following is actually gonna be pretty funny because of the irony of it all. As I walked in, there was a huge Teach for America display prompting people to donate their old iPads so that we TFAers can change the world one worthless app at a time. It being an Apple store and these being hipster associates (important to note that within the hipster culture, it's cool to be educated because how could you ever think to look down your nose at someone someone about a Jackson Pollack painting or an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel if you hadn't actually learned about them yourself?), I thought that they could solve my problem or at least explain to me in an intelligent way what I was to do to solve my problem. So she pulls out her iPhone to take down my information; she asks me for my e-mail address. My address begins with the word "chronicle" because it's the e-mail I used when I was an editor at my college newspaper, The Daily Utah Chronicle.
Girl: "Can I get your e-mail address?"
Me: "Yeah, it's 'chronicle'..."
She writes "cronical."
Me: "Oh, actually, it's 'le' at the end."
Girl: "Oh, duh, haha."
cronicale
Me: "No, I meant it ends 'cle,' not 'cal.' "
Girl: "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry."
cronicle
Me: "Oh, and there's an H after the first C."
cronichle
Me: "Uh, nope, how 'bout we just start over and I'll spell it? C..H..R....."
Girl: "Okay, so now that I've got this, you'll have to set up an appointment to see someone at our Genius Bar. Does 5:30 tonight work for you?"
It was 11:15 a.m.
Me: "Well, it's something so small, can I just ask someone really quick?"
Girl: "No, we only have two technicians, so you'll have to make an appointment. Does 5:30 work?"
Me: "No, I have a meeting. When's the next appointment?"
Girl: "Tomorrow at 10:10 a.m."
Me: "Alright, just give me that one then."
Girl: "Well, sir, I actually can't make the appointment for you, but you can do it! Do you have the Apple Store app?"
Me: "What? The app? No, I don't come here often enough to necessitate an app on my phone that doesn't work."
Girl: "Well, all you need to do is download the app, put in our store number, check available times and then register your information! Or you can go on to Apple's website, type in our store, check available times and then register your information!"
Me (pretty frustrated at this point): "I don't want to download an app. Can't I just have you make the appointment for me in your system's computer? Doesn't that seem easier?"
Girl: "Um........I guess we could log into a computer here and have you do it.....I guess that would work."
I was appalled. Now, I think technology is wonderful and I can't imagine my life without constant GPS and Internet capability, but this is ridiculous. They have completely outsourced paper and pens for iPads and iPhones and useless apps to make an effing appointment.
So I made my appointment and never received the confirmation e-mail that she promised because my e-mail address is chronicle., not cronicaldot.
Friday, July 1:
We just moved, so we had to take care of all the moving responsibilities that nobody loves to do: switching over our mailing address to EVERY organization that has your old address, turning on the lights and water, and getting your Internet and cable set up.
Now, the cable wasn't so important, but we definitely needed Internet because my wife is doing a teaching program over the summer and needs the Internet to plan lessons every single night, so it is an absolute necessity. So I called Comcast and they set everything up to be installed on Friday from 11-2. We were set to drive up to Pittsburgh (a 12-hour journey so we needed to leave as soon as possible). So I asked the girl if they could come closer to 11 than 2 and she said that she'd put a note on there for me and that they would call an hour before to give me a heads up. Well, it gets to be 12:30 and still no call and we gotta hit the road, so I have my wife call just to see when the guy will be here. After 15 minutes on hold, we finally get a human on the line who tells us that we actually rescheduled the appointment for Monday, July 4 (when we're in Pittsburgh). I inform her that we didn't do that at all and that we need someone out here in the next half hour to get our stuff turned on. She tells us that because of the mix-up, they can't get someone to our house until July 8 and that she's "really sorry about the misunderstanding."
Long story short: I get her manager and flip the F out, so he tells me that he can get someone here on Tuesday, July 5, but it's not guaranteed, it's only possible if someone else cancels their appointment. I proceed to tell him to cancel some other poor soul's appointment to set up my service and then he can have the exact same conversation with that person about why nobody showed up at their house. We agree that they'll be there the 5th or I'm burning the place down.
Four hours later, I get a confirmation call that an installer will be there on July 5 from 8-11 a.m. Great news.
Monday, July 4
Driving back from Pittsburgh, my wife and I decided to call just to confirm our appointment for the next day. The woman confirms my appointment, but not for the next day, but the 6th. I tell her that's absolutely wrong and she gets her manager. Her manager proceeds to tell me that the technician must have called in sick, but nobody will be there the next day. I demand some kind of credit to my account for the hassle and we set up for Wednesday, July 6 from 8-11 a.m.
Wednesday, July 6:
10:30 a.m., doorbell rings. Tarvis the Comcast Man is here to save the day.
Tarvis: "So where's everything going today?"
Me (in the living room): "The Internet and DVR will go in this ro...."
Tarvis: "I'm gonna stop you right there because it doesn't have me listed as installing a DVR, just an adapter."
Me: "Well, you're installing the adapter in the bedroom."
Tarvis: "I'm gonna stop you right there because it says I'm only setting up one TV with an adapter, not a DVR."
Blood begins to boil. I start to see red. I've already called my backcountry terrorist friend from West Virginia to inflict injury on Comcast.
Me: "No, no, no, this is the fourth time I'm getting bent over by Comcast. Call them and fix this."
So Tarvis calls - and to his credit, Tarvis was a great guy, very helpful, but it wasn't his fault, he was just the messenger. He tells me that he brought all the equipment necessary because the notes on his invoice list a DVR, but the charges don't, BUT that Comcast can't add the DVR unless I want to reschedule my appointment. Uh. Hells no. If I do that, at this rate, they won't show up again until October. So he set everything up, but I had to go to the Comcast office and exchange the stuff he installed for the DVR after 4 p.m.
So, really, what should have taken an hour on Friday, July 1, ended up taking six days of constant hassle, two missed appointments, one screwed-up appointment and a trip to the Comcast store nowhere near my house.
Sorry for the length, but I had to get it off my chest.
So, to conclude where I started, a clip from Office Space.
Since it's my birthday, I feel like I'm allowed to vent a bit about the technological/interpersonal issue I've dealt with in the last week.
Wednesday, June 29:
The iPhone that was supposed to change my life was actually making my life more difficult because it didn't want to work correctly. My earpiece just stopped working, so I had two options:
A) Walk around talking to myself on my headphones looking like a lunatic until people realize that I'm not actually talking to myself, but just talking into my headphones to someone really important, OR
B) I could put my conversation on speakerphone for all the world to hear, which, actually, is even awkward when you're having just a normal conversation because EVERYONE around you feels the need to listen to how your wife's day is going.
So I go to the Apple store and see (no exaggeration) 17 sales associates roaming the floor helping no more than 6 customers. I'm numero seven. Nobody offers to help me. I awkwardly walk up to a group of four hipster salespeeps chatting - I felt inferior because, in the back of my head, I knew I only had a MacBook at home and not the MacBook Pro and, no, I don't have the latest app for that and, no, I haven't yet bought the super-exclusive Kate Spade iPhone cover and, no, I don't know who that band is and, no, I didn't go to that latest gallery showing that hipsters love - and asked for some help.
The following is actually gonna be pretty funny because of the irony of it all. As I walked in, there was a huge Teach for America display prompting people to donate their old iPads so that we TFAers can change the world one worthless app at a time. It being an Apple store and these being hipster associates (important to note that within the hipster culture, it's cool to be educated because how could you ever think to look down your nose at someone someone about a Jackson Pollack painting or an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel if you hadn't actually learned about them yourself?), I thought that they could solve my problem or at least explain to me in an intelligent way what I was to do to solve my problem. So she pulls out her iPhone to take down my information; she asks me for my e-mail address. My address begins with the word "chronicle" because it's the e-mail I used when I was an editor at my college newspaper, The Daily Utah Chronicle.
Girl: "Can I get your e-mail address?"
Me: "Yeah, it's 'chronicle'..."
She writes "cronical."
Me: "Oh, actually, it's 'le' at the end."
Girl: "Oh, duh, haha."
cronicale
Me: "No, I meant it ends 'cle,' not 'cal.' "
Girl: "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry."
cronicle
Me: "Oh, and there's an H after the first C."
cronichle
Me: "Uh, nope, how 'bout we just start over and I'll spell it? C..H..R....."
Girl: "Okay, so now that I've got this, you'll have to set up an appointment to see someone at our Genius Bar. Does 5:30 tonight work for you?"
It was 11:15 a.m.
Me: "Well, it's something so small, can I just ask someone really quick?"
Girl: "No, we only have two technicians, so you'll have to make an appointment. Does 5:30 work?"
Me: "No, I have a meeting. When's the next appointment?"
Girl: "Tomorrow at 10:10 a.m."
Me: "Alright, just give me that one then."
Girl: "Well, sir, I actually can't make the appointment for you, but you can do it! Do you have the Apple Store app?"
Me: "What? The app? No, I don't come here often enough to necessitate an app on my phone that doesn't work."
Girl: "Well, all you need to do is download the app, put in our store number, check available times and then register your information! Or you can go on to Apple's website, type in our store, check available times and then register your information!"
Me (pretty frustrated at this point): "I don't want to download an app. Can't I just have you make the appointment for me in your system's computer? Doesn't that seem easier?"
Girl: "Um........I guess we could log into a computer here and have you do it.....I guess that would work."
I was appalled. Now, I think technology is wonderful and I can't imagine my life without constant GPS and Internet capability, but this is ridiculous. They have completely outsourced paper and pens for iPads and iPhones and useless apps to make an effing appointment.
So I made my appointment and never received the confirmation e-mail that she promised because my e-mail address is chronicle., not cronicaldot.
Friday, July 1:
We just moved, so we had to take care of all the moving responsibilities that nobody loves to do: switching over our mailing address to EVERY organization that has your old address, turning on the lights and water, and getting your Internet and cable set up.
