by John Pearson
Speaking of celebrating, Kelly and I do have one reason to be happy. That reason is the eighth student that left — none other than Mark Peter! Today wasn’t actually his last day; we haven’t seen him since last Friday. But I found signed withdrawal papers in my box today and a note saying that he and his ginormous parents had moved up north. Every cloud has a silver lining, as they say. Kelly and I performed a very solemn John Cena “You can’t see me” hand gesture in his honor.
This brings the revolving door that is my class to 17 students, and Kelly’s to 19. It’s actually easier to teach with a smaller group, but I was very sorry to see some of these kids leave.
Of the kids that are left, we have had some Multiplication Touchdowns scored! Juan and Victor were the first to reach the 10’s last week, and today, Kari crossed the goal line as well. As a prize, I went with bottles of bubbles, and that seems to have been a popular choice. Poor Jessica is still on the 1-yard line, but a lot of the others are getting close to the 10’s.
There’s no school tomorrow — it’s another staff development day. You want to meet for lunch? Anywhere’s fine with me, except for that Chinese Pizza and Catfish place, right next to the Jiffy Lube. I’m pretty sure they have some kind of oil exchange program going on between them.
Later,
Little Bo Peep
Date: Wednesday, January 21, 2004
To: Fred Bommerson
From: Jack Woodson
Subject: Nice to meet you, Barry
Howdy dude! I already told you, the term is “mobility-rate.” NOT turnover, not reduction in force, and certainly not casualties. But that’s right, no more tales of Mark Peter beating up on little girls or hiding his report card in the bathroom, because MP has left the building. And according to Frank Swanson, MP’s little brother in the first grade was even worse! I shudder to think!
We’ve been in school now for what, about five months? And some of these kids still can’t get my name right! It’s one thing for them to call me Mrs. Swanson. I figure they probably slip up and call her Mr. Woodson just as often, and usually they correct that mistake right away, sometimes even before the whole name is out. But some of the kids call me Mr. Woods, Mr. Wooden, Mr. Woodley, or my personal favorite, Mr. Woodsman.
Keep in mind I’m not even talking about the kids that just call me “Mister” or “Teacher.” My usual reply to that is, “Yes, generic student?”
This afternoon, when Plakton said, “Mr. Swanson, my pencil broke,” I decided to do something about it. I looked right at him, smiled, and replied, “What was that, Barry?”
Dead silence for about three seconds, then Pinar and Guadelupe started giggling. Plakton (with a look of incredulous shock on his face) and a few of the others simultaneously queried, “BARRY???” That’s when I made my proclamation: “Yes, from now on, anytime somebody calls me something that isn’t my name, I’m just going to call that person ‘Barry.’”
Of course I said this with a grin on my face, and while many of the children still sat with mouths agape, I could see some smiles forming. Except for Plakton, who stubbornly insisted, “But that’s not my name!”
Zaphonalia was the first to speak up after that (class loudmouth that she is). “Um, excuse me, Mr. Worrrrrrrrrrddssssy?” (Just imagine a large frog belching out that name.) I obliged with another, “Yes, Barry?”
You can guess what the class devolved into for the next fifteen minutes or so. Jorge probably went home and informed his parents, “Mr. Woodsman told me Barry!”
A little later, as we walked into the building for P.E., we passed a fifth grader who was headed out to Ms. Hamm’s portable. He called, “Hey, Mr. Woodley!” I waved and replied, “Hey, Barry!” Poor kid, stood there stunned while my class practically tripped over themselves with laughter.
I’ll be sure to let you know how the Barry Experiment goes for the rest of the year. Oh, and by the way, Barry says hi.
Later,
Mr. What’s-his-face
Date: Friday, January 23, 2004
To: Fred Bommerson
From: Jack Woodson
Subject: Something doesn’t fit here
Hey bud, Please inform our erstwhile colleague (yours anyway) that I am calling the kids who can’t get my name right “Barry,” NOT “Larry.” And tell him nice try.
