As students enter the classroom first thing in the morning . . .
Gwendolyn: Miss? You got any lotion?
Me: Yup. In my bottom left drawer.
Gwendolyn: Oh, I like this lotion. It's good.
Me: Thanks. I like it too.
Grace: I like Palmer's.
Gwendolyn: Uh huh. And Suave is too watery.
Nadine: Yeah, but Palmer's is too thick for me.
Grace: What's that lotion in the blue bottle?
Me (thinking): . . . Nivea?
Grace: Yeah! That's it.
Gwendolyn (to me, laughing): That's what you should have, Miss. That's white people's lotion.
Me: I'm sorry. What?
Elizabeth: What? Why?
Gwendolyn (as others nod in agreement): I dunno. It just is.
Me: Hmm. Okay. Whatever. So the lotion I just gave you isn't white people's lotion?
Nadine (laughing): Naw, Miss, it's good for us, too. See? It's in a brown bottle!
Me: O, lord. . . but if Nivea's in a blue bottle, why is it for white people? . . .
Samantha: Can I have some too? I'm mad ashy today.
Elizabeth: Oh yeah! Me, too.
Me: . . . I can see you're not going to answer my question . . .
Samantha (to Elizabeth): White people don't get ashy!
Elizabeth: What? Yeah, we do.
Samantha: No, you don't. Or if you do it doesn't show because you're pink.
Me: What? Pink?! I'm certainly not pink. I'm more of a . . . um . . . yellowy beige . . . AND Elizabeth and I will go without using lotion for a week just to prove that white people get ashy too.
Elizabeth (as others nod in agreement): I know, right?
Grace: Miss? May I have some lotion even though it's not for Puerto Ricans?
Me (sighing): Of course.
11 December 2009
When "nipple" is the best option.
As the class is getting ready to be dismissed:
Jim: Hey! What are you doing? Geez, that's so gay!
John: Ewww. Really. You're a retard.
Me: Hey! I don't want to hear those two words again! Seriously!
John: Um, which two words?
Me: What? "Gay and retard."
John: Oh. We said "nipple" too.
Me (thinking): Nipple is fine. No problem at all with nipple.
Jim: Really? Nipple's okay? Oh. Okay.
Me: Yup. You can use "nipple" all you want. Just don't call each other gay and retard anymore.
John: Jim is such a nipple.
Me: Much better. Go to lunch now.
Jim: Hey! What are you doing? Geez, that's so gay!
John: Ewww. Really. You're a retard.
Me: Hey! I don't want to hear those two words again! Seriously!
John: Um, which two words?
Me: What? "Gay and retard."
John: Oh. We said "nipple" too.
Me (thinking): Nipple is fine. No problem at all with nipple.
Jim: Really? Nipple's okay? Oh. Okay.
Me: Yup. You can use "nipple" all you want. Just don't call each other gay and retard anymore.
John: Jim is such a nipple.
Me: Much better. Go to lunch now.
23 September 2009
It's a word now.
Me: So for this essay you should probably have four paragraphs. The first one would be . . .
Most of the class: Intro.
Me: The second would be . . .
Third of the class: A body paragraph.
Me: Good. The third would be . . .
Handful of the class (hesitantly): Another body paragraph?
Me: Yup. Good. And the last paragraph would be . . .
One lone voice: The outro.
Me: Hmmm. I like that.
Most of the class: Intro.
Me: The second would be . . .
Third of the class: A body paragraph.
Me: Good. The third would be . . .
Handful of the class (hesitantly): Another body paragraph?
Me: Yup. Good. And the last paragraph would be . . .
One lone voice: The outro.
Me: Hmmm. I like that.
18 September 2009
Who needs the president if you write poetry?
Frederica: Miss? Look at my resumé. There's nothing on it, and you said I can't include stuff from middle school.
Me: Hmmmmm. . . Well, yes, it's a little empty . . .
Frederica: I know! And it's too late to do anything about it.
Me: No, it's not.
Frederica (slowly): You know? I don't need a resumé at all.
Me: How come?
Frederica: President Obama's going to be speaking at that college soon, right?
