Dinner conversation, outlined #SOLC25 27/31

We went out for burgers with our kids tonight to celebrate a birthday. The Works isn’t fast, but their burgers are delicious. While we waited for our food, we talked; when the burgers came, we kept talking. Once we were home, I was stunned to look back on our meandering conversation and to realize how interesting I find my teenage children. When did they get this curious about the world?

I can’t possibly write it all up, so I’m taking (more) inspiration from Sherri and trying an alternative format. Here’s an outline of we discussed:

Andre’s run today
1. his longest since pre-children
2. how far the rest of us have run
  1. I have run the farthest (yes, I’m bragging)
What the Bank of Canada does
1. The state of the internet when Andre worked for the Bank
2. It was rudimentary
Why the drama teacher was late to class
1. This is unclear
2. Maybe she was creating a seating plan?
3. She still does not know the names of everyone in the class
  1. It is six weeks into the semester
4. She now has pictures of the students with their names
  1. It’s not obvious that this is helping
When the next set of article summaries is due
1. Monday
2. This will require good time management
Camus
1. He is an existentialist
2. This was not required reading
Jesse Thistle
1. He spent a lot of time in his memoir recounting his experiences with addiction
2. He met his wife after he got clean
  1. Because falling in love with an addict would be hard
  2. She was from the same town he was
  3. They now have children
Being cancelled
1. Is it being cancelled if, like Joseph Boyden, you misrepresent yourself?
  1. Did Joseph Boyden actively misrepresent himself or did he not understand the gravity of what he was doing?
Race – biological or cultural?
1. The idea of race as a cultural construct is very difficult to fathom
  1. It’s hard to see culture when you’re in it
2. Andre and I provided (frankly) thoughtful examples
  1. The children were unconvinced
  2. But they listened
Why Google’s AI summaries are untrustworthy
1. Which teachers have discussed this in school – mostly English and Social Science teachers
2. hilarious examples from our children
Tariffs
1. Why targeting the auto industry might be effective or ineffective
2. Why countries are or are not banding together to oppose the US
Illegal actions by the current US President
1. Including interfering in private industry, like specific law firms
2. Also telling a university that its students cannot wear masks during protests
  1. Which seems a bit much
Group chats
1. Signal vs WhatsApp
2. Why would you add a journalist to a government group chat?
3. Why would the US bomb Yemen?
  1. Who are the Houthis?
The efficacy of protests
1. Some of these seem deeply ineffective to the children
  1. One protest was declared “annoying”
2. The children are not convinced that protesting Israel/ Gaza is effective – on either side
  1. Institutions outside the affected area have financial interests in what is going on
    - Including weapons
Civil disobedience
1. Examples from Gandhi & India
2. The US Civil Rights Movement
  1. Rosa Parks was effective
  2. Perhaps we need to watch some movies about this because it sounds really interesting to the kids

Dinner ended.
WHEW!

Scam Artist #SOLC25 26/31

As I pulled into the driveway, Andre was coming out of the house with the dog. They paused to greet me (aka Max dragged Andre to the car door), and Andre said, “I thought I’d go ahead and take him for his walk since you were running a little late.”

I gave Andre a funny look. “Mr. 16 didn’t walk him? He said he would.”

Andre, in turn, gave Max a funny look. “Max? Did you already have a walk?”

Max looked off into the distance, the picture of doggy innocence. If dogs could whistle, he would have whistled an innocent little tune. “Who me?”

And Andre decided that since Max was already on the leash, he might was well take him for a second walk.

Being the Parent #SOLC25 25/31

I parked in the tiny parking lot and sat in my car for a few minutes, hoping that the rain would let up. While I waited, I texted a friend to let her know I had arrived; we made plans to meet in a bit. That taken care of, I darted out of the car and towards the well-lit building. A young man – one of Mr. 16’s friends – said hello to me as I made my way up the stairs. There, a couple I’ve known for years were standing near an open door, so I paused to chat for a few minutes – kids, work, life. Luckily, no one was in no rush.