Now, the cable wasn't so important, but we definitely needed Internet because my wife is doing a teaching program over the summer and needs the Internet to plan lessons every single night, so it is an absolute necessity. So I called Comcast and they set everything up to be installed on Friday from 11-2. We were set to drive up to Pittsburgh (a 12-hour journey so we needed to leave as soon as possible). So I asked the girl if they could come closer to 11 than 2 and she said that she'd put a note on there for me and that they would call an hour before to give me a heads up. Well, it gets to be 12:30 and still no call and we gotta hit the road, so I have my wife call just to see when the guy will be here. After 15 minutes on hold, we finally get a human on the line who tells us that we actually rescheduled the appointment for Monday, July 4 (when we're in Pittsburgh). I inform her that we didn't do that at all and that we need someone out here in the next half hour to get our stuff turned on. She tells us that because of the mix-up, they can't get someone to our house until July 8 and that she's "really sorry about the misunderstanding."
Long story short: I get her manager and flip the F out, so he tells me that he can get someone here on Tuesday, July 5, but it's not guaranteed, it's only possible if someone else cancels their appointment. I proceed to tell him to cancel some other poor soul's appointment to set up my service and then he can have the exact same conversation with that person about why nobody showed up at their house. We agree that they'll be there the 5th or I'm burning the place down.
Four hours later, I get a confirmation call that an installer will be there on July 5 from 8-11 a.m. Great news.
Monday, July 4
Driving back from Pittsburgh, my wife and I decided to call just to confirm our appointment for the next day. The woman confirms my appointment, but not for the next day, but the 6th. I tell her that's absolutely wrong and she gets her manager. Her manager proceeds to tell me that the technician must have called in sick, but nobody will be there the next day. I demand some kind of credit to my account for the hassle and we set up for Wednesday, July 6 from 8-11 a.m.
Wednesday, July 6:
10:30 a.m., doorbell rings. Tarvis the Comcast Man is here to save the day.
Tarvis: "So where's everything going today?"
Me (in the living room): "The Internet and DVR will go in this ro...."
Tarvis: "I'm gonna stop you right there because it doesn't have me listed as installing a DVR, just an adapter."
Me: "Well, you're installing the adapter in the bedroom."
Tarvis: "I'm gonna stop you right there because it says I'm only setting up one TV with an adapter, not a DVR."
Blood begins to boil. I start to see red. I've already called my backcountry terrorist friend from West Virginia to inflict injury on Comcast.
Me: "No, no, no, this is the fourth time I'm getting bent over by Comcast. Call them and fix this."
So Tarvis calls - and to his credit, Tarvis was a great guy, very helpful, but it wasn't his fault, he was just the messenger. He tells me that he brought all the equipment necessary because the notes on his invoice list a DVR, but the charges don't, BUT that Comcast can't add the DVR unless I want to reschedule my appointment. Uh. Hells no. If I do that, at this rate, they won't show up again until October. So he set everything up, but I had to go to the Comcast office and exchange the stuff he installed for the DVR after 4 p.m.
So, really, what should have taken an hour on Friday, July 1, ended up taking six days of constant hassle, two missed appointments, one screwed-up appointment and a trip to the Comcast store nowhere near my house.
Sorry for the length, but I had to get it off my chest.
So, to conclude where I started, a clip from Office Space.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Just a few years in Italy.
Well, as most have assumed, the school year is over and I'm filling you in with fun things that are going on post-munchkins.
As I was going through and organizing my lesson plans and files, I found these videos from the two-year religious mission I served in northern Italy from August 2006-August 2008. A couple might interest you for the mere sake of being interesting, but others might not be funny and/or make sense, so just pass over those.
1. I found an old suit jacket in the closet of one of the apartment in which I lived. It was some type of greenish-yellowish-tanish-all-sorts-of-"ish" and it was tweed and itchy. The person who left it in the apartment is probably dead or dying by now because it was bleeding 1962. I put it on and all of the sudden felt like a 1960s missionary, so I decided to act the part. I also was making jokes about zealous missionaries from ALL religions - mine included - who automatically assume that you're a terrible person just because you're a member of another faith. This was all done on the spot while a camera was running, so it's a bit choppy at times. Enjoy the 1962 Trent Lowe.
2. In a tiny city called Merate, there is a woman who defies all logic, meaning, she's crazy. She has a long, hot-pink rat tail surrounding by really short hair that doesn't lend itself generally to females. Every time we would go there, she would shout for her son Massimo. And when I say "shout," I mean she would scream at the top of her lungs for her son, Massimo, and her other twin sons to stop playing video games and come say hi to us. I never actually saw Massimo until my last visit when he came out dressed all in black with eyeliner and a Playstation controller in his hand. He had long black hair that went over his eyes and he just mumbled that he didn't want to see us. But...before we actually met the kid, we had only heard his voice yelling back that he "didn't care about" us. We kind of imagined him being a hunchback that was allergic to sunlight and would hobble around yelling at people when he wasn't playing his Playstation or XBox.
3. The other companionship in our apartment met these two guys at the hospital in Bergamo. The guitarist is an Italian hippie who was just along for the ride. Apparently, he had an infection and was at the hospital to get it checked out. If you know anything about Italian healthcare, it's that a simple infection can take you a VEERRRRYYYY long time to fix. Socialists. The fiddler is an American kid who lives in Oregon and was, at the time, applying to world-renowned Juilliard School of Music in New York City. He goes to Europe each summer to just roam and be a street performer for money. Go Mr. Oregon.
Just a few years in Italy.
As I was going through and organizing my lesson plans and files, I found these videos from the two-year religious mission I served in northern Italy from August 2006-August 2008. A couple might interest you for the mere sake of being interesting, but others might not be funny and/or make sense, so just pass over those.
1. I found an old suit jacket in the closet of one of the apartment in which I lived. It was some type of greenish-yellowish-tanish-all-sorts-of-"ish" and it was tweed and itchy. The person who left it in the apartment is probably dead or dying by now because it was bleeding 1962. I put it on and all of the sudden felt like a 1960s missionary, so I decided to act the part. I also was making jokes about zealous missionaries from ALL religions - mine included - who automatically assume that you're a terrible person just because you're a member of another faith. This was all done on the spot while a camera was running, so it's a bit choppy at times. Enjoy the 1962 Trent Lowe.
2. In a tiny city called Merate, there is a woman who defies all logic, meaning, she's crazy. She has a long, hot-pink rat tail surrounding by really short hair that doesn't lend itself generally to females. Every time we would go there, she would shout for her son Massimo. And when I say "shout," I mean she would scream at the top of her lungs for her son, Massimo, and her other twin sons to stop playing video games and come say hi to us. I never actually saw Massimo until my last visit when he came out dressed all in black with eyeliner and a Playstation controller in his hand. He had long black hair that went over his eyes and he just mumbled that he didn't want to see us. But...before we actually met the kid, we had only heard his voice yelling back that he "didn't care about" us. We kind of imagined him being a hunchback that was allergic to sunlight and would hobble around yelling at people when he wasn't playing his Playstation or XBox.
3. The other companionship in our apartment met these two guys at the hospital in Bergamo. The guitarist is an Italian hippie who was just along for the ride. Apparently, he had an infection and was at the hospital to get it checked out. If you know anything about Italian healthcare, it's that a simple infection can take you a VEERRRRYYYY long time to fix. Socialists. The fiddler is an American kid who lives in Oregon and was, at the time, applying to world-renowned Juilliard School of Music in New York City. He goes to Europe each summer to just roam and be a street performer for money. Go Mr. Oregon.
Just a few years in Italy.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
A Brief Tour of Miss-iss-ippi
This past week, I had the chance to visit, for the first time, the Deep South, and let me be the first to tell you that it sure is awfully deep down there. It's nearly a different country. I went as a leader for the 14-18 year old boys in my ward and probably had more fun than they did. We left Wednesday and headed to Enid Lake, which is about an hour south of Memphis. We wakeboarded and tubed on the boat for seven hours, then headed down to Biloxi, Mississippi, which, up until this trip, I had only heard of briefly in a Limp Bizkit song in 7th grade (don't even bother asking about that section of my life).
When we got to the beach in Biloxi, I found this historical marker that I thought was pretty interesting.
Apparently the beach was the setting for what they called "Wade-ins" during the Civil Rights Movement, very similar to the "Sit-ins" that were organized in diners and restaurants throughout the South. In the book, Black Like Me, the author, John Howard Griffin, mentions arriving in Biloxi and begins talking to a man about how beautiful the beach is, only to be told that "Negroes weren't permitted to use the beaches" despite the taxes paid by everyone for the upkeep of the waterfront. John Griffin arrived in Biloxi on November 19, 1959, a little over six months after the first wade-in. I realized that I was at the exact same beach where Griffin had been 52 years earlier. I found this photo from the actual wade-in from April 24, 1960.
It was a cool experience to be on the very beach where so many people had risked emotional and bodily harm a half-century earlier in the name of equal rights. It definitely gave some weight to the occasion.
On a lighter note, apparently turtles are protected wildlife in Mississippi.
Once we had stayed in Biloxi a couple of days, we headed over to Mobile, Alabama to tour the USS Alabama, which fought in the Pacific during World War II.
It was gigantic and, actually, really awesome. They have a program where scout troops can stay overnight on the ship to experience it as much as possible, so we grabbed our bags and headed aboard. We had a rude awakening when we got to where we were supposed to sleep. Apparently, they really wanted us to have the real deal because the beds were the exact same as they were in 1943.
The kid on the left (from the other ward) didn't wear sunscreen the first day when we were at the lake for seven hours, so he woke up the next day and his face was swollen so much that he could barely see......and then he didn't wear sunscreen again that day (defying the advice of his leaders), so, sure enough, his face swelled up even more the next day. Needless to say, he was miserable for a good portion of the next three days.
