Mundane Secrets

Clue by Four?

2009-01-27T06:25:17Z

( 1) Fellow [10:02 P.M.]: are you online
( 2) Me [10:03 P.M.]: Let it go.
( 3) Fellow [10:03 P.M.]: let wHAT GO
( 4) Me [10:04 P.M.]: it = anything having to do with me
( 5) Fellow [10:04 P.M.]: I had to get a new computer, mine crashed
( 6) Fellow [10:04 P.M.]: what is up with you
( 7) Fellow [10:05 P.M.]: My computer has been down for a week, I just got one today
( 8) Me [10:06 P.M.]: Think all the horrible, "she's nuts...she's unfair" things you want. I don't want to communicate with you anymore. Not to point out that I've seen you in my buddylist at earlier points, not to point out that you have my cell phone number and could have called if you wanted to alert me to anything. Just tell yourself that I'm not worth it. You can be right. I don't mind.
( 9) Fellow [10:07 P.M.]: I lst your cell phone number when my computer crashed [I almost answered this one because he assured me the second time I gave him this number that he had written it down]
(10) Fellow [10:07 P.M.]: I was getting a roof on teh house this week
(11) Fellow [10:08 P.M.]: I did get online at [his work] to change my passwords one day, I don't remember when, maybe Friday [backtrack number one]
(12) Fellow [10:08 P.M.]: I was on AOL there for a minute
(13) Fellow [10:08 P.M.]: the last day it worked it only worked a few minutes
(14) Fellow [10:10 P.M.]: I have been workin on getting back online tonight, I have VISTA, and it is new to me, I have been trying to get into my bank account to check it, and I was on aol and didn't even know it for a while tonight
(15) Fellow [10:10 P.M.]: I don't have a buddy list
(16) Fellow [10:11 P.M.]: Your phone number was on a phone list in my doccuments on teh computer that crashed
(17) Fellow [10:11 P.M.]: I don't have it, if I had called you on my cell phone I would, but I never called you on my cell phone [Then why did we discuss what cell plans we had during our first conversation and how it was on the weekend and didn't matter for either of us? Even so, who has to be called on a cell phone first in order to put a number on said cell phone?]
(18) Fellow [10:12 P.M.]: I am sending IMs in a box two inches square, I hate this aol .com shit
(19) Fellow [10:13 P.M.]: give me your number so I can call. my eyes can't take this small print and I canchange it
(20) Fellow [10:15 P.M.]: or call me, you should have my number
(21) Fellow [10:17 P.M.]: I was having trouble with my computer , I got it fixes, adn then it crashed a final time
(22) Fellow [10:21 P.M.]: are ou still there
(23) Fellow [10:21 P.M.]: I can't see, the new keyboard is black and and hard to see
(24) Fellow [10:22 P.M.]: if I had your phone number I would call you now
(25) Fellow [10:25 P.M.]: If you saw me n you buddy list you should have IM ed me, why should I have to be the one to start every conversation, I don't like doing that all teh time, I feel like I am being a pest if I am the only one that starts IM's [But you don't feel like a pest sending messages 9 - 25 after reading "I don't want to communicate with you anymore" and without a response over the course of almost 20 minutes?]
(26) Fellow [10:27 P.M.]: Oh yes, I was online at my daughters house one night, I was paying bill online, I was on this aol.com shit, I don't know it very well. [backtract number two]
(27) Fellow [10:28 P.M.]: if you are there, send me your phone number
(28) Fellow [10:30 P.M.]: not only was my coumputer down, my cable TV has been in and out, I have had a bad week, it is very lonely here, I have no one to talk to
(29) Fellow [10:30 P.M.]: I have no one, I have nothing
(30) Fellow [10:30 P.M.]: my life pretty much sucks
(31) Fellow [10:31 P.M.]: and those who I thought were my friends, are not
(32) Fellow [10:35 P.M.]: not that you give a fuck, but I am supposed to go in for surgery tomorrow, but I am not going, I have to have a driver if I go, I refuse to have to ask anyone to go with me [Hey, I live many states away from you. We've never met IRL. You have a scheduled surgery but haven't gotten a driver by 10:35 the night before, how would my giving a fuck make a difference?]
(33) Fellow [10:37 P.M.]: thanks for nothing [Think nothing of it. Really. That's what I asked of you waaaaaaay up to there.]
Fellow signed off at 10:37 P.M.

Karma

2006-12-16T22:01:16Z

My son wasn't going to tell me. His World History grade was so good for the first term, and his current grades just as good, so he wasn't going to fail the course just because he didn't do a video project worth two test grades. He wouldn't have the B we had expected. Probably a C; maybe a D+.

He wasn't going to tell me, but he finally came to his senses. I woulda kilt him.

The problem was a lack of a camcorder. His dad's is broken. His project partner thought her aunt would loan them hers. His friend's mom said, "No way." His teacher said "Not my problem." Now, if he had asked me from the get-go, I could have requisitioned one from the computer lab, but the first-come, first-served nature meant that I was too late, and he has until Monday to get it done. They've chosen the subject; they've written the script; they've got an eighteen-frame storyboard. The script and storyboard must be turned in with the video project, but they will not be accepted without the video.

So, I decided on one of his big-ticket items for Christmas.

We arrived at the first store and waited and waited and waited. The young man at that station finally indicated with body language and eye contact that we would be next, but he waited instead on two separate customers who came to the area later than we.

Female. Young. Attractive.

When he finally got to us, I realized from the first that he was going to be perfunctory about it so that he could ignore the fact that he'd been unjust. He opened the storage door under our choice, pushed around the boxes, closed the door. Opened the next door, pushed around boxes. Opened the first door again, pushed even less than the first time, and closed them to mumble something about ordering the item for us. I lost all desire to ask about two more models within my price range because as soon as he straightened, he began whirling the lanyard holding the storage keys back and forth around his fist. My son was convinced that I would cobra strike the keys in midair, yank the lanyard from his fingers, and yell, "Do you have any regard for personal space?"

Well, he was reliving such an experience, but I hadn't done it to him in public.

Since we were in public, I said to my son, "Please move so I can leave here without the fear of being hit. Is the service desk that way?" The keys immediately stopped their Mercury-fast orbit around that young man's fist, and we walked away. My son said, "That twirling is scary when someone else is doing it. Thanks for making me stop, mom. But it might have been cool if you'd grabbed them."

In the second store, the selection was quite limited. The only camcorder within my price range used a recording tape that was not approved by the teacher, and the salesman wanted me to sell me the one that did with an accompanying hike in the price of almost two hundred bucks--not counting the software that would make the whole "video for World History" experience easier for my son.

Easier?!? Let's see. I spend two hundred bucks more to save my son some effort to complete a project he could have done easily and virtually for free if he'd only told me about his equipment needs a week earlier? Naaaaaaaaah. The clerk was disdainful of my choice to buy neither the camcorder that would produce an unacceptable version of the project nor the one that would work but cost so much more--a little, sniffy comment about parents having to help their children succeed. This time my son let the fellow know that he was grateful that I'd even walk into the store on this errand. "You don't know the whole story," he said to the man and then turned to me to point and ask, "Is the service desk that way?"

We walked away again, successfully bit our lips, and didn't burst out laughing until we were out of the store.

It was my son's speaking up and our shared laughter that set us on our way to the third store rather than home, and on the way, I proposed that we bank some good karma. I didn't feel good about the two experiences so far, even if they had had their satisfactions. I'd much rather feel good about the last one even if the camcorder purchase still didn't happen. We decided that we'd be the most polite and helpful people in the store.

Before we got there, I let two people into traffic by stopping well behind the car in front of me at a light. When we parked, we collected five buggies from the cars around us. My son pushed four of them to the stall in the parking lot, I pushed one into the store. We smiled and said hello to everyone who would make eye contact with us. I picked up a bag of candy that had fallen off its shelf and replaced it. We gave our buggy to a woman who had an armful of items. My son put his arm between a careening little boy and a column so that the boy's head hit his arm and not the concrete. While we waited in the line at the camera center, we read some fine print for a lady who'd forgotten her reading glasses. She was glad to put away the battery she had chosen to get the right one. We were greeted and smiled at and thanked. The camcorder choice we made at this store was also out of stock, but the clerk told us of another that was cheaper with virtually the same features that they'd had on a "blitz sale" a week earlier. They still had two behind the counter and would we be interested?

I believe I'll bank good karma more often. (And the World History project is finished.)

One More Year

2006-07-31T00:34:42Z

I've been writing and writing and writing and writing. Whew!

Once school was out, I thought I'd be working around the house and occasionally pulling out the school materials so that I'd be ready to rock and roll when the next school year started. However, a workshop changed my focus.

I'd signed up for a workshop on how to help students pass the language subset of the Alabama High School Graduation Exam. The county English subject area supervisor presented that day, and she told me in front of the other attendees that she was 100% aware of my writing of worksheets and practice tests and a preparation booklet for this test on the AHSGE. Not only is she aware of my writing, she knows that the conflict of interest problem keeps me from marketing it.