Eventually, a door down the hallway opened, and an old colleague gestured to me. I made my excuses to my friends and headed over to him. We embraced briefly and then caught up. He shared photos of his son – already two and a half! – and we laughed a bit about my youngest, now 14, and some of his antics in English class. Time flew; soon it was time to go.

This is how parent-teacher interviews go for me now that both of my children are in high school.

The next interview was across the courtyard, and I ran into several people I knew as I made my way to the classroom. There, a semi-familiar young teacher greeted me and reminded me that we had worked together a few years ago. “I’ve gained weight,” he said ruefully, “Imagine me, thinner.” Again, we used some of our ten minutes to catch up and some to talk about Mr. 14. When time was up, the next parent was a friend, so we all talked for a minute before I left them to their discussion.

Being the parent in these meetings is odd. I’ve taught in this school district for seventeen years now, and I’ve worked in four different high schools. Since I take pleasure in both collaboration and mentoring, and since new teachers often move around a bit before they get a contract, I’ve gotten to know a lot of teachers at a lot of schools. More than that, a few of my former students are now teachers (!!). These days, much to my children’s dismay, parent-teacher conferences are a semisocial event for me.

The third teacher on my appointment sheet was not able to make interviews – too bad, really, because she was the only person I didn’t already know. After I figured out that she was absent, I made my way back to the front hall of the school to wait for Mr. 16. He was serving as a guide for the evening, and it was still cold and rainy, so I had offered him a ride home. This meant I was free to stand in the lobby and chat with an old friend/colleague and talk about books, the upcoming PD Day, and changes in the school board. Soon, one of Mr. 16’s teachers joined us, and we began an animated discussion of AI and how it’s affecting learning. By the time Mr. 16 was released from his duties, we were gesturing with enough enthusiasm to be completely mortifying.

Eventually, parent-teacher conferences wound down. Before we left, I found the friend/ neighbour/ colleague who I had texted when I arrived, and we all walked out to the car together – of course we were also giving her a ride home. After we dropped off my friend, my child said, “It’s kind of cool that you know so many of my teachers.”

I’m glad he’s ok with it because apparently this is what it means for me to be a parent who teaches.

Using every minute #SOLC25 24/31

Their discussion is winding down. Though several students have presented thoughtful arguments and backed them up with evidence from the text, no one has switched sides. What’s really bothering Hamlet in Act 1? According to my students, it’s not really his father’s death or his uncle stealing his crown; in fact, they are firmly split on whether Hamlet is more upset because his mother remarried so quickly – not even two months! – or because she married his uncle. Is the problem her “dextrous speed” or the “incestuous sheets”? Hmm…

I check my watch. Seven minutes to go. Too much time to sit; not enough time to… wait! What am I thinking? There’s always time to do something; it’s just a question of what. My brain whirs. Got it.

“So,” I say, “want to hear about some spying?” I waggle my eyebrows and pull up Act 2, scene 1 on the screen in the front of the classroom. No need for copies of the play; we can do this on the fly. Without warning, I lean in to M – poor kid came in late and ended up in the front row – and ask him how he would feel about spying on my son. Using lines from the play, I encourage him to share a few small lies to see if anyone bites. Maybe they’ll tell him something interesting if he starts off with some slight exaggerations. I suggest to M that he, you know, can pretend that my son drinks and gambles and drabs…

Drabbing is glossed in the text as “whoring”. Not my favourite word, but the students jump on it. WHAT? They are as outraged as Polonius’s servant (unwittingly played by M) is. Why would any father sully his son’s reputation in this way?

“I’d be pissed if my father said that about me,” says one. Others agree.