We hit up the lake again on our way back on Saturday. But, as usual, all good things must come to an end. As we were crossing the Mississippi-Tennessee border, a torrential rainstorm hit and we realized immediately that we were no longer on the beach.
Welcome (back) to Memphis.
When we got to the beach in Biloxi, I found this historical marker that I thought was pretty interesting.
Apparently the beach was the setting for what they called "Wade-ins" during the Civil Rights Movement, very similar to the "Sit-ins" that were organized in diners and restaurants throughout the South. In the book, Black Like Me, the author, John Howard Griffin, mentions arriving in Biloxi and begins talking to a man about how beautiful the beach is, only to be told that "Negroes weren't permitted to use the beaches" despite the taxes paid by everyone for the upkeep of the waterfront. John Griffin arrived in Biloxi on November 19, 1959, a little over six months after the first wade-in. I realized that I was at the exact same beach where Griffin had been 52 years earlier. I found this photo from the actual wade-in from April 24, 1960.
It was a cool experience to be on the very beach where so many people had risked emotional and bodily harm a half-century earlier in the name of equal rights. It definitely gave some weight to the occasion.
On a lighter note, apparently turtles are protected wildlife in Mississippi.
Once we had stayed in Biloxi a couple of days, we headed over to Mobile, Alabama to tour the USS Alabama, which fought in the Pacific during World War II.
It was gigantic and, actually, really awesome. They have a program where scout troops can stay overnight on the ship to experience it as much as possible, so we grabbed our bags and headed aboard. We had a rude awakening when we got to where we were supposed to sleep. Apparently, they really wanted us to have the real deal because the beds were the exact same as they were in 1943.
The kid on the left (from the other ward) didn't wear sunscreen the first day when we were at the lake for seven hours, so he woke up the next day and his face was swollen so much that he could barely see......and then he didn't wear sunscreen again that day (defying the advice of his leaders), so, sure enough, his face swelled up even more the next day. Needless to say, he was miserable for a good portion of the next three days.
We hit up the lake again on our way back on Saturday. But, as usual, all good things must come to an end. As we were crossing the Mississippi-Tennessee border, a torrential rainstorm hit and we realized immediately that we were no longer on the beach.
Welcome (back) to Memphis.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Busses, Masons and Trey 3
Summer Day 2:
I'm going camping tomorrow. I needed my sleeping bag. UPS was $110. Greyhound charged $29 for my parents to throw it on a bus headed for Memphis. Boom. Great deal.
Everyone knows Masons are huge in Memphis. But, who knew that Scottish Masons were huge in Memphis? Boom. Great info.
I wear cotton. You wear cotton. We all wear cotton. Thanks to Front Street. For those cotton enthusiasts among you, the Cotton Museum. Boom, great clothes.
I once drove a Buick. But, I never drove a Buick that belong to Trey 3. Boom. Great ride.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Graduation
Graduation - or, more appropriately, Promotion - has arrived. The kids look great. I missed the memo for all teachers to wear black and white because I was barbecuing for all the 8th graders yesterday when the announcement was given. Ask me if I care.
It's crazy to be done with my first year of teaching. It's been a total blur with great highs and terrible lows, but I've survived and I feel great about it. My kids have taught me so much and I'm sad to see them go, but excited for their opportunity in high school and I pray that they stay on the path that I've tried to set them on.
2010-2011 school year - peace.
It's crazy to be done with my first year of teaching. It's been a total blur with great highs and terrible lows, but I've survived and I feel great about it. My kids have taught me so much and I'm sad to see them go, but excited for their opportunity in high school and I pray that they stay on the path that I've tried to set them on.
2010-2011 school year - peace.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Roller Rink Romance
8th Grade Week has begun. In all its fury.
First stop: Roller skating.
When I was 10-ish, I totally had a summer pass to Classic Skating, and, consequently, I also totally had a Classic Skating girlfriend. Her name was Tana and we were in Classic Skating love. Every time the DJ would announce a "Couple Skate," we only had eyes for each other. It didn't go past that at all; we exchanged numbers once and I was too chicken to call and so that whole night, whenever the phone would ring, I would tense up, terrified that it was her and A) that I might pee my pants at the prospect of a girl calling, and B) that my family would kill and/or make fun of me until I had some serious issues. The summer ended up so did our Classic Skating Romance (well, until I moved to that neck of the woods after 8th grade and on the first day of 9th grade our Geometry teacher called for her name, I glanced at her and realized my long-lost love had jumped back into my life. I knew it. She knew it. But were either of us going to acknowledge it? Uh, hells no. And it was terrible for the awkward moments thereafter).
All of those feelings were re-ignited yesterday when I chaperoned our kids to Sk8land to do some major roller-skating. I walked in expecting it to be Memphis's incarnation of Classic Skating, but what I found was a carbon copy of Classic Skating (there must be only one vendor of skating rink supplies and carpet in the entire world because everything was identical).
Notice the carpet that looks eerily similar to EVERY SINGLE roller rink in the world. Also, note that my skates look like they were manufactured when FDR was suffering from polio. All in all, it was an extreme success, but a success I wouldn't mind not repeating for another bunch of years.
First stop: Roller skating.
When I was 10-ish, I totally had a summer pass to Classic Skating, and, consequently, I also totally had a Classic Skating girlfriend. Her name was Tana and we were in Classic Skating love. Every time the DJ would announce a "Couple Skate," we only had eyes for each other. It didn't go past that at all; we exchanged numbers once and I was too chicken to call and so that whole night, whenever the phone would ring, I would tense up, terrified that it was her and A) that I might pee my pants at the prospect of a girl calling, and B) that my family would kill and/or make fun of me until I had some serious issues. The summer ended up so did our Classic Skating Romance (well, until I moved to that neck of the woods after 8th grade and on the first day of 9th grade our Geometry teacher called for her name, I glanced at her and realized my long-lost love had jumped back into my life. I knew it. She knew it. But were either of us going to acknowledge it? Uh, hells no. And it was terrible for the awkward moments thereafter).
All of those feelings were re-ignited yesterday when I chaperoned our kids to Sk8land to do some major roller-skating. I walked in expecting it to be Memphis's incarnation of Classic Skating, but what I found was a carbon copy of Classic Skating (there must be only one vendor of skating rink supplies and carpet in the entire world because everything was identical).
Dreams are made on that hardwood right there.
It was a blast, I had a lot of fun roller-skating - yes, I roller-skated because apparently roller-blades aren't cool here - with the kiddos and showed them that I can keep up with them, even though they think I'm in my late-30s. I'm 23.
Notice the carpet that looks eerily similar to EVERY SINGLE roller rink in the world. Also, note that my skates look like they were manufactured when FDR was suffering from polio. All in all, it was an extreme success, but a success I wouldn't mind not repeating for another bunch of years.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
The Molecular, Middle-Aged Aristocracy of Christendom
This quarter has been pretty crazy because of our state tests and district-mandated service project. We did each of these in our homerooms and so for about three weeks, I didn't work with any of my students from my other classes. As a result, I have very few scores in my gradebook for them. As we began reading our end-of-year novel, Black Like Me, I decided to give each student five points for just showing up and bringing their text with them so that they could participate in class. Well, that proved pretty difficult for a couple of the kids.
One boy in particular forgot his book a few of the days and was absent another couple, so he missed out on those free points. However, when I asked what had occurred in the section of the book they were supposed to read for homework, his hand always shot up, proving to me that he had done his required reading. He approached me Friday and asked what he could do to make up those lost participation points; I told him that he had to write me a one-page summary of what had happened thus far in the text (an easy task for him I thought because he had read every page and explained it in class).
Yesterday, I get his paper and he asks me to give him some feedback. He tells me that he wrote it, but his mom and cousin edited it for punctuation and spelling. I was able to read over it during lunch and this is what I saw:
"John Howard Griffin, the author and main character of Black Like Me, is a middle-aged white man living in Mansfield, Texas in 1959."
"Great," I'm thinking, he's really understood the premise of the book and used great words to explain it...but then it starts to get fishy.
"Deeply committed to the cause of racial justice and frustrated by his inability as a white man to understand the black experience..."
That sounds absolutely nothing like anything he's ever written before. The vocabulary alone tipped me off that something was amiss (hence the title of this post). I wondered if his mom or cousin had actually written it and he just turned it in. Plagiarism to a mild degree. But then I wondered if he found this summary somewhere online.
So, thanks to my good friends at Google.com, I typed that second phrase into the search engine and was routed to http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/blacklikeme/summary.html, where, strangely, I found his one-page summary, word-for-word. Plagiarism to the millionth degree.
"John Howard Griffin, the author and main character of Black Like Me, is a middle-aged white man living in Mansfield, Texas in 1959. Deeply committed to the cause of racial justice and frustrated by his inability as a white man to understand the black experience..."
About an hour later, he came to my class and asked if I liked his paper. I pulled him aside and told him what I had found and he denied it. He stuck to his story that he wrote it and his family helped him. I explained what he had done and that he would be kicked out of most schools, but he wouldn't budge on his story.
This is the first time I've had to deal with this and it's killing me. This kid has read the book. This kid is smart. This kid just didn't try and thought he could get away with it. I absolutely didn't give him the points, but I need him to realize that this is not okay; if he does this in college, he'll be kicked out immediately with no warning and no rebuttal.
Moral dilemmas.
One boy in particular forgot his book a few of the days and was absent another couple, so he missed out on those free points. However, when I asked what had occurred in the section of the book they were supposed to read for homework, his hand always shot up, proving to me that he had done his required reading. He approached me Friday and asked what he could do to make up those lost participation points; I told him that he had to write me a one-page summary of what had happened thus far in the text (an easy task for him I thought because he had read every page and explained it in class).
