You Go, Girl!

This is a Throwback Thursday post to 2010.  I originally posted it on my old blog - Mom's View.  I reposted it on here on December 10, 2015.

A couple of weeks ago, I was subbing in a special education classroom.  One of the little guys in the class has shown a troubling tendency to run.  

A runner in school is a bad thing.  These kids run away from the source of their frustration and anger.  Believe me when I say I sympathize with them.  I do understand the need to flee and get away from it all.  The problem is, kids who are prone to running will run out of the building.  They run blind- with no destination in mind, and no purpose other than to escape the school.  The danger of them getting lost or hit by a car is very real.

This little guy had run for the doors by the teacher parking lot before, but he had never left the building.  I can hear you thinking "Then why don't they just lock those doors shut?"  Well, the doors are locked from the outside- so that some random person can't just walk into the school.  However, according to the fire marshal, those doors must remain unlocked from the inside so that the kids can get out in the event of fire.

Anyway, I was in the hall with this stubborn little guy and two other teachers when he decided to make a break for it.  He ran to the far end of the building, hit the doors and kept on running.

I caught him in the parking lot.

Here's the best part.  The other two teachers I was standing with are both 20 years younger than I am.  I got there first, and I got there a good 15 seconds ahead of them.  Even better, they were wheezing and out of breath.  I was just standing there, hugging little one and telling him the story of the Three Little Bears. 

Hmmn.... 40 something year old, overweight, out of shape woman totally beats the 20 something teachers doing the 100 yard dash.

When I got back into the school, one of the volunteers who'd been sitting in the hall reading with a child when everything happened looked at me and smiled.  "You go, girlfriend!  You totally rock!  Beating those young things out the door!  Who-HOOO!" 

Now THAT's a priceless feeling!

One-Upsmanship, Kindergarten Style

A conversation overheard while substitute teaching in kindergarten!

Child #1: My mom is going to have a baby next month!

Child #2: Oh yeah? Well, my Dad is pregnant.  He's going to have twins!

Child #1: I say your Dad this morning, and those babies look like they're going to pop out any day now!

Tales from the Classroom

I originally posted this in December of 2013.  Enjoy this trip down memory lane!

Years ago, when I was a full time teacher, I had a situation going on in my classroom.  (It was third grade.)

There was a young woman in my class named, shall we say, Jamie.

Another young man, named, shall we say, Jeff, had a mad crush on Jamie.



I was working at the table with a reading group when I noticed Jeff intently scribbling away on a piece of paper.   This level of passion regarding his work was unusual for him, so I watched the proceedings with curiosity.

Jeff put his pencil down, folded it up into a paper football shape, and wafted it across the classroom in Jamie's direction.

Unfortunately, the football missed Jamie entirely and bonked Michael in the head.  Michael (a very tough kid), scooped up the football, opened the note, and read it.

In the blink of an eye, he was on his feet, waving the note around, shouting at the top of his lungs:  "I am not that kind of a guy!  Who sent this?  Who is this from?  I'll meet you out behind the cafeteria at lunch time!  Who did this?"

I looked over at Jeff, who at this point, had sunk so low in his chair you could only see the top of his head. 

I grabbed the note from Michael, and sent him down the hall for a drink of water.

Reading the note I see the words:  "I love you.  You are so beautiful! I will always love you!  You are the only person for me!"

When I took the kids down to lunch, I let the rest of the class go into the cafeteria, and I pulled Jeff aside.

"I wouldn't mention this if I were you."  I told him.  "I wouldn't sit near either him or Jaime at lunch today.  We'll keep the author of that little note a secret just between us."

He nodded his head. 

Ah.... young love. 

To this day, the memory of Michael, standing there, waving that paper around and screaming for vengeance, and the look of sheer horror on Jeff's face takes me back 20 years and makes me smile...

Tales From the Classroom

More and more, I find myself missing my classroom days.  I miss working with the little guys, and I miss the constant change and ebb and flow of days and schedules.  I've been rethinking a couple of decisions and choices that I've made over the last two years. 

Anyway, this is a repost of an earlier article about the kids.  I'd subbed several days in a row, and there were three very particularly memorable stories I wanted to share.

1) "That's Wrong!"