She told me straight up that when I retire in late May, she expects to see me in her office ready to sell my materials to the entire county. We're talking some 2,000+ consumables every year, and the teacher materials may be bought by individual teachers with state fee money as well as administrative purchases by high schools and middle schools.

I'm pushing myself to have a minimum of five practice sheets, a pretest, test, re-teaching exercise, and extra test for each of the nineteen skills. That would be 171 pages right there, but some of the skills require far more. The Commonly Confused Words skill, for example, has sixty sets of confused words. It runs forty-two pages by itself.

Then, there are the answer keys, the suggested answers for the Clarity, Precision, Vivid Description rewrite exercises, the Teacher Note pages to explain the presentation for each skill. But, if I can get all this punched out by the end of December, I can spend the second semester exploring the possibility of a website so that teachers in other states can take a look at individual skill sets, if not the whole package.

I'm pumped. Inside, there's a Dean scream going on.

[Updates journal. Dances back to AHSGE file.]

ask_who_knows @ 2006-05-28T18:21:00

2006-05-28T23:52:38Z

I'm in the comment section of this post at Den of the Biting Beaver. Yeah, yeah, it's not as AsWhoKnows, but if you're here, you know the commenting name.

When Dubhe "assigned" this, I became energized, engaged, excited. I read political blogs and see how the inept response to trollish behavior helps them escalate their behavior. On occasion, I've seen the slashing wit or uncounterable logic of other responses simply eviscerate a troll. Once, I was able to do it myself, and the "Oh snap!" of the next response was delightful.

I thought to myself: "With trollish behavior being so much more prevalent with male dismissal of the female, this ought to be good!" I must admit that my disappointment with the very first response (after the high of the energized, engaged, excited me) led to a more profane response to Mandos than it otherwise might have.

I said he got the grade "F," I'd keep the "uck," and ended with "un-Fuck you." That, I assure you, was a departure for me. (I rolled my eyes when he later said "That was interesting.")

But I wanted to see tons of creative, interesting ways for men to differentiate themselves from other men who hold such dismissive, hurtful, button-pushing attitudes. Since I truly believe that the men who read BB are different, I thought they would have 'em in their hip pockets.

Well, no. So, here I do what I do when an assignment fails in the classroom. I model it.

ASSIGNMENT: As a man, differentiate yourself from the men who send profanity-laced and/or dismissive and/or insulting verbal or written comments to women simply because the men disagree with the women.

PROBLEM: I am a man who does not do these things. I can't imagine doing them. But if I haven't countered such statements, why have I kept silent?

POSSIBLE REASONS:
(1) Trollish behavior simply escalates if you answer it.
(2) The one(s) being insulted should have first crack; I don't know if reason #1 is one she believes, too.
(3) It's a problem for women to deal with.
(4) I'm afraid I won't do a good job.
(5) The men who do this don't have a problem with flaming me, too.

POSSIBLE RESPONSES:
(1) Trollish behavior simply escalates if you answer it.
(a) [Troll's name] Lullaby is playing! Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
(b) Who took away [troll's name] remote? Click. click. click.
(c) [Troll's name] is wrong. He'll never recognize it. He'll never have facts for anyone who things they're necessary to make a conclusion. Lost cause.

(2) The one(s) being insulted should have first crack; I don't know if reason #1 is one she believes, too.
(a) I can't step on the host's toes any more than you have, [Troll's name], so why don't you get yourself off? (Her toes! I mean get off her toes, really!)
(b) [Host's name] doesn't like troll feeding here. The stench stays where the kibble has been put down. Afraid to step outside (provide a link to a journal post, perhaps) and say that, stranger?

(3) It's a problem for women to deal with.
(a) It's my mission in life to thwap cowardly trolls. The best hunting is on a woman's blog because the cowards haven't learned yet that they don't suffer fools gladly. I'll stand in line for my shot, if necessary. The new chivalry is fun.
(b) You don't get it that you give our sex a bad name, [Troll's name]. But then again, the fact that you don't get it is good for every man on the planet who shows common sense and a little thing called "empathy."

(4) I'm afraid I won't do a good job.
(a) I might not do a good job arguing against you, [Troll's name], but then again...you've already done a good job arguing against yourself.
(b) Jerry Lewis knew his character was simple minded. Dean Martin knew his character was a sleaze. And what's your character, [Troll's name]?

(5) The men who do this don't have a problem with flaming me, too.
(a) Come here, mighty troll, attacker of women! I, FellowSuperMale, must show you the error of your attentions! There are better things to do! We will punch holes in beer can bottoms and pop the tops. bbbuuuuuuuurrrrpppppp We will eat junk food until the cheese curl stains are permanent under our nails. We will read Penthouse Forum and BELIEVE EVERYTHING. We will learn how to misspell "mosogony." Let us strengthen ourselves and have another beer! BBUUUUUURRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPP
(b) You're ugly and stupid and nobody likes you. Of course, you're welcome to a second opinion.

All of mine might be horrifically lame. That's why I wanted to see something from the fellows! I hope someday I can.

The Prisoner of Zenda

2006-05-23T00:10:00Z

I'm proud of this test. I went online looking for things others had written about the novel and found only a elementary level one-pager that included a cloze exercise that was ridiculous. The words that were to go in the blanks included "bridge" and "moat"!

Who knows? Somebody might find this one and like it much better.

Directions: Choose the letter of the best answer to these questions. Write that letter in front of the number.

1. Where does Rudolph Rassendyll live?
A. Paris, France
B. London, England
C. Zenda, Ruritania
D. Strelsau, Ruritania

2. Why does his sister-in-law disapprove of him?
A. He is cruel.
B. Although healthy and smart, he never works.
C. He wishes to impersonate the king.
D. All of these

3. What aspects of Rudolph Rassendyll remind the family of the scandal many years ago?
A. Red hair
B. Long, straight nose
C. Blue eyes
D. All of these

4. Why does Rudolph decide to visit Ruritania?
A. To impersonate the king
B. To follow Antoinette de Mauban
C. To see the coronation
D. To begin his job as an attaché

5. What is the name of the royal family of Ruritania?
A. Elphberg
B. Tarlenheim
C. Burlesdon
D. Strelsau

6. Rassendyll and the King of Ruritania are related. How?
A. Same great-grandmother
B. Same great-grandfather
C. Same grandmother
D. Same grandfather

7. Why was the date of the coronation advanced?
A. The future king wished it.
B. Duke Michael planned it so he could take over.
C. The old king died unexpectedly.
D. The people of Ruritania demanded it.

8. Why would many Ruritanians prefer to have Duke Michael as king?
A. Duke Michael was the elder son.
B. Prince Rudolph was a careless, drunken playboy.
C. The king often taxed them heavily.
D. Both A and B

9. Duke Michael of Strelsau has a nickname. What is it?
A. Bloody Michael
B. Michael the Elder
C. Young Rupert
D. Black Michael

10. What phrase best describes Colonel Sapt?
A. Short, stout older man who believes in action
B. Tall, slender young man who is a lawless rogue
C. White-haired man with absolute integrity
D. Dark, slender young man of pleasant grace

11. What phrase best describes Fritz von Tarlenheim?
A. Short, stout older man who believes in action
B. Tall, slender young man who is a lawless rogue
C. White-haired man with absolute integrity
D. Dark, slender young man of pleasant grace

12. Where does Rassendyll first meet the King?
A. at Zenda castle
B. in the inn
C. in the forest
D. in the cathedral

13. What causes King Rudolph to miss his coronation?
A. The train is sabotaged.
B. Rupert of Hentzau stabs him in the shoulder.
C. He is drugged by Michael.
D. Rudolph Rassendyll impersonates him as a joke.

14. What step is taken to make Rassendyll look more like the King?
A. Hair dye to hide gray at the temples
B. Sapt sends word the King has a toothache.
C. Rassendyll’s beard and mustache are shaved.
D. Fabric around his waist to look heavier.

15. What is the capital of Ruritania?
A. Strakencz
B. Zenda
C. Borrodaile
D. Strelsau

16. What happened at Zenda while the coronation was taking place?
A. Josef was killed.
B. The old woman was released.
C. The king was kidnapped.
D. All of these

17. Who are the Six?
A. The King’s bodyguard
B. Princess Flavia’s ladies in waiting
C. Duke Michael’s men
D. Aristocrats in line for the crown of Ruritania

18. Why does Antoinette de Mauban not want Michael to become king?
A. She hates Duke Michael.
B. She knows the power will corrupt him.
C. She knows he would marry Flavia.
D. She would have to leave Ruritania.

19. How does Rudolph discover that he has been led into a trap at the summerhouse?
A. Colonel Sapt tortures Rupert.
B. A servant finds out and betrays Michael.
C. Michael taunts him with the information.
D. Antoinette de Mauban reveals the secret.

20. How does Rudolph escape the trap at the summerhouse?
A. He knocks out his attackers with a wine bottle.
B. He takes a secret tunnel he finds.
C. He shoots it out with his enemies.
D. He charges at them with a tea table.