Ha! I’ve got them where I want them. Quickly, with one eye on the clock, I find a student wearing a zip-up hoodie and ask her to come play Hamlet for a minute. Next, I recruit an Ophelia to “sew” in her “closet” and a Polonius to read a few lines from her seat. Hamlet “unbraces” her “doublet” by unzipping her hoodie. She rolls up one leg of her jeans. She’s wearing boots because it snowed this morning (hello, winter in Ottawa), but we pretend her socks have fallen down. She follows Ophelia’s narration of Hamlet’s actions and the class laughs along. Hamlet’s gone mad.

30 seconds before the bell, I shoo them back to their seats. I look at the class and say, “Now, who was Ophelia talking to again?”

“POLONIUS!” They’re starting to put this together. Wasn’t he just the *#!hole spying on his son? He’s not especially trustworthy – and now he knows about Hamlet…

“Oh, this is not good,” says one student.

And the bell rings.

“We’ll find out what happens tomorrow!” I announce as the class leaves, muttering – another good reason to use every teaching minute I can get.

4-4-4 #SOLC25 23/31

This evening, after several false starts (possibly because I’m still a little tired from whatever illness got me down yesterday), I decided to do a 4-4-4: write about four things within four feet of you for four minutes. I set the timer & wrote, then went to have dinner with the family. Now I’ve spent another minute editing/ tidying. (And probably another minute writing this.) It’s a pretty good way to get writing when I’m feeling stuck. Special thanks to Elisabeth Ellington who used this form earlier this month and to whomever mentioned Saffy’s Angel (maybe as a book her mother liked? Can’t remember.)

***

On the other side of the bookshelf, Mr. 14 is on the computer. What is he doing? I don’t know. I do know that earlier today he let me add him to my Google Classroom to check out a quiz I made. Then he commented on my quiz (“interesting, but hard”). He’s awfully fun to have nearby; one of the many reasons I appreciate having his computer in our main living area.

My feet are up on the arm of the love seat in front of me. Just beyond them, our black lab mix, Max, is snoring lightly. He prefers being near me whenever possible; even better if he can be near me and in a soft space. If I stir, he’ll wake up, but for now, he sleeps peacefully.

Beside me on the couch are two blue yoga balls in a small mesh bag. They are calling me, reminding me that some mobility work will be good for my body, even if I’m not quite done being sick, even if I would rather just sit and read my new book, James by Percival Everett. It’s open and just next to the yoga balls. So far, it is amazing. I finished The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store just in time for book club on Friday night; that one was a slow read for me. Then, yesterday, I read Saffy’s Angel – a middle grade novel recommended by Elisabeth Ellington – because I spent most of the day in bed. It was a great half-sick lie-in-bed read. Last night I started James, and I’m tearing through it – making much faster progress than I did on The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store.

Time’s up.

When an English teacher is ailing #SOLC25 22/31

This is not the post I had planned for today. The plan was to write early, comment liberally (catching up on the blogs I’ve missed this week – so many) and take a nice long walk. Then, I was going to grade papers, maybe craft a little and generally be productive. Instead, I’ve spent most of the day in bed, sleeping off and on and generally feeling miserable. Super frustrating.

Since I’ve taken to my bed and am feeling sorry for myself, I’ve been thinking of Jane Austen – as one does. Have I caught a violent cold? I have not been coughing, so I don’t think so. Do I have a putrid tendency? I’m not 100% sure what that is, but I doubt that’s my primary ailment Rather, I find I have feverish symptoms and my head aches acutely. Oh! And I’m definitely languishing a bit, but my sleep brings me rest, not delirium, so no need to send for the apothecary… yet. Finally, while I am discontented at the moment, I do not fancy myself nervous, which is good because darling Jane has little patience with people’s nerves. Luckily, I am no fanciful, troublesome creature!

I will acknowledge that I am nowhere near as sick as Marianne Dashwood after the horrid Willoughby uses her so poorly, but I may be nearly as sick as Jane Bennet after she walked to Netherfield in the rain. Either way, I am missing a devoted sister to nurse me back to health. I shall have to send my sisters a letter to let them know that they have failed in their duty to attend to me in my time of need. Luckily for them, Andre has returned from his afternoon outing, and he is coddling me (a little), though no possets as of yet. Perhaps he is courting me. As a result, I suspect I will recover – though perhaps I will consult a physician to see if he might prescribe a trip to Bath. No doubt that would restore my good health.