I was subbing for a Special Ed. assistant, and was sitting through a second grade math lesson with one of my favorite guys.  The teacher was going through a subtraction lesson with the kids.

(The key part to remember to this story is... 2nd grade.  Remember, at that time, they still made us move the big number to the front and then subtract the smaller number.)

The teacher had the problem 3-5=___  written on the board. 

"Now, how do we solve this?"  She asked.

My little friend promptly raised his hand and said "It's negative 2!"

"No, it's not," the teacher replied, "Can someone else help me?"

"No!!!"  He shouted.  "It's negative two!!"

"No, it's not," she replied, looking at me for help.

"Actually, it is," I answered, and turning to my little friend I said "In 2nd grade, most of the kids haven't learned negative numbers yet.  She's trying to get you to set the problem up the 2nd grade way, and put the big number first."

"Well that's just stupid."  He replied.  "The answer is negative two, and she's just making the problem harder for everyone to solve by making them switch it around.  If they're going to switch the numbers, they should switch the signs."

The teacher and I both sat stunned, staring at him for a moment.  The teacher recovered first and said "You guys are right.  BUT, we since we're in 2nd grade, we will do this the 2nd grade way."

"It's still stupid" said my little friend. 

2) The Voice of an Angel

Subbing again in special education, in a different classroom, I was with a friend in kindergarten.  He was working on a cut and paste number identification sheet.

While he was cutting, he broke out into a SPOT ON rendition of "Oh Danny Boy".

He knew all of the words, hit every single note, and sang in the most beautiful child soprano anyone has ever heard.  It brought tears to my eyes, and the classroom to a halt.

When he finished, the teacher whispered to me "I never make him stop singing.  He has the voice of an angel, and I feel like we are blessed every time we hear it."

 

3) Those Letters Spell WHAT??

I was subbing in a kindergarten class where kids were working on the sight word "this".  The kids each had a bag of cut out letters:  t, h, i, s, that they were to glue into appropriate places on a worksheet.

The first group comes up and glues the letters into place, with no comment whatsoever.

The second group comes up, and one little guy starts playing with the letters, rearranging them, moving them around, and finally comes up with an entirely new word and I hear him say "Oh, wow!  Look at what I can spell!"  (Take one guess what that word was...)


You know, there are some bad days when I'm subbing.  There are days when everything goes wrong.  But then, things like this happen that make me laugh, and I realize just how fortunate I am to be able to work in a profession where I get to see the world through the eyes of children.

Tales from the Classroom

Enjoy this repost from April 12, 2014.  I swear, this is a true story.  Enjoy!

Like every 6th grader in our county, my daughter went to Outdoor School in the fall.  Outdoor School is run at our county nature center.  The kids spend a week in residence there, learning about nature, our environment, the ecosystem, and what is so unique about the area in which we live.

The kids both love and hate outdoor school.  I've never been sure how the teachers feel about it.  On the one hand, they don't have to plan lessons for an entire week, and someone else is in charge.  On the other hand, they are sleeping in the teacher's quarters for the entire week, on uncomfortable mattresses, sharing bunk rooms with the teachers that they work with.  (Separated my men and women, of course.)

There was one particular teacher in our middle school who will forever be stuck in my mind.  Do you remember Mrs. Frizzle of the Magic School Bus books?  This teacher looked like a 50 something Mrs. Frizzle.  Stout figure, Lucy Ricardo's red hair, that frizzed out all over her head.  She always wore crazy outfits, and her shoes... OMG, her shoes.... Always stilettos, and never the same shoe twice.  They were something to see.  For convenience's sake, I'm just going to call her Ms. Frizz from here on out.

My daughter went to Outdoor School in the fall.  It was perfect weather.  Jeans and a sweatshirt.  The kids didn't have to worry about snow, and they didn't have to worry about frostbite.  They could take the nature hikes and get wet without worry.

So, Ms. Frizz was chaperoning a group as they began a hike down a nature path.  Ms. Frizz was wearing her stilettos, jeans, and was mincing her way down the path, behind the PE teacher.  A large tree was across the path, and the PE teacher called out a warning to the kids that the tree was down, and he stopped to make sure the kids stepped over it without a problem.