21. After the ball given in Princess Flavia’s honor, why does Rudolph insist they act quickly to save the King?
A. He learns more about the plot against the king.
B. He can no longer bear to deceive Flavia.
C. He believes that people suspect he is an imposter.
D. He hopes that hasty action will cause the king to be killed.

22. How does Rupert Hentzau surprise everyone when he brings a bribe offer from Duke Michael?
A. He suddenly stabs Rudolph without warning.
B. He asks for money to betray Michael.
C. He tells them of the plans to dispose of the King.
D. He tries to kidnap Rudolph Rassendyll.

23. What is Jacob’s Ladder?
A. The hidden handholds Rupert and Rudolph use to climb the castle wall.
B. The large pipe through which the King’s body would be slipped into the moat.
C. The code name for the bold rescue plan.
D. The mountain range on the border of Ruritania.

24. Who is the owner of Zenda castle?
A. Sir Jacob Borrodaile
B. Rupert Hentzau
C. Duke Michael
D. None of these

25. What extra complication arises while Rudolph plans to rescue the King?
A. Flavia visits Duke Michael.
B. The king escapes on his own and disappears in the forest.
C. Antoinette de Mauban decided to leave the country.
D. The British ambassador begins searching for Rudolph Rassendyll.

26. Why does Rupert dislike Duke Michael?
A. Michael beat him in a sword fight.
B. Michael is blackmailing Rupert to force Rupert to serve him.
C. Antoinette de Mauban prefers Michael to Rupert.
D. Michael has refused to pay him for his work.

27. How does Rudolph personally plan to enter the castle on the night of the rescue?
A. Leading a troop of soldiers
B. Climbing a tree which hangs over the wall
C. Quietly swimming the moat
D. Entering a window which Antoinette must open

28. What strategy does Rudolph plan to capture Michael alive?
A. To make him rush to save Antoinette from Rupert
B. To drop a net over him when he leaves his room
C. To drug him, then tie him as he sleeps
D. To arrest him on a charge of treason

29. What does Rudolph discover when Rupert Hentzau returns to the chateau?
A. Handholds are carved into the walls of the castle and the chateau.
B. Only one person, not three, guards the King that night.
C. Antoinette actually loves Rupert and has been deceiving Michael about it.
D. Some of the Duke’s servants want to rebel against him.

30. Who delays the King’s assassin long enough for Rudolph to fight him?
A. The King himself
B. The doctor in the King’s cell
C. Antoinette de Mauban
D. Johann, Duke Michael’s servant

31. How does the King help Rudolph in his fight?
A. He wraps a long chain around the enemy’s ankle.
B. He throws himself on the enemy’s back.
C. He thrusts a chair at the enemy.
D. He picks up an extra sword and fights expertly.

32. What happens to Duke Michael during the rescue?
A. He is horrified that he accidentally kills Antoinette de Mauban.
B. He is killed by Rupert of Hentzau.
C. He flees Ruritania in fear for his life.
D. He surrenders to arrest by Sapt and Tarlenheim.

33. Why doesn’t Rudolph shoot Rupert Hentzau on the bridge at the castle of Zenda?
A. He is too honorable to shoot a man in the back.
B. His gun won’t work because it has gotten wet in the moat.
C. He’s afraid he’d hit the King instead.
D. Rupert dives from the bridge before he can take aim.

34. What stops the sword fight between Rudolph and Rupert?
A. Rupert’s sword breaks, but Rudolph is too weak to fight further.
B. Rupert’s horse falls under him.
C. Tarlenheim’s arrival makes it two to one; Rupert flees.
D. Since Rudolph is winning, Rupert flees.

35. Who among the Six survive at the end of the story?
A. All of them; they are imprisoned.
B. All survive except Rupert of Hentzau.
C. None survive.
D. Only Rupert of Hentzau survives.

36. How does Princess Flavia discover that Rudolph Rassendyll impersonated the King?
A. She finds him, wounded, with the help of a peasant girl.
B. She overhears Sapt and Fritz discussing the situation.
C. She has known Rudolph was not the king since the coronation.
D. He sends her a letter explaining the situation.

37. Why doesn’t Flavia run away with Rudolph?
A. She is horrified to learn that he is not the King.
B. She realizes that she doesn’t really love him.
C. She is told by Sapt that he has been killed.
D. Honor won’t allow her to leave her people.

38. How long does Rudolph impersonate the King?
A. one month
B. three months
C. three weeks
D. six weeks

39. Why does Rudolph refuse to become attaché to Sir Jacob?
A. Rudolph feels insulted by the low position offered.
B. Sir Jacob supported Duke Michael’s plot against the King.
C. Sir Jacob is to become ambassador to Ruritania in Strelsau.
D. Rudolph intends to go into politics in his own country.

40. What happens each year thereafter?
A. Fritz brings Rudolph a rose and a note from Flavia.
B. The king sends 10,000 crowns per year as a reward.
C. Rudolph secretly meets Flavia in Dresden.
D. Rudolph drinks a glass of champagne in memory of Flavia.

Boys Will Be Boys, Sez Who?

2006-05-09T03:00:21Z

Students who have special needs in a mainstream classroom may be placed in an inclusion class; that is, a second teacher--who may be the adjunct to the regular classroom teacher, a co-teacher, a primary for the students so identified, or a teacher who works with anyone who needs the assistance (special education identified or not). I've been kinda confused on how to incorporate another adult into my classroom after twenty-eight years of doing it on my own, but I think having another adult in the room is teaching me plenty of things. Each year with an inclusion teacher leads to my getting it done better the next year.

Unfortunately, some students have gotten the idea that the inclusion teacher is not a "real" teacher. I won't let a student say anything disrespectful to an inclusion teacher in my hearing; I don't even wait to find out if she (no he's for me so far--although there is one in other classes) will handle it herself or wants me to step in. Later on, after we talk privately, if she wants to tell the student that she has gone to bat for him/her, that's fine, but there is no way a student in my presence shows disrespect to a hardworking, highly qualified, certified teacher who takes a secondary role while in the room with me. They may take a secondary role, but they're not secondary women. Hell, I'm next to positive that one of them takes home a higher salary than I do, and both of them know much more about their special needs kids.

As the year began, I had to come down hard on a pair of boys who were prone to snapping off sexist insults or "misunderstanding" what was said so that they could ask loudly if I said such and such--with their misunderstanding being a vulgar sexual allusion. I still have the apology letter from the one who asked "Are you a lesbian?" out of the blue. I grabbed up my cell phone and his contact information immediately, took him down the hall to listen in as I called his mother to let her know why he would be receiving a disciplinary referral. The other skated the edge and received a one-on-one in the hallway as I held my cell in my hand. However and unfortunately, there has been no sea change for either of them. Girls in my classes, when the opportunity for a girls only chat arises, tell me that both of them still enjoy setting their female classmates off balance by doing the same to them that they tried to do to me. Not in my room, no, because they might get caught.

Yes, the two situations (inclusion teacher and mouthy boys) do come together. My first period inclusion teacher finally wrote a disciplinary referral for the second young man mentioned above. She also had had to tell him to stop such behavior as singing suggestive lyrics from popular songs and dancing to them--purposely close to her personal space and directed at her. She's had to tell him to stop asking personal, laden questions. She's had to tell him to stop the double entendres. None of this happened in my classroom--she's the inclusion teacher with six other teachers during the day. When she finally wrote the referral, he asked her why she hadn't done it earlier; it seems that he honestly found the incident she finally wrote up as being less egregious than things he remembered saying to her in the past.

He found it difficult to comprehend that she had believed that he might straighten up by himself, that she actually felt he was capable of understanding and modifying under his own power rather than after receiving punishment.

This morning, as she and I walked to my classroom, the young man in question exited the room next to mine. She said good morning to him in quite a pleasant voice--not a trace of oily satisfaction. I later joked with her that not only is she able to rise above the stupidities of eighth graders, but she also is less burdened now that the referral is in the hands of the administration. It's amazing how cheerful one can be after writing a hard-hitting, hand-dusting, "that oughta do it" referral.

I am making a pledge to myself for next school year. A child gets a single bite at the "I thought I could get away with it" apple. I've already taken a red pen to the master copy of my syllabus/grading standards/expectations handout in order to add this behavior specifically: The use of sexual innuendo to insult or unsettle another is a repulsive behavior. It will not be tolerated.

NOT tolerated.

Some Things Don't End

2006-05-05T23:42:28Z

I did all that stuff described in the Teacher's Aside below...and more the day after I wrote that post. Today I got a letter from the kid's dad--a letter I couldn't stand to put into my bag to bring home.

The more that I did was to call the child back to my work table on Monday while the rest of the class read along with a book on tape. I went over everything I had written. I showed her the sample I had made of the type of project she had chosen to do. I color coded that project's inner workings. I demonstrated how it worked.

By the end of our talk, she had asked her questions, and I had given her

--a new file folder

--twenty-five strips of folded foil (packaged in a teacher-made envelope)

--a single-page list of the vocabulary words (otherwise available on five handouts)

--that color-coded project to use as an example

--an extra copy of the assignment handout with major points highlighted in yellow

--her original board with all the notes and connections I had made

--AND a new due date (from Monday to Thursday) for a working electroboard project.

