school

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rudy and the rocks

Medion DIGITAL CAMERAIn first or second grade Rudy found himself in a pickle. He did something wrong, something the teacher didn’t approve of. She handed him a sealed note addressed ‘To the Parents of…’ and told him to take it home, that he needed to have one or both his parents read and sign it. And, well, in his town, a sealed letter from the teacher always meant You are in trouble mister! news.

Rudy panicked, was scared of the spanking that was sure to happen once his mom read what he had done. He knew that his dad was at work so it would be his mom that would handle the situation. Her way.

A classmate, a wee boy about the same small height as Rudy, noticed the fear building up in his eyes, so he recommended that Rudy defuse the situation with just three rocks.

“Three rocks?” Rudy questioned.

“Only three,” the friend responded. “And you must find those three rocks right here, on the school grounds, right now. You cannot pick them up on your way home.”

Rudy ran off to collect the average sized rocks, not much bigger than large pebbles.

“Got ’em,” he claimed, holding out his hand, displaying the carefully-selected-similar-looking gray rocks.

“Good. Now what you do is… when you are walking home toss one rock behind you, and don’t look back. Never look back,” his peer stated.

“So, I just throw the rocks over my shoulder?”

“Yes, but you must throw them one at a time, not all at once. And, you must throw them with an equal distance between each toss.”

“Okay,” Rudy felt slightly confused, and must have shown it on his face.

“Once you leave this spot and are a short distance away throw the first rock behind you, wait until you have walked a little then throw the second rock, and then the third rock gets tossed at an equal distance compared to the first two. Understand?”

Rudy shook his head up and down. “And you are sure I will not get a spanking when I get home?”

“Yep,” the boy confidently stated.

Rudy made it home, successfully tossing the rocks at an equal distance, and never once did he look behind him to see where they landed. He nervously handed his mom the letter, whereby she simply smiled, and let him pass without a word.

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a boy and the lies he tells

Most times kids lie to avoid trouble. Not him. He lies to avoid the truth.

During a classroom math time discussion his teacher asked the students a graphing question. “Who has been to Disneyland?” she wondered, big fat marker in hand, ready to chart their answers.

Youthful hands shot up into the air, wiggling with excitement.

Not his. His hands were jammed firmly under his little boy thighs.

“Never?” Ms. She’s Really Nice inquired.

He shook his head back and forth. ” But, I have been to Las Vegas,” he shared.

Later, in the late afternoon, while sitting in a circle with the other boys and girls in karate class, he made an announcement.

“I did not get any presents for Christmas.”

That got their attention.

“I did not give any presents to anyone either. Anyway, I don’t even celebrate Christmas,” he said.

No. Big. Deal.

When he was in the car with his mom, driving home from an hour of kicks and jabs, he rehashed his day.

“Why would you tell the teacher you’ve never been to Disneyland? And Vegas? Why did you say you went to Las Vegas?”

She continued questioning him before he could get a word-in-edgewise.

“You said you didn’t get presents, didn’t give them, and don’t even celebrate Christmas? Why would you make up all those things?” she wondered.

“I just don’t want people to know everything about me,” he answered.

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i wish i could talk to my students the way i talk to my children

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Kids want to know. Want to have the conversation. Want to hear it from someone they trust. Kids want to talk about sex. They do. They know it’s out there. They know it’s happening. But they have no one to talk to. Because? Well, because it’s taboo for kids so young to have that conversation. I mean, really, how many adults believe that if you talk to kids about sex that kids will take that information and use it. Use it for real, and actually go out and have sex. Lots of adults believe it. Believe if you talk about it, that means you are giving them permission to act on it. Or, they believe the opposite. Don’t talk about it. Even if kids ask. About sex. About what it is. Or what this or that means. Because, well, it’s embarrassing for them, the adult, to talk about an adult thing with such a young kid. That the best way to handle such a conversation is to ignore it, and to change the subject as quickly as you can. But, I am telling you, kids want to know. They want to have the conversation. With someone who is informed, and will tell them the truth.

Long ago, when Elizabeth was, maybe, five years old, she asked me where babies come from. I answered her with a question of my own. Where do you think they come from? She thought for a moment, and in her small, young girl voice she questioned From here? pointing to her belly button. Not that I was shy about the conversation, in fact I embraced it, loved where it was going, but I also knew she was teeny tiny and could only handle so much. So I simply answered something like, Sounds good. And that was that. Over the years she’d asked simple questions that I knew were building up to more in-depth important sex questions, and every time, without hesitation, I’d answer her, based on her question. But, wait, she wondered one day, how does the baby get in there? She must have been about 8, 9, or 10 years old at the time, and I matter-of-factly told her. Yes I did! I knew she was ready for the info so I told her, using vocabulary she’d understand. Oh, is what she said, with interest, seemingly happy to know something maybe many of her friends knew nothing about. And so it went. We talked. About everything sex. Over the years. We talked openly, without embarrassment. And, along the way, her two younger brothers learned that they too could ask me questions and talk about things they wanted to know. Things about sex. Things they heard, or read about but didn’t understand what it meant. They’d ask as casually as if they were asking what was on TV. And, you know what, the best thing is – for Liz, my one and only daughter, a girl I wanted to grow up with a strong sense of self respect – did just that.  When high school was all said and done for her, the main thing that prevented her from ever doing anything too emotional with a boy was due to our open conversations. About sex. And me explaining how the intense emotions involved should be saved for when she was ready to handle such relationships. I know this because she told me so.

