Why There Should Be No Talking in School

With the end of the school year looming ahead of us, here are

Ten True Exchanges I’ve Had in School

1. Me: Here is your assignment written on the board. Everyone needs to be looking up here and listening. You are to read page 234 and answer questions 1-5. That’s page two-thirty-four and numbers one through five. Any questions?

Student: Um. Do we have an assignment?

2. Me: And finally, the correct answer to number 30 is 4,208.5 cm. Any questions?

Student: (With hand raised.) Do you like cats?

3. Me: When I call your name for roll, please raise your hand. Michael?

Michael (raising hand): Excuse me? I have dreams of cheese.

Me: Oh. I see. What kind of cheese?

Michael: Gouda.

4. Sixth Grade student, after watching a theatre film that mentioned concubines (and feigning an innocent look): What is a concubine?

Me: Sort of like a mistress.

Student: I knew what it was, but I didn’t think you’d tell us.

5. Me: …And that’s your assignment. Any questions?

Student: (With hand raised.) What’s your favorite color?

6. (Question I hear at least once per week.)

Student: Did you used to teach grade school?

Me: No.

Student: You look just like a teacher at my old school.

Me: What is her name?

Student: I can’t remember. (They never can. For years I had a double named Sue. Now I have a double in the grade school, but she is apparently unmemorable enough that no one knows who she is.)

7. High school student: Excuse me? Will you please take a look at this rash on my arm?

8. Student: You look like that one lady in Mrs. Doubtfire.

Me: Was the lady Mrs. Doubtfire?

Student: No, the mom.

Me: (Thinking) Stop messing with them, you idiot, because one of these days they’re going to say yes and mean it.

9. Me (looking at a 6^th grader’s desk while he was coloring a social studies map): My goodness, that desk looks like an episode of hoarders! Please share the markers.

On-looking student (with a very solemn face): Yes, all he’s missing is a few dead cats, some old newspapers and some dust bunnies.

10. Me (in gifted 7^th grade classroom, calling roll): Ethan?

Ethan: Here. At least that is my perception. I could merely be an existential hallucination of some higher being.

Ethan’s friend: Or some lower being.

Only the educated are free. ~Epictetus

The Orange Prayer

Years ago, when I was student teaching in a rather snobbish Midwestern high school, I sometimes ate lunch with another teacher. The two of us were outcasts who ended up tablemates due to our respective disabilities. Hers was that she was blind. Mine was that I was 21. I don’t remember what my friend’s name was or what she taught. What I do remember is the time she ate an orange.

She divined her way around the rind, then held it in front of her face like a crystal ball and pried off the peel, smiling into the air as she did. The finest sparkling spray, backlit by the fluorescent lights of the teachers’ lounge, poofed into her face like a magic spell. When she laughed with childish delight, I realized she’d cast it on purpose.

Then she carefully separated the segments, arranged them on her napkin, and steepled her orange-scented hands in front of her nose and breathed in the scent as if it were a life-giving prayer of thanks. And I believe in a sense it was.

She turned to me and beamed. “There’s nothing like eating an orange,” she said.

I have never seen an orange in quite the same way since. In fact, she taught me to see thanks itself in a new way.

For that gift, too, I am immensely thankful.

“…that’s why God needs us. Because God loves to feel things through our hands.” Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

Still Held High

Several years ago, I posted here about a female Family and Consumer Science teacher who proudly sported a head that was bald as a bowling ball—presumably from cancer treatments.  In honor of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, this is an update.

I recently saw her walking through the halls.  She now has a nice, thick head of hair.  I remember hearing once that post-chemotherapy hair can be even thicker and better than before, and it certainly seemed true in this case.  I’m pleased to report that she looked healthy and rosy and ready to take on the next adventure that life has to offer. 

And even more than ever, she walked like a winner.

There will come a time when you believe everything is finished.  That will be the beginning. ~Louis L’Amour

Sub Notes: When Garbage Pales

It was the smell of death. And it was in the classroom. So I discretely looked around so as not to frighten the children—teenagers, they were. The scariest part was that it was so close to them, somewhere around the trash can. The closer I got, the more disgusting it became. It was a horrifying, gangrenous smell—the smell of rot and decay. I figured a mouse must have gotten in there and died.

I glanced in. Wrappers. Plastic drink bottles. And nothing else. Nothing. Was I missing it somehow? It was a little hard to see in the trash, because there was a kid who had his feet resting on the trash can.

That was the first time it occurred to me. Sure, I’ve smelled stinky shoes before. Heck, I’ve even had a teenaged son. I remember discussing horrible smells that came out of our teenaged boys’ rooms with a friend who has three of her own. I would never forget her very serious warning. “Whatever you do,” she had said, “don’t ever smell the shoes.”

But this. This wasn’t human. It wasn’t alive. It was sickening, horrifying, vile.