She brought in the new board yesterday. It was beautifully done. It was painfully meticulous. It screamed, "My parents deserve a fabulous grade." Well, I didn't say that last part to her--I just graded it and then deducted fifteen points per category because she had missed the original due date. She ended up with an 85 for content and an 83 for production. As I put down the grades, I thought, "Man, am I being generous."

She originally deserved a zero for content since the work turned in on the due date was plagiarized. She originally deserved a zero on production because the self-correcting part was completely missing. She ended up with two B's, and now...her father is not satisfied with that. Why?

It has to do with that new due date. Since I'd given her until Thursday and she'd turned it in on Tuesday, it was not late. The fact that I gave her a new due date erased the plagiarism and the incompetent technical work. Grrrrrrrrrrr!

I typed her new definitions with a blank before each item. I typed in a word bank all the vocabulary words and distractors she [ahem] had used on her project. I asked her to write the vocabulary words in front of the definitions. She could identify four of the fifteen. I think that's pretty good evidence that she didn't spend much time on putting this all together--especially when several other students who made exercises on current work in their science and social studies classes have told me excitedly that they had found their test in that subject the easiest they've ever taken!

Anyway, I let time pass. I let her realize (through quizzing her on the material) that she couldn't claim to have learned the material. I let her decide she was happy with the grade and that she would let her dad know that she was satisfied.

The kids this year walk through my classroom door only thirteen more times. (That, with the number spiraling downward, is my current mantra.)

Teacher's Aside: Blood Pressure UP

2006-04-29T05:32:59Z

I decided to give in on something today, and now I have to go through the five stages of grief. Actually, I went through Denial and Bargaining with the administration and parental response because I simply couldn't understand why I wasn't being heard. The Depression has been dealt with in the constant questioning a teacher hears in his/her own head when there is a student/parent complaint. Why is this child telling only part of the story? Why are the parents believing this abbreviated version when they signed the project sheet that had all this information on it? What does it take to reach some of these kids anyhow? Oh geeze, what will this kid's future be if she gets away with crap like this now?

I'm at anger now, and it's not going away. So, let's see if I can explain coherently here--I obviously did not earlier today. But it's going to be long, so at this point, I'm sure a cut is called for.

I assign a project that requires the students to write an 8th grade level matching or multiple choice exercise from any academic class. The part that makes it a "project" is that it is written on/attached to the outside a standard manila folder. It is spaced so that the student can put a hole punch through the folder in front of the items and next to the jumbled-up answers. Then, opening the folder, students lay strips of aluminum foil from the punched circles from question to the correct answer. Each one that is connected is then covered with tape so that the next answer can cross over it, but the aluminum strip from one question/answer pair never touches the aluminum strip from any other question/answer pair. The ends of the aluminum show through the holes in the front of the folder. Then, a battery-operated continuity tester or ohm meter will light up to show the completion of a "circuit." The correct answers light up; the wrong ones don't. The aluminum strips and tape are hidden when the folder is taped closed. Voilà!

I discussed this project several times before the handout went home for parent signature. On the day after the handout went home, the students did group work to understand how to manipulate the darned thing. I supplied folders; all the student had to do was pick one up from the stack if they didn't have one at home. I made five single-hole punches and thirty rulers and copier paper available for two weeks. I bought three boxes of foil and three rolls of masking tape. I demonstrated folding aluminum strips multiple times. I put folders in progress on the bulletin boards and explained them. I wrapped several yards of masking tape around plastic cups for students who told me that they didn't have any tape at home. I gave short classwork assignments on four days so that students could use my materials and/or pick my brains on this project. I gave 'em a free 100 just for getting a parent's signature on the handout. I checked their exercises a week before the final due date so that they could be sure of getting a good score for content.

A student brought in a project based on an exercise that I had TOLD her she could not use--it was plagiarized, and I could prove it. And I could prove it to her parents because I had made a copy of it before I returned it. How could the content grade not be a zero when I had proof of plagiarism and proof that I had told her beforehand that she could not use it? She changed three of fifteen plagiarized items by deleting some of the words, so she expected that I'd be placated? (Time out for a jaw clench and a snort.)

Then, for the interior work that made this project self-checking (the purpose of the whole thing, of course), she punched holes for the answers, but she didn't punch any holes to connect to the questions! And,when she put aluminum to back the circles she had cut out, she first covered the holes with printer paper so that the aluminum didn't show through in the front. It was mind numbing.

The whole thing boiled down to the fact that she had been absent for the hands-on group work day, and the one time that she told me that she didn't understand what to do, I told her to finish the short classwork assignment and then to ask a classmate for help. I've done that plenty of times before--the procedure (which I've also discussed before) is to come BACK to me if the classmate(s) haven't helped. She never came back. Never mind that I had also announced to the students to bring materials to my table in the back of the room if they needed help on multiple occasions; the fact that I had told her to go to a classmate meant, to her, that I refused to help her. That meaning, then, was the only one acceptable to her parents. The demonstrations, the class time provided, the general announcements to come back for individual help--none of that counted. She asked; I refused.

I spent too much time today cutting open her project, tearing out the ridiculous stuff inside, punching the circles in front of the questions, writing the correct answers on the inside so that the "circuits" would be accurate, running a strip to connect the first question/answer, and writing explanations of the steps next to the work. Focused anger kept me going through all that, but since the result is going to be an individual session with this child to go over it and two additional days for her to turn in an acceptable project, the focused anger simply feeds on itself.

Yeah, I probably spent too much time this evening typing out this post, too. There is a major different, though. The result is that I've gotten it off my chest, and it's DONE. I think it'll help my perspective when I sit down with this student I've only got to encounter for twenty-three more class periods.

Whew.

Teacher's Aside: Outside Fun (No...Education. No...FUN)

2006-03-24T23:27:41Z

The last day of each quarter in my school system is a half day for students. For the third quarter, that half day was last Friday, and I since I had gotten with an enthusiastic PTSA president who offered her presence (Wow!!) on that day as well as organizational jobs beforehand, I announced to the kids that we'd have a project that would take us out of the classrooms from 9:00 to 11:38, when they'd be dismissed for lunch (if they wished to go to the cafeteria) before the final noon dismissal.

Students had to submit a paper-sized editorial cartoon that rated a passing grade in order to be involved. Then they had to find one of the thirty-seven students who had grade A cartoons to team up. (Since some of the thirty-seven wanted to be on a team to produce someone else's excellent cartoon, there were teams that chose the "leftovers.")

So, last Friday, eighty eighth graders were outside on the ultimate in gorgeous Alabama days: spring had deigned to visit us a little early to show off the greening that she's so good at. Both the white and the salmon azaleas in front of the school were in bloom. Geese were calling from the pond across the street. City workers in rumbling trucks honked and waved and we shouted and waved back.

The kids were allowed to be out of uniform, and not a single one of them tried to cross the line of the relaxed dress code. (Out of uniform--monster selling point #1.)

They said "Thank you" for the fruit drink and granola bar snack. (No break on a half day, but they had one--monster selling point #2.)

They organized and outlined and colored and analyzed their problems and solved them as they listened to their tunes. (Electronics allowed outside--monster selling point #3.)

They produced these oversized cartoons so well that EVERY adult who saw them walked away highly impressed. The principal told the the custodian that he didn't have to wash them away after all--a delightful thumbs up. And a number of students, who thought they were doing this because it was fun, realized that they had learned something and produced something. Now there can be a new definition of "fun" for some of them. One of my colleagues said, "You're trying to show us up, aren't you?" (I never SAID that I wouldn't make a hallway display of the examples that she had for her last project, but I think that she'd done her own compare/contrast exercise.)

The kids did a cleanup job that met my perfectionist expectations said "Thank you" again when parent volunteers carried pizza boxes with canned drinks atop them to each group. (Pizza for eighth graders is a "duh" selling point--way beyond monster.) I thought that they'd be complaining that we didn't serve them fast enough or something, but they willingly left their activities (touch football and drawing in chalk on blue jeans, for example) and sat chatting as we froze our fingers pulling the chilled cans out of slushy water and placed them atop warm pizza boxes.

I thought it was a lovely day. I yelled a few times, but so what? The PTSA president was not happy that the city had not delivered the four pavilion tents that she'd arranged, but so what? I yelled a few more times, but so what? I forgot to make one of the stickers allowing dismissal for one of the students, but I wrote him a note, so--so what? I know that if I do this again, I'll get with the soccer coach so we can have water outside rather than going back into the building, but so what? I'll wear a hat (to have no sunburn worries if the pavilions don't show up), but so what?

I had a wonderful time. The kids had a wonderful time. My volunteers (including the sweetheart inclusion teacher who starts the day with me) had a wonderful time. I arranged something that was dinner table conversation that night. That conversation--it has always been the hallmark of successful teaching for me.

Anyone who doesn't agree? So what?

