Harmony

My school day ends with a class called Directed Studies. Think high school study hall and fill it with restless 13-year-olds watching the clock like Cinderella's footmen. In theory, the students are motivated to check their assignments for the day, put pencil to the paper or fingers to the keyboard and knock out their school obligations before the final bell rings. In reality, another truth unfolds. Let me describe a typical series of events in period nine.

Class starts. Students queue up by my desk. "Can I go to the bathroom?" "I left my assignment in Ms. G's room." "Can I go to the library?" "Can I go to the art room?" "I am supposed to meet my mentor today." "My knee hurts. Can I go to the nurse and get an ice pack?" "I forgot to tell my mom I have a track meet tonight. I need to call home."

With Judge Judy decisiveness, I give the yay or nay to each request. The nays grumble their way back to their seats and join the rest of the class in an attempt to settle down for the required ten-minute quiet reading time. As I scan the crowd for malfeasant activity, I watch Lacey turn her chair discretely toward the boy of her dreams. She starts twirling her hair and making googly eyes, hoping he will reciprocate. Dream boy responds with head nodding and enough attention to keep Lacey from ever turning a page in her book. Meanwhile, Leonard has the volume up too high on his audio book and is scraping his chair on the floor just enough to irritate Doug, who hasn't read a book all year but is only too happy to point out the shortcomings of others.  Across the room, Lester is mouthing some kind of message to his buddy across the table. Giggles ensue and the girls nearby give them withering looks. I stoically focus on my book in an attempt to model appropriate reading behavior, with an occasional teacher glare thrown in for the good of the cause. Finally, the reading time is over and the announcement is made, "You may put away your books and work on other homework."

Immediately, another queue forms at my desk with a litany of questions and requests to leave the room for perceived emergencies. A few students pull out assignments and diligently get busy. Jeffrey, whose desk is right next to mine due to his meds wearing off in the early afternoon, begins roaming the room with no particular destination. Lyla starts cleaning her binder and discovers it is more dramatic when you crumple every single paper that needs to be tossed. Buster turns his computer away from my view and begins the single tap staccato required by on-line gaming.  One by one I quash the rascally behaviors and attempt to help those who need assignment assistance. Finally, the bell rings and the students let out a yip of collective relief.

It is truly no surprise to me that my students are restless, googly-eyed and impish during a study hall at the end of a long day of demands and chair sitting.  The diversity of personalities and behaviors is staggering and yet, somehow, someway they push forth and maintain some sense of decorum. I have witnessed the kindness of many students helping others and the sense of accomplishment gained by completed work. I have watched students from different social classes, nationalities and intelligence levels share space and get to know each other. I have seen students bicker and shortly thereafter, make amends.

Perhaps, a few days in my chair would be good for many adults. Tranquility is not a product of uniformity. It is bred by muddling through differences.

And, who doesn't want to be Judge Judy for a day?

Rich

Wealthy will most likely never be a descriptor used next to my name. I don't know how to play the lottery so jackpots will not be falling into my lap any day soon. I am a teacher so large salaries and bonuses appear on other people's W-2 forms. I forget what day is cheap popcorn day at the nearby convenience store so I end up buying it for full price. And I lose coupons, only to find them after they have expired.

My local grocery store is trying to make this process easier by offering coupon specials that can be loaded electronically onto my rewards card. So far this process has resulted in the following messages:
"This device does not support your transaction."
"The username or password is incorrect."
"Give up. You are old and will not figure this out." (Okay, I made that one up.)

Recently, a lady next to me in the checkout line at the grocery store tried to save me from my ineptness with money-saving deals. Just as my package of strawberries was being scanned by the 12-year-old checker, the lady leaned over and said, "You know if you mention the Hy-Vee Facebook ad, you can get those strawberries for a lot cheaper." At that very moment, I sensed this was going to take an ugly turn. I could see in the checker's eyes that some clarification was needed. I quickly interjected, "That's okay. I don't usually mess with all that Facebook ad stuff." Undaunted, the young lady pulls out her smartphone and starts scrolling and tapping away. The checker intuitively surmises that the bulldog is not going to give up so he says, "Well, you have to show us the ad because it only applies to certain stores." The bulldog, still scrolling away, assures him that it applies to all the stores. The checker tenses up and starts in with a long explanation about the procedure involved with the Facebook ad. The bulldog is still scrolling and tapping away, determined to usurp the checker's knowledge of store protocol.