Yesterday, I get his paper and he asks me to give him some feedback. He tells me that he wrote it, but his mom and cousin edited it for punctuation and spelling. I was able to read over it during lunch and this is what I saw:
"John Howard Griffin, the author and main character of Black Like Me, is a middle-aged white man living in Mansfield, Texas in 1959."
"Great," I'm thinking, he's really understood the premise of the book and used great words to explain it...but then it starts to get fishy.
"Deeply committed to the cause of racial justice and frustrated by his inability as a white man to understand the black experience..."
That sounds absolutely nothing like anything he's ever written before. The vocabulary alone tipped me off that something was amiss (hence the title of this post). I wondered if his mom or cousin had actually written it and he just turned it in. Plagiarism to a mild degree. But then I wondered if he found this summary somewhere online.
So, thanks to my good friends at Google.com, I typed that second phrase into the search engine and was routed to http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/blacklikeme/summary.html, where, strangely, I found his one-page summary, word-for-word. Plagiarism to the millionth degree.
"John Howard Griffin, the author and main character of Black Like Me, is a middle-aged white man living in Mansfield, Texas in 1959. Deeply committed to the cause of racial justice and frustrated by his inability as a white man to understand the black experience..."
About an hour later, he came to my class and asked if I liked his paper. I pulled him aside and told him what I had found and he denied it. He stuck to his story that he wrote it and his family helped him. I explained what he had done and that he would be kicked out of most schools, but he wouldn't budge on his story.
This is the first time I've had to deal with this and it's killing me. This kid has read the book. This kid is smart. This kid just didn't try and thought he could get away with it. I absolutely didn't give him the points, but I need him to realize that this is not okay; if he does this in college, he'll be kicked out immediately with no warning and no rebuttal.
Moral dilemmas.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Barbershop = Butchershop
One of my boys, J, usually has pretty cool haircuts and always looks his best. Monday, he walked into my class and there was something markedly different: he had a bull cut. Now, bullcuts are cute on 4-year-old white kids, but a 14-year-old African-American kid is no canvas for such a haircut. He seemed pretty embarrassed by it, so Tuesday he came in with a fleece headband that covered the line, so you couldn't see his haircut.
Yesterday, while in the lunchroom, one of his friends left him out in the cold by telling the principal that he was wearing a headband (which is against the dress code).
DR: "Principal Mackin, J has a headband on!"
Mackin: "Hey, man, you gotta take the headband off."
JJ: "I can't."
Mackin: "Why not?!"
JJ: "My haircut. I just can't."
Mackin: "Alright, let me see your haircut, then."
J takes off the headband ever-so-slightly and shows the principal. His friends bust up laughing.
Mackin: "Okay, you can keep the headband on!"
Just another day at Kingsbury Middle.
Yesterday, while in the lunchroom, one of his friends left him out in the cold by telling the principal that he was wearing a headband (which is against the dress code).
DR: "Principal Mackin, J has a headband on!"
Mackin: "Hey, man, you gotta take the headband off."
JJ: "I can't."
Mackin: "Why not?!"
JJ: "My haircut. I just can't."
Mackin: "Alright, let me see your haircut, then."
J takes off the headband ever-so-slightly and shows the principal. His friends bust up laughing.
Mackin: "Okay, you can keep the headband on!"
Just another day at Kingsbury Middle.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Future Shakespeares in MemphTown
Earlier this year, we prepared...and prepared...and prepared...and then took a breather...and then prepared...and then prepared again...for the TCAP (Tennessee Comprehensive Assessment Program) Writing Assessment. All 8th graders across the state are required to take it and the scores are factored in to determine a school's/teacher's/principal's efficiency as an educator. Needless to say, I was pretty nervous about how our scores would turn out.
Well, today I got my scores back and my students blew the lid off the assessment! The highest possible score is a 6 and one of my students got just that. Six of my students scored a 5; forty-three scored a 4; and only 5 scored a 3. None scored a 2 or below.
Talk.about.STOKED.
Within my regular education students, 95.6% of them passed the assessment, which is phenomenal. Factoring in my special education students, 90.7% of my students passed. I told one of my classes that I got the scores back and so I've had a few students come up to me in the hall asking what they got. One boy, CH, who had a few behavioral problems at the beginning of the year until I called his dad and he got a haircut, got a 4 and when I told him, his face LIT UP and he realized that all of his hard work had finally paid off.
So, in the spirit of all things inspiring...
Well, today I got my scores back and my students blew the lid off the assessment! The highest possible score is a 6 and one of my students got just that. Six of my students scored a 5; forty-three scored a 4; and only 5 scored a 3. None scored a 2 or below.
Talk.about.STOKED.
Within my regular education students, 95.6% of them passed the assessment, which is phenomenal. Factoring in my special education students, 90.7% of my students passed. I told one of my classes that I got the scores back and so I've had a few students come up to me in the hall asking what they got. One boy, CH, who had a few behavioral problems at the beginning of the year until I called his dad and he got a haircut, got a 4 and when I told him, his face LIT UP and he realized that all of his hard work had finally paid off.
So, in the spirit of all things inspiring...
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
The Unexpected Spotlight
Yesterday, we had an assembly by a group named "Hip Hop Handbook," which is made up of two guys that travel the country educating kids about the history of hip hop and the different urban dance styles. It was a pretty good show with the group asking for lots of volunteers so the kids could get involved.
At one point, they asked for volunteers to have a freestyle rap-off. The usual suspects crowded the stage. But then another boy began to make his way toward the stage. I don't know his name, but I know that he's got a great spirit.
He is in the CDC class, which is composed of kids that have some kind of drawback, be it mental or physical. This boy, despite his problems, still puts himself out there at school functions and definitely lives life to the fullest. As I watched him up there on stage, I got so scared for him. Middle schoolers can be brutal sometimes. I was terrified that he was going to go out on a limb and immediately get shot down by other kids laughing at him. I can't imagine what it's going to be like when I see my own children up on stage in front of a bunch of people if I'm this scared for a kid I barely know. I was so scared that the other kids would boo him off the stage or laugh at him for his obvious problems.
Each boy took their turn in freestyling and a couple were actually really good. Then it came down to this boy. He was hiding behind the other boys who were much taller than he was and seemed a bit bashful to come up to the microphone. I was silently praying so hard for him to succeed and for the other kids to not laugh.
He stepped up, stumbled through a few words that I couldn't make out and then just stood there looking out into the crowd of 600 kids.
And then the place erupted in cheers.
Kids stood up from their seats to cheer him on. All the sections were going wild for him. The entire school stood behind this one boy who had the guts to stand up and make every moment count. It was the single greatest moment I've had in this entire year of teaching. The students renewed my belief in humanity; that despite what my students do sometimes, they're still incredible people who are willing to cheer on a kid who doesn't get cheered on all that much.
I've never clapped so hard in my life. The MC of the assembly pointed to each boy and the crowd cheered to see who won. The two best rappers got loud cheers, but when the MC pointed to this boy, everyone exploded. As he walked off the stage, he was beaming. His smile could have lit up the world.
It had me teary-eyed, which, as my wife would tell you, is almost impossible because I, as she says, "didn't even cry at our wedding!"
The world won yesterday. Kingsbury won yesterday. And that boy taught us all a lesson that you can face obstacles and still come out on top.
At one point, they asked for volunteers to have a freestyle rap-off. The usual suspects crowded the stage. But then another boy began to make his way toward the stage. I don't know his name, but I know that he's got a great spirit.
He is in the CDC class, which is composed of kids that have some kind of drawback, be it mental or physical. This boy, despite his problems, still puts himself out there at school functions and definitely lives life to the fullest. As I watched him up there on stage, I got so scared for him. Middle schoolers can be brutal sometimes. I was terrified that he was going to go out on a limb and immediately get shot down by other kids laughing at him. I can't imagine what it's going to be like when I see my own children up on stage in front of a bunch of people if I'm this scared for a kid I barely know. I was so scared that the other kids would boo him off the stage or laugh at him for his obvious problems.
Each boy took their turn in freestyling and a couple were actually really good. Then it came down to this boy. He was hiding behind the other boys who were much taller than he was and seemed a bit bashful to come up to the microphone. I was silently praying so hard for him to succeed and for the other kids to not laugh.
He stepped up, stumbled through a few words that I couldn't make out and then just stood there looking out into the crowd of 600 kids.
And then the place erupted in cheers.
Kids stood up from their seats to cheer him on. All the sections were going wild for him. The entire school stood behind this one boy who had the guts to stand up and make every moment count. It was the single greatest moment I've had in this entire year of teaching. The students renewed my belief in humanity; that despite what my students do sometimes, they're still incredible people who are willing to cheer on a kid who doesn't get cheered on all that much.
I've never clapped so hard in my life. The MC of the assembly pointed to each boy and the crowd cheered to see who won. The two best rappers got loud cheers, but when the MC pointed to this boy, everyone exploded. As he walked off the stage, he was beaming. His smile could have lit up the world.
It had me teary-eyed, which, as my wife would tell you, is almost impossible because I, as she says, "didn't even cry at our wedding!"
The world won yesterday. Kingsbury won yesterday. And that boy taught us all a lesson that you can face obstacles and still come out on top.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Tornados Ain't Got Nothin'
I'm going to divert a bit from my usual posts about school because the following happened while I should have been at school. So, here goes.
My wife, Emily, and I flew back to Salt Lake City (our hometown) for the weekend to attend to some family concerns and had a great time considering the circumstances. There was great weather the entire weekend, but, of course, the weather turned south on the day we were supposed to fly out. We woke up Tuesday morning to snow flurries. Yes, snow. And, yes, it's nearly May. This did not bode well for me at all because I had just watched a BBC documentary about a plane carrying the Manchester United soccer team that crashed in 1958 during a snowstorm. Great.
Well, luckily, it stopped snowing right before our flight, so it was no big deal, a pretty smooth flight into Denver. I checked the weather reports because there was a looming storm that was supposed to hit Memphis, but it was fine because we flew into Nashville. Then I checked Facebook and what I saw horrified me.
