Childhood Scars

Today in the Obituaries, I saw a name that brought me back in time; back to one of my most embarassing childhood memories. I was the narrator in a play we 4th graders were presenting to the kindergarten class. The play was "The Gingerbread Boy," and Tommy Noll had the lead role. A social misfit, Tommy was not a popular boy. He was a victim of constant harassment (for reasons I don't recall). That my teacher, Mrs. Mack, had chosen him for the lead was most likely an (uncharacteristic) act of kindness on her part. In this particular scene, Tommy the Gingerbread Boy was running around the room as we sang, "He ran and ran, as fast as he can, that naughty fresh-baked gingerbread man!" I guess the modeling of kindness toward Tommy was lost on me, because during this scene, when Tommy fell flat on his face, our entire class laughed out loud, to the point of disrupting our song. Quickly, Tommy got up and continued his escape while the chorus returned to task. My line following the song was, "No one could catch him! He was the fastest gingerbread man on earth." However, I could not proceed!

A lesser-known fact about me is that when people get hurt, I laugh. Fall down some stairs in front of me and I am likely to fall apart in giggles. Break your toe on the livingroom couch, and I am in stitches! It's a pattern that I can trace all the way back to this Gingerbread event, althought I'm really not sure if it started that day or not. Regardless, when Tommy fell, a switch was tripped in me, and I laughed so hard, I nearly choked. This is not, of course, good form for the narrator in an otherwise hitch-free performance. I could not stop laughing, even after the other kids had; my eyes teared up from the exertion. They dried up rather quickly, however, when my gaze fell upon Mrs. Mack; her tight, blond behive a beacon above blazing eyes in a stone face. Instantly sobered, I continued with my lines.

I had never liked Mrs. Mack. She definitely played favorites, and she gave kids extra credit for massaging her shoulders during movies. I wanted the extra credit but hated the thought of touching her, so it ticked me off. On this day, back in the classroom after the performance, there was hell to pay. Mrs. Mack chewed us all a new one for laughing when Tommy fell, but she saved the climax of her tirade for me. I don't remember her words; only my public shame and the tears of humiliation that accompanied it.

Obviously, I never forgot that day. I wish I could say it cured me of laughing when people get hurt, but it didn't. Must be just nerves, I guess, because clearly, it is not funny when your neighbor (weirdo or not) trips in your garage at your Halloween party, leaving an actual tuft of hair stuck in your doorway molding and having to go home with a concussion. I'll keep working on that bad habit of mine. If you're ever a victim of my seeming lack of compassion, please forgive me and know that it's nothing personal. We all react to stress differently.

So, now that you know my most embarassing childhood memory, how about sharing yours?

To Get You in the Mood for October...

Saw this photo in a email forward and laughed out loud. Hope it gets you fired up for Halloween! (Sorry, but I don't know whom to credit.)

The Deep End

I've come to the conclusion that in the ocean that is our special ed Math class, some our kids are starting to drown. This is in spite of the fact that there are three of us "lifeguards" for 15 "swimmers!" The pace/set-up we have currently is really great for some kids, obviously. They are frolicking in the seaspray, hopping on boogie boards, and splashing up a storm. Others simply get caught up in waves that pull them under over and over each class period. By the time they come up, sputtering for air, everyone else is already lying on the beach, catching some rays! We even have a few that, upon packing up the beach bags, we find still trying to put on their swimsuits and looking for their fins and goggles! I think we need to get them over to the shallow area until they learn how to swim better! Starting on Monday, I'll be working with a handful of kids on dry land, with the hope of one day "diving in" again. Who knows? Maybe in time, with my expert tutelege, my little guppies will be aquatic protegies! (A girl has to have a goal!)

How We Spent Our Summer Vacation (My latest trick! Slideshows!)

Watching the World Go By...

Okay, not to advertise on purpose or anything, but Blogger.com has a cool feature now that is worth sharing. It's called Blogger Play. It's basically a live slideshow that shows a never-ending stream of images that were just uploaded to Blogger blogs; photos being added to blogs all over the world at that moment. I don't spend hours there, believe me, but every once in a while, it's nice to just sit and look at families, friends, etc. living life across the planet from me, as well as nearby. The photos move very quickly, and you can pause them at any time and link to the blog where it was posted. Fun.

Have a nice Saturday...

