a quick stop by the bank

Yesterday I went to the bank to get a cashier's check. I was woefully unprepared: I naively thought I'd be able to access my money armed only with my checkbook. Since the money was mine, I'd be able to use it, right? Ah, how young and innocent I was. While standing in line, I was instructed to have my Special Bank ID Card on the ready. As soon as I got to a teller, I should hurriedly swipe my Special Bank ID Card, which would enable both of us to pretend the other was inanimate and reduce actual human interaction. Unfortunately, I didn't have my Special Bank ID Card, which was my first mistake. I should have recognized the warning and quietly exited without further embarrassment. Uninitiated as I was, however, I ignorantly stayed in line and eventually reached a teller, who seemed annoyed that I didn't have my Special Bank ID Card - at least, that was my impression of her face through the 2-inch-thick bullet-proof plate glass that made her face blurry and her heavily-accented, murmured words indistinguishable. Throughout our conversation, I think I asked her to repeat every statement she made at least twice, and I stood on my tiptoes and raised my voice to make sure she (and by default, everyone else) could hear me, adding to the drama of the moment.

Once we had established that I didn't have my Special Bank ID Card, I had given her my full name, social security number, date of birth, and current address, she asked what I wanted. I told her I wanted a cashier's check. She raised an eyebrow and asked, "How are you going to pay for that?" Evidently the obvious answer (with the money in my bank account?) wasn't going to fly. So after some pondering, I held up my checkbook and hopefully said, "with a check?" The teller looked disapproving, but didn't say anything, so I thought perhaps I might get my money after all. I wrote out a check to myself and slid it through the crack in the glass apparently designed for that purpose. I was glad that I had asked for a cashier's check and not cash, since it would have been a little painful to take one bill at a time through the crack. The teller took my check and asked me to swipe my Special Bank ID Card. Either she had forgotten the earlier conversation or she was hoping that I had just been kidding about my lack of a Special Bank ID Card. Unfortunately, I hadn't. Then she asked for my driver's license, which I pleasantly shoved through the crack (it's a little thicker than a piece of paper, so it was more difficult). Then she asked for a birth certificate or passport. I was so startled by this request that I glanced through my purse as though hoping my passport would appear in some hidden compartment (honestly, who carries around a passport or birth certificate when they're going to faculty meetings held in an unsafe neighborhood in a car that may decide to retire peacefully - or not peacefully - at any moment? I mean, really.). When I regretfully informed the teller that I didn't have a passport or birth certificate with me, she slid my check and driver's license back through the crack (one at a time - I suppose that they both wouldn't have fit at the same time) and said, "Looks like you'll have to come back another day." Apparently my full name, checking account number, social, birthdate, address, and driver's license wasn't enough for me to get a little ole cashier's check. Forget the risk of being mugged - I better start carrying my passport around on the off chance that I'll need to stop by the bank. At least my money's safe. I don't know if I'll ever be able to get to it, but it's safe.

Does America have a gender?

This summer most of my students are native Spanish speakers, and sometimes their English is minimal. In addition, some of them are so far behind that even though they're two years older than my pre-k students, I'm teaching the same information. Yesterday we had a party for the 4th of July with my students, so I was trying to explain to them why we celebrate the 4th of July. They really got the part about it being a birthday, but the whole 'nation' idea was really throwing them off. I thought I was doing a pretty good job until one of them asked, "Is America a girl or a boy?" It really was a smart question, given that we'd just been talking about birthday parties, which only people have, in addition to the fact that in Spanish the ending 'a' in 'America' would typically indicate a female gender. However, it was pretty clear that they weren't getting it. I gave up and decided that I'd done a good job exposing them to the concept, and they'd understand it better next year.