Yup, tornado cells above Memphis. Tornado sirens blaring. Kids crouching in hallways. And it was all headed for Nashville at about 11 p.m. We were supposed to arrive in Nashville at 10:40 p.m. Great.
Well, long story short, we flew out, but had to go to clear up to southern Illinois to avoid the storms. The turbulence was terrifying. I honestly had prepared myself to meet my Maker; it was the worst I have ever experienced. I just stared at the "No Smoking" sign on the seat in front of me
My wife, Emily, and I flew back to Salt Lake City (our hometown) for the weekend to attend to some family concerns and had a great time considering the circumstances. There was great weather the entire weekend, but, of course, the weather turned south on the day we were supposed to fly out. We woke up Tuesday morning to snow flurries. Yes, snow. And, yes, it's nearly May. This did not bode well for me at all because I had just watched a BBC documentary about a plane carrying the Manchester United soccer team that crashed in 1958 during a snowstorm. Great.
Well, luckily, it stopped snowing right before our flight, so it was no big deal, a pretty smooth flight into Denver. I checked the weather reports because there was a looming storm that was supposed to hit Memphis, but it was fine because we flew into Nashville. Then I checked Facebook and what I saw horrified me.
Yup, tornado cells above Memphis. Tornado sirens blaring. Kids crouching in hallways. And it was all headed for Nashville at about 11 p.m. We were supposed to arrive in Nashville at 10:40 p.m. Great.
Well, long story short, we flew out, but had to go to clear up to southern Illinois to avoid the storms. The turbulence was terrifying. I honestly had prepared myself to meet my Maker; it was the worst I have ever experienced. I just stared at the "No Smoking" sign on the seat in front of me
Monday, April 18, 2011
I'm Still Alive
It has been a month and a day since I last updated everyone on the happenings of a Memphis classroom. I feel like a bum, but since Spring Break, it has been an incredibly hectic month due to state testing (the dreaded TCAP), Capstone (a mandated end-of-year service project/essay thing) and the overall apathy of the students toward the last five weeks of school because they think that the TCAP = end of the year for EVERYTHING.
There have, however, been some great highlights this month, so let me recap:
1. The boys' soccer team is tearing through the district competition and dominating all in its path. They're such an awesome group of boys; very humble, appreciative and willing to learn. The captain, Luis, really might have a future in soccer if he continues on the path he's on. Since I last posted, their record is 4-1, having scored 37 goals and only allowed 8. Playoffs are in two weeks and I really think we'll win the city championship this year. Check out our website for updates.
2. Each year, my school puts on a "TCAP Chant-off," which is an opportunity right before the state tests (Tennessee Comprehensive Assessment Program) for the kids to make creative chants or raps to get their classmates pumped up for the tests. It was hilarious to say the very least. Our team didn't win, but they still had an awesome showing. AW, who was featured on my blog earlier for his version of Walt Whitman's "I Hear America Singing," was the force behind our chant and he did an amazing job. Here's a quick clip of his part of the song:
The 7th Grade Honors Team had an amazing chant, but I was only able to film the tumbling routine at the end, which was pretty cool in and of itself.
3. A tornado passed through Memphis and touched down for a short period of time near my house, but there was only small damage (ripped-off window shutters, fallen branches) to houses surrounding ours, but somehow our little house made it through unscathed. However, a huge tree in front of the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house on the University of Memphis campus was not so lucky. Good thing it happened to them and not SigEp, that's divine intervention.
4. My trusty truck of seven years finally gave up the ghost and is no more. He pushed as hard as the lil' guy could, but it seemed the task was too lofty this time around. He'll be missed. I dated my wife in that truck. I drove all the way to Boise overnight just to see an Interpol in that truck. I bought the truck when I was a senior in high school. I drove across the entire United States with that truck. I met J.B. White & Co. in the parking lot of AutoZone when I first arrived in Memphis in that truck. RIP Lil' Beal, 1994-2011.
There have, however, been some great highlights this month, so let me recap:
1. The boys' soccer team is tearing through the district competition and dominating all in its path. They're such an awesome group of boys; very humble, appreciative and willing to learn. The captain, Luis, really might have a future in soccer if he continues on the path he's on. Since I last posted, their record is 4-1, having scored 37 goals and only allowed 8. Playoffs are in two weeks and I really think we'll win the city championship this year. Check out our website for updates.
2. Each year, my school puts on a "TCAP Chant-off," which is an opportunity right before the state tests (Tennessee Comprehensive Assessment Program) for the kids to make creative chants or raps to get their classmates pumped up for the tests. It was hilarious to say the very least. Our team didn't win, but they still had an awesome showing. AW, who was featured on my blog earlier for his version of Walt Whitman's "I Hear America Singing," was the force behind our chant and he did an amazing job. Here's a quick clip of his part of the song:
The 7th Grade Honors Team had an amazing chant, but I was only able to film the tumbling routine at the end, which was pretty cool in and of itself.
3. A tornado passed through Memphis and touched down for a short period of time near my house, but there was only small damage (ripped-off window shutters, fallen branches) to houses surrounding ours, but somehow our little house made it through unscathed. However, a huge tree in front of the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house on the University of Memphis campus was not so lucky. Good thing it happened to them and not SigEp, that's divine intervention.
4. My trusty truck of seven years finally gave up the ghost and is no more. He pushed as hard as the lil' guy could, but it seemed the task was too lofty this time around. He'll be missed. I dated my wife in that truck. I drove all the way to Boise overnight just to see an Interpol in that truck. I bought the truck when I was a senior in high school. I drove across the entire United States with that truck. I met J.B. White & Co. in the parking lot of AutoZone when I first arrived in Memphis in that truck. RIP Lil' Beal, 1994-2011.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
SPRING BREAK!!
Spring Break is awesome. That's about all I can say. One week all to myself has been in.cred.i.ble. This place is usually reserved for the cool and funny things my students do, but this is about the cool and funny things I do.
1. I made a stool for my wife because she's short and can't reach stuff.
2. I graded projects on our patio in 65-degree weather with delicious Italian food, then I busted out the big guy for the first time and got plenty of weird looks.
3. I accompanied my lovely wife to Mud Island so she could get her nails done, so instead of sitting in a cove of nail polish, I walked along the Mississippi River and took pictures. I'm no photographer.
4. I slept in until noon.
5. I played beach volleyball and listened to loud music.
6. I roamed aimlessly around a gigantic thrift store for an hour and a half and this is some of what I found.
Where else could you find a Vanilla Ice action figure? "Stop. Collaborate and listen."
I love Coca-Cola.
I'd be able to sleep okay at night if I had never seen this doll.
Not creepy at all. An authentic ball and chain from the federal penitentiary in Yuma, Arizona.
A legitimate bar. I'd definitely buy it if Dolly Parton came along.
A thrift shop wouldn't be complete without some weird book authored by Freud or Kinsey about human sexuality.
But the real winner of the day...
Nothing like Billy Clinton singing some old hits.
And there you have: Spring Break 2011.
1. I made a stool for my wife because she's short and can't reach stuff.
2. I graded projects on our patio in 65-degree weather with delicious Italian food, then I busted out the big guy for the first time and got plenty of weird looks.
3. I accompanied my lovely wife to Mud Island so she could get her nails done, so instead of sitting in a cove of nail polish, I walked along the Mississippi River and took pictures. I'm no photographer.
4. I slept in until noon.
5. I played beach volleyball and listened to loud music.
6. I roamed aimlessly around a gigantic thrift store for an hour and a half and this is some of what I found.
Where else could you find a Vanilla Ice action figure? "Stop. Collaborate and listen."
I love Coca-Cola.
I'd be able to sleep okay at night if I had never seen this doll.
Not creepy at all. An authentic ball and chain from the federal penitentiary in Yuma, Arizona.
A legitimate bar. I'd definitely buy it if Dolly Parton came along.
A thrift shop wouldn't be complete without some weird book authored by Freud or Kinsey about human sexuality.But the real winner of the day...
Nothing like Billy Clinton singing some old hits.
And there you have: Spring Break 2011.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Kingsbury Vibes
Last October, one of my students, TB, who is a regular on this blog, would NOT sit still for the life of him. He wouldn't get started on his group project and I needed a way to get him engaged.
He likes to rap. And he's actually pretty good.
Me: "T, you need to do your work. Which country are you doing? England?"
TB: "I don't feel like doing research."
Me: "What do you feel like doing?"
TB: "Rapping."
Me: "Okay, I can understand that. Well, rap me something about the Parliament and House of Commons."
TB: "How am I gonna do that?"
Me: "I don't know, you're the rapper."
I then told him to go home and make a rap about his experience at Kingsbury Middle School. It took about a month and I had since forgotten about my challenge, but he brought it in on a CD. Our school recently had a contest where students could submit school songs. Well, I think he won because our principal now plays it every day over the intercom.
Note the shout-out to this guy. "Ballers we are, harder and harder. Poppin' our collar, like Mr. Lowe and Order."
Just let me know if you want the song and I'll send it to you. It's gonna be famous one day.
He likes to rap. And he's actually pretty good.
Me: "T, you need to do your work. Which country are you doing? England?"
TB: "I don't feel like doing research."
Me: "What do you feel like doing?"
TB: "Rapping."
Me: "Okay, I can understand that. Well, rap me something about the Parliament and House of Commons."
TB: "How am I gonna do that?"
Me: "I don't know, you're the rapper."
I then told him to go home and make a rap about his experience at Kingsbury Middle School. It took about a month and I had since forgotten about my challenge, but he brought it in on a CD. Our school recently had a contest where students could submit school songs. Well, I think he won because our principal now plays it every day over the intercom.
Note the shout-out to this guy. "Ballers we are, harder and harder. Poppin' our collar, like Mr. Lowe and Order."