Friday Night Lights

I could have been in Anytown, USA tonight, as I observed the Friday Night high school football cultural experience. Each week is the same as I imagine it in any small town that offers little else to do on Friday night. I enjoy seeing how the whole town seems to come out, not just to support their team, but for the social event of it all. Tonight was like most nights when I arrived; scads of kids milling around (not watching the game, but behind the stands, holding hands, laughing, wrestling, bursting into loud laughter.) When the tenth kid tore past me blindly, I commented to a friend that whenever this happens, I have to stifle an urge to stick my foot out. Why is that? Anyway, tonight turned out to be an exceptional evening, as soon after I arrived, before I even got to sit down to watch The Boy perform in the marching band, it began to rain. The scoreboard showed a home field disadvantage (21 to 9) early in the first quarter. When lightening lit up the sky and the band marched off the field, heading toward the high school, I decided to sit in the car and wait for The Boy.

It’s interesting to sit in a quiet car and observe the action all around you when it begins to downpour. Many folks hustled out to their cars to grab rain gear. Many a parent in a yellow slip of a rain poncho walked past (“Their poor kids,” I chuckled. “How embarrassing.”) The middle schoolers, of course, stood in the rain, football jerseys pulled over their heads in some cases, t-shirts sticking to torsos, stringy hair plastered to faces, pant bottoms dragging in puddles. My gaze fell on a huddle of kids at the fence, laughing and pointing at something in the parking lot. I looked over to see a huge, black pickup truck rocking back and forth, its inhabitants clearly putting on a show for the kids. I pulled ahead a bit, parking along the fence further up, with the hope that I might see the soaked football players going at it. In front of my car, I observed some high school kids outside the fence; the biggest guy in a tan Carhart coat, opening it periodically for his friends to stick their heads in and ?? while the rest stood guard. It was pouring, and yet many, many kids were still standing around, oblivious to the downpour, reluctant to leave the social scene. Soon, The Boy came up, soaking wet, to tell me he’d catch a ride home with his friend, a neighbor. “Are you sure?!” I asked. “You’re soaking wet!” “Heck yes!” he shivered. “My friends are here! Thanks for waitiing.” No problem. It was entertaining.

I just stumbled upon a beautiful on-line journal by a woman who has Borderline Personality Disorder and started the journal as part of her therapy. I'll put a link here, but there is only one entry, and it is not dated, so I don't know if there will ever be more entries. She did not set up the journal to receive comments, and yet I was so moved by her writing that I have to respond here. (You may want to read it before you continue reading here. http://nrrrdy-grrrl.blogspot.com/ )

She writes, in part, about growing up in a large family of Irish Catholics and says, "It's hard to explain to people that you can come from a family of enraged drunks and abuse and madness and still love them." "In childhood, you can love monsters if that's all you have." Wow. This blog moved me for many reasons. She didn't choose to date it. She didn't open it for comments or post a profile. Her writing is beautiful, insightful, honest, and profound. I appreciate it, and my heart goes out to her in her isolation. I hope that she is well.

Miracle Drugs

One of the 6th graders on my spec ed caseload is "Charlie." Picture a tiny little boy with bright brown eyes, clean-cut hair, and freckles, about 4 feet tall. Charlie has a lot of issues, and today I witnessed one of them "first hand." On my way to the lunchroom, I saw him in the hallway, walking slowly, cradling his hand. His face red-eyed and tear-stained, a large knit cap pulled down past his eyebrows and a tiny, child-size backpack strapped fully to his back. Ignoring the hat (no hats in school, you know) and the backpack (more gradeschool than middle school), I asked him what was wrong. He ignored me. I followed him down the hallway, asking and then demanding that he stop. He did not. When I decided to stop following him and turned in a different direction, he saw that he was about to lose my attention, and wailed, "I think my hand is broken!" I walked over and took a look at his tiny hand, which looked completely normal, except for the carefully placed bandaid (clearly applied by the school nurse with TLC). He explained what happened (playground collision), wiping his running nose on his sleeve. I assured Charlie that his hand, while sore, was probably not broken, but he doggedly refused to accept my diagnosis. It soon dawned on me that Charlie was immersed in the drama of his "broken hand," and that nothing I could say during this, my lunch hour, was going to change his mind. I finally talked him into going outside for the rest of his recess with the promise that I would call his mom.

