Ice Ice Baby

Today, right at the end of class while the announcements hit the loudspeaker, I watched as a young gentleman in the front row slyly stole ice from his friend’s bag (her elbow was sore). I’ve gotten pretty good at figuring out what students are thinking, and I watched these thoughts go through his head:

Ha, I’m getting all the ice.

All the ice be belong to me.

Oh, wait! She’s turning around! Quick, hide the ice! But where?

Front of my pants! Yeah! Nobody will look there!

Bus change what number? Is that my bus? What did the loudspeaker say?

At that point, his thoughts became vocal:

“Aaaah! It’s cold! It’s cold!” He leapt up from his chair and took his pants off. Because, you know, there was ice down them. Luckily, nobody comes to school without shorts to support their sagging habits. Ice chips spilled across his chair, and as everyone stared at him in consternation, I tried to figure out what to say. But it was difficult. I was laughing too hard. And then the bell rang and the kids left and my iceless, pantsless student ran off to the bus lot, so I didn’t have to say anything except, “bye! Have a good day! Make good choices! Don’t stuff ice down your pants!”

Earlier that class, I approached the young lady I’d been trying to get on task all block. She’d spent an entire half hour simply getting pencil and paper.

I don't know about you, but this is definitely a two-hour
activity for me. Next class; tearing the notebook margins off paper.

“What have you been doing for the whole half hour?” I asked her, trying to galvanize her into action.

She pointed to her pencil.

“Your pencil?”

“Yeah, I was doing my pencil.”

“Inappropriate. Inappropriate!” I stared at her with my most menacing teacher-look.

“What? I had to sharpen—oh! No, oh no, Ms. W, I didn’t mean that, please believe me—“ She broke off when she saw me grinning and then started to scream with laughter-- "Ms. W! You, you!" Yes, I’m turning into a high schooler myself.

To prep kids for learning about trench warfare, I asked them what their worst nightmares were. Their biggest answers: being homeless and having their family killed by a gang. Ouch.

While the rest of the class was moving through stations reading Dulce et Decorum Est, In Flanders’ Fields, soldier interview, and photos, my Spanish speakers had laptops to research la primera guerra mundial on. They stayed after during lunch to finish up—it’s possibly my favorite thing ever when they do that.

Yesterday, a representative from Wells Fargo came in to my class to teach my kids how to budget. She reminded me how inured I’ve become when she seemed really thrown off by my kids’ participation—screaming their thoughts at the presenter and each other is how they communicate, you know? When a horde of students thundered past the door, a security guard in hot pursuit, she seemed ready to leave. But she made it through, and even managed not to look too horrified when my kids told her, “food won’t cost anything, because we’ll have food stamps.”

Today I fed a hungry kid. I've started bringing lots of extra food-- nuts, granola bars, stuff like that-- to keep in my desk for my students who are actually weak with hunger. Those food stamps need to work better.

 Over break, I saw an old friend whom I’ve looked up to for many years, who is also a teacher. She mentioned that my blog is full of crazy moments. It’s true, but I reassured her that those aren't the majority, just the most writable. She laughed and told me that she gets it: “You can’t really write a blog post about it when a kid who’s cussed you out the past seven days, comes in the eighth day and wishes you good morning.” Which is exactly true, even though I mark those points in my mind and celebrate them gleefully. They just don’t make good blogging. What can I say? That today Juan took notes for the first time, and Jonquarius raised his hand two out of three gos, and Janiqua walked into class without calling anyone a bitch, and Juana actually wrote answers for every single question on her trench warfare guide… Those are incremental changes, but they’re super-exciting and ever-present in a teacher’s life. They may not make for great blogging, but they are happening. It's only my immediate family... and friends... and hairdresser, librarian, Trader Joe's cashier, fellow joggers, etc. that I force to listen to that. I save the juicy stuff for you, dear stranger on the internet.