Until then, I’ll settle for reading a good book in my own bath.

Say it again #SOLC25 21/31

Inspired by Sherri’s post with the same title. Things I say on repeat…
(And if you were here yesterday: I FINISHED THE BOOK!)

Good morning! You awake? Time to wake up! Hey, kiddo, if you don’t get up your brother’s going to get the first shower.

I’m leaving! Have a good day!

No, I don’t know who has the Chromebooks. Have you checked Richard’s room?

Books and notebooks out and open! Make sure you have a pen or pencil available.

You know where the pencils are. The pencils are where they have been all year. I’m sure you can find a pencil. Yes, that is where the pencils are.

Please make sure your phones are away. Headphones and air buds, too, please. Away means in your backpack. Your pocket is not a backpack. I see a few phones out. Make sure your phone hasn’t accidentally snuck into your hands. Phones are sneaky like that.

If the teacher writes it on the board… you should write it in your notebook.

Is anyone else hot or is it just me?

You can’t read and talk at the same time; that’s not how brains work.

Listen first, then move.

Ok, you know the drill: SLANT! Sit up, lean forward… look, even if you don’t ask questions you can nod your head and track me when I’m speaking.

Ok, but you need to be back in five minutes or less. Five minutes is reasonable.

No one else is hot?

Bye! Bye! Nice work today! Bye! See you tomorrow! Bye!

Hi! How was school? Has anyone walked the dog? Ok, I’m going to walk the dog. Did anyone feed the dog? Have the cats been fed?

No, dinner’s not for a little while. Try a healthy snack. It won’t be long.

Please make sure your dishes end up in the dishwasher. Do you have any homework? I’m just going to mark a few things. Please make sure that plate ends up in the dishwasher.

Goodnight, my love. See you in the morning.

Pressure #SOLC25 20/31

Thursday, 7:51 pm

Book club meeting tomorrow at 7pm. I’m on page 284 of 381.

A good day #SOLC25 19/31

Today was a good teaching day, the kind that makes me keep grinning off and on right through the evening. At first, I was going to write something else, but then I wanted to capture this.

First period:
In grade 12, we’ve just started Hamlet. I am always torn about teaching Shakespeare, but I really love teaching this play. And today was amazing. We finished up yesterday’s rhetorical analysis of Claudius’s first speech and students cited lines from the play without being prompted. In my head, I was jumping for joy, but on the outside I played it cool, like, “yeah, my classes always just naturally use lines from Shakespeare to back up their points. Nothing to see here.” My super-cool teacher persona just took notes on the board and nodded her head.

Then we moved on to Hamlet’s first soliloquy. I’d planned a soliloquy buster (which I clearly got from somewhere at some time, but I no longer remember where or when), and even though we’ve only been together for six weeks, and even though it wasn’t quite 10am, and even though it’s Shakespearean language, the students happily moved their desks and sat in a circle and read aloud. Then, the real miracle occurred: no one protested (I mean, I heard a groan or two, but that’s just normal) when I dragged the class into the school lobby to “walk” the soliloquy. I stood on the risers and read the lines loudly while students held their copy of it and walked, turning 180 degrees every time there was a punctuation mark. By the end, we were breathless. When I asked how they thought Hamlet was feeling as he gave this soliloquy, students knew immediately: agitated, frantic, upset.

The energy in the room was high when the bell rang; I could almost *feel* the learning. They were jazzed.

Second period: Planning. And I actually got things done. I even sent a suggestion to the principal: what if we invite the public library to set up a table during parent-teacher conferences and help people get library cards? (He said yes!)

