I’ve been one of the walking dead for the past several days (it feels like a hangover–or, ahem, so I’m told– with a cough). I finally called in for a sub this morning. I forgot that practically every math teacher in the district was supposed to be at their version of our “benchmark scoring day.” The difference with the math people is that they were required to come; ours was voluntary. So. It seems every sub in the district was out. My boy tells me that his class had a different sub than the other classes which means that they were covering my classes with the other subs’ preps. D’oh. I used to hate doing that when I was a sub. The boy said his was 10 minutes late, and they were stuck outside the door, milling around. Which, as you know, seventh graders don’t do quietly. Another teacher shushed them a bit until the sub showed up…without a key. I looked online, and roll got taken in only three classes. Double d’oh. Anyway, I have spent almost every moment not at school asleep (yes, even on my bike to and from), so I only have enough energy right now
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…even new ones. See you tomorrow. (Guess I coulda’ used Twitter for something like that, huh? Or Springface.)
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On the fourth day of Christmas… In all my years of schooling back in the day, I never got to ride the school bus. For first through eighth grade, I rode my bike to St.Mel’s–which obviously didn’t have bus service. Actually, I rode in a carpool for awhile until they figured I could ride the 2 miles on my bike. I think maybe about third grade. By seventh grade, I had a ticket. But I hadn’t ridden a school bus. I know…why would you want to? But I did want to. Then it was high school at Jesuit. Too far to bike. So we rode the city bus. Not quite the same, though there were so many of us going to the same place, AND doing all the requisite yelling out the windows, it might as well have been a school bus. Except you had to pay. (I know, our district charges for the bus now too.) Things got so wild sometimes, especially during afternoon boarding, that the city threatened to stop the line if we didn’t shape up. Dang those Catholic boys. Then, during my first year here, back in ’93, I didn’t have the right rain gear dialed in for
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Of course my parental units also had to visit for my fittieth. (I tell the kids that as a certified English teacher, I have a license to make up and misuse words. Most of them believe it.) And here’s Mom sporting my 7th grade report card from the school year 1973-1974. So let’s deconstruct this “artifact.” First it comes in one of those tight-fitting envelopes with the little curved notches in the top for ease of sliding the card out. Mom didn’t spring for a yearbook that year, so the envelope has a bunch of signatures and a couple of “see ya next year’s.” It’s also signed by Dean Martin, right above my best friend’s signature. I don’t remember Deano hanging out at Mel’s. I think that’s the logo for the diocese. We were the Saints, but we didn’t have a logo. 1. Old school typewriting, typed by our school secretary (mom of a classmate, and as scary as the nuns). St. Mel was St. Patrick’s cousin. 2. Dunno why the COWARD is in all caps. She does that on the inside too. Now, let’s look inside. 1. There’s that all caps thing again. Must be intentional. 2. Knowledge of Religion. Catholicism from
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I turned fifty last week. Or as we like to say in my room, fitty. I’d like to think that’s accurate too. Although, my sister-in-law gave me a big sticker to wear at my (surprise) party that said, “I’m 5 Today!” That’s probably most accurate. Then she went and wrote “decades” in small print under the five. D’oh. My nephew was over playing my pinball machine this weekend. My wife had told him that she got it for my 50th birthday. “I can’t wait ’til I’m 50.” He’s 21, and he was totally serious. His girlfriend said the same thing. So did another nephew. Who knew fitty could be so desirable? All it takes is the right toys. Meanwhile, I’m feeling closer to 100 after this weekend. I will see you all on Wednesday. Here are a couple of books to check out. I especially liked Downtown Owl. Downtown Owl by Chuck Klosterman. Even though nothing really happens until the end, the characters are just so great, you don’t really care about the plot. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer. Narrated by a precocious nine-year old, who isn’t too annoying. Very touching and funny too.
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(Friday Flashback – Last Year) “Mrs. G” has been teaching in our district for over 40 years. She’s been at our school since it opened in 1980. She’s taught English, art, social studies, music, and much more. She is literally an immovable object, and doesn’t need to rise from her chair to strike fear (well, not exactly fear any more, but…) into 8th graders’ hearts. She doesn’t care what people (parents, admins, other teachers) think of her, and speaks her mind whether it’s “appropriate” or not. She currently teaches 8th grade US history, and has been going toe to toe with a particularly pesky student I had last year. Now, this “Steve” sends me e-mails about how the posts he’s reading in the discussion forums on our Moodle don’t have enough thought behind them, and he has a real brain. But he’s a loud-mouthed pain in the rear, whose parents it seems, are wrapped around his finger. I was probably the only teacher he got along with…until Mrs. G. He’s still a pain, and though, like me she recognizes and likes the Steve underneath, she’s not afeared of giving what she gets. So… Food is not allowed in our classooms. [...]
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