For a change

Reina (6th grade), today during math class:

Oh my gosh! Mr. P! You made me understand something!

The only thing that dulled the pleasure of this compliment was the astonished tone in which she said it.

Rules

Zeke is a rule-abiding kid who likes to pretend to be a punk. Either that, or he's a punk who likes to pretend to be a rule-abiding kid. I've never been sure, but give him just enough lunch detentions to keep him in line.

Today in math class he said something like, "Rules are stupid!" I countered with: "Without rules there would be chaos. Do you want chaos?" He said, "Yeah! Chaos! I love chaos!"

So I pelted him with the whiteboard eraser, to demonstrate chaos.

Actually, that's only what I tried to do. Since whiteboard erasers have a large surface-area to mass ratio, it wobbled around a lot and hit Sarah -- a real rule-abider, and a sweet one to boot -- smack in the torso.

I tried to save face: "See? When there's chaos, nothing's fair. You were the one being a dope, but Sarah got hit with the eraser."

Sarah thought it was funny. Zeke, I am afraid, remained unconvinced by my object lesson.

Next time I'll throw something heavier, that's all.

* * *

Next time, too, I'll have to go to work somehow on Kaelijn, but I'll have to throw something really heavy at her -- maybe Plato's collected dialogues or something . Witness this exchange:

JP: I'm sorry, Kaelijn -- you have to have a parent or teacher with you. I'm not allowed to let you go to the book fair by yourself. [This is my usual tactic for preemptively avoiding stupid arguments: it's not my rules, it's the boss.]

K: Oh my gosh, Mr. P! You always follow the rules! You just love rules! But rules are meant to be broken!

That would have been funnier if she hadn't been completely sincere in this stupid, stupid statement. It would have been funnier, also, if I hadn't detected that Kaelijn was using the tone she always employs when she is echoing some stupid, stupid thing her mother has taught her about (shudder) self-actualization.

I was almost tempted to mention my jail time -- I used to be stupid too, but I was 19, whereas she is in 6th grade and ought to know better -- and maybe flash my tattoo. But I just employed my hollow laugh (I am getting good at the hollow laugh) and said, "Ha, ha, Kaelijn. What a foolish thing to say."

'Cause I'm not allowed to say the s-word -- stupid. Those are the rules.

What Warms a Teacher's Heart

I have a "Help Sheet" that I make available to the students. It's a half sheet of paper where they check off one of various options -- "I'm missing a handout" or "I want to know how I'm doing in this class" or "I'd like to request a seat change," etc. Below there's room for comments. They fill it out and drop it in my box.

Got this yesterday from Kaelijn, in math class:

I think I am going ok but I want to do better and also bring up my test scores. I want to stay in your class Because I worked hard to get here and I aint leaving.

How to Irritate People

The best tactic I've discovered for dealing with argumentative kids: deliver your final say on the matter, then immediately turn your back and walk away.

Usually produces this reaction,

but then they go off and fume to their friends instead of continuing to bug you.

Guest Anecdote

I wish this had been written on a test I had given:

Q: What is the difference between "value" and "a value"?

A: "Value" is anything that has value, and "a value" is a certain value.

...yup.

HT to P.B.

Teaching Moment

Sam was very, very amused when I used the phrase "tongue lashing" today. It was a good opportunity to talk about figurative language.

(But he still went around to everyone saying, "I'm gonna give you a tongue lashing! Argleargleargleargle!")

Negative Gardening...

...is a discipline practiced by various members of my family. Whereas mainstream gardening consists in careful cultivation of some forms of plant life, to the vigilant exclusion of others, Negative Gardening is based on the beliefs:

• that all forms of life are good and deserve the right to flourish;
• that our attitude towards the things (and plants) Providence casts our way ought to be one of grateful acceptance, not miserly discrimination;
• and that to categorize some plants as "weeds" is to limit our own enjoyment of creation's abundance.

Also, healthy dollops of laziness.

So, "discipline" was the wrong word. Regardless, being who I am, it is the attitude that I have adopted towards my own yard. It's February, right? So normal people don't mow their yards anymore, right?

In Phoenix it is different. The grass stops growing in the "winter" (a.k.a. the Season When the Sun Is Not Trying to Kill You) but the other stuff keeps going. There are weeds out there with stalks as thick as radishes. If they were radishes, I wouldn't have to buy food for a week. If I liked radishes.

The neighbors, being perhaps inclined towards anti-quietism (they work on their gardens with fear and trembling), are apparently not pleased. Thursday morning I got into my car and noticed that an uprooted weed, dirt and all, had been placed carefully on my windshield.

Would it be paranoid to interpret this as some sort of a message?

Now, I'm no quietist myself. But a little de Caussade is good for everybody. And in the spirit of neighborliness, the first thing that occurred to my mind was REVENGE -- er, evangelization. I spent a good 15 minutes on the way to work thinking of ways I would word the note, if I knew whose door to nail it to. ("Your recent anonymous gesture opened my eyes: until now I had not suspected that such gall could coexist with such cowardice," etc., etc.) After that, I decided that I would let the yard go for another month, just out of spite.

Petty? Yeah, but he was petty first!

Harrumph. I spent today at a coffee shop planning classes, and thanks to a productive sick day yesterday, I've got 'em all done already. The whole week planned out by Saturday -- a first! What on earth will I do tomorrow?

Driving back to the house, I noticed the stark contrast between every other yard for half a mile and mine. I'm not a very communally-spirited guy (I like long walks on the beach. Alone) but I had to admit that it looked pretty shabby.

So I got down on my knees and weeded. I like weeding, really. Dirty-kneed, getting down to the roots of things. Continuing the job tomorrow will feel like leisure after all, which is what Sundays are for. That's easy for a teacher to forget.

I just hope Neighbor Corleone over there doesn't think it's because of him. If I see him, I'm going to ram this milkweed, or whatever it is, right down his throat. And pray that one day he learns not to be such a stuck-up sonofabitch.