Third period:
Literacy support. Another teacher actually invited me into their classroom to support students. I used AI to almost instantly convert the assignment (which is a *great* assignment but which has a LOT of words) into a checklist. I photocopied that and handed it out within minutes AND managed to sneakily support two students who really needed support. HOORAY!

Fourth period:
My, ahem, energetic grade 9 class started Long Way Down today. Their reactions to seeing the books piled on desks were decidedly mixed: “Are we going to read that?” can be said in many ways. But Jason Reynold’s novel has a magic that has never failed me – not since the first moment students unboxed brand-new copies of the book a few years ago d, and started to read. Today, Reynolds’ voice filled the room, our hearts beat as we heard that Will’s brother Shawn was shot, and we waited the horrible millisecond while we turned the page and read the words “and killed”. Someone gasped.

The kids let me pause to ask a few questions here and there, but mostly they begged to keep reading, so we read right to the bell. As they piled the books back on the desk (we have to share books with other classes), several of them said, “That’s a really good book, Miss.” I just nodded and said, “I know. I know.”

Then one darling child stayed after and whispered the story of the book she finished over March Break, the one she really wanted to tell me about, even if it might spoil it if I decide to read it. (Reader, I will not; it is “romantasy” – virtually all she reads – and sounds extremely silly, though just right for her.) I nodded and oohed and aahed until she realized her bus was coming and ran out the door.

For just a minute, I sat in the quiet classroom, completely satisfied with a day when learning felt almost tangible, when almost everyone was engaged almost all the time. I don’t always write about these days, but they happen – they really do – and I wanted to capture today. It was wonderful.

Cheating Cheater #SOLC25 18/31

He was shamelessly cheating. While the “big boys” (my teens) and my spouse splashed around the small pool, calling loudly to each other, my cousin’s 7-year-old ducked underwater every time he heard the dreaded cry, “Marco!” Others might give away their position by replying, “Polo!” but he was no fool. You’re a lot harder to find if Marco can’t hear you.

Of course we called him on it, tickling him and dunking him. “You’re a cheating cheater!” my sons teased, and he didn’t deny it. Seven is the perfect age to check out what happens when you break the rules. Turns out, if you cheat long enough, we’ll change the game – and we’ll love you anyway.

***

After school, my child tells me that one of his teachers has accused him of cheating. “The worst part,” he says, “is that I did it: we wrote that section together – but only because we thought we were allowed to.” He takes a deep breath. “I tried to explain. I tried to tell him that we obviously thought it was ok because we used the exact same words. If I was trying to cheat I wouldn’t be so dumb about it, but he wouldn’t even listen.”

My son is upset, and rightly so. The idea that someone thinks you have intentionally been dishonest can be devastating. Worse, he likes this teacher and this subject; he’s worried about the ramifications of this incident.

“Will you write to him and tell him I’m not a cheater?” he asks. I counsel him to send an apology email, even though he’s still upset about the accusation itself. He pulls out his phone and shows me the email he’s already composed. “Is it good enough?” he asks. “Can I send it?” It is and he does.

***

We all knew that the 9th grade Mythology test was nearly impossible. Senior students recounted horror stories. “No one passes,” they assured us. “It’s killer.” I studied and studied, and worried so much that I made myself physically ill before the test. I vomited and got sent home at lunch.

My teacher announced to the class that what I had done was a form of cheating. She gave them the “easy” version of the test and “saved” the hard one for my return. Then, she told me that she assumed I had lied about being sick. I cried while I took the make-up test – which I aced, even though it was very, very hard. I’m still not sure if she ever thought of me as completely honest after that. I know that I never quite trusted her again.

***

I don’t know what to write to my son’s teacher, but I know what I want to say. I want to say, even if he did it, even if he intentionally did the wrong thing – and I don’t think he did – please remember that he’s a child, not a cheater. Please don’t do to him what my teacher did to me all those years ago.

I’ll find the words for the email, but before I do, I’m going upstairs to give my child an extra hug. I can’t change this particular game, but I’ll love him anyway.