The Boy's school band went to a local amusement park (outside Charlotte -- I guess "local" is relative) for a band competition. All three bands (sixth-, seventh-, and eighth-grade bands) got superior ratings.
Band Competition
Eighth-Grade Day
The whole grade has taken him under their wing, to use the cliche. Everyone loves H. Everyone gives him high-fives. Everyone cheers for him.
And today, everyone was eager to get him in the circle to dance.
Field Trip
Most of the eighth-grade students went on a field trip today to Dollywood in Tennessee. I was one of the teachers who stayed back to watch the kids who didn't go. On our team, which usually has 110 students, only 14 were there today. We had a social-emotional learning session (we watched Inside Out), had a nice lunch, and spent some time outside.
One of our students, who just moved to the States this year, came to me with an American football and gestured (he doesn't know much English yet) that he wants to learn how to throw it.
We worked on it a while -- I hadn't realized how many things go into throwing a football, little motions and rotations that I never even thought of. He struggled a bit, but it was all laughs and high-fives.
It was a good day.
Twelve
The Boy is twelve today. He's nearing K's height, and he's losing the last vestiges of little-boy-ness that we've all grown so accustomed to. He's not a little boy; he's a little man. Almost.
We celebrated his birthday in a modest way today: the party is Sunday, and the Girl wasn't even able to participate because she was at volleyball practice. But we made him a good dinner, bought him a small Key Lime birthday pie, and the K took him shopping.
What he bought is telling: no more toys, not even anything guitar-related. He wanted new shoes and new clothes. He's changed his hairstyle (his choice), and he thinks about his appearance these days. No longer a little boy.
Awards and a Screwed Freezer
Sunday Here and There
Upper State 2024
Eighth-Grade Dance 2024
Spring Concert
Letters
At the start of the year, I have my English I students write 500-word letters of introductions to me. I want to know what makes them tick, and I want to know what concerns they have about English -- their strengths, their weaknesses, their goals.
"Five hundred words!?" They are incredulous. "And it's due tomorrow."
I read the letters then make notes from them that I share with the other teachers on our team so we can all get to know the kids quickly at the beginning of the year.
At the end of the year, I give them back. Their reactions are always the same. Most of them have forgotten all about the letters; all of them have forgotten what they wrote about. They read their letters, laugh at what they wrote about, laugh at how they wrote, and they read each others' letters, and the laughter just swells.
"Mr. Scott, we've changed so much!" becomes the common refrain.
Tomorrow, this year's students write their letters to next year's students -- a major grade and an overwhelming assignment when I tell them about it at the beginning of the year. Now, after a year of me hounding them, none of them are terribly worried about the assignment.
But just to give them perspective, just in case they were still casting about for ideas about what they'll write tomorrow, I gave them their letters back today.