Ms. Frizz was in a world of her own.  She just kept walking, paying no attention to the world around her until *smack* she walked straight into the fallen tree and did a face plant, sprawled awkwardly over the tree trunk.

Laying face down in the dirt, the kids all rushed over to her and began asking, Ms. Frizz!  Are you okay?  Are you dead?

"Leave me here.  Go on without me.  Enjoy your day."  She said, still laying face down in the dirt.

Shaking his head and muttering things not quite fit to print, the PE teacher picked her up and got her on her feet. 

"Are you good to go?"  he asked.

"No" she said, "The ground is all muddy.  I can't go on. My heels keep sinking in the mud.  I'll just stay here until the ground dries."

My daughter said that at this point, the PE teacher's mouth hardened into a straight line.  He looked at the kids, and he looked back at the teacher.  At this point, they were over a mile from the camp if they went forward, and a mile away if they went back.  He is a good man, though.  He looked at the kids, and then, he scooped the Ms. Frizz up and carried her all the way back to the camp.

You know, Ms. Frizz is retired now.  At her retirement party, this story was mentioned over and over again.  She is never going to live this story down.

I am most impressed with the PE teacher.  He managed to carry a teacher - an adult, no less- over a mile back to the cabins without complaining.  The kids all learned a very important lesson that day - about taking care of each other - about being gallant, and caring for other people - about doing the right thing, without complaining that it's uncomfortable. 

Ms. Frizz also taught them something, too - sometimes you do a face plant in the middle of a situation, and you need other people to help pull you up and get you on your feet again.

On the days when the kids are having a rough day, and they see that Ms. Frizz is subbing in the high school, they all smile and remember the day she was laying in the dirt, muttering "Just leave me here, go on without me,"  they all smile thinking about that bright autumn day.

(Seriously, who wears stilletos on a nature hike through the woods?)

Love you Ms. Frizz!  You are an awesome teacher!

You Go, Girlfriend!

I'm down and out with a very sore throat and headache, so no writing today.  Instead,  enjoy this post from 5 years ago when I was subbing. Originally posted on my now defunct "Mom's View Blog".

A couple of weeks ago, I was subbing in a special education classroom.  One of the little guys in the class has shown a troubling tendency to run.  

A runner in school is a bad thing.  These kids run away from the source of their frustration and anger.  Believe me when I say I sympathize with them.  I do understand the need to flee and get away from it all.  The problem is, kids who are prone to running will run out of the building.  They run blind- with no destination in mind, and no purpose other than to escape the school.  The danger of them getting lost or hit by a car is very real.

This little guy had run for the doors by the teacher parking lot before, but he had never left the building.  I can hear you thinking "Then why don't they just lock those doors shut?"  Well, the doors are locked from the outside- so that some random person can't just walk into the school.  However, according to the fire marshal, those doors must remain unlocked from the inside so that the kids can get out in the event of fire.

Anyway, I was in the hall with this stubborn little guy and two other teachers when he decided to make a break for it.  He ran to the far end of the building, hit the doors and kept on running.

I caught him in the parking lot.

Here's the best part.  The other two teachers I was standing with are both 20 years younger than I am.  I got there first, and I got there a good 15 seconds ahead of them.  Even better, they were wheezing and out of breath.  I was just standing there, hugging little one and telling him the story of the Three Little Bears. 

Hmmn.... 40 something year old, overweight, out of shape woman totally beats the 20 something teachers doing the 100 yard dash.

When I got back into the school, one of the volunteers who'd been sitting in the hall reading with a child when everything happened looked at me and smiled.  "You go, girlfriend!  You totally rock!  Beating those young things out the door!  Who-HOOO!" 

Now THAT's a priceless feeling!

NaNoWriMo Progress

As I suspected, I made no progress in actually writing a 10,000 word novel.  I got sidetracked while reading the notes I took the years that I taught.  I laughed and cried at the things that had happened, and the memories of these fantastic kids.  Considering the years that I taught, the oldest of these kids would now be 33 and 34 years old now.  I'd like to hope that all of them are productive adults with thriving families.