Just let me know if you want the song and I'll send it to you. It's gonna be famous one day.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Some New Gems
I asked the students to write either a poem or a song about an exciting event that has occurred in the past year. Here are two examples - one is just plain great and the other is kinda funny:
This first one is from a girl who moved here from Missouri about three weeks ago:
The day we moved
It was so unreal,
I was shook up and crazy,
I didn't know what to feel.
My world was spinning,
I almost fell down.
If I had a bright red nose,
I could be the clown.
My mom was laughing,
My ears were breaking,
My friends were gone,
My heart was aching.
My face was wet,
From familiar tears,
Not from happiness,
But out of fear.
Yet, that day, that beautiful day,
Was the most exciting one,
The battle of fears and sorrow
Was a battle that I had won.
-LF
This year was influential
But what was exciting was always confidential.
I have a class with Mr. Lowe and Ms. Ybarra,
Some of the hard work they give might even scare ya.
Some people have attitudes that need to be fixed,
Like a witch flyin' on her broom stick.
-DD
This first one is from a girl who moved here from Missouri about three weeks ago:
The day we moved
It was so unreal,
I was shook up and crazy,
I didn't know what to feel.
My world was spinning,
I almost fell down.
If I had a bright red nose,
I could be the clown.
My mom was laughing,
My ears were breaking,
My friends were gone,
My heart was aching.
My face was wet,
From familiar tears,
Not from happiness,
But out of fear.
Yet, that day, that beautiful day,
Was the most exciting one,
The battle of fears and sorrow
Was a battle that I had won.
-LF
This year was influential
But what was exciting was always confidential.
I have a class with Mr. Lowe and Ms. Ybarra,
Some of the hard work they give might even scare ya.
Some people have attitudes that need to be fixed,
Like a witch flyin' on her broom stick.
-DD
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Young Love, Part Deux
I took this note during my enrichment period and then read it silently in front of the class, making lovey-dovey actions that only set everybody else's imaginations off about what was actually in the note:
AH: "Yeah, I'm D's biggest fan but it's like he won't give me a chance!!!!!!!!!
TL: "Chance at what?"
AH: "Being his gurl!!!!"
TL: "U know if he likes u?"
AH: "What do you mean?"
TL (quite plainly): "Does he like you?
AH: "IDK (I don't know, in layman's terms), I dislike rejection!!!"
TL: "So he doesn't like you?"
AH: "Can you ask him or something please? But don't just ask him, say something like I think AH is pretty, don't you think so????"
TL: "I will in math."
AH: "Ok!!! Thanks for being an awsome friend!!!! and after you ask him say you know she like y"
And that's where the mean Mr. Lowe swooped in and took the note like it was nobody's business. I wrote the note verbatim, except for the names, and, boy, was I glad that there was punctuation and only one spelling error. My kids are making progress.
"Wuv, twue wuv, is what bwings us togethaw today."
AH: "Yeah, I'm D's biggest fan but it's like he won't give me a chance!!!!!!!!!
TL: "Chance at what?"
AH: "Being his gurl!!!!"
TL: "U know if he likes u?"
AH: "What do you mean?"
TL (quite plainly): "Does he like you?
AH: "IDK (I don't know, in layman's terms), I dislike rejection!!!"
TL: "So he doesn't like you?"
AH: "Can you ask him or something please? But don't just ask him, say something like I think AH is pretty, don't you think so????"
TL: "I will in math."
AH: "Ok!!! Thanks for being an awsome friend!!!! and after you ask him say you know she like y"
And that's where the mean Mr. Lowe swooped in and took the note like it was nobody's business. I wrote the note verbatim, except for the names, and, boy, was I glad that there was punctuation and only one spelling error. My kids are making progress.
"Wuv, twue wuv, is what bwings us togethaw today."
Friday, March 4, 2011
A Wundrful Theng
One of my students, B, is a gentle giant. She's taller than everyone else, which, to some, may make her intimidating at first glance, but once you speak to her, you realize that she'd rather nurse an injured bird back to health than beat up on a gaggle of hoodrats. She's one of my best students; she never needs me to babysit her or get on her case for not working. She never puts her head down. She never talks back. She raises her hand when something doesn't make sense. She tries and tries and tries again and again and again.
But she's dyslexic.
This caused her to be put into my inclusion class, which is a form of special education, or remediated learning. She can't spell very well at all, so people automatically think that she's not bright when they see her writing. But she is. She's so bright. And she's come a LONG way since the beginning of the year. I've worked with her on her spelling, and if you can get past the spelling errors, you'll find that what you just read is pretty great for her age. I spelled the title of this post, "A Wundrful Theng," to emphasize the fact that, although something is spelled wrong and not perfect on the surface, it can surprise you what is inside, and it's the same with B.
She also loves - no, admires - no, worships - no, would-just-in-front-of-a-train-just-to-see-one-more-game - the Memphis Grizzlies, our NBA team. They're having a contest where a Memphis student can submit an essay about his or her favorite teacher. I was very honored that B wrote this:
She's such a hard worker that she's coming into Saturday School tomorrow so that we can clean it up and type it to send in to the Grizzlies. I'm not the only one that's helped, so I wish she would've written it about all her teachers. Ms. Ybarra tosses math at her like it's nobody's business. I can hear Ms. Dugas, from across the hall, squawking (for humor's sake) stuff about the legislative and executive branches. Ms. Riser teaches her how to love the arts and, thus, life. It's a team effort, but she's benefitting from it.
Our gentle giant.
But she's dyslexic.
This caused her to be put into my inclusion class, which is a form of special education, or remediated learning. She can't spell very well at all, so people automatically think that she's not bright when they see her writing. But she is. She's so bright. And she's come a LONG way since the beginning of the year. I've worked with her on her spelling, and if you can get past the spelling errors, you'll find that what you just read is pretty great for her age. I spelled the title of this post, "A Wundrful Theng," to emphasize the fact that, although something is spelled wrong and not perfect on the surface, it can surprise you what is inside, and it's the same with B.
She also loves - no, admires - no, worships - no, would-just-in-front-of-a-train-just-to-see-one-more-game - the Memphis Grizzlies, our NBA team. They're having a contest where a Memphis student can submit an essay about his or her favorite teacher. I was very honored that B wrote this:
She's such a hard worker that she's coming into Saturday School tomorrow so that we can clean it up and type it to send in to the Grizzlies. I'm not the only one that's helped, so I wish she would've written it about all her teachers. Ms. Ybarra tosses math at her like it's nobody's business. I can hear Ms. Dugas, from across the hall, squawking (for humor's sake) stuff about the legislative and executive branches. Ms. Riser teaches her how to love the arts and, thus, life. It's a team effort, but she's benefitting from it.
Our gentle giant.
Monday, February 21, 2011
A Brand-New Insult
Lunch detention.
Bane. Of. My. Existence.
If there's anything that gets my blood boiling, it's realizing on Thursday at 9:55 a.m. - 15 minutes before my lunch period, yes, I said lunch period - that I have to do lunch detention that day. Thirty minutes of sheer hell, dirty looks and snide comments.
"Why do I have lunch detention?! I didn't do anything!"
Last Thursday, among the convicted were two girls - both of them new to our school - who had served lunch detention only the day before and were in my lunch detention because they wouldn't stop talking during Wednesday's detention. A vicious circle. They were flabbergasted that I had called their names, even though they had been warned. They put up a fight. I wasn't interested, told them to get in line. They gave me dirty looks and made snide comments. Go figure.
When we got to the classroom, they began to talk, then would FLIP the F out when I told them to be quiet, thinking that the counter, "I wasn't talking!" with a dirty look will make me forget what I had just seen. Anyway, they kept talking and would repeat what I would say in a mocking fashion. Pissed me the hell off.
So, finally, I had had it and looked up their parents' phone numbers to call right then and there. I had purchased an iPhone only the week before and was still learning the tricks. Well, apparently it's easier to put a freaking shuttle into orbit than it is to enter a simple contact into your phonebook because when I tried to make the call, it kept pulling up the e-mail.
Thanks, Steve Jobs.
So I'm trying to deal with these girls while trying to decipher my technology and finally one of them says, "Just get on your phone and get out of my business."
I figured it out and called the dads. They were livid. They talked to the girls and put them right in their places. But the girls were still mad during my last period and they showed it. Dirty looks and snide remarks. I caught them passing a note and so, per classroom rules, I took it.
CG: "Wat he say"
KW: "Mr. Lowe ugly a** told my dad that i had talked back 2 him He a junkie azz white trash ni--a."
BEST INSULT EVER.
Within ten minutes, I had both of these notes on my desk:
CG: "Mr. Lowe, I so sorry for my RUDE behavior today and I just wanted to say sorry for everything. And KW is too."
KW: "I'm sorry for talking back and doing what i'm not asked to do. I will not do that again."
I love reading notes.
Sincerely,
Junkie Azz White Trash N---a.
Bane. Of. My. Existence.
If there's anything that gets my blood boiling, it's realizing on Thursday at 9:55 a.m. - 15 minutes before my lunch period, yes, I said lunch period - that I have to do lunch detention that day. Thirty minutes of sheer hell, dirty looks and snide comments.
"Why do I have lunch detention?! I didn't do anything!"
Last Thursday, among the convicted were two girls - both of them new to our school - who had served lunch detention only the day before and were in my lunch detention because they wouldn't stop talking during Wednesday's detention. A vicious circle. They were flabbergasted that I had called their names, even though they had been warned. They put up a fight. I wasn't interested, told them to get in line. They gave me dirty looks and made snide comments. Go figure.
When we got to the classroom, they began to talk, then would FLIP the F out when I told them to be quiet, thinking that the counter, "I wasn't talking!" with a dirty look will make me forget what I had just seen. Anyway, they kept talking and would repeat what I would say in a mocking fashion. Pissed me the hell off.