I wish I could talk to my students the way I talk to my children because, they too, are curious and want to know the facts. They know things, and have heard things. I mean, how can they not with all the information so available to them. Information that makes them wonder, interests them. But really, all they want to know are the facts. And they just wish someone would talk to them. Have a conversation with them. To help them make wise choices. That’s all, really.

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zoom

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Moises zooms around the school’s field, passing all the other fifth graders. He checks behind him to see who is on his tail. There’s Jesse, neck-in-neck with Flavio, competing for the second place spot. And finally, right behind them, Leticia tags in, her face red with a light film of sweat covering her brow. All the other kids are either jogging a slow pace, or walking and chatting, not putting much effort into their morning routine before heading into the classroom.

There are only 27 days left of the school year, and just as some of the students zoom around the grassy ground every morning, another year of learning and expanding the sponge-like minds of such impressionable people has zoomed by oh-so quickly. It all began with hellos and soon the goodbyes will be heard as the final bell rings. One full year wrapped up, not with crisp streamed-lined edges, not perfect, or even the best presentation; but, one year, 180 zoom! zoom! days.

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pieces of paper

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Last year I was a 3rd grade teacher. This year I teach 5th. Last year I didn’t have to deal with silly notes being passed around among the students. This year I do.

Those little pieces of paper have covered everything from Hi! to Are you coming to my party? and down the line, asking Who do you like?, or commanding Don’t be friends with so and so. I would walk up behind the receiver and snatch the note from their small 5th grade hands and drop it onto my desk, where it sat, forgotten. In general, kids would either giggle or open their eyes wide, forming their mouths into an oval shape. And then the lesson would continue. As the days progressed, those ripped from the pages of their notebooks shreds of paper began to become more of an issue, which caused my attitude to change from such a cool and nice teacher to students being more secretive and less complimentary. Most of them began tossing me yikes! glances, hoping not to catch my eye for fear of getting in trouble.

My favorite note of the year, thus far, has been a quick drawing of me, looking mad, with the words stating Mean Teacher! But even better, they included Rudy in the drawing, also looking mad, calling him Mean Teacher’s Husband! As usual, I dropped it on my desk, but this time, with my back to the class of kids I smiled. Never before have I been called Mean! Never. I knew then that the environment in my 5th grade classroom differed greatly from the innocent charm I love you, Teacher! of 3rd graders.

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liar

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“I didn’t take it!” Alex shouted, just as the pen he was accused of taking fell out of his notebook.

“Here we go again,” Marsel said, a little too loud.

The teacher stopped talking, irritated with Alex’s lies.

“What! Who put it in my folder?!” Alex continued ranting, looking around the classroom. Some of the kids laughed and some just stared, while a few simply rolled their eyes.

This wasn’t the first time Alex made claims, making up later to be discovered lies. Everyone, including Mr. Jones, figured once again that Alex was just trying to make waves. Looking for attention. It’d been a few months since the first time Alex stole something and lied about it. He was later outed by another student who was told by Alex himself that he did indeed steal the item in question. And regardless of the mess he was causing for himself, the lies just kept coming. Every day, nonstop.

Alex lied his way through another school in a neighboring district. He was transferred out because, well, his parents were hoping that a change of location might help him get a fresh start. A new beginning, with new friends. An opportunity to try again to apply himself.

Unfortunately, location had nothing to do with Alex’s lying. Small lies were getting bigger and bigger. And no one, especially not his teacher, believed anything he said. Not even the day Alex said “It wasn’t me! I didn’t take it!” when Mr. Jones told him to return his iPhone “Now!” But, no matter what he said, or did, to prove his innocence, Alex could not convince anyone that it was not him that took Mr. Jone’s cell phone.

Which worked perfectly for Marsel. She had been planning the theft for several weeks, and knew that it would be Alex who was blamed. Alex who wouldn’t be believed. Alex who would get in trouble. Alex who, this one time, really was innocent.

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i

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when i was in 5th grade i was way too shy, trying to figure out what it meant to be part of a group of friends. i felt clueless, yet somehow i managed to hang with what may have been the popular group. or maybe they were on the verge of discovering fame. all i knew was that they seemed to be the kind of friends that made sense to me. girls who just wanted to have fun.

during those early years, i was what one may have called a wallflower. a listener. an observer. someone who found interest in the way others related. simply by watching. and absorbing. without much talking. i don’t know if anyone was aware of my awkwardness. but i was. i felt insecure. as if they had so much more to offer than i ever did. but what they had to offer i couldn’t even begin to say what that was. really. those girls were just like me. surviving. trying to find a place in an elementary world.

as the years progressed. and i grew. and continued to learn the dynamics of relationships through listening and observing. i found myself. realizing that i had something to offer. to give to the world. when i was in the 5th grade.