I taught in both the city and the suburbs.  It was a study in contrasts, of privilege, and the accident of birth.  The kids could not help the situations that they were born into.  Many of the families worked HARD to get their kids the best and keep them out of trouble.  Unfortunately, not every parent was able to succeed in keeping their kids out of trouble. Trouble in the city is much bigger - with fatal consequences - than it is in the suburbs.

A couple of the kids, I know how their stories ended because I read about them in the newspaper:

One of them was involved in a murder, and was serving time in prison.  I read an article about him in the paper about 10 years ago.  He was 21 at the time, and was looking at long years in prison.  This saddened me when I read it, because he was a very smart boy, with a lot of potential.  I had high hopes for him.

One of my girls was making a living walking the streets at night, taking any client who drove up to her.  She was murdered by one of her clients.  She was 18 years old.  Such a shame to see another life destroyed and family shattered.

There was the family that was evicted from their apartment during the day.  The principal had lunch in her office with the little girl and her sister.  When I went out for recess duty, I saw their meager belongings out on the street, the parents attempting to protect them from scavenging neighbors while they tried to move things into a friend's car.  I hugged the little girl at the end of the day, and that was the very last time I ever saw her. 

One of my little guys was killed in a car accident at the age of 8.  Not only was the little guy killed, the entire family was wiped out by a drunk driver.

And then, there were the other stories:

Lovely little L. (1st grade) who decided after looking through her crayon box that nobody in the class was "black" or "white".  We were all people of colors.  She went around with her 64 box of crayons and very studiously matched each one of us to the correct crayon color.   (Now, 25 years later, I hope she still has that wisdom, and wish more of us would share that vision.)

D., who at the tender age of 8, observed that "Sometimes, being an adult really sucks" when he was talking to me about his parents getting divorced.

During testing, I observed two students looking at each other, giggling, and looking inside of their desks.  Curious about what was going on, I crept up the aisle behind the boys and peeped over their shoulders.  As I looked down, I saw that each boy had a ruler in their hands, had unzipped their pants and were measuring their, um.....  yeah.  I cleared my throat, the boys jumped, and things were quickly tucked away.   (I said nothing.  What could I say?)

M. was a tough young guy.  He had machisimo radiating off of him.  M. sat at the same table as the beautiful J.  M.J. had a HUGE crush on J.  He sat across the room.  While I was working with reading groups, I would look up, and see M.J. staring at J. with a look of profound something on his face.  One memorable day, I looked up in time to see MJ toss a piece of paper across the room towards J.
Unfortunately for MJ, the note completely missed J. and bounced off of M's head.  Before I could get across the room to grab the offending note, M had opened the paper, read the note, and stood up screaming "I am NOT that kind of guy!  Who did this?  Who?  Who?"  Thank the good Lord MJ did not sign that note.   I grabbed the note and attempted to restore calm to the classroom as the kids all demanded what was going on.  MJ was under his desk, looking for something, with a look of utter mortification on his face.  M. was looking for a fight, and J, the object of the note - was totally clueless and among the voices demanding to know what was going on.  Once the furor died down, and MJ was sent on an errand down to the media center, and M was sent on an errand to the office,  I read the note.  The eloquent contents read "I love your eyes.  I love the way your nose crinkles up when you do a math problem.  I think you are just the most wonderful thing in the world."
Such a beautifully written note.  I do hope that MJ finally found the person deserving of that kind of love. 

Finally, I found a note to myself that I wrote a few years ago.  I ran across one of my parents.  I'd had his son my second year of teaching - 26 years ago.  He recognized me at a train station, and we talked for a while.  His family had moved out of the city at the end of the school year.  Through the combined efforts of him, his wife, and his mother, they had managed to scrape together enough money to put a down payment on a house in a good school district in the suburbs.  I found out that all of his kids had graduated from college, with honors.  They were all thriving in their various careers, and the little boy I'd had in my class was now married. 

You know, there are times when I look back on the years I spent in teaching and wonder if I made any difference to the kids.  I know for a fact that the KIDS made a difference to me.  I was changed for the better, and my world view was expanded, by the wonderful, magical, loving little people that I was privileged to work with. 

That Does It..

I found this in a journal I kept when I was subbing:

I was subbing in a class of kindergarteners yesterday.

We'd had a very interesting morning.  And I don't mean interesting in a good way. 