So, finally, I had had it and looked up their parents' phone numbers to call right then and there. I had purchased an iPhone only the week before and was still learning the tricks. Well, apparently it's easier to put a freaking shuttle into orbit than it is to enter a simple contact into your phonebook because when I tried to make the call, it kept pulling up the e-mail.
Thanks, Steve Jobs.
So I'm trying to deal with these girls while trying to decipher my technology and finally one of them says, "Just get on your phone and get out of my business."
I figured it out and called the dads. They were livid. They talked to the girls and put them right in their places. But the girls were still mad during my last period and they showed it. Dirty looks and snide remarks. I caught them passing a note and so, per classroom rules, I took it.
CG: "Wat he say"
KW: "Mr. Lowe ugly a** told my dad that i had talked back 2 him He a junkie azz white trash ni--a."
BEST INSULT EVER.
Within ten minutes, I had both of these notes on my desk:
CG: "Mr. Lowe, I so sorry for my RUDE behavior today and I just wanted to say sorry for everything. And KW is too."
KW: "I'm sorry for talking back and doing what i'm not asked to do. I will not do that again."
I love reading notes.
Sincerely,
Junkie Azz White Trash N---a.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Sometimes They Just Can't Win
As funny as my students can be and as much as they can make me laugh, they can also break my heart just as easily. When I moved to Memphis, I knew I would learn a ton from the kids, be it slang or customs or culture. One thing I didn't foresee was the hurt and the pain that these kids encounter on a daily basis; life's hard, but sometimes it seems impossible for some of my students.
Yesterday, one of the students in my homeroom came up to me before the first bell rang and asked to use the restroom and I told her she could. (A bit of middle school background: the beginning of the day is as close to a "running of the bulls" as I'll ever come, especially because my room is right next to the drinking fountain and bathrooms.) That said, I didn't remember that I had told A she could use the restroom and just assumed she was running late. As homeroom was ending, she came to my door and apologized for being in the bathroom for 20 minutes, but she needed to talk to me.
AW: "Mr. Lowe, I'm sorry I've been gone so long in the restroom, but I was just sitting on a toilet crying the whole time."
Me: "What's wrong? What's making you cry?"
At this point, I'm honestly thinking that she's having drama with one of her friends because, let's face it, 14-year-old girls can get pretty petty and ruthless at times.
AW: "My dad...was killed last night."
She and I had spoken on previous occasions so I knew that her parents were divorced and she lived with her mom. She wasn't really close with her dad, but I knew that they talked or texted about once a week or so.
I'm still a bit hazy on the details, but apparently he was killed during a robbery by two men who have since been caught by the police.
Tragic.
I remember growing up and the biggest tragedy I encountered was when my best friend's parents divorced after 17 years of marriage. He was destroyed. I thought his world would cave in. We, too, were 14 at the time.
But that pales in comparison to what A is going through.
It's a tragedy that she has to bury her father at 14.
It's a tragedy that she had to find out that he was dead through a text message. It's a tragedy that she lives in an area where this isn't all that uncommon.
It's a tragedy that no matter what she does, she may very well go through this again with someone else in her family.
It's a tragedy that a divorce isn't the biggest letdown of her life.
It's a tragedy.
I had no words for her. I couldn't relate to her because I can't relate to her. My great-grandfather died when he was nearly 90 years old. My sister's best friend died pre-maturely at 25 and that's the closest I've come to death, even though I was 7,000 miles away when it happened. It's unthinkable that I've gone 23 years without experiencing something that a 14-year-old is having to endure right now.
Yes, I'm thankful for my upbringing and feel so lucky to have had that atmosphere growing up. But more than that, I'm terrified for her and every other one of my students who have experienced this. What's going to change it? Education. Who's going to change it? Only themselves. I can do my part, the city can do its part, community leaders can do theirs, but until my students realize that they don't have to experience this, nothing will change. They need to be the change they wish to see.
It's tough to hug a 14-year-old daughter of a murdered man and tell her that everything's gonna be alright because maybe it's not. Maybe not for her. But she can make it so everything is alright for her kids. And her grandkids. And her great-grandkids. But for now, everything's not alright.
Yesterday, one of the students in my homeroom came up to me before the first bell rang and asked to use the restroom and I told her she could. (A bit of middle school background: the beginning of the day is as close to a "running of the bulls" as I'll ever come, especially because my room is right next to the drinking fountain and bathrooms.) That said, I didn't remember that I had told A she could use the restroom and just assumed she was running late. As homeroom was ending, she came to my door and apologized for being in the bathroom for 20 minutes, but she needed to talk to me.
AW: "Mr. Lowe, I'm sorry I've been gone so long in the restroom, but I was just sitting on a toilet crying the whole time."
Me: "What's wrong? What's making you cry?"
At this point, I'm honestly thinking that she's having drama with one of her friends because, let's face it, 14-year-old girls can get pretty petty and ruthless at times.
AW: "My dad...was killed last night."
She and I had spoken on previous occasions so I knew that her parents were divorced and she lived with her mom. She wasn't really close with her dad, but I knew that they talked or texted about once a week or so.
I'm still a bit hazy on the details, but apparently he was killed during a robbery by two men who have since been caught by the police.
Tragic.
I remember growing up and the biggest tragedy I encountered was when my best friend's parents divorced after 17 years of marriage. He was destroyed. I thought his world would cave in. We, too, were 14 at the time.
But that pales in comparison to what A is going through.
It's a tragedy that she has to bury her father at 14.
It's a tragedy that she had to find out that he was dead through a text message. It's a tragedy that she lives in an area where this isn't all that uncommon.
It's a tragedy that no matter what she does, she may very well go through this again with someone else in her family.
It's a tragedy that a divorce isn't the biggest letdown of her life.
It's a tragedy.
I had no words for her. I couldn't relate to her because I can't relate to her. My great-grandfather died when he was nearly 90 years old. My sister's best friend died pre-maturely at 25 and that's the closest I've come to death, even though I was 7,000 miles away when it happened. It's unthinkable that I've gone 23 years without experiencing something that a 14-year-old is having to endure right now.
Yes, I'm thankful for my upbringing and feel so lucky to have had that atmosphere growing up. But more than that, I'm terrified for her and every other one of my students who have experienced this. What's going to change it? Education. Who's going to change it? Only themselves. I can do my part, the city can do its part, community leaders can do theirs, but until my students realize that they don't have to experience this, nothing will change. They need to be the change they wish to see.
It's tough to hug a 14-year-old daughter of a murdered man and tell her that everything's gonna be alright because maybe it's not. Maybe not for her. But she can make it so everything is alright for her kids. And her grandkids. And her great-grandkids. But for now, everything's not alright.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Bie-ber Fe-ver
A wonderful conversation to follow up a snow day:
BE: "Hey, Mr. Lowe, B and I are going to see Justin Bieber's new movie tonight!"
Me: "Can I come?"
BE: "You wanna come?! Yeah, you can come!"
Me: "Is it okay if I blow-dry my hair and wear a purple jacket like Bieber?"
BE: "Of course! We're going at 5:30."
Me: "I was just kidding about coming with you, but I am going to blow-dry my hair and wear my favorite Bieber Fever t-shirt."
Three minutes later, both girls come up to me with t-shirts in their hands.
BE: "Mr. Lowe, these are the shirts we're going to be wearing!"
BE's has a huge pic of Bieber's face on it; BB's says "The Future Mrs. Bieber."
BB: "You can only come with us if you wear a shirt like mine."
Me: "You think you can get that in a large? I'll totally wear it, but can you imagine the looks I'll get?"
BB: "Well, you can only come if you wear one like it. Will you really wear it??"
Me: "YES! Actually, no, so don't waste your money or time looking for one. Have fun tonight."
No Bieber for me.
BE: "Hey, Mr. Lowe, B and I are going to see Justin Bieber's new movie tonight!"
Me: "Can I come?"
BE: "You wanna come?! Yeah, you can come!"
Me: "Is it okay if I blow-dry my hair and wear a purple jacket like Bieber?"
BE: "Of course! We're going at 5:30."
Me: "I was just kidding about coming with you, but I am going to blow-dry my hair and wear my favorite Bieber Fever t-shirt."
Three minutes later, both girls come up to me with t-shirts in their hands.
BE: "Mr. Lowe, these are the shirts we're going to be wearing!"
BE's has a huge pic of Bieber's face on it; BB's says "The Future Mrs. Bieber."
BB: "You can only come with us if you wear a shirt like mine."
Me: "You think you can get that in a large? I'll totally wear it, but can you imagine the looks I'll get?"
BB: "Well, you can only come if you wear one like it. Will you really wear it??"
Me: "YES! Actually, no, so don't waste your money or time looking for one. Have fun tonight."
No Bieber for me.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Funny Grading Moments
On this wooooonderful snow day, I've been able to catch up on some much-needed grading and, as usual, it wasn't a humorless experience.
I started by grading some vocabulary tests; due to an illness last week that had me out for a day and a half, we only had two vocabulary words (exemplary and consistent), so it should have been ridiculously easy. The students were required to match the word to its definition and then use the word correctly in a complete sentence. Some kids just left it blank if they didn't know, but some were pretty clever in trying to disguise the fact that they couldn't use the word in a sentence:
DJ: "My teacher told me to use exemplary in a sentence."
DS: " 'I really don't understand the definition of the word exemplary,' Frank said."
Sure. Blame it on Frank.
Another student, AG, threw her best friend, J, under the bus.
AG: "J's consistent facial expression was making me mad."
After vocab land was done, I moved on to some poems that the kids wrote while I was sick. They were supposed to follow the ABAB CDCD EFEF GGGG rhyme scheme, but could choose their own topic. D's was by far my very favorite because 1) it is actually pretty good and 2) it's so out of character because he is far from a ladies' man. It's a bit racy, but what can you expect when the music he listens to talks indiscriminately about much worse? Nonetheless, I'm proud of his writing ability, it's a huge growth for him.
