hooray for 'bad' weather

Hooray for delayed openings and early closings of school buildings because of beautiful snow! Today we dismissed two hours early. We had lunch by 10:00 am, and the students were out of the building by 12:00. (A few complained that they didn't get snack, but I didn't have much pity for them, since it was still before noon.) An added perk is that any county classes are also cancelled. Therefore, I didn't have my evening class tonight (wahoo!) and, in preparation for the weather tomorrow, my evening class tomorrow is also cancelled (double wahoo!). The only thing that could make this even better is if we had a delayed opening tomorrow. That would mean that I would have the easiest day ever, with only about 3/4 of my students. And I'd get to sleep in. Sounds perfect to me. 

black history month

Today I met with my administration to discuss instruction. She wanted to know what I was planning on doing for Black History Month. My initial response of 'learning about Black history and the people who shaped it' was not enough. She relayed a story of a friend/relative of hers who teaches first grade. In one learning center, the students boarded a bus, paid the fare, got off the bus, and went to the back to get on the bus. According to my administration, "These students were really into it. They knew exactly what they were doing and why they had to do it. They were really into the whole movement." What movement? I'm all for teaching history, but this feels more like propagating racial resentment than anything else. I'm uncomfortable teaching only Black history for the entire month, despite the pressure to do so. What about my three Hispanic students and my one White student? We didn't celebrate a month of Hispanic heritage, and I can't think of any inherently White holidays that we have celebrated. How will they feel during a month of celebrations that they cannot participate in? Last year in the neighboring class, the teacher asked if anyone knew anything about Martin Luther King, Jr. The response? "White people killed him." Thankfully the teacher didn't leave the discussion at that, but it shows the mindset that already exists. I guess I'm struggling with the difference between celebration and segregation that occurs everywhere, but especially in our schools.

Mist' Jordan

I love the janitor in my school. He's an anemic-looking man of indeterminate age, greying and a little stooped. He calls me Puddin'. As in "Hey Puddin'!" I've never been called Puddin' before. Maybe he calls all white women Puddin'. I wouldn't know. His name is Mr. Jordan, which is actually pronounced more Mist' Jordan. We follow a script whenever we meet:

Mr. Jordan: "Hey Puddin'!"
Me: "Mornin', Mist' Jordan!"

Once a week or so he propositions me, normally as I bring the students into the lunchroom. We also have a script for this interaction:

Mr. Jordan: "Hey! You! Puddin'!"
Me: "What you want?"
Mr. Jordan: "You, me, Friday, Sat'day, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday." (Holds up 5 fingers.)
Me: "Yeah?"
Mr. Jordan: "You, me, Sou' Carolina, beach."
Me: "You payin' for this?"
Mr. Jordan, pretending to be hurt: "How'm I sposed to get da money?"
Me: "When you get the money, Mist' Jordan, then let me know." I walk away with my students, laughing.
Mr. Jordan: "Hey Puddin'!" (Starts mumbling to himself and walks away)
My students stare at the both of us as they hear this exchange. I would never let them call me Puddin', and they've never heard me lapse into the more casual speech Mist' Jordan inspires.
I saw Mist' Jordan this morning, and we only had one variation in the script:

Mr. Jordan coming with mop to clean up yet another mess in my classroom: "It's early this morning, Puddin'."
Me: "Yes. Yes it is."

georgetown

I'm not sure what prompted this memory, but after my first year of college I went home to work for the summer. One day as I was running errands in Kalispell, I stopped at a gas station to fill up the car. I noticed that Milo and Logan Funk (twins that were in my grade - I had a crush on Milo for years) were also filling up. We awkwardly exchanged hellos and tried to make casual conversation until our gas tanks were full. They asked where I was going to school (BYU-I), and I in return asked where they were at. They said they were at Georgetown, as though it were an important place. For some reason, I thought that Georgetown was in South Dakota. I didn't have much to say to that (what is there to say to someone going to school in South Dakota?), and that was the end of our conversation. They drove away, and I haven't seen or heard from them since. Anyway, when I remembered the incident, I realized that Georgetown is not in South Dakota, and it is would be a good place to go to school. I hope I see Milo and Logan at a high school reunion so that I can laugh with them about that.

back in the saddle

I knew I was back when the sky was still dark when work started...and Cycret wet her pants before the day even began...and when Oluwatosin burst into tears and slugged the kid next to him...and when Amaya brushed a vibrant, difficult-to-remove blue paint all over the easel instead of her paper...and when I needed a nap by 2:45. Yep. Back to reality.