Me: Um, right.
Frederica: Okay then. Here's the plan. I'll go see him and be all like, "Mr. Obama, may I please have your autograph?" And then I'll hand him a piece of folded paper and he'll sign it. But the paper will really be a letter of recommendation I wrote! So the college will think the president wrote me a letter of recommendation!
Me: Um, that certainly sounds like a plan, Freddie.
Frederica: Oh, it's a great plan! So I don't even need a resumé!
Me: By the way, you've forgotten that I published some of your poems in the school's literary magazine when you were a freshman . . .
Frederica (interrupting): Can I put that down?
Me: Absolutely!
Sheryl (to me): Look at that big ole smile on her face!
Me: Uh huh. Pretty nice!
Frederica (smiling even wider): So maybe I don't need the president this time.
Me: Hmmmmm. . . Well, yes, it's a little empty . . .
Frederica: I know! And it's too late to do anything about it.
Me: No, it's not.
Frederica (slowly): You know? I don't need a resumé at all.
Me: How come?
Frederica: President Obama's going to be speaking at that college soon, right?
Me: Um, right.
Frederica: Okay then. Here's the plan. I'll go see him and be all like, "Mr. Obama, may I please have your autograph?" And then I'll hand him a piece of folded paper and he'll sign it. But the paper will really be a letter of recommendation I wrote! So the college will think the president wrote me a letter of recommendation!
Me: Um, that certainly sounds like a plan, Freddie.
Frederica: Oh, it's a great plan! So I don't even need a resumé!
Me: By the way, you've forgotten that I published some of your poems in the school's literary magazine when you were a freshman . . .
Frederica (interrupting): Can I put that down?
Me: Absolutely!
Sheryl (to me): Look at that big ole smile on her face!
Me: Uh huh. Pretty nice!
Frederica (smiling even wider): So maybe I don't need the president this time.
09 September 2009
Stuff I heard myself saying in public at the start of a school year:
- Well, I don't know where they've hidden the PBIS matrices.
- Oh! That's a new obnoxious buzzing sound, isn't it?
- Okay. Today we're following an A day schedule, but we're also having mod 3 of a B day. So you go (pointing with index finger at the invisible columns in the air schedule) boom, boom, 1, 2, then boom (gesturing in the air up and to the right), that's mod 3, then boom (pointing back to the invisible column on the left). See?
- I'm really sorry, but I don't know where modular 6 is. It's not on the map.
- I'm really sorry, but I don't know where D52 is. In fact, I didn't know we had a D52 room.
- What happened to yesterday's end-of-class bell? It was gentle, like, "Oh, there's my elevator." Today it's back to a sound that makes me feel like a pointy pencil is being pushed through my ear.
- Oh, thanks, but I'm really just wearing a dress today because my school pants don't fit again yet.
20 June 2009
Teacher seasons are never labeled on calendars.
(As I sit sipping coffee and reading the newspaper at home)
Husband: I thought you were giving up coffee for the summer?
Me (clutching coffee cup to my bosom): Um, yes, I did say I'd stop as soon as summer started. Did I miss the beginning of another season?
Husband: Summer starts today.
Me: No way!
Husband (consulting the calendar): You're right. It starts tomorrow.
Me: That's not really the start of summer.
Husband: Um, what?
Me: If high school graduation is next Friday, then the official start of summer is next Saturday. That's when Teacher Summer starts.
Husband: Oy.
Me: I'm just sayin'. Teacher seasons run differently, and I still have a week to drink coffee.
Husband: I thought you were giving up coffee for the summer?
Me (clutching coffee cup to my bosom): Um, yes, I did say I'd stop as soon as summer started. Did I miss the beginning of another season?
Husband: Summer starts today.
Me: No way!
Husband (consulting the calendar): You're right. It starts tomorrow.
Me: That's not really the start of summer.
Husband: Um, what?
Me: If high school graduation is next Friday, then the official start of summer is next Saturday. That's when Teacher Summer starts.
Husband: Oy.
Me: I'm just sayin'. Teacher seasons run differently, and I still have a week to drink coffee.