Last week marked the beginning of this year’s TAG program. TAG stands for Talented and Gifted, not Thermally Applied Gradient, as you probably first thought. A couple of times each week, kids in the program will be pulled out of their regular classes to participate in activities that I guess are supposed to stimulate their minds more. I’m not really sure how the selections were made, though. Pinar, Rafael, and Xander are in TAG, and deservedly so. But Tereelia, Guadelupe, and Kari are not, and they most definitely should be. And the selection committee must have been using a Fudge Factor of about 1,000 because somehow Marvin is in TAG!!
When I first learned that Marvin was in the program, my eyes just about fell out of my head. Marvin in TAG is like mayonnaise-flavored Skittles. BAD IDEA! Troubled and Goofy, maybe, but not Talented and Gifted. Here is a kid that has NO business missing any class time, and what’s more, he’s taking advantage of the situation. Teachers are not allowed to pull kids out of TAG as punishment (like we can have kids miss recess or P.E.), and Marvin really gets a kick out of that. Third grade TAG time is right after lunch on Tuesday and Thursday. I went to pick the kids up in the cafeteria yesterday, and one of the teacher’s aides told me Marvin was misbehaving. Marvin just smirked and said, “Whoops, time to go to TAG!” and I couldn’t stop him.
I’ve spoken with the TAG teacher, and she says that Marvin is a nuisance in her class as well. When I called Marvin’s mother, her first question was, “Um, how did Marvin get into the gifted program?” Good question! She says that she’s going to write a note to request that Marvin be removed from the program. He’s already in our after-school tutoring group, and he needs every minute of class time that he can get.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Swanson and I are going to fill out the necessary forms to try to get some of these other, more deserving kids into the program. I don’t really like the way that TAG breaks up our day, but most of these kids can afford to miss some of the extra practice that we do because they are on the ball. The only thing Marvin is on is thin ice.
And on the topic of things that seem out of place, have I told you about the new backpacks some of the kids have been using since Christmas break? The term backpack really doesn’t even apply, because they’re far too big for the kids’ backs. Instead, they have an extendable handle and wheels, so the students lug them around like baggage carts at an airport. I view them the same way I view Hummers on the road. Overly large, ridiculous looking, and totally unnecessary outside of a desert.
Later,
Remedial Ed
Date: Wednesday, January 28, 2004
To: Fred Bommerson
From: Jack Woodson
Subject: I love the smell of Lysol in the morning
Hey F-Bomm, Oh man, do I feel like crap today. All of the Lysol and hand lotion has not protected me from something that has been going around — “the crud” as my dad would say — and I’ve got it now. Zaphonalia, Miguel, and a few of the other kids have had a wet hacking cough since last week, and they usually don’t even cover their mouths. It’s a wonder I made it this long without catching something here in this giant petri dish.
I woke up feeling bad, and it didn’t get any better as the day progressed. In fact, the only reason I didn’t call in sick was because I don’t have anything set up for a substitute! We’re supposed to have a “sub tub” in the room, filled with a class roster, schedule, and work packets for the kids, and guess who hasn’t put one together yet? I have got to do that soon.
You’re lucky. When you call in sick, you can just crawl back into bed, get up around noon, and watch General Hospital while you eat Better Cheddars. (Don’t pretend you don’t.) You don’t first have to prepare detailed ins
tructions for a stranger, then worry about coming back to find your cubicle in shambles. Well, except for times around the full moon when Larry is feeling frisky.
Remember the MegaLat 2000 — the little megaphone that Latya got as a gag gift one year to help us hear him better? I certainly could have used that today. Because of this crud, my voice was raspy and broken, and it hurt to talk loudly. First thing this morning, I was told, “Your voice sounds funny!” — by Tereelia, of all people. This from a little girl who always sounds like she’s been inhaling helium. I’m sure I looked like death warmed over as well. I haven’t shaved for a couple of days, so my face feels like Astroturf.
It got to the point where I thought I was hallucinating at recess. Rafael came up to talk to me, and I noticed that his eyes were a brilliant shade of blue. This was disturbing because Rafael has always had brown eyes. Later, I discovered that he was wearing blue contacts. Don’t ask me why, I couldn’t tell you.
