I'm up from my nap and Mike is down for his. Somewhere inbetween we watched a nifty Tivo'd documentary on what the Romans did for fun. It turns out they had lots of public holidays and vending machines that served bowls of water. I will always love Mike because when I shout out "We should build freestanding stone arches from a mixture of quicklime and salt!" he immediately agrees.
Cut whole bit here, except for: For two weeks my students have been telling me that I'm the only teacher who lets them use Wikipedia, and did I know that, and maybe I shouldn't let them do that, and did I know that Wikipedia isn't any good for anything? So, apparently my whole pre-project lecture on the pros and cons of Wikipedia including how to use the history/discussion tabs to help evaluate the credibity of a Wikipedia article was only a meaningful lesson in media literacy on paper.
What else can I blab about from the trenches? Okay, how about something controversial?
So, there it was, a Thursday. I was tired. Ruth (Remember Ruth? The pre-student teacher? I love Ruth. She's the younger, cuter, more optimistic me, and I love the idealized me.) and I had just been through some unbloggable periods. She'd left for the day. I was whipped. My fourth period, despite being the class where every "I'm just here so my mom won't go to jail for my truancy" kid lands, was a little bit ahead because they'd already done the vocabulary exercises.
As the first kids came in, I joked, with my usual patented sarcasm: "How about we just turn off the lights and nap all period?"
I turned away, still chuckling, got the PowerPoint looping for the warm-up, did my passing-period hall duty, and came back to a silent classroom.
A silent fourth period. A SILENT FOURTH PERIOD.
"Miss." (Sweet-but-talky kid has apparently been elected spokesman.) "Is it true? Can we have a nap this period?"
I smiled with regret. "Wouldn't that be nice? Nice and dark, complete silence, and everyone studies at home so everyone gets an A on the quiz tomorrow?" (Gentle laugh. Homework? At my school? He he he.)
"Miss." (Room still silent.) "We would. We'd be silent. We'd study tonight."
I smile with compassion. "I'll have to think on it, ha ha."
We do the warmup. It's still quiet. I can tell they're still hopeful. Are they crazy? Yeah, sure, just go to sleep. Ha ha ha. Who are these podlings?
Something just feels weird, though. And I feel... pity. I'm tired, yes, but if anything, teaching distracts me from that. I don't want downtime. I think of my student in the last period who was telling me about how she gets home at midnight from work, how she mostly gets by on a diet of crackers eaten on the way to work...
Sometimes, as bad as it could look to a passerby, as bad as it would sound on your evaluation, you have to go with your gut.
"You'll either nap or work in silence?"
"Yes, miss."
No one is joking. There is a look that I have never seen on so many faces before in my life.
"You'll all get A's tomorrow? Not more than two wrong on the quiz?"
The room is still and quiet. "Yes, miss. Please. Can we?""
And we did.
For thirty minutes, those who wanted to sleep went to one side of the room, and those who wanted to do vocabulary exercises or other school work went to the other side of the room, under the one unquenchable light.
Some kids set up backpacks on the floor as pillows before lying down. Most just set noggin to desk. Almost all conked out immediately. No talking, no giggling, no whispering.
I started speaking softly, using the vocabulary words as a "guided meditation" story, covering my butt in case anyone questioned what the lesson was, but after a minute I let it go. Let them sleep.
About ten minutes in, a few giggles came from the usual culprits. "SHHHH!" - that was the sound of everyone around them. Dozing resumed.
Then, with 15 minutes left to the bell, the M. Night Shyamalan twist ending kicked in.
Individual students gradually rose and drifted to the brighter side of the room. Silently, they grabbed textbooks. Quietly, they asked classmates for notes. Independently, they checked to make sure they had all of the vocabulary definitions and usage notes and whatnot.
I hadn't said a word. I had just watched. By five minutes to the bell, most students had, of their own accord, decided to take responsibility. I don't know if my insurance covers jaw drops that severe. I doubt I will ever see the like again, but I'm telling you, it's all true. I was there.
There was no, "Duuuude! Can you believe we slept all period?", with lots of elbows. There was no, "We should do this every day - ha ha ha!" The few remaining sleepers stretched and quietly packed up. No unruly throng tried to gather itself at the door, watching the second hand ponder its journey forward.
There were a few thank-yous. And one kid, the one who thinks I'm el diablo loco, the one who actually took his quiz the next day despite it no doubt being as locoish as everything else he refuses to do, solemnly asked, "Ms. S., will we ever be able to do that again?"
I don't know the answer.
I know no administrator would jump to have my back on this. Our kids are struggling. But, you know, they're not struggling because they don't get it. They're struggling because they Just. Won't. Work. Maybe they don't work because they don't get it, but that's a little too touchy-feely even for me. All I hear all day from kids is how they'll just make up the credit in the summer or after school, when it's "less work."