If his pals put him out there, what do they expect?

2006-03-24T22:11:33Z

John Aravosis at Americablog (along with so many on left-leaning blogs) has posted a number of things about the Ben Domenech hiring as the Red America blogger for the Washington Post. And as young Mr. Domenech has now resigned (less than two days after the first "Hey, this is plagiarism!" post went up), I've seen comments that the big, bad liberal blogs went after this poor unfortunate conservative boy of twenty-four.

But John points out that that poor unfortunate conservative boy of twenty-four had been lauded and rewarded and propped up by the conservative machine:

As an aside I have to say that Ben was hardly an anomaly. He's the founder of one of the top conservative blogs, was an editor at the top conservative publishing house (Regnery), was a White House employee, and a top speechwriter family-values US Senator Cornyn. He isn't the worst of the Republican crop, he IS the Republican crop. He is typical of Republican bloggers, and is typical of Republicans. That's why they defended him so heartily last night on the blogs - they know Ben and they love Ben for who he is: a typical family values conservative who tells others how to live their lives while refusing to live under the same rules.

If you're reading this but don't know the first specifics of the plagiarism tornado that has swept Ben Domenech out onto the sidewalk in front of the WaPo building, you might want to check FleetAdmiralJ at Daily Kos. It's not that he did the initial work; he just put them in one place for a "whew!" review. (There have been a couple of others he did not update since the resignation.)

Lessons from a Pathetic Scum Sucker

2006-03-17T07:10:19Z

Throughout history, a subset of teenagers has always been capable of existing on the same level as diarrhea-laden toilet paper. I'm thankful that it is a subset, and thankful that most of those in it have a modicum of desire to keep their tendencies hidden. Oh, it's a sly, self-serving desire to avoid proof of their worthlessness made apparent, of course, but it keeps me from having to hear vile garbage drip from their sneering lips--unless they are careless.

My teenaged son doesn't have that luxury; he hears it on a daily basis. And while he's not always above it himself (I've had some of my most memorable ravings after overhearing his careless moments), the diversity in his circle of friends demonstrate to me that he's not insular enough to be wedded to that mindset. I can hardly tell you how grateful I am for that.

One of my boyo's friends died early this morning. The alarm went off; the young man's still younger sister got up and turned on a heater of some sort to knock the chill out of the air, and she left the room. A strange noise attracted her attention and she went back into the room to find flames already licking up the wall to the ceiling. She ran to her brother's room and "knocked on the door," said the news reports; then, in fear and shock, she ran from the mobile home. It was only a matter of seconds later--not more than two minutes, it appears--that two muted booms followed by a loud third hailed a neighbor from her home across the street to see virtually the entire trailer in flames. My son's friend, they consider, was blocked by the flames from exiting through his door, and a nailed-in window unit air conditioner blocked the only window in the room. The speculation is that his sister's knock didn't rouse him; the belief is that he succumbed to smoke inhalation; the fervent hope is that he didn't have time to suffer.

To keep rumors from running rampant, the school announced his death to the student body over the PA system. My son dropped his head into his hands as he began to weep for his friend, and someone nearby said, "Hey, he's crying."

Then my son heard an answering voice: "Yeah, he was friends with that faggot."

I wish I had been in that classroom. I wish I had been there with a baseball bat. I wish I could put piss-inducing fear into that kid for every moment of his life that he continues to entertain this abhorrent, dismissive mindset--even if he lives another sixty-seven years, ten months, sixteen days, seven hours, twenty-four minutes, and fifty-two seconds. I wish I had secretly wired my boyo for sound and had a tape of that meatbag with shit for brains spewing his flatulence so that I could play it for everyone he'd ever meet who might entertain a twinge of respect for him.

What I really wish is that he would wake up tonight, trembling and in a cold sweat, realizing that one day people who love him might hear of his death and then, while the grief was still a raw wound without the thinnest of scabs, overhear others call him names. Overhear them reducing him to only that aspect that they found contemptible.

And he would realize the worst part: while he had denegrated one young man after his death for something he did not control--his sexual orientation, those scornful of him would be commenting on his inhumanity, his indifference to sorrow, his utter asshole personality--unquestionably chosen and controlled.

I met this friend only once, so my memory of him will always be coupled with the pathetic idiot in that classroom. I'm glad my son has more memories that will shoulder aside the impact of that...that....

I hate it when my vocabulary fails me.

Justification?

2006-03-11T22:10:31Z

Ginmar has posted about a horrible, horrible assault that a young woman lived and then repeatedly relived as the judicial system took its toll.

She was treated as incapable of human feeling during her rape. Then once in the public arena of two trials, the defense considered her human feelings of fear and the desire to avoid pain or frustration--considered them in order to prey upon them, not to avoid them. Finally, when the three young men were convicted and standing at the bar of justice to receive their sentences, two of them CALLED upon her human feeling as something owed to them. "I didn't mean to cause you pain," they said.

The whole story is manipulation throughout: Ignore the person to manipulate the helpless body first. Continue seeing the person as weak upon the realization that you've got to deal with her responses. Then the final straw: when finally stripped of power to cause her pain, call on her ability to empathize--the most obvious ability the attacker has proved NOT to have.

"I didn't mean to..." must have the highest standards of evidence to back it up, and the standards in this case were nonexistent.

But "I didn't mean to..." is easy if one ignores the standards, and nowadays we seem to do that easily. The phrase requires the person hearing it to do the work of putting the circumstances, the actions, and the results into context in order to accept or reject it. And, if it's rejected, "I didn't mean to..." allows the perpetrator to step entirely AWAY from the action that started the whole thing! At that point, he can whine that the rejection is brought about by a lack of empathy or understanding. It makes the perpetrator better than the victim: "She's reacting negatively; she can't put herself in anyone else's shoes because she's consumed with anger and hate. I can understand that, and I hope she'll come around in time."

It's the ultimate in one who is vile being able to use another's well-grounded disbelief to set himself up as more capable of growth than the victim.

I've been thinking, wondering what a worthwhile apology would sound like in such a situation. None of it could even reference justification. None of it would ask any effort of understanding or empathy from the victim.

I'm inclined to conclude that I wouldn't want to hear anything at all. A rapist wouldn't be capable of being a rapist if he could truly mean the words I'd want to hear.

See What I Do to Pitiful Eighth Graders

2006-03-08T06:54:30Z

I think I write worksheets with much higher difficulty levels than those in the textbook/workbook we've adopted. If you've got any insight on comparable eighth grade work out there, could you let me know if I'm hopelessly underestimating? (These are sample sentences from the skill diagnostic. Students may use the dictionary, but I have not yet discussed usage.)

1. As I concentrated on my book, I was aware of the nearby conversation but not (conscience/conscious) of its content.

2. A psychopath's lack of (conscience/conscious) is demonstrated in his indifference to morality and in antisocial behavior. (I know...it's passive voice.)

3. Pat has a clear (conscience/conscious); he had nothing to do with the theft.

4. Our mayor appointed a new (councilor/counselor/consular) to head up the building committee.

5. One has the right to (council/counsel/consul) when arrested in the United States.

6. During his voyages, Odysseus received (council/counsel/consul) from Athena.

7. He got his just (deserts/desserts) for his greed. (Most often missed due to the figurative language.)

8. (Desert/Dessert) can also be a term used for the Antarctic, which is barren due to extremely dry air over its frozen surface.

9. That formal silverware set contains a (desert/dessert) forks and spoons.

10. Superstitions began when ignorant people took (discreet/discrete) events and connected them to "prove" bad luck.

11. She bought (discreet/discrete) articles of clothing that she could mix and match for a new look each day.

12. The latest lottery winner soon became (discreet/discrete) about her travel plans.

13. The (dual/duel) impact of his uppercut and jab quickly had his opponent reeling.

14. Modern American politics is mainly a (dual/duel) party system, but the addition of other parties is possible.

15. "Now we (dual/duel) to the death!" shouted the boy, waving his plastic sword.

1. conscious 2. conscience 3. conscience
4. councilor 5. counsel 6. counsel
7. deserts 8. Desert 9. dessert
10. discrete 11. discrete 12. discreet
13. dual 14. dual 15. duel

(If I've done something grammatically stupid that is in my blind spot, I'd appreciate a heads up. I was wondering how I might set up the answers in columns set farther apart than a single space, too. Anyone? Bueller?)

ask_who_knows @ 2006-03-07T22:49:00

2006-03-08T05:33:20Z

From http://thisficklemob.livejournal.com. If you agree, post it in your LJ and spread it around.

I would have an abortion. The circumstances under which I would, might, have, or might have chosen to have an abortion are nobody's business but mine and those I choose to tell. They are not the business of any government. I do not accept the proposition that either the state or my sexual partner(s) should have any say over when and if I choose to bear a child. I do not accept any sovereignty over my body and my reproductive organs but my own. If faced with the situation, I will do everything feasible to help other women and girls I know exercise their rights to safely terminate a pregnancy if they so choose. When a state treats women and girls as chattel, it is they that commit a crime.

