Month: April 2021
Possibly my all-time favorite piece of symphonic music is Beethoven's Symphony No. 6. No, not because it was in Disney's Fantasia -- I knew it before I ever watched that film. Perhaps that's why I love it so much: it's one of my first musical memories.
Glenn Gould also recorded it, but as usual, when he plays Beethoven, he slows everything down radically.
Last year, we didn’t conduct the end-of-year, state-mandated, federally-mandated, all-but-teacher-student-mandated testing because of the blossoming pandemic. This year, we’re having it.
But that presents a new problem: how to keep kids who are facing each other in plexiglass pods from cheating? (Do many of these kids really have an interest in cheating? I find that hard to believe. This test has no immediate effect on their lives, and the only time I see cheating is when a grade that will land in the grade book and affect the report card is at stake.)
The solution: the district bought thousands of sheets of poster board and even more clips so that we can attach blinders to the plexiglass.
The result: pockets of invisibility throughout the classroom. In fact, as the proctor, I won’t be able to see most of the kids at all at any given moment.
If kids are interested in cheating, the powers that be just made it a whole lot easier for them.
I was out Friday so I could run all the errands and such K would normally run so she could try to rest some and get well. The kids at school took to heart the cliche about cats being away, but they did so in such a way as exceptionally clever kids with good senses of humor would do:
While at the book fair, they bought me a poster of a Korean boyband and hung it in my room. When I came back Friday, I asked them who was responsible. They admitted it with giggles immediately. “I’ll keep it up under one condition,” I said. “You all have to sign it.”
I love the fact that
It’s a silly, silly gesture, but a touching one nonetheless.
In the evening, when K, E, and I were walking to CVS to pick up a prescription (and L was at sand volleyball practice), it appeared that the Boy had had a bike wreck. He was some distance away, so it wasn’t really clear what was going on. But the bike was clearly down, and there was little to no movement.
I began jogging down the hill toward him. I wasn’t terribly worried because there were no sounds of wailing or pain. But there was no movement.
“I was just waiting for you guys,” he explained with complete nonchalance.
It’s one thirty, and I’ve returned with the dziennik to the teachers’ room. It’s been snowing all day, and there’s a soft glow in the room as the light filters through the snow-covered windows in the roof. The hustle of the morning — teachers swallowing one last gulp of tea before calling out, “Who has the dziennik for 1c? I’m looking for 1c,” before heading out to class — has given way to a virtually empty room with one teacher working on the computer in the corner and a couple more sitting at the table chatting.
I sit down to write my day’s lesson topic in the given space, initial it, and then slide the dziennik into its slot.
One teacher stands and walks over, absentmindedly asking, “Which did you have?”
“3b,” I reply.
“Oh. I need 1d.” She finds it and heads out. I pack up my satchel, and head down to the cafeteria for lunch.
Including both a soup and a main course, this is my main meal of the day. Dinner will be a sandwich probably, but lunch is the hot meal. There’s a cooking school in our high school, so there’s always a wide variety of food throughout the week. It’s all traditional Polish food, but there’s nothing wrong with that.
I go to the small window, put down a few zloty — it’s a school, so the price just covers the materials, about four zloty — and try some small talk. None of the cafeteria workers/culinary teachers has much time or interest most days, but I might get a small chat in about the weather.
“Can you believe it’s snowing?” I ask as the lady take my money.
“Snow and more snow,” she laughs, turning to get my bowl of soup. I hurry to take my satchel to a seat and return for the soup.
“It’s sure beautiful though,” I say. She says nothing but smiles in response.
I sit down to my soup, take out a book, and begin unwinding from the day.
It rained all day yesterday, and that was probably for the best: we all stayed home and took care of K, who has been sick for several days now. Today, though, it was finally clear and sunny, so we went for a little walk while K took a nap.
We were likely trespassing, but since there's no sign posted and no one has lived on the property in ages...
And these days, what I get when I tell the kids, "Come here -- I want to take a picture" produces visual representations of the nature of their relationship.
Image from 2004.
We’re nearing the end-of-year testing that will measure students against a static, inflexible standard. Growth doesn’t matter as much as a set level of proficiency. It’s always been a frustration to me that the American education system fixates on proficiency instead of growth. If a student improves his reading level by three grades in one year but still is performing below the eighth-grade level, that is somehow counted as a failure when it’s anything but.
One of the hallmarks of the end of the year is the scramble we’re all making to cover last-minute items. For example, I’d neglected the active/passive distinction, so I’m hurriedly going over it with students, along with verb mood.
“Why are we learning this?” one might ask.
“Because it’s on the test,” is the tempting answer.
In the evening, soccer practice. E made the winning shot on a game the kids were playing and his teammates mob him. It’s a good way to end the day.