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honor

Tony didn’t understand why the bully was picking on him. Always laughing at him. For no apparent reason. Seriously, was it because his leather backpack was so huge, that it looked strange on his eight year old frame? Or was there something else? Tony didn’t know, never asked. He just endured the bully’s taunting day after day. And what was even more confusing to Tony was that the eight year old bully wasn’t even in his class. The bully was in some other part of the school, in another classroom, with a different teacher and his own set of peers. But, for whatever reason the bully decided that Tony would be his target for the school’s year. A target to harass, to antagonize, and, it seemed, to make Tony’s life miserable.

One afternoon, instead of hanging out with his pals, before each kid headed home for lunch, Tony left immediately after the bell, wanting to avoid the bully. He walked a half mile along the dirt road, anticipating lunch with the live-in helper. As he walked, he kicked a rock, just as he always did, using the big ‘ol boots his parents had bought him just for his rock kicking walks. Boots that held up to the beating they were given, regardless of how many time he scraped them through the dirt, aiming the perfect aim toward the rock, sending it flying far and away. As he walked and kicked, tears fell from Tony’s eyes. Tears from anger. Anger towards the bully who just wouldn’t leave him alone. When he walked into the house, the helper asked him what was wrong. He responded, saying Nothing. Changing the subject, the live-in helper asked Tony about his slingshot, the one he made during the past weekend with some of the other neighborhood kids. That’s when, consciously or not, Tony realized he should take the slingshot back to school with him. For fun. For whatever reason.

As he walked back, returning to school, pockets full of rocks, Tony played with the slingshot, flinging the pepples as far as he could. He even took the time to stretch the sling, expanded it as far back as he could manage. All the while he was carrying his heavy ladened backpack on his slight body. As he neared his classroom, he shoved his toy out of sight. After an afternoon of physical and other hands-on activities, after the final bell rang, as Tony was walking near the basketball court, he heard the bully and his friends laughing at him. Laughing so much that Tony’s anger came full force. He walked across the road in front of the school, and sat down. Just sat. And then he pulled out the slingshot, without any idea as to what his intentions were. He just wanted to practice flinging rocks again. Possibly curb his anguish. Then, out of nowhere, the bully came out of the school laughing, laughing, and laughing some more at Tony. Laughing and pointing. Tony had had enough. He walked up to the bully. Stood three feet away. And BAM! he slung a rock right at the bully. Causing him to fall to his knees. And then, still full of built-up anger, Tony kicked and kicked the bully with his big ‘ol boots. Just kicked him. Over and over. Breaking his teeth. Until someone grabbed him. Lifted him up and away from the bully. To stop any further damage. Tony’s feet kept kicking air. He couldn’t stop. Until he realized that whoever was holding him was grasping him rather tightly. Tight enough that Tony realized he needed to be released so that he could breathe. So he stopped kicking and was set back down on the ground. His anger subsiding.

Later, after his parents were told what Tony had done, and after a good spanking with a belt, and after they had to pay for a pair of new front teeth, Tony was stilled. Calm.

The bully never bothered him again. Because Tony defended his honor.

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computer

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Carlos was told that his school’s annual test was going to be fun. Rewarding. Personal. A test that will help him, as an individual, grow to his highest potential. Carlos began to imagine it.

His teacher, Mr. Comp told him he’d be taking his state-mandated test on the computer, instead of bubbling in multiple-choice answers. “Carlos, imagine sitting in front of the computer and being presented with open-ended question after open-ended question, in all subjects.”

Carlos tweaked his head to the side, trying to picture it.

“And, rather than feeling pressured to perform, you are given time to think about, and plan your answers,” his teacher continued.

Carlos was seeing it. Liking the idea.

The questions would be scaffolded.”

Carlos needed the word defined.

“Meaning, questions would be based on your skill level; each question, after the first one, would be based on how you answered the previous question, layering it to your personal level of learning.”

“Nice,” Carlos gave a thumbs-up.

“Also, rather than lumping all of the kids in the class, or the state for that matter, into one category, giving everyone the same level of assessment, regardless of where they are on the learning curve, each would be able to show how they’ve progress over the year. Your scores would be based on you, and compared to your assessment from the previous year, showing your own personal growth. Imagine that, Carlos.”

“I think I would feel great! I think that kind of testing would really change the way I think about our annual assessment; and, also, really show my parents that I am learning. And not compare me with all the other kids in school. Plus, sometimes when questions are multiple choice, I just guess because I’m tired, don’t have a clue what the answer is, or I’m just not into it. So, this new kind of state test would be awesome!”

They were both silent for a moment, reflecting.

“Mr. Comp. Are you just wishing, or is this something you have been told about?”

“It’s on its way, Carlos, it’s on its way.”