Could it be…? And then the bell rang, and the smell walked out the door. No wonder so many teachers keep air fresheners in the classroom. I hope that boy’s mother knows about my friend’s warning.

Now scientists call this disease bromidrosis
(that's right!)
And well they should
Even napoleon knows that
But us regular folks
Who might wear a tennis shoe
Or an occasional python boot
Know this exquisite little inconvenience by the name of:
Stink foot
~lyrics from Frank Zappa, “Stink Foot”

Sub Notes: How Times Have Changed, Part II

Things have changed a lot in secondary schools in the past few years, and some of those changes are wonderful. Most amazing to me is the girls. They don’t have a clue what we went through. By the time I was twenty, I’d experienced several indecent exposures and had had someone try to lure me into his car. My mother acted like that was no big deal. Now, of course, it would have made headlines. Construction workers hooted and catcalled, and total strangers grabbed. The workplace was sometimes the worst; even as a young teacher, I once had a male teacher grab me going up the stairs, an older one tried to hold my hand like I was a child rather than a colleague, and even a principal once said something vaguely lewd.

We were teased if we were too pretty, too ugly, too girly, too boyish, too wimpy, too sporty, too fat or too thin. I used to notice how so many girls walked—crumpled over themselves with their arms crossed in front of their breasts, minimizing their girlness.

Now I’m awed by the way some of them walk like she-warriors, owning themselves, the room, and the world. They are unabashed and unafraid. They speak up and speak out. They can be feminine and powerful at the same time. Some can go way overboard without question, but the quiet confidence some of these girls exude is inspiring.

Sometimes as I stand outside the classroom door ostensibly doing hall duty, I see them striding by, and I think to myself, “You go girl.” I hope they go far.

Yep, times have changed. Just as they should.

Birthday Girl to her friend:  "That’s okay.  You don’t need to hug me.  I have ‘personal space’ issues."

Boy:  (nodding commiseratively) "A lot of us do."
~Conversation overheard among A.P. English students

Sub Notes: How Times Have Changed Part I

I subbed for years when we moved all over the country due to my then-husband’s job—once we lived in three cities in just over a year’s time—and then I stayed home for several years while the children were small and we moved around due to his job some more. When I went back, changes had taken place. A lot of them. I guess some might lament that fact—and the truth is, some of the changes were negative. But there were quite a few positive ones, too.

Children today are familiar with other people’s differences and much more tolerant of them. They can be proud of who they are, how they look and who they love. I’m not sure why, but they are cleaner. They wash their hands. No one has B.O. Severe acne is all but nonexistent. Some are medicated, yes, but that can be a great thing. If they have mental issues, those issues are better understood. It’s likely they’re addressed rather than bottled up and left to ferment.

Boys are allowed to be nurturing. They can like the color pink, and some are open about the fact that they do. They can like cuteness. They can announce that they’re going into nursing or elementary teaching and feel proud of aspiring to a great job.

It no longer seems nerdy to be smart. In fact, it’s not just another asset, but an important one. The ones who are in shape are in better shape than we were because they play more organized sports. They are fit and hard-bodied. They push themselves more. They are goal-oriented, in touch, plugged in, and on the ball. They are sophisticated, motivated, and educated. A master’s degree is the new bachelor’s. Some would say it’s too much, but I do admire the work ethic some of them have.

Last week I got to talking to a boy in the library. He told me he was off on paid vacation from his fulltime job that he works in addition to fulltime high school. He gets about five hours’ sleep per night, but he is headed places and proud of himself for it. And rightly so.

Another boy checked out Beowulf for a little light reading. He said he’d read it a few times before.

And the girls…! That’s another story. Or rather, blog post. Please consider staying tuned.

Sixth Grade Boy: "I have to pee."
Me: "Can you think of a more school-appropriate way to ask that?"
Boy: (After some thought) "I must urinate?" 

Sub Notes: Rise from the Ashes

Sometimes on my job I have to talk so much that I forget an even harder skill: listening.

I was walking around the room to make sure these high school children were working. He was done with his work, and he was drawing. Part of my job as his special education teacher was to redirect him to something productive, but there was such intensity about the way he was bent over the page, something told me I needed to ask.

“Beautiful,” I said. “It’s a Phoenix, right?”

He was a tough-looking boy. But here is a secret I learned long ago: high school children don’t dress to reflect who they are, but who they want to become. Tough looking ones often are the most sensitive people who are trying to overcome tough circumstances. He looked up from his desk glowing with quiet pride.

“It’s the tattoo I’m getting,” he told me. “I was in a car accident six months ago. They said I died briefly. But I made it. It’s been hard work, but the phoenix represents how far I’ve come.”

I didn’t do my job that day and tell him to work on something else. Sometimes nature lights her own fires, and all we can do is stand back and marvel at what rises from them.

Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire. ~William Butler Yeats