I’ll tell you one thing, I was VERY thankful today for the fact that I have a bathroom right there in my portable. I drank a whole lot of water, in an effort to flush out the cold, and as a result, I needed a bathroom break about every twenty minutes. Sure, I could count on Marvin to be standing up, doing the truffle shuffle on his chair every time I came out of the bathroom, but I guess I’ve gotten used to that.
I haven’t gone to the doctor because I’m sure that this is something my body just needs to fight through. Besides, I don’t want to have to take any kind of medication whose possible side effects include uncontrollable spontaneous flatulence. I’m sticking with my Nyquil and cherry-flavored chewable Morphine, and they’re finally starting to kick in, so I am going to crash.
Later,
Sir Ian Phlegming
Date: Friday, January 30, 2004
To: Fred Bommerson
From: Jack Woodson
Subject: Correspondence school
Hey dude, I am feeling a lot better today, thanks for asking. It’s amazing what a cocktail of Mountain Dew, vodka, soy sauce, ketchup, and a raw egg will do. Oh yeah, and a little crack cocaine.
Experienced teachers (unlike yours truly) always say that one of the greatest perks of the job is having a former student approach them years later and ask, “Do you remember me?” To which the teacher responds, “Yes, I remember you! You always wiped boogers under your desk!” Well, as of today, I can join the ranks of teachers who have heard from a former student by way of letter!
No, it was not a letter from Mark Peter. If it were, it probably would have been a plea for bail money. Instead, it was from Ariel, writing to tell me about her new house and saying she misses the class.
Her mom stopped by to hand-deliver the note around 1:30 today. The class was deep in test-mode, and I was sitting at the overhead grading papers. I guess she must have knocked on the door, but I didn’t hear it. The first thing I heard was a very loud, “Hellllloooooo!” as she walked into the main room. As I got up to meet her, she belted out, “SPECIAL DELIVERY!” Then she noticed that the kids were taking a test (or had been — now they were staring at her open-mouthed), and she got a little embarrassed.
We stepped outside and talked for a bit. It sounds like they love the new environment. I was certainly very disappointed to lose Ariel from my class, but the move was a necessary and good thing for her parents. They have a nice house on a sizable tract of land, instead of living in a packed apartment complex.
Ariel told me in her note that she has her own room with a queen-size bed, and that they can often hear coyotes howl at night. She informed me that at her new school, they are way ahead in cursive (I have no doubt), and she demonstrated that skill throughout the letter. In a P.S. she told me that she had “lost a thooth.” I certainly hope she is not “in need of immediate dental attention!”
It was really nice of Ariel to write me a note. But I soon had to refocus on the kids who are still with me. They do seem to be making some strides in their test-taking practices. I’ve been trying to convince the kids all year long that it’s very important for them to check over their work when they get done with a test. Usually, they race through it and make a bunch of silly errors, but I’ve done my best to encourage them to start over once they’re finished and carefully re-read every question to make sure they’ve performed the right steps. At first, when a student would say they were done, I would say, “Check over your work,” and not five minutes later, they would tell me, “I checked it 8 times!” OK, Quicksilver, whatever. Checking your work is not just flipping the pages like you’re fanning a deck of cards.
See, without checking things over, they are bound to get questions wrong. The people who make the TAKS tests know exactly what errors and assumptions kids are going to make, and they make the corresponding incorrect answer choices available for the kids to select. Clearly, these are the people who enjoyed pulling the wings off of flies when they themselves were children.
I’ve tried to establish an “us-vs.-them” mentality with the kids. I explain to them, “The TAKS people live in a dark, dripping cave, and they like to eat brussels sprouts and lima beans, and they LOVE to trick little kids with their math questions. Don’t be one of the kids that falls into their trap!”