I know we don't get enough days to do justice to our content as it is, not when all of the tests and school activities add up. But on Thursday I just knew. I knew that, more than doing activities for the vocabulary they were supposed to be studying/using for the past three weeks, these guys really just needed a nap.
This year I've barely touched the DVD player. I never show a movie without accompanying activities and lecture. (Even when it kills the cinematic momentum.) I pretend to have never heard of "free days." This year, everyone works (or fakes it convincingly). I'm a big wuss when it comes to bucking the appearance of upholding the idea that every day is jam-packed with constant, measurable, tangible, student-centered activity, complete with anticipatory set and closing reflection. At my annual evaluation, my boss said that, in her casual polling of my students, one comment came up about how I never let them just hang out, how even when I'm taking roll they're supposed to be working.
I wish (to an extent) that this was true, but if there are any unpleasant consequences of our "vocabulary nap exercise," I hope get some carryover points for (apparently) being such a dedicated and ruthless taskmaster until this week.
(What did I do during nap time? Helped those who chose to work and comforted a girl who is going through her 19th nervous breakdown, one that can probably only be fixed with time. In other words, I was finally able to help those who do care or are willing to experiment with caring. But, okay, I'll admit it: otherwise quiet, dark classroom? Beautiful. I enjoyed it. I inhaled.)
Nobody preaches work ethic more than I do. I'm the queen of "Yeah, life stinks, but here you are with people who actually care about you being successful in life, so suck it up and get your money's worth today." But god, those kids were really exhausted. And grateful. Scarily grateful.
Naptime should be a not-for-credit elective. Cogs must be turning in my brain, because earlier this week I started wondering why recess is gone by high school. Really, why is it?
Can you imagine sitting for an hour, trotting to your next class, sitting for an hour, trotting to your next class, sitting for an hour, trotting to your next class, running to lunch, standing in line for ages then gobbling your food in 15 minutes or queueing for the restroom, trotting to your next class (where, if you had a beverage at breakfast and lunch, you will by now have to negotiate for a bathroom pass - good luck), sitting for an hour, trotting to your next class, then finally going home?
It's depressing me to even type that. I know we're all supposed to be good teachers who keep the students physically moving, who change gears a couple of times during a class period, who promote lively interaction as opposed to "shut up and read," but c'mon. As I've said before, the reason they make Lifetime movies about people who do that is because it's not the norm. I wouldn't want to go through that schedule day-in day-out even if my first period was "Rollercoaster Appreciation" and my last class was "Ebay Lab."
I haven't graded the quizzes yet. I'm not enough of a sucker to think our "small group snooze practice" enhanced vocabulary learning. (I am now actually working on a real guided "vocabulary meditation" exercise for a 5-10 minute end-of-class activity, but let's not pretend this was that.)
But I do wonder what these guys got out of their next class that day, when they were simultaneously refreshed and subdued.
I would never cross my mind to do this with the Honors kids, who are self-starters, or with first period, who need to wake up. Or with third period, who are awake and cheerful by then, always doing 1st period's work in half the time. But fourth period? Hungry, antsy, slacker, half-deadbeat fourth period? I plead gut instinct, your honor.
(Now, can I turn my "diablo loco" techniques into a best-selling book on pedagogy? HMMM!)
I mean, something is wrong, somewhere. Bring back study hall or add recess or something. Shuffle everyone into yet another version of a block or anti-block schedule. Yeah. I know my insights and solutions are old news and involves money and other unmentionable stuff. I'm such a n00b.
Speaking of unmentionable, I'm listening to Pat Boone's version of Stairway to Heaven.
In other news:
Tonight we weaned Sherman to live with with his possible father, Arthur. (Fingers remain crossed.) His sister still doesn't have a name; I tried "Helen," but it won't catch.
It seems that once Mike can get a Nevada license, he will be considered a "high risk, inexperienced driver" for insurance purposes for the first three years. In fact, one insurance company won't insure him because of the risk, despite his long and nearly perfect Australian driving record. (They suggested another company, but warned me that we'll be paying rates like he's a teenager with all of the experience and eagerness of a permit.)
Meanwhile, my current provider (Geico) is saying that it's mandatory for me to add my spouse because "he is a licensed driver living in your home and needs insurance." Yeah, whatever. As I keep telling them: One, he's not a legal resident. Two, he isn't driving yet. I know people might just say that, but if he is driving, then he's doing a hell of a job hiding his secret car from me while I take ours to work. Plus, Mike has seen how Americans seem to abhor an empty space in the flow of traffic and rush to fill it, and he's pretty sure he never wants to drive here. I just thought we'd start looking into it because, you know, realities of modern life and hope of a green card ASAP all of that. I'm very sorry I did, and I apologize to the universe for this show of proactive responsibility. I am chidden - forgive me.