After lunch, a much calmer Charlie arrived to my classroom while I was on the phone with his mom. I told her (within his earshot) that he appeared to be fine now. I hung up the phone and gave him a math assessment paper that his teacher needed from him). Each pencil stroke of the math exercise was punctuated with much moaning, groaning, and wincing, which I tried to ignore but could not (he was so darned cute!). I called his mom again and asked her if I could give him an ibuprofen. She asked if I thought he needed it (was his hand swollen?, etc.). I said I thought he needed it emotionally. She gave her blessing, and we hung up. I sent Charlie out to the water fountain to take the pill. Immediately upon entering the room 30 seconds later, he exclaimed, wide-eyed, “I think it works instantly! Look at this!!” He then displayed his miraculous recovery; demonstrating how he could now bend his whole hand and each finger, without pain! "Wow!" I exclaimed, incredulous. Charlie then sat down and enthusiastically tackled the test, plugging away with a smile. It's amazing to me how this lad went from abject trajedy to elfin cheerfulness in a matter of one minute, all with the help of a little pill. Just thought I’d share this cute story and the miracle potential of Ibuprofen.

Never Say Never...

Although I am certified to teach "cross-categorical" special education, I have only taught two categories of students; those with emotional behavioral disabilities (EBD), and those with learning disabilities (LD). I had always said I would never teach middle school (yikes!), and yet here I am, loving it after five years. Then I said I would never teach emotionally disturbed 6th graders, because they do not yet have concrete thought, and it's hard enough to reason with 8th graders who have EBD. But here I am again; new territory with 6th graders, and I've already learned that they are very sweet; so innocent and just plain hard not to like (even the difficult ones).

This year, I am also in other new territory, since I have been asked to teach Science to four cognitively disabled students. This is a frontier I had said I would definitely never cross (cognitively disabled, not to mention Science). I have no training and very little experience with kids who have extremely delayed cognitive, emotional, and social abilities. I've had these new students just four days, but I have already learned that they are terrific. On the first day, I asked the students to tell me a little about themselves, which they did (with very limited words). Then I asked them what they knew about me. Now, I have seen these kids in the building many times and said hello and what-not, but I haven't spent a great deal of time with them. I only know "Angel" as a very cute little girl with the emotional maturity of maybe a five year old. When it was her turn to tell me what she knows about me, she said, "Fluttery butterfly!" with the sweetest little voice and smile. If you know me, this description actually does fit me; I never stay in one place very long and am always busy. It makes me wonder...do these kids know more than I realize? Maybe so.

In the two days I've had these four kids in class, I have been pleasantly surprised by their attitudes and behavior. They are so positive, so eager to learn and do their best, and best of all; they clean up after themselves! We make a mess (paper, markers, scissors), and when we are finished, they put everything away before I even say anything. This is incredible to me, because basically every other (LD/EBD) student I have had in five years of middle school leave trails of pencils, paper, items of clothing, food, etc. on the floor to be picked up by someone else. When I commented on how nice it was that they were picking up yesterday, one of the kids said, "Well, of course we are picking up. That's what you do when you make a mess." Genius.

I think I'm going to have a very good year...

My First Day...

I only had sixth graders today, and since I teach spec ed, I only had a few. (I'll have more kids tomorrow.) Today, I was reminded why I do this work. A little freckle-faced guy with a perpetual scowl and the same raggetty clothes I've seen him in three times now said, "I didn't think I was going to like this school, but I was wrong. I like it here." His mom sent me an email after school that said she was near tears because her son had come home from school happy for the first time since she could remember. Who says you have to be crazy to teach middle school?" I'd be crazy not to!

My Last Offering Before School Starts...

Twas the night before the first day
of school, and I knew
that 5:30 would come early
(and it’d still be dark out, too.)

My teacher clothes were laid out
Right there in the closet.
My bank account lay empty,
Waiting for a deposit.

For it's off to the middle school
The good and the bad
The happy new 6th graders,
The 8th graders, glad
To be the top of the heap,
The leaders, the “cools,”
The biggest, wisest Raiders
In all of the school

And I with my pencils,
My referrals and computer
Preparing my room,
Getting ready to tutor.
Have said goodbye to my summer,
So short and so sweet
So filled with adventure
And sun-kissed bare feet.

I’m bummed, but the reason
I don’t need to show it,
Is that summer will be here,
Before we all know it.

So it’s off to bed,
So tomorrow, I glow
Secure in the knowledge that
We’ve only 180 days to go!