**

If you agree, please place the preceding paragraph in your journal. Then use the following link to send a message to South Dakota's governor: Planned Parenthood's take action page. And thanks.

I do agree. It's as simple as that.

Katrina, George Hardly Knew Ya (Not)

2006-03-02T07:46:57Z

Today we discover videotaped proof that Rex, the Lord of Misrule who reigned over the 2006 Mardi Gras in New Orleans, was cleverly disguised as Paul McIlhenny (yes, of Tabasco pepper sauce fame) but was really....George Bush! Krewes organize and fundraise and communicate virtually year round for the chaos; George easily and nonchalantly shows 'em all up as pikers; he just claims that he and his fedrul guvmint were all quiverin' in the starting blocks to take on the chaos of Katrina. Six months later and time for the celebration...voila!

Well (she said darkly), he started out with a huge number of floats, didn't he?

What makes me want to cuss from this whole thing is that these tapes won't make a bit of difference to future utterances by Dubya on the federal Katrina response. He will STILL say “I don't think anybody anticipated the breach of the levees.” He will say that there was no "situational awareness." [I can't help it; my fury overflows; I type that last quote and my brain screams: "How the fuck can you say that when you coulda asked the hardworking, hard assed Coasties who were flying heroically over the whole disaster from the first possible moment, you stupid, stupid PRICK?! Who has more power to DEMAND situational awareness than YOU?!"]

After the 2000 election, I had friends broach the topic of the election and the Florida goings-on. I surprised them by responding calmly, by telling them that I couldn't imagine newly elected President Bush shooting himself in the foot by not being the "uniter, not a divider" that he had promised. He had to know that he'd lost the popular vote. He had to know--because his campaign acknowledged it--that he'd be starting further down on the learning curve than most others elected to the highest office in the land. Hell, that's the way I would have thought of it; I would have worked with a light touch. So yes, I was a babe in the woods--a naive, oblivious morsel to be snapped up by the wolves.

Not anymore. I sat in my home after a full day's work battening down for the very edges of Katrina here in southwest Alabama. I watched my battery TV and listened to my battery radio. I saw rows of cots in my small town's civic center as I delivered canned goods and clothes and toiletries for the dispossessed. I've watched kids with outward bravado and inward, growing stress enter my school and leave one or two months later--still rootless, still insecure. I've seen more than enough.

This man has been hitting me in my position as lower middle class for years: the reporting and Average Yearly Progress stupidities of No Child Left Behind; in taxation, in Iraq [Oh, sweet Christ, Iraq!], in NSA wiretapping, in anti-gay policies; in anti-woman policies.

He's treating me as if I were stupid because my voice is too small to be noticed.

At this point, I don't care anymore that my voice is small. I'm writing letters to the editor; I'm educating my students (no, Mr. Preznit, I'm not "catapult[ing] the propaganda"); I'm donating money to political campaigns; I'm signing petitions. I'm signing up to teach only the first term of summer school so that the second is free for travel to some rally, to some demonstration, to some politician's office.

After this rant, I would expect to be tired. Sorry, President Bush. I ain't.

Area Oddity

2006-02-23T07:03:35Z

I grew up on the eastern shore of Mobile Bay, and we have a gift from nature that I'd bet you've never heard of, and you probably won't believe unless you Google. (But just in case you're lazy, I've done it for you.)

I'd had my sixteenth birthday about two weeks before the 5 a.m. call from Aunt Jean. The phone woke me, of course, and I figured it was a jubilee, but it was also a weekday. Dad was already up to dress for his ninety mile drive to work in Pensacola, so I figured that he'd tell Aunt Jean that we couldn't make it. Mom would go as backup for Dad, but she wasn't interested in wading in to catch 'em herself. My brother would have looked disgusted for the split second of awareness before he fell back to sleep.

Dad surprised me wide awake with the news that he wanted me to go by myself in the family station wagon. I popped out of bed, pulled on my cutoff jeans and a tee shirt and scrambled out back to get the gear, which included a salt-stiff pair of tennis shoes that lived in the shed with the gig, the crab net, the washtub, and the burlap bags. I probably drove faster than dad would have liked, but it was an adventure, after all.

With a quick, warm hello and thank you to Aunt Jean, I waded right in to get started. (Now you know why the old tennies.) The best pickings were most often in water just below the knee depth, but the best method of getting to them was to wade past the mass right at the waterline and come at them from behind. Catfish, crabs, and stingrays are no fun stepping on barefoot. I always loved that first hit of morning cool water against my legs, and I knew exactly when the next step would bring the water to mid thigh and produce the goosebumps.

That day was insane; the jubilee wouldn't end. We'd had big hauls before, but I brought in more alone in this jubilee than we ever had before as a family. Aunt Jean saw that my two burlap bags were full of flounder and the washtub tied to my belt loop so that it floated behind me as I walked was full of crabs. She told me to dump it all into their lightweight 8' aluminum flat-bottom boat. I did, and kept working. New flounders were gigged and thrown in on top of the scuttling crabs. I could be picky and scoop only the biggest, fattest hardshell blue crabs. Crabs get a larger "protector" to hide underneath when they're molting, so I scooped doubles and felt the little guy through the net to see if they were softshell or papershell. Those went into the washtub to keep them undamaged. I headed the mile south to the public boat ramp. I knew I'd never haul that boat up the bluff to the station wagon.

Along the way, I half filled the washtub, filled the boat to its limit with crabs, and was only tiredly gigging the occasional flounder that was simply too big to pass by. A man with two small children was trying unsuccessfully to teach them to pull in the other end of a seine net to get at the shrimp that had come in as well. They were too small to give it the fast final pull to the shore. I stopped and pulled with him a half dozen times, and added a half-filled five gallon bucket to the boat. I moistened cast up seaweed to cover the shrimp so that those on the top wouldn't flip themselves out. I paid my partner for his bucket with softshells from the washtub. He was as happy with the transaction as I was.

I tied the boat and washtub to old pilings from wharves destroyed in hurricanes before my time, waded to the boat ramp, and caught a ride in the bed of a truck back to my aunt's house for the station wagon. Neither I nor the fellow who gave me a ride considered for a moment that someone might take my catch for himself while I was gone, and that attitude is part of the magic of the memory. After carefully backing the car far down the ramp, I used the door frame with an open window as a pulley, hauled the boat into the back of the station wagon and tied it off.

Sore muscles didn't keep me from being triumphant for the rest of the day, even though the work hadn't stopped. We boiled and picked crabs, headed shrimp, cleaned softshells, and overheated the drill using the nifty bit/attachment Uncle Willie had made that scaled flounder beautifully. From the practice that day, I can still fillet a fish....like buttah. Our freezer wasn't big enough to hold it all, and I basked in the kudos of the neighbors and relatives that were called to share in the booty. I topped it off by downplaying the day when dad came home from work, then enjoying his shock when I opened the freezer door.

Here's my goal: I'm catching at least one jubilee this summer. Wanna come with?

Teacher's Aside: Communication Reversal

2006-02-22T02:04:43Z

I have a list of sixty sets of commonly confused words that are listed for use on the Alabama High School Graduation Exam, and we study them in groups of five sets. This week's set includes complement/compliment, and as I explained the second, one of the students said "You look marvelous, Ms. H" in the best eighth grade, smart-alec, "I feel safe with you" manner. I smiled and replied, "Oh, thank you" in the return sarcastic, "I know you're skirting the edge, but it's all right because it's clever" reply. The other students laughed.

But still another student said, as the chuckles died down, "I think she's fugly." The comment carried from his seat four desks back and three rows to the left of where I stood at the whiteboard. The eyes of students around him went wide, and their head swiveled as if pulled by strings to stare at him.

I went ballistic. My voice deepened to its lowest register; my volume rose; I spoke oh, so deliberately as I advanced on him: How. Dare. You. Open. Your. Mouth. To. Let. Filth. Out. This boy cowered in his seat and babbled "I'm sorry" about fourteen times. My answer was I. Will. Make. You. Sorrier. Than. You. Ever. Imagined. In. Your. Worst. Nightmare. If. You. EVER. THINK. Of. That. Word. Again. He was saying "Yes, ma'am" and nodding so fast that his brain may still be sloshing in its cerebrospinal fluid.

But in the last five minutes of that (VERY quiet) class, when he turned in his answers from the worksheet on those word sets, he told me (repeating again that he was sorry) that he didn't understand why I became so angry. To him, "fugly" is just another slang word. It is ugly intensified, but he didn't know by what. He thought I had misunderstood him. I looked at him with eyes narrowed, evaluating. Was it possible? Remotely, I thought, but I'd give him the benefit of the doubt.

I pulled a piece of scrap paper from the stack on my desk and asked him to sit down at the nearby table. I showed him the smoke + fog = smog blend. I showed him the breakfast + lunch = brunch blend. Then I wrote f______ + ugly and asked him if he could figure out what the first word would be.

"Remotely" became "Without a doubt" at that moment. His hand on the table actually trembled. He had been fearful when I went ballistic, but now he was deeply distressed. He had thought he was being cute in the same manner as the first student; he had thought that he was identifying me as being "with it" in that I'd understand the slang of young people. He didn't realize that he was the one without a clue about the meaning of this particular slang.