10 June 2009
Seniors are the beast
Today was the last day of class, and for my seniors, the day was a strange combination of exuberance, gratitude, relief and hopelessness. For me, as well.
Since my students took their final exam in class on Monday, they spent today's class writing about and discussing the difference between their post-graduation plans as of September, 2008, and their post-graduation plans as of June, 2009. While many of my students will be attending 4-year colleges, most have decided to stay close to home and attend one of our community colleges. Several students had to change plans because a parent refused to file income tax and therefore could not complete the FAFSA. Several more because a parent, sibling or significant other convinced them not to leave home. Some are reluctantly attending their second or third choice college. Several will be off to basic training in July. Several are attending their first choice college with adequate financial aid. Too many tell me they are still "undecided."
One student totally surprised me with this answer about her college plans:
Other parts of the day made me laugh, usually at myself.
A note posted on my wall:
Elizabeth and Katherine will greatly miss there favorite teacher Ms. Huth! Heart U always!
Me: Yes, of course.
Susan: She'll say, "Oh, I remember Audrey was always so funny . . . "
James: Naw, remember, Miss Huth will be mad old by then. She'll be like this (in a quavering old woman voice): Oh, that Audrey was always so funny . . . "
Me: What?? Is that me or a very old chicken?
(Laughter)
Audrey: That's you, or it will be you!
Later, an overheard bit at the end of another class:
I'm so scared of large bodies of water, you've no idea. That's why I won't go near the Mohawk River. You never know when a whale might come sneaking up.
At the end of the day, I know there are a dozen and a half really bad pictures of me posing with students, pictures they assure me are "really really good." In my head are faded pictures of those who simply stopped coming to school, despite our best efforts to convince them otherwise. I see myself writing good bye and good wishes on shirts and stapled pieces of paper to those who did not have $72 to spend on a yearbook. I see my graduating seniors proudly showing me the cap and gown they paid $27 cash for today. I rather enjoy this picture, however, left on my board today, near the suicide prevention hotline numbers we were directed to post in our rooms.
Since my students took their final exam in class on Monday, they spent today's class writing about and discussing the difference between their post-graduation plans as of September, 2008, and their post-graduation plans as of June, 2009. While many of my students will be attending 4-year colleges, most have decided to stay close to home and attend one of our community colleges. Several students had to change plans because a parent refused to file income tax and therefore could not complete the FAFSA. Several more because a parent, sibling or significant other convinced them not to leave home. Some are reluctantly attending their second or third choice college. Several will be off to basic training in July. Several are attending their first choice college with adequate financial aid. Too many tell me they are still "undecided."
One student totally surprised me with this answer about her college plans:
My plans have changed due to being homeless.
Other parts of the day made me laugh, usually at myself.
A note posted on my wall:
Elizabeth and Katherine will greatly miss there favorite teacher Ms. Huth! Heart U always!
A short conversation at the end of class:
Audrey: I feel like I'm gonna be famous. Miss, when they make a True Hollywood Story about me, you'll agree to be interviewed, right?Me: Yes, of course.
Susan: She'll say, "Oh, I remember Audrey was always so funny . . . "
James: Naw, remember, Miss Huth will be mad old by then. She'll be like this (in a quavering old woman voice): Oh, that Audrey was always so funny . . . "
Me: What?? Is that me or a very old chicken?
(Laughter)
Audrey: That's you, or it will be you!
Later, an overheard bit at the end of another class:
I'm so scared of large bodies of water, you've no idea. That's why I won't go near the Mohawk River. You never know when a whale might come sneaking up.
At the end of the day, I know there are a dozen and a half really bad pictures of me posing with students, pictures they assure me are "really really good." In my head are faded pictures of those who simply stopped coming to school, despite our best efforts to convince them otherwise. I see myself writing good bye and good wishes on shirts and stapled pieces of paper to those who did not have $72 to spend on a yearbook. I see my graduating seniors proudly showing me the cap and gown they paid $27 cash for today. I rather enjoy this picture, however, left on my board today, near the suicide prevention hotline numbers we were directed to post in our rooms.
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