Meanwhile, an extended line is forming in our queue. It is early morning, there is only one checker, people are in a hurry, the bulldog is sure she is right and I have had it. I turned to the lady and thanked her for her concern over my small package of strawberries. I looked at the checker and said, "I do not need or want the Facebook discount on my fruit. I just want to finish my order and leave so I don't hold up this line." The checker was only too happy to fulfill my request. I grabbed the receipt and made haste out of the store.

I didn't look back, but my guess is the bulldog was still haggling with the checker over my strawberries after I was out the door. The only item in her order was a jumbo container of vanilla latte coffee creamer. Clearly, she was in need of some serious coffee intervention.

And, clearly, I will never be rich. But I did enjoy my strawberries, even without the discount. And the checker gave me another coupon for paper towels...no password, device or bulldog needed.

Liablility

The student at my desk passionately explained, "I just found out in health class that the reason we are all getting so fat is because of the big food companies. Did you know they are purposely putting extra sugar and fat in all the food in the grocery stores?"

The curmudgeon in me raised its snarky head and asked, "Is there someone holding a gun to the heads of the shoppers so they have to buy all that food in the store?"

"Well, no, but it isn't our fault that all the food is full of sugar and fat. They should stop doing that, It is making everyone fat," he replied.

Unable to let his naivety go unchallenged, I countered with, "So, you are telling me that I have no choice but fill my shopping cart with sugary goodies rather than fresh produce and wholesome foods?"

At this point, the student was smart enough to realize that I wasn't going to agree with his new found wisdom. He shook his head and gave me the you-just-do-not-understand-conspiracy-theories look and shuffled to his seat.

In defense of the young man's health teacher, I am sure the lesson on nutrition included a reminder that processed foods often have hidden sugars and fats. In defense of the big food companies, producing food that tastes crappy is probably not a wise business move and sugar and fat tend to make food taste better.

My growing up years did not involve processed food choices so I know it is possible to survive without many of our current food options. My mother baked our bread, raised a large garden, canned fruits and vegetables, raised chickens for eggs and meat. My dad milked the family cow and raised pigs and cows for the dinner table. We all pitched in with picking wild asparagus, plums and mulberries. The fastest food we ate was a fried egg. Drive-thru wasn't in our vernacular in those days and the nearest we got to a ready made treat was a small vanilla ice cream cone from Zesto.

Don't get me wrong, I am no health food guru. I could live on Cheetos and anything with a chippy crunch for the rest of my days. Bacon makes my heart sing and butter makes everything better. But, I claim total responsibility for my choices. Blaming the food companies for a grocery cart full of sugary, fatty goodness is not my style.

It is probably just a matter of time before our television screens tout a class action suit against the big bad wolf of processed foods. "Have you or any of your loved ones ever eaten a Cheese Curl? Did you know this food contains salt and vegetable oil and could cause weight gain if eaten in copious amounts? Please call the following toll free number if you think you have been wronged by Frito Lay. Our operators are standing by."

The famous French Chef, Julia Child, said it best, "A party without cake is just a meeting." She also reminded us to watch portion sizes and choose our food wisely. That probably explains why she lived a full life until the age of 91.

Embrace your freedom to choose. Sometimes it's an apple and sometimes it's a cheese curl. And when your waistband gets cranky with you, remember, you are the one in charge.

Cereal

My colleagues and I recently had a passionate discussion about cereal. (Yes, we lead lives of quiet desperation.) It was clear by the twinkling in our eyes as we shared our cereal stories that our love for our favorites was more than just about filling our bellies. We had memories and routines that fueled our connections with the brightly colored boxes bursting with wholesome goodness. It was also clear that many of our favorites were probably not the most healthful, but the boxes boasted extra fortification, so surely that cancelled out any evil.

Frosted Flakes was one favorite. The ritual of eating the crunchy, sweet flakes as quickly as possible so more flakes could be clinked into the leftover milk can be quite satisfying. The final slurps of milk top off the delicious experience. The bright blue box with a gregarious tiger smiling at you each morning is not a bad way to start the day.

Reese's Puffs popped up as another delight. The name was spoken almost in a whisper as if it was a dirty little secret.  Instinctively, we sensed that something with so much buttery, sweet goodness might not be a nutritional  powerhouse, but risks are willing to be taken in the world of cereal. I confess that these flavorful little orbs never make it to a bowl of milk in my world. I eat them like candy straight from the box. Thus, the reason they are not on my shelf. Most days, that is.