(I'm considering switching carriers this summer. I told Geico that I was pretty sure they weren't understanding my situation - which all started with them not understanding their own quote request forms while I tried to convince them that I couldn't get an online quote because they don't accept Aus. licenses. I guessed I could ask my husband to surrender his Australian driver's license to them, if that's what it takes to prove that he really isn't joyriding in our one car while I'm using it at work, seeing as how now they're saying I can't continue coverage with them without insuring my non-driving non-resident spouse. But if that's what they wanted, they needed to let me know, so I could start shopping for a provider that understands what's happening here and doesn't keep spouting canned crap.)
(What if Mike wanted to go with Allstate? Is Geico seriously saying they won't insure a person unless the spouse is insured with them, too? It's not like I asked for a married person discount. And why don't I get a discount for being certified to teach driver's ed? Wait, separate issue, never mind. Really, I think it's because Geico has one dim-but-personable bulb named Anita who is in charge of my "case." I'm sure we could straighten it all out if I asked to talk to someone else, but since they're not hassling me about this "rule," I've decided to just stay off the radar and shop around.)
The Aladdin casino finally became the Planet Hollywood casino this week. I remain blinky over the idea that some people think Planet Hollywood hasn't been, like, so over for years now.
I have no meaningful thoughts on Virginia Tech. (Trust no one with a backwards baseball cap?) I'm just sad and sorry.
Somewhat related, I had a lovely student go a little stupid on me recently with some of the things he was saying and writing. It got a little out of hand. I had to report it. (I don't know how many years must pass before I can blog the particulars. Oh well. Sorry.) The school suspended him for a few days, as would be normal, but his parents were horrified by his disrespect toward certain people and made him get counseling, and this week he was withdrawn from school. I feel bad. He was one of my best students. He seemed to be making light and not understanding he was going too far. He was nice. He was polite. He was a genuine pleasure to have in class. I just... there are some things you can't joke about for very long, and it was showing up in all of his work, and when it showed up on my board, twice... I don't know.
Many brows were furrowed, and I was feeling like the whistleblowing wowser who "got a good kid kicked out because one teacher can't take a joke," even though that was all a parent decision. I even miss the guy. But then one of my teammates unexpectedly high-fived me, saying I did the right thing, and thanked me for doing it. He feels like I do, like this student didn't seem to be a threat, just a doof, but who can take that risk now?
We ate at the Silverton buffet this week. It's a silly place now, with fewer vegetarian options and even fewer labels, and neither of us found much to like. No. Very fresh cookies, though, and the drink glasses are frosty, thick, and handsome.
Foreigner is playing the Beach in a few weeks. The summer schedule isn't out yet, but Foreigner is about $75 a pop. Ow! When did that skip up the sandy ladder happen? Let's hope Idol and Benatar and the B-52s and all of the other regulars stay at last season's more sane rates.
Mike thinks eating cake with ice cream is weird.
During my nap (my new leitmotif) tonight, I dreamt of food and was able to taste it. That's never happened before! Usually I wake up just as the plate it set down. (Or just as Mike moves in for the kiss, or just as I'm about to spend the lottery winnings, or just as I'm about to step onto the beach.)
On tonight's dream menu, I had some crunchy caramel torte followed by enchiladas, and it was all at some terribly fancy restaurant where Mike and I had been before (in made-up dream life), but I was alone this time, at a cozy table, with a bunch of waiters who were so pleased that I was enjoying the food and were all talking about how nice it was, for all of us to be having nice conversations while dining. So, not only did I taste food in the dream for many lingering moments, but everyone was mostly happy. (I was worried about where Mike was and why I was spending so much on the meal, but at some point I decided to just go with it.)
So, what's with the verisimilitude? Am I going to die now?
I haven't been playing World of Warcraft. I got to level 40. I got my war stallion. I have 250 in gold, which buys me all the agility potions I could want at this level. I'm not sure what to do next. (I don't like guilds.)
This week I decided that I'm definitely, medically, a hunchback, and not just a person who needs to stand up straighter, but that's a saver for another post.
I've been reading everything except the boring interlibrary loan book that's been overdue at 25 cents/day for a week. Nothing of note, though. I could almost reread Mists of Avalon, or try to make my way through the post-jumping-shark books that came later in the series. Or I could keep ploughing the unreads, believing there will be a book again (other than Harry Potter) that will make me want to recommend it to 10 people, if not buy it for them.
Ah, Mike's awake. The hams are awake. I'm awake. The Strip is awake. It's Friday. Hasta!
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