I had a dream about this girl,
And I can hear, hear her voice.
She dressed in nothing but pearls
And she gave one choice.
I thought that I was alone
But I didn't waste my time.
She made me feel at home,
I searched up and down each line.
She has the [sic] of a butterfly.
She will always be in my heart.
I told her don't never cry,
We can go back to the start.
She will always be my girl,
I will show her to the world.
You make me turn like a swirl,
You will always be my girl.
I started by grading some vocabulary tests; due to an illness last week that had me out for a day and a half, we only had two vocabulary words (exemplary and consistent), so it should have been ridiculously easy. The students were required to match the word to its definition and then use the word correctly in a complete sentence. Some kids just left it blank if they didn't know, but some were pretty clever in trying to disguise the fact that they couldn't use the word in a sentence:
DJ: "My teacher told me to use exemplary in a sentence."
DS: " 'I really don't understand the definition of the word exemplary,' Frank said."
Sure. Blame it on Frank.
Another student, AG, threw her best friend, J, under the bus.
AG: "J's consistent facial expression was making me mad."
After vocab land was done, I moved on to some poems that the kids wrote while I was sick. They were supposed to follow the ABAB CDCD EFEF GGGG rhyme scheme, but could choose their own topic. D's was by far my very favorite because 1) it is actually pretty good and 2) it's so out of character because he is far from a ladies' man. It's a bit racy, but what can you expect when the music he listens to talks indiscriminately about much worse? Nonetheless, I'm proud of his writing ability, it's a huge growth for him.
I had a dream about this girl,
And I can hear, hear her voice.
She dressed in nothing but pearls
And she gave one choice.
I thought that I was alone
But I didn't waste my time.
She made me feel at home,
I searched up and down each line.
She has the [sic] of a butterfly.
She will always be in my heart.
I told her don't never cry,
We can go back to the start.
She will always be my girl,
I will show her to the world.
You make me turn like a swirl,
You will always be my girl.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
My Alter Ego
Q is a bit of a loose cannon - she is incredibly smart, but nonetheless prone to bad judgement when even the tiniest thing makes her mad. I was going through some old papers and found this conversation that I wrote down that we had a few months ago, it's good for a laugh.
QT: "I gotta talk to Mr. L before I hurt someone."
Me: "Who would you hurt?"
QT: "PW."
Me: "Why?"
QT: "Because she messing with me and she said I put her head into the wall and now she wants to talk about it."
Me: "Well, then, maybe you should talk about it."
QT: "I can't. It's against the code."
Me: "What code?"
QT: "Roman's code."
There is another student whose last name - and nickname - is Roman, but he's the very last person I would ever see hanging out with Q, so I'm a bit confused.
Me: "Okay, whatever. You cannot hurt her."
QT: "But Roman says so."
Me: "Okay, who is Roman?"
QT: "My alter ego."
Hmmm, well, you can't argue with that one. If Roman said so...
QT: "I gotta talk to Mr. L before I hurt someone."
Me: "Who would you hurt?"
QT: "PW."
Me: "Why?"
QT: "Because she messing with me and she said I put her head into the wall and now she wants to talk about it."
Me: "Well, then, maybe you should talk about it."
QT: "I can't. It's against the code."
Me: "What code?"
QT: "Roman's code."
There is another student whose last name - and nickname - is Roman, but he's the very last person I would ever see hanging out with Q, so I'm a bit confused.
Me: "Okay, whatever. You cannot hurt her."
QT: "But Roman says so."
Me: "Okay, who is Roman?"
QT: "My alter ego."
Hmmm, well, you can't argue with that one. If Roman said so...
Friday, January 28, 2011
A Racial Divide
I have one student, TB, of whom I have talked entirely too much for my liking. He never shuts his mouth...ever. However, in his defense, some of the crap that comes out of his mouth is pretty funny and I can't help but laugh in the middle of class. He is as sarcastic as they come, but he's smart about it, so I have to give him some props. Today, while we were in class talking about our research papers and formatting them correctly, I had warned them that talking out would result in the entire class losing points - something they take seriously as of late despite being behind the other classes by at least 50 points. I wish I had video of this because the look TB gave me afterward was priceless.
A bit of necessary information:
CH is white and best friends with KF.
KF and TB are both black.
CH (whispering): "B, hey B..."
KF: "C, shut up! Don't ruin this for us."
(CB silently motions as if he's gonna throw his pencil at KF's head. TB sees it)
TB (turning to CH): "You better not do that if you don't want to get jumped by black people."
TB then turned to me and winked with a devious smile. I was proud that he was being satirical about the perceived racial tension - though surprisingly absent at our school - and making a joke of it. The way he said it though was the funniest part. CH had nothing to say back to that, he was beat.
A bit of necessary information:
CH is white and best friends with KF.
KF and TB are both black.
CH (whispering): "B, hey B..."
KF: "C, shut up! Don't ruin this for us."
(CB silently motions as if he's gonna throw his pencil at KF's head. TB sees it)
TB (turning to CH): "You better not do that if you don't want to get jumped by black people."
TB then turned to me and winked with a devious smile. I was proud that he was being satirical about the perceived racial tension - though surprisingly absent at our school - and making a joke of it. The way he said it though was the funniest part. CH had nothing to say back to that, he was beat.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Snow Day...and things I think are "funny."
Today is a Friday. Today is a lazy day. Today is a snow day.
Yesterday, about 30 minutes before school let out, it began to snow. It was quite the flurry, but it wasn't really sticking, so really it shouldn't have been a problem. So last night, the district decided to close up shop for the weekend and now nobody's in school. I'm not complaining, I just think it's funny because the weather's not bad at all. Evidence: the picture below. You see that tiny bit of snow on the shrub and the bumper of the car? Yep, that's what prompted a snow day.
On a more serious and ridiculous note, I verbally reamed one of my classes on Tuesday. We were reading through a short story and I could barely get a word in without being interrupted by TB, one of my worst offenders. There are a few kids that laugh at everything he does, even though they complain about how loud and annoying he is once he's gone...doesn't make sense. So, finally, I kinda lost it. I dropped the story and called them out.
Me: "Who thinks T is funny?"
Five kids raised their hands.
Me: "Who thinks what T does is funny?"
Same five kids raise their hands.
Me: "Well, I don't. I don't think it's funny that B (one of my well-behaved students) is getting screwed out of a proper education because T can't shut his mouth. But you know what I do think is funny? I think minimum wage is funny. I think it's really funny that some people can't make enough money to pay their bills. Now, that's funny. You know what else is funny? People that work at McDonald's. I laugh in the face of the person that gives me my food because I know that he can't pay his rent every month."
We had been studying irony and figurative language, so I employed a bit in my rant -- I'm pretty sure it went right over their heads.
"I think it's hilarious that some of my students will get their driver's licenses in two years, yet can't read well enough to understand the street signs. I think it's hilarious that one of you might not understand what S-T-O-P spells, so you run the stop sign going 50 miles per hour and kill someone in the other car. Now that's funny."
Their minds were, at this point, blown and they were all trying to comprehend what I was saying. "Is this guy serious?"
"You know what really gets me laughing? Knowing that, unless you change in the very near future, your kids will be as poor as you are now and will be attending this same school because you never made anything of your lives. That's pretty funny to me."
I really was trying to be as hyperbolic and sarcastic as possible to get my point across. I didn't mean any of it, obviously, but I felt as if they needed someone to tell them what the consequences could be if they don't get their acts together. They were stunned that I was saying this all to them. I did it for effect and it definitely had its effect.
The next day, they didn't dare cross me. They were very well-behaved.
Win.
Yesterday, about 30 minutes before school let out, it began to snow. It was quite the flurry, but it wasn't really sticking, so really it shouldn't have been a problem. So last night, the district decided to close up shop for the weekend and now nobody's in school. I'm not complaining, I just think it's funny because the weather's not bad at all. Evidence: the picture below. You see that tiny bit of snow on the shrub and the bumper of the car? Yep, that's what prompted a snow day.
On a more serious and ridiculous note, I verbally reamed one of my classes on Tuesday. We were reading through a short story and I could barely get a word in without being interrupted by TB, one of my worst offenders. There are a few kids that laugh at everything he does, even though they complain about how loud and annoying he is once he's gone...doesn't make sense. So, finally, I kinda lost it. I dropped the story and called them out.
Me: "Who thinks T is funny?"
Five kids raised their hands.
Me: "Who thinks what T does is funny?"
Same five kids raise their hands.
Me: "Well, I don't. I don't think it's funny that B (one of my well-behaved students) is getting screwed out of a proper education because T can't shut his mouth. But you know what I do think is funny? I think minimum wage is funny. I think it's really funny that some people can't make enough money to pay their bills. Now, that's funny. You know what else is funny? People that work at McDonald's. I laugh in the face of the person that gives me my food because I know that he can't pay his rent every month."
We had been studying irony and figurative language, so I employed a bit in my rant -- I'm pretty sure it went right over their heads.
"I think it's hilarious that some of my students will get their driver's licenses in two years, yet can't read well enough to understand the street signs. I think it's hilarious that one of you might not understand what S-T-O-P spells, so you run the stop sign going 50 miles per hour and kill someone in the other car. Now that's funny."
Their minds were, at this point, blown and they were all trying to comprehend what I was saying. "Is this guy serious?"
"You know what really gets me laughing? Knowing that, unless you change in the very near future, your kids will be as poor as you are now and will be attending this same school because you never made anything of your lives. That's pretty funny to me."
I really was trying to be as hyperbolic and sarcastic as possible to get my point across. I didn't mean any of it, obviously, but I felt as if they needed someone to tell them what the consequences could be if they don't get their acts together. They were stunned that I was saying this all to them. I did it for effect and it definitely had its effect.
The next day, they didn't dare cross me. They were very well-behaved.
Win.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)