Before he left for his next class, he thanked me for not writing a disciplinary referral immediately. "Oh, I thought I could scare you enough to keep you from saying it again without having to involve the office," I replied.

"You can say that again," he said. And he smiled.

With the side of my foot, I kicked him gently in the butt as he turned to leave. We're good.

And I'm making a list of blends for a new worksheet.

An Individual Basis

2006-02-19T21:34:11Z

On the last day of January, a seventh grader turned in a one-page essay entitled "A Perfect Day."

By the second day of February, the essay had been read by his teacher, his principal, the police, and the Secret Service. And now, at the end of February, an update on the story doesn't exist. I've been watching for one; I've searched Google for one.

No one can ignore the possibility of danger if middle school kids, juiced up on hormones and teenaged angst if nothing else, are sending out the "cry for help" that such a writing may be. But just as we have to step carefully because we're dealing with the possibility of danger from adolescents, we also have to step carefully because we're dealing with adolescents. Yes, that's right. Strike out the "possibility of danger" in the first half, and you're presented with the opposite response in the second.

I don't know if this kid's essay was a cry for help. If it met that classification, I'm glad he's obviously going to get it. But let me tell you why I don't think he was a harm to others--but others have harmed him.

Small children have to be screened before testifying in court because it is not certain that they know the difference between the truth and a lie. They will tell you that something they saw on television happened to them. They will tell you that they saw Santa Claus. They will tell you their dads can pick up the car.

Adolescents have developed beyond that, but they also want to keep it for reasons of control--magical thinking. They can't make their own money in the amounts that are now adequate, but they'll claim as if already in the bank the hundreds of thousands that they'll make playing professional sports or becoming a marine biologist or a veterinarian. (Oh, and that veterinarian dream? They have a hazy idea of "helping animals." The idea of actually tending to one that has dragged itself home three days after it has been hit by a car is far too massive a dose of reality. The other far too massive a dose of reality is reading the requirements for graduation as a vet.)

If you confront an adolescent on magical thinking, he'll back down. He knows that he doesn't have the facts and figures to prove what he wishes is so. Maturity results in the losing of that magical thinking in doing schoolwork (oh, I'll start that project tomorrow) and in relationships (he'll fall in love with me as soon as he realizes how wrong Jennifer is for him) and in stressful situations (my momma's gonna come up and take care of you, old teacher-lady). And face it: we all know adults who haven't given up on magical thinking. Yes, there was a winner for the largest lottery prize in history just this past weekend. A single winner. Out of how many tickets sold?

*The essay's title "A Perfect Day" is such a vague one that if a teacher doesn't guide discussion of its possibilities, there's going to be some wag (old fogie talk for disrespect-skirting, ego-centric, peer-group attracting, culture-driven teenager) who will engage in magical thinking. There would be something about stretch limousines, scantily-clad eye candy, money, bling, a nemesis or two humbled and kowtowing, the bullies and snobs and naysayers eating their hearts out, friends and admirers rewarded beyond their wildest dreams. Oh, wait...that's the essay I'd write.

My references to current politics are few and far between in my English class, but I have been surprised by the lack of student enthusiasm for George W. Bush in the past few months. No one hesitates over the answer if asked if Alabama is a red state, and the mock election of 2004 had him taking the state over John Kerry 63-37. There must be conversations at home that reflect that change. I'd guess this kid has parents who have such discussions.

The essay "did not detail specific plans for an attack." Not a single sentence of it has been released to back up a threat. The student was barred from returning to school for "mental health reasons" not disciplinary ones. And since there was no formal referral to social services along with no formal discipline, I'm betting that the superintendent and board are engaging in CYA to make sure the case won't go to court. Mental health absences, in my experience, have been for kids who are bullied, unjustly accused, or overwhelmed by circumstances.

Look, I know I'm flying just as blindly as anyone else who comments on this situation since nothing has been released. But in the history of this country, there have been no national security risks organized and carried out by a seventh grader.

I can't come down on the side of the adults who ignored common magical thinking in an adolescent to dive into fearful thinking on their own.

Teacher's Aside: I Laughed

2006-02-19T01:58:24Z

My first year of teaching was 7th grade English in northwest Mississippi. Someone in a chatroom once responded to that information with "omg...that has to be SO like teaching English in a third-world country for the Peace Corps." It's funny that I still don't know exactly how I feel about that comment. Yes, Mississippi 7th graders don't have the reputation of being linguistically sophisticated, but there are double negatives, subject-verb disagreements, and the like floating around throughout the United States. I both appreciate the recognition of the difficulty of my job and resent the implication of third-world status for the part of the country I love.

Anyway, fourth class was right after the morning break, so I wasn't in the room as soon as the bell sounded. I walked in to find some whispering in little clumps, but that wasn't unusual, and they scrambled right to their seats when the tardy bell rang. I flipped open the grade book and started calling roll--something I later learned to do without after discovering that a seating chart allowed me to take care of attendance at any time during the period. After each name, the child's answer: "Chop."

"Chop." Not "Here" or "Present" or "Yo!" or "Kiss my foot." They all said "Chop."

When I looked up at them, the question had to have been written on my face, but they just giggled a little, squirmed a little, and waited. I decided, hey, I'm going to be cool, so I just kept going.

Tony Alvarez.
Chop.
Mike Johnson.
Chop.
Jocelyn Lloyd.
Chop.
Twenty-seven kids, and they all said "Chop." Until I got to the last name: Wesley Wright.

After his name, he didn't say "Chop." He yelled out "Timmmberrrrrr!" and they all fell out of their desks onto the floor.

I have no memory of wanting to pinch the head off any of the kids in that class.

Next, we have Alana. Oh, she was a gorgeous freshman; last I saw her, she was an even more gorgeous mother of three. I always liked her, but she told me later that she had been "scared" of me because I was strict. Scared, that is, until the day she realized I wasn't strict with mistakes, only misbehavior.

Alana hadn't done as well as she would have liked on the final exam for Romeo and Juliet, so she asked for extra credit. Her request was made on a Friday; I told her that if she memorized the sonnet that starts the play and recited it to the class on Monday, I'd give her the extra credit.

Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

Oh, she was doing beautifully that day! She wasn't reciting, she was performing. Her voice was melodic; her enunciation was clear; her expression was rich and so full of understanding. She didn't quaver. She didn't hesitate...until the eleventh line.

That line is almost an aside. I so easily understood how she could forget it and gently prompted her with the first two words: "Which, but..."

She thought, she remembered. We saw her stand up straighter, smile, and take a breath. She opened her mouth and said, "Bitch, what."

I had retreated to the back of the room for her recitation, and at that moment, I was looking at a painting. No one moved. No one seemed to breathe. And in that silence, even though I made little sound, my chuckle carried to every ear. Suddenly, we were all roaring to the point of tears.

Alana insisted on starting from the top in front of the class, even though offered a private retake. We all held our breath again when she neared the fateful line, but she sailed on to the end like a trooper. She was much braver than I had been at her age; I was filled with admiration.

And it turned out to be a "teachable moment." On the next exam, no one in that class missed the question about Spoonerisms.

Never Stop Learning

2006-02-19T00:36:22Z

Well, here goes nothing.

You are a true nature girl!

Which Ultimate Beautiful Woman are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

I've friended someone; I've done an LJ cut. Now I've tried to copy and paste to show something from a "quiz."

If this doesn't work, I'll learn how to delete a post, so it's no big loss.

Oh, and I DON'T think that I am a true nature girl!

Socialization Gaps

2006-02-19T00:12:56Z

My friend Robin finally gave up asking me to go to local bars with her. I understand her decision completely: I am clueless as to how to act in the social situations that come up when we're together.

Our first evening out, we nursed our first drinks and waited for a pool table to open in the back. When it did, we played one game solo and agreed right before the end to play a foursome with a pair of guys. The more attractive of the two was to partner Robin. I knew this would be so since, of the two of us, she is the more attractive. Physical attraction is the foremost calling card for a night out at a bar, of course. The lesser attractive guy is not a problem for me if he turns out to have a sense of humor, intelligence, couth--and they often do if they're not eaten up with a sense of entitlement simply for being male and therefore more than good enough for the plain Jane.

Unfortunately, this fellow's sense of humor, intelligence, and couth began to be revealed with an unfortunate pickup line. He caught my eye, licked his finger, and touched my shoulder with it. He answered my startled stare with "Why don't you come back to my place so I can help you out of those wet clothes?" I tsked, "When all you do is make my shirt wet? So not worth it."

He was game, though, I have to give him that. Shortly after, he asked if he could buy me a second drink. When I thanked him and refused, he asked me if I were sure.

"I don't want you to buy me a drink."
"Aw, c'mon. I can afford it."
"I'm so pleased for you. I don't want you to buy me a drink."
"It's no trouble."
"I'm aware of that. I don't want you to buy me a drink."