And it’s finally starting to have an effect. During our test today, Carlos called me over to his desk to tell me, “Mr. Woodson, I checked my test and I saw three wrong answers! I fixed them, but I’m going to look some more!” Later, Esteban raised his hand and told me, “Look, Mr. Woodson, they tried to trick me with this question!” And he had changed his answer from an incorrect choice to the correct one. Way to go, guys!
And then there’s Lindsay. Last week, she exclaimed, “I sure am glad I checked my work, because I would have gotten this one wrong! Whoooo! That was a close one!” I looked over her shoulder, and sure enough, she had erased the correct answer and filled in another bubble.
Hey, at least it’s a step in the right direction — she IS checking her answers. Now we just need to get that step onto level ground and not onto her own shoelace.
I’ve got to get up early tomorrow morning for Saturday School, so I’ll end it here.
Later,
Checkster Cheetah
Date: Monday, February 2, 2004
To: Fred Bommerson
From: Jack Woodson
Subject: Make a joyful noise
Hey bud, I don’t think that a letter from a former student and an email from a former employee can be viewed in quite the same way. For one thing, Bert and I didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, seeing as how he laid me off and all. Secondly, I would have to call him Barry since he could never keep Tom Winter and me straight and always called us by the wrong names. So to answer your question — no, Ariel’s letter does NOT inspire me to contact Bert.
Oh, and I guess I didn’t explain Saturday School to you. It’s not a time for the kids to learn about the Bible. That would be Sunday School. It’s not a time for the kids to learn about beer. That would be middle school. Saturday School is basically an extra tutoring session for the struggling kids, and it runs from 9 to noon. The student-teacher ratio is really good. I only had six kids in my group, so we got a lot accomplished!
Today, I got a new little girl in class, and her name brought light and harmony to the room. Her name is Rejoice. She and her family are brand new to the United States, having just come from Ethiopia (that’s in Africa, for you geographically-challenged types — I think it’s right next to China).
Her father and uncle brought her to my class during lock down this morning. We were at a point where the kids were reading silently to themselves, so I had Rejoice (emphasis on the “Re”) sit at my desk and read a little bit out loud to me, to see what level she was at. I was pleasantly surprised. For someone brand new to the country, she reads better than some of our other kids. I should probably have her start tutoring Sandra and Ralph immediately.
After lock down, Rejoice stayed in the room as the other kids from my homeroom came in and st
arted working. When everyone was there, we played a shortened version of the name game — basically, we went around the room, with me pointing at the kids one at a time, and them saying their names when they were pointed at. I had already introduced Rejoice to the kids before anyone else said their name. About halfway through the class, I noticed that Tereelia had her head down and was crying. When I asked her later why she was crying, she said it was because some of the kids were laughing at Re-joice’s name. I just can’t figure that girl out. She’s super-smart, but she’s also super-sensitive sometimes.
Back to Rejoice, she’s a really sweet, quiet, polite little girl. After Minute Math, I was asking random multiplication questions, as I usually do. When I called on Rejoice, she would daintily stand up, correctly answer, and then sit back down. Everything short of a curtsy. It’s so odd to see manners here at my school.
Since she is new to the country, she’ll be exempt from the TAKS tests. We could have put her in Ms. Dennison’s ESL class, but Mrs. Swanson and I agreed that we would keep her in my class. We could use more pleasant children like her in our groups, that’s for sure.
Kelly’s pregnancy is starting to show now. And she is a short girl, so it’s even more pronounced. That might have gotten the kids thinking more about babies because during our discussion of amphibians today, Pinar asked where the baby frogs come from. Unfortunately, my answer of, “They hatch out of the eggs,” was not enough to satisfy her. She persisted, “No, I mean do the eggs come out of the frog’s mouth?”
Victor immediately shouted out, “The frog poops them out!” Nice. I was tempted to just blurt, “I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout no birth and no tadpoles!” but I wound up just copping out and telling Pinar, “Don’t worry, you’ll learn all about that in 4th grade,” and then quickly changing the subject. Call me a wimp, but I’m not about to get into a discussion about the birds and the bees with these kids! Especially considering that some of them might know more than me... Scary!
