Best Practices

Okay, so today was the last day with the students before our much desired and long awaited spring break. My teaching friend KC and I had pretty well decided that the only thing to do on a day like today was eat a fair amount of Easter candy, try to keep sarcastic comments to the kids at a minimum, and pray to all that is holy that the day would pass as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Yeah.

So, everything was going relatively okay (and by relatively okay I mean that my tenth graders humored me with a few smart comments during class discussion and my public speakers refrained from giving speeches about Baywatch that were focused entirely on breasts and red lycra swimsuits that are three sizes too small--that was yesterday) until sixth hour.

At some point during the opening minutes of my sixth hour class as I was touting the merits and wonders of Susan Glaspell's play "Trifles" and was expounding upon the significance of exploring issues of gender inequality both socially and culturally, one boy interrupted me with, "Okay, so, can we do something FUN today?"

To which another seconded, "Yeah, what ARE we doing today?"

I managed to mask my urge to immediately gauge my eyes out with a slight eye roll, smile that undoubtedly looked more like a grimace, and said, "Well, as I was saying, we're reading this play and we're going to discuss it."

At this point, Public Dissenter #2 said, "Ugh, English class is NOT about reading and talking!"

With the urge to gauge my eyes out entirely obvious at this point, I said, "Really? What's it about?"

"I don't know...it's about...like...grammar and vocabulary...and stuff..."

Super.

So I trashed the play, had kids take out their notebooks, and lectured for close to 50 minutes on parts of speech, diagramming sentences, and had kids copy down vocabulary words and definitions in their notebooks.

About half an hour in I was concerned I'd run out of material. Lucky kids, I was still going strong when the bell rang.

Happy, happy spring break.

Lent

I think it's possible that I've eaten meat on every Lenten day that I wasn't supposed to. I distinctly remember ringing in the Lenten season with a piece of pepperoni pizza on Ash Wednesday, and my behavior hasn't improved any since then.

In college, Roommate said every year that she was giving up her virginity and her sobriety for Lent. That was a joke that never, ever got old.

Last week when I took my sophomores to the computer lab, I was standing behind two unsuspecting boys who clearly had no idea I was so close to them. One turned to the other and said,

"Man...I gave up chew for Lent...it's been, like, a month..."

to which the other young scholar replied,

"Yeah, I gave up fast food and masturbation...that's like my life, man!"

And that, friends, is MY life. I haven't quite been able to shake it. It's far too reminiscent of Schweegs in that back corner of my classroom my first year of teaching, shamelessly schweegin' it right there in class.

The Bandwagon

Okay, so I'm giving in and jumping on the bandwagon. Between the pressure from KC at school and family members and friends creating blogs left and right elsewhere, I can't hold out any longer.

Every clever blog address I thought of was already taken--nothing like realizing your most creative and original thought isn't so creative or original--so I'm down to using my most embarrassing family nickname. Okay, nevermind, Daughter B is nowhere near my most embarrassing family nickname, but it's a little odd how that strange idea my parents had of numbering (lettering?) their daughters has stuck. Somehow Michael avoided the labeling process. I guess being the only boy has its perks.

And yes, Cyndy and I really do respond to Daughter A and Daughter B respectively.

And yes, I've always dreamed of writing The Great American Novel. This is it, people.