With the waitress standing by to hear this, he gave up. When he moved to the table to make his next shot, Robin zipped to my side as if I were a magnet and she iron filings.

"Why didn't you let him buy you a drink?"
"I don't like him, Robin. I don't want to give him any hope."
"It's just a drink! You let him buy you a drink; later on you smile and dump him."
"I don't like him, and I don't plan to give him any reason to complain that I was only after the free drink."
"But that's the way it's done!"
"Robin, if I don't understand 'the way it's done,' what makes you think I understand how to dump him later? I might get us assaulted."
She gave up.

The next time, I agreed to an early evening because it was a weekday, and 25 eighth graders (followed up by 125 more throughout the day) have always been the final straw for a hangover. I'd driven to her apartment, and we'd gone to a bar less than a half mile away together in her car. At 9:30, I'd finished my Bloody Mary, followed by a Virgin Mary, and I leaned over to let her know that she had a half hour before our agreed-upon leavetaking.

I did feel it necessary to remind her: I'd arrived at her place at 5:45 so that we could leave at 6:00. We hadn't made it out until 7:00. I wasn't bored during the wait: her apartment complex had been built on the pecan orchard across the street from the house I grew up in. I knew Van Avenue and all the homes (some with the residents from my childhood still in them) like the back of my hand. It was a time to compare memories with the new reality.

After my reminder, she spent most of the half hour announcing to anyone in earshot her disbelief that I would want to leave when we were enjoying ourselves. (Yes, we were.) And when it was 10:00, she had a reason to delay. At 10:15, she had another. At 10:30, I told her that I was leaving.

Oh. Who's giving you a ride?"
Nobody. It's less than a half mile, and I grew up in this neighborhood. I'll walk."
Walk?!? Are you crazy?
I don't think so.
It's dark outside!
Yeah, that happens at 10:30 p.m. around here.
Are you kidding me? You are really going to walk?
With my own two legs. See you tomorrow.

And with a cheery smile and wave, I was off. The night was beautiful; I petted three dogs. I came across Mrs. Trione and helped her take her garbage cans to the road. She told me to come by again and tell her how my family was doing. Robin was still not home when I reached my car, so I left a post-it on her door to say my car had not been stolen; she didn't need to search the ditches for my body.

She's a dear person, Robin is. We just don't think alike in some areas. I'm glad it doesn't keep us from being friends. It only keeps us out of bars.

First Time for Everything

2006-02-14T01:01:40Z

Two years ago, I met and dated this...guy.

After a month or so of enjoyable outings, he began to call with excuses: work, tired from work, family responsibilities. People get busy, right? But once he told me he would be working in the next county west, and I saw him in the local Wal-Mart. He didn't see me, so when he next called, I asked him about the work. He told me details that required sympathy for how hard he had been working. The next date we made, he called to cancel two hours before. I decided to go by myself--they have great desserts, and I'd been imagining the chocolate-caramel cheesecake. And since I didn't have a date to primp for, I could leave within the half hour. The waitress was bringing me my check when I caught sight of movement over her shoulder.

You know who it was. And you know he wasn't alone.

He didn't say anything to me as I walked past him and his companion on my way out. I didn't return his calls when he left messages on my answering machine.

Today I pulled into the parking lot of the local convenience store. I sent my son in to buy a small bag of cat food, and I had fussed at him because feeding the cats was his responsibility; part of that responsibility was letting me know when we needed to buy more cat food. He couldn't feed them this morning because he fed them the last of the dry stuff last night. As I waited for him, you know who walked out. He grinned, walked over, said the "Hi, how're you doin'?" and I responded with a civil pleasantry. When the boyo came out with the cat food, I used his arrival to excuse myself from the shallow conversation. I'd put the car in reverse when he said, "Hey, if you get a chance, e-mail me. It's easy to remember," and proceeded to spell out his dot com.

Yes, it is easy to remember, and I could have given him a breezy "Of course! Sure!" blow-off. But recently I've been wondering why people do that kind of thing. There's no way on God's green earth that I'm interested in calling/e-mailing/visiting this fellow. He had behaved like an ass when we were seeing each other; he had done nothing to show that he would act in any different fashion now. He was taking a casual meeting that I was handling with politeness and seeing it as an opening to restart a relationship of some sort. I'm polite to my ex-husband, but it doesn't mean I want to have another relationship (beyond separate household parenting of a teenager) with him.

So, I didn't give him the easy, breeze agreement. I braked, gave him a puzzled frown, and asked, "What possible reason would I have to do that?" He spluttered false starts to a couple of sentences that petered out before the end as he saw the skeptical expression stay securely on my face.

The sentence that finally made it out from beginning to end was "Well, you don't have to be a bitch about it!" My son yelled, "Hey!" across from the passenger seat, and this...guy finally looked embarrassed.

"Sorry," he said.

"It wasn't unexpected," I replied, taking my foot off the brake to roll away.

So, I may know why women stay with the social lie: I didn't much like being called a bitch, and I don't think he would have apologized if I'd been the one to get angry about it. He was embarrassed to have acted like that in front of another male, even if that male was only fifteen years old.

Still, I did enjoy leaving him with the intentional double negative.

Teacher's Aside: Deal with It

2006-02-11T20:53:30Z

Eighth grade girl who forms her r's and v's identically: "That's the way I make my r's."
"But this word: Is it rival or viral?"
"I don't know."
"That's my point. You should know. I should know."
"But you do know what I meant to write! I should get credit."
"No one should have to know in advance what you meant to write. Writing is communication that should be understood when you're not there to explain it."
"But that's the way I make my r's."
"Here's the way I make my zeros."
"You're so mean."
"Deal."

Eighth grade boy who asks for an extension (without deduction) for a project: "But I was absent!"
As I turn to my attendance page in the gradebook: "You've known about this project for two weeks and two days. How long were you absent?"
He sees that I've reached the page for his class, found his name, and run my finger along the dates before he replies, "One day."
"And your one-day absence," I tell him dryly, "was the day before I gave the project assignment."
"So, I don't get another day?"
"If you make me say it, I'm calling your mother in for a conference."
"Well, you don't have to be rude about it."
"Deal."

Eighth grade boy who has left his science book in his last class: "Can I go get my science book?"
"One, this is English class, so you don't need it here. Two, you haven't finished the classwork assignment. Three, you'll interrupt your science teacher if you go now in the middle of the period. Four, your science class is right next door, and you won't be late to your next class if you stop in between class periods."
"You've got a stupid reason for everything."
"Four of them in this case."
"God." (Visualize the sucked tooth sound, the rolling eyes, and the put-upon tone.)
"Deal."

I know that the old fogies have always complained about the younger generation. After twenty-seven years of teaching middle schoolers, I'm not bemoaning their desire to get the credit for slipshod work, for unmerited extra time, or for walking out of a classroom if they can manage it. That's been done before and since I was in the eighth grade--and by me, from time to time.

What's new nowadays is the primary method to attain their desires seems to be an arrogant cluelessness. The technique now is to make a request or statement, then stand with a confused or exasperated look on the face if the adult says no. Next, make a statement of some sort about how unreasonable or stupid the adult is for that answer. If the adult answers that, restate the original or vary the ad hominem.

I've found that "Deal" stops them. Unfortunately, it's the new version of "Because I said so." It was nice working for almost two and a half decades without having to use it.

My LJ

2006-02-10T03:02:31Z

Okay, I admit to my primary reason to have an LJ: I want to comment other than anonymously on Ginmar's A View from a Broad.

I've been reading her posts since what seems like forever. Now, for those who don't like to read, that "seems like forever" could sound as if I'm complaining when, of course, I'm not. When someone's writing resonates within, it reaches back in time to experiences that predate the reading. When Gin writes about being called a man-hater, I feel the resonance of my irritation from such an episode I experienced more than two decades ago. And I also feel the resonance of empathy so that I'll have a better handle on how to respond if the future holds another man-hater charge.

In Livejournals and on lefty blogs with comments, I've pondered (mostly as a lurker) the debate about the usefulness of writing online. Do those who protest a view or an action by writing in response make a difference? Would our time be better spent getting our butts out of a chair and fingers off a keyboard so that we're out making our points with deeds? The opening of this journal should show in which direction my answer leans.

But it only indicates the direction, not the conclusion. You see, I believe we've begun to debate in an either/or, black/white vein. And the usefulness of posts on the internet is not in the post as an end, but the post as a means. I know that I've had more in-depth political conversations with co-workers and family and neighbors backed up by what I've read online. I've contributed more money in the past two years than ever before. I've traveled to new locales because I know I'll find interesting and fulfilling and collegial experiences. And I know I'll continue these things and add more experiences to them.

One of those experiences I'm adding right now. My voice is going to be heard. I don't know how often I'll update; I don't know how interesting my writing will be; I don't know what new doors or windows this decision will open or close.

I intend to ask (anyone) who knows some public questions. I intend to ask "Who knows?" because someone should. And from time to time, I intend to shrug my shoulders and ask, "Who knows?" for the imponderables.

Perhaps together we'll share the mundane secrets.