I have eyes in the back of my head

The other day Jabari and Jaylen were hanging out on the carpet watching me while I cleaned up the classroom. They started fooling off, and I turned sharply and looked at them. Jaylen said, "You have eyes in the back of your head, don't you?" I said, "but of course! I hide them behind my hair." Jaylen said, "my mom does, too." He seemed pretty matter-of-fact about it, and that was the end of it, but Jabari, who thinks I don't know how much he goofs off, looked really concerned about this new development. That was the end of the discussion, but Jabari watched me pretty closely the rest of the day, and he moderated his behavior a lot. I remember at summer training in Philadelphia one of my teachers started detailing how much we'd lie to the students, and I didn't believe it. Then again, I never thought that one of my students would believe that I really did have eyes in the back of my head.

shoelaces

Pablo came in to school a few weeks ago and announced that he had learned to tie his shoes. This has been an ongoing process all year, and he has good small motor skills, so I wasn't really surprised. Something bothered me about what he was doing, but it wasn't until this morning that I really watched him and saw exactly how he was tying his shoes. As soon as he sat down on the carpet every morning, Pablo would undo his beautifully tied shoes. He'd then go through the process of retying them, which consisted of knotting his laces together until there wasn't any string left, and then tucking the ends under. I must say, this is one of the most effective ways of tying shoelaces that I've ever seen. They definitely don't come undone! I even got Pablo to pose for a picture of his tied shoelaces. And I must admit that it's creative. None of the other students have come up with this solution.

dress code woes

Yesterday William came to school in a thin cotton t-shirt, which is pushing the dress code limits, which consists of a white shirt (button-up or polo), and navy pants. He also has a tendency to chew on his shirts, and as his teeth are broken and chipped, they’re really sharp. While some of his other shirts can withstand the treatment, this flimsy little t-shirt couldn’t handle the pressure. After the first 20 minutes or so of class, the whole front of his shirt was soaked and drooping. Ms. Stewart tried to call William’s mom to get more appropriate clothing, but no one answered the phone (surprise, surprise). After soaking his shirt, William began to gnaw on the bottom of his shirt. He would bite a hole in the shirt and then play with the hole. By lunch time he had ripped the bottom three inches off his shirt off with the exception of about a 1/2 inch of fabric in the very back that held it on like a tail - which he used to whip the other kids with. I finally ripped off the last 1/2 inch of fabric and threw away the bottom part of his shirt just before lunch. William sported a midriff shirt until 15 minutes before the buses arrived, when his mother sent up a more appropriate shirt for him. Luckily I didn’t get in trouble for William so blatantly disregarding the dress code. I doubt that M.H. Elementary School has seen this fashion statement very often – and thank goodness!

Deondre's gift from his mom

Yesterday during morning meeting (the first part of the day), Deondre raised his hand and said that he had something in his backpack for me. The kids know that anything they bring to school for me (notes from home, permission slips, etc.) come out of the backpack before they even put the backpack away. And Deondre has a habit of going to get something out of his backpack and then playing back there and distracting the rest of the students. So I gave him a hard time about this. He kept affirming that it was very important and that it was from his mom and I needed to have it. Finally I let him go get it out of his backpack. He came back with a well-used pink toothbrush. It still had dried toothpaste on the handle. He held it out to me and looked up and very seriously said, "My mom says you can have it." This was apparently a very important gift. I didn't want to reject it, but I didn't want to touch it, either. I finally thanked him for it and told him that he could keep it at home for me. He went and put it back in his backpack and hopefully took it home. I tried to keep a straight face, but couldn't quite do it. It was so unexpected and incongruous. I wonder what really happened at home that morning when he was taking his mother's toothbrush to school. Would she have let him take it if she knew Deondre was going to present it to me in front of the class? It's probably one of those things that I'll never bring up when we discuss Deondre.

attempting to deter unwanted behavior

During quiet time, I require the students to put their heads down on the tables and close their eyes. Some get bored and begin amusing themselves at the tables. Since there are dire consequences for having one's head up or eyes open, they find ways to play around while seemingly keeping their heads down and eyes closed. The latest is to spit on the table and then smear it around. (Disgusting, yes, I know. My definition and my students' definition of disgusting differ, however. I think spitting on a table is gross, but they like to play with the bubbles. However, saying that a dinosaur was the size of a chicken brings a resounding "Ewww!" from the children). Anyway, I caught Daija spitting on the table during quiet time. So I made her wash the tables during center time instead of being able to play with her friends. Jayden saw what she was doing and asked if he could help. I told him no, that Daija had to clean all the tables because she was spitting on them. He said, "Can I clean the floor? I was spitting on the floor." I told him that the janitor would do it. I don't think that the lesson would have worked very well on him, anyway. Hopefully he won't start spitting on the table in order to get to wash the tables - I'd have to come up with some other consequence for him.