As we got ready for centers in the afternoon, the kids were all sitting angelically with their hands raised, ready to be chosen first to go to centers. 

I looked at them and said, "You guys know how this goes.  The first people I'm going to choose first are those people who've been trying hard all day, doing their best job, and showing their pride."

I hear one little voice say "That's it, I'm screwed."

Tales from the Classroom

Like every 6th grader in our county, my daughter went to Outdoor School in the fall.  Outdoor School is run at our county nature center.  The kids spend a week in residence there, learning about nature, our environment, the ecosystem, and what is so unique about the area in which we live.

The kids both love and hate outdoor school.  I've never been sure how the teachers feel about it.  On the one hand, they don't have to plan lessons for an entire week, and someone else is in charge.  On the other hand, they are sleeping in the teacher's quarters for the entire week, on uncomfortable mattresses, sharing bunk rooms with the teachers that they work with.  (Separated my men and women, of course.)

There was one particular teacher in our middle school who will forever be stuck in my mind.  Do you remember Mrs. Frizzle of the Magic School Bus books?  This teacher looked like a 50 something Mrs. Frizzle.  Stout figure, Lucy Ricardo's red hair, that frizzed out all over her head.  She always wore crazy outfits, and her shoes... OMG, her shoes.... Always stilettos, and never the same shoe twice.  They were something to see.  For convenience's sake, I'm just going to call her Ms. Frizz from here on out.

My daughter went to Outdoor School in the fall.  It was perfect weather.  Jeans and a sweatshirt.  The kids didn't have to worry about snow, and they didn't have to worry about frostbite.  They could take the nature hikes and get wet without worry.

So, Ms. Frizz was chaperoning a group as they began a hike down a nature path.  Ms. Frizz was wearing her stilettos, jeans, and was mincing her way down the path, behind the PE teacher.  A large tree was across the path, and the PE teacher called out a warning to the kids that the tree was down, and he stopped to make sure the kids stepped over it without a problem.

Ms. Frizz was in a world of her own.  She just kept walking, paying no attention to the world around her until *smack* she walked straight into the fallen tree and did a face plant, sprawled awkwardly over the tree trunk.

Laying face down in the dirt, the kids all rushed over to her and began asking, Ms. Frizz!  Are you okay?  Are you dead?

"Leave me here.  Go on without me.  Enjoy your day."  She said, still laying face down in the dirt.

Shaking his head and muttering things not quite fit to print, the PE teacher picked her up and got her on her feet. 

"Are you good to go?"  he asked.

"No" she said, "The ground is all muddy.  I can't go on. My heels keep sinking in the mud.  I'll just stay here until the ground dries."

My daughter said that at this point, the PE teacher's mouth hardened into a straight line.  He looked at the kids, and he looked back at the teacher.  At this point, they were over a mile from the camp if they went forward, and a mile away if they went back.  He is a good man, though.  He looked at the kids, and then, he scooped the Ms. Frizz up and carried her all the way back to the camp.

You know, Ms. Frizz is retired now.  At her retirement party, this story was mentioned over and over again.  She is never going to live this story down.

I am most impressed with the PE teacher.  He managed to carry a teacher - an adult, no less- over a mile back to the cabins without complaining.  The kids all learned a very important lesson that day - about taking care of each other - about being gallant, and caring for other people - about doing the right thing, without complaining that it's uncomfortable. 

Ms. Frizz also taught them something, too - sometimes you do a face plant in the middle of a situation, and you need other people to help pull you up and get you on your feet again.

On the days when the kids are having a rough day, and they see that Ms. Frizz is subbing in the high school, they all smile and remember the day she was laying in the dirt, muttering "Just leave me here, go on without me,"  they all smile thinking about that bright autumn day.

(Seriously, who wears heels on a nature hike through the woods?)

Love you Ms. Frizz!  You are an awesome teacher!

Tales from the Classroom

At the end of a very long day, I went to grab my favorite little friend T. from his classroom.  I was subbing in Special Ed, and T. has been involved in Sp.Ed. for help with writing for years.   He's a wonderful, smart, amazing kid, but that child hates to write.  (As I'm telling this story, keep in mind that T. talks in a monotone.  It makes the story all the better...)

I walked him out of the classroom and into the hallway.

"My body is just too exhausted to go on.  I can't write.  My hands are just exhausted.  LOOK."  He showed me his hand, and flopped it down to his side.  "I can't even make it stay up in the air."

"Don't worry about it."  I told him.  "I'll write for you.  You tell me what to write, and I'll write it down.  You don't have to do anything."

We got down to the resource room, and he slumped down into a chair at the table.  His entire body posture just exuded exhaustion.  His class had been doing research on insects, and they were synthesizing their research into books.  Each page of the book was dedicated to a different aspect of the insect.  The rest of the class had finished their books, but he was still stuck on the first page.  He had researched the mosquito.

The first page was about Habitat.

"I just can't write.  I can't make my body cooperate with me."

"I'm not asking you to write," I reassured him.  "Just tell me what to write, and I'll write it."

And so, we began.  He dictated the sentences while looking back at his notes, and I wrote down what he said.  He proofread my work when we finished the page, approved my spelling and punctuation, and we moved on to the next page, Body Parts.

So, he begins telling me what to write.  He begins describing the proboscis, and he tells me the name of the chemical that the mosquito secretes through it's proboscis.  It's this chemical that causes the bump on your skin.  I write down the name of the chemical, and he looks over at what I've written.

"You're not spelling that right, here give me the pencil."  He carefully erases what I've written, and then writes down the correct spelling.  We continue on, and I write what he says until he pauses and looks at my paper. 

"You're still not doing that right."  He then erases what I've written, and writes his own words.  He hands me back the paper and gives me that hard, steady look over the top of his glasses.

"I don't know," he says.  "You're not a good dictator.  You're messing up my spelling and punctuation.  I can do it better if I do it myself.  You've done you're best job.  You should be very proud of yourself, but I will take it from here.  You need to rest your brain for a while."

Funny kid!  I probably did need to rest my brain for a while!  He managed to finish the second page before our time was up and take him back to his class.

You know, I do wonder how bad of a dictator I was if someone who hates to write as much as he does decided that it was easier to write everything himself than to trust me to write it for him!

How old are you?

When I was subbing in second grade yesterday, the class asked me how old I was.

"How old do you think I am?"  I asked, bracing myself for their answer.  I've played this game before, and I've been pegged as anywhere between 35 and 70.  (Hint:  I celebrated my 12th annual 36th birthday last year.)

The kids held an intense discussion, where every number from 16 to 35 was discussed. 

Finally, the number 29 was announced as my age.

I told them that they are my favorite class, EVER!

Tales from the Classroom

Years ago, when I was a full time teacher, I had a situation going on in my classroom.  (It was third grade.)

There was a young woman in my class named, shall we say, Jamie.

Another young man, named, shall we say, Jeff, had a mad crush on Jamie.



I was working at the table with a reading group when I noticed Jeff intently scribbling away on a piece of paper.   This level of passion regarding his work was unusual for him, so I watched the proceedings with curiosity.

Jeff put his pencil down, folded it up into a paper football shape, and wafted it across the classroom in Jamie's direction.

Unfortunately, the football missed Jamie entirely and bonked Michael in the head.  Michael (a very tough kid), scooped up the football, opened the note, and read it.

In the blink of an eye, he was on his feet, waving the note around, shouting at the top of his lungs:  "I am not that kind of a guy!  Who sent this?  Who is this from?  I'll meet you out behind the cafeteria at lunch time!  Who did this?"

I looked over at Jeff, who at this point, had sunk so low in his chair you could only see the top of his head. 

I grabbed the note from Michael, and sent him down the hall for a drink of water.

Reading the note I see the words:  "I love you.  You are so beautiful! I will always love you!  You are the only person for me!"

When I took the kids down to lunch, I let the rest of the class go into the cafeteria, and I pulled Jeff aside.

"I wouldn't mention this if I were you."  I told him.  "I wouldn't sit near either him or Jaime at lunch today.  We'll keep the author of that little note a secret just between us."

He nodded his head. 

Ah.... young love. 

To this day, the memory of Michael, standing there, waving that paper around and screaming for vengeance, and the look of sheer horror on Jeff's face takes me back 20 years and makes me smile...