A cereal from bygone days also received mention, Quisp. It was known for its cartoon commercials featuring a little other-worldly character flying around with his propeller driven beanie cap. The cereal is now in limited production but one of our co-workers snagged a box at a local grocery store. The small box commanded a hefty price, but the siren song of nostalgia beckoned and soon we were all enjoying a trip down memory lane. The little saucer shaped discs provided a slightly sweet, Cap'n Crunchy flavor. We agreed that our memory was probably better than the actual product but it was good to catch up on the latest escapades of Quisp found on the back of the box.

Cheerios will always be my cereal of choice. My shelf is rarely without the bright yellow box. The little oaty O's fuel my Calvinistic roots with their unpretentious steadiness. I like to eat them right out of the box when I am feeling a bit peckish or as an evening snack in a bowl of cold milk. There was a time when I doused them with sugar for a little extra zip, but common sense has since prevailed, and the cereal now remains au naturel.

So, the next time you are in need of a conversation starter, ask about favorite cereals. I guarantee you will be delightfully entertained. Your other option is to ask about favorite presidential candidates.

Enough said.

  

Color

The earth is revolving its way into an equinox position, releasing northerners from the grip of darkness.  The glorious beauty of sunrises and sunsets is once again evident as salmony pinks and wisps of silver nuzzle into the iron grayness of winter. Illusions of green poke out from under the melting snow. Black and white chickadees search for food morsels in the the shaggy bark of trees. Cardinals command attention with their flaming coats and melodic songs.  It is no surprise that upper Midwesterners crave color after a winter of gray slush, leafless vegetation and dirt encrusted vehicles.

Maybe that has something to do with the latest craze for coloring books. I haven't done an ounce of research on this subject so be forewarned that my observations are born of a fascination with this movement rather than any kind of expertise. I am amazed at all the adult coloring books nestled among the tabloids at every checkout counter. A checkout clerk shared with me that she can't wait to get home in the evening so she can start coloring.The books have titles such as Color Me Calm, Creative Haven, NatureScapes and Color Therapy. There are coloring magazines ensuring a fresh set of pictures and designs for each month. There are books dedicated to your favorite televisions shows such as Dr. Who and Game of Thrones. Even my eighty-seven-year-old mother, not known to be an arts and crafts person, loves her coloring books, so much so that she signs each completed picture.

All of this puzzles me. Throughout recent years of teaching, the subliminal message sent to me and my fellow educators in my district has been one of anti-coloring and hands-on project designing. Technology, technology, technology, the only way of the future. Students should be choosing prefabricated template designs for their powerpoint presentations so they are prepared for pitching ideas and products in the "real world."  Modern Writer backgrounds replaced Cornflower blue crayons. Glowing computer screens replaced poster paper. The sound of projects is reduced to the tapping of computer keys rather than the sliding of color splashes on paper and the chatter of students exploring artistic design.

Don't get me wrong, I believe students need to know how to use technology for their future success. Schlepping a poster into a high-powered business meeting might not be advisable for career advancement. But, let children explore non-pixelated designing, please. Few things can compare to the the joy of opening a fresh box of crayons and reading color names such as Robin's Egg Blue and Vivid Tangerine. Inspiration is further goaded by a mass of white paper begging for the personal touch of a student's imagination.

My niece recently shared with me that she is becoming weary of computer projects. "I just wish I could design something real again." Perhaps our zeal to prepare children for future jobs eclipsed our sense of what developing minds often need, the calming power of coloring. I don't have to teach kids how to text, snapchat, click buttons, stare at screens or shut themselves off with a computer. I do, however, have an obligation to let them explore possibilities that exist outside of the techie world.

Powerpoints and Google Drives are still in the future for my students, but, look out, I just bought a bunch of new 24-count Crayola sets. Let the coloring begin.

Easy

A student approached me this week with a burning question, "So, why is it that teachers get paid and it is the students who are doing all the work?" I choked a little on my coffee and replied, "Well, why don't you attend college for six years so you can get this cushy job, too." The student giggled a little and headed to her seat. I must confess there was a part of me that was outraged with the little rugrat but a cooler head prevailed. In theory, I should have considered it a compliment. Apparently, I make teaching look effortless.

The reality is quite different, however. This week, I cajoled 13-year-olds into using Punnett Squares to determine the probability of two heterozygous parents producing offspring with two recessive alleles. Yes, their eyes glazed over, too. I fielded the same phone call every morning with the answer, "Yes, O. is on his way now to take his pill." I made several trips to the detention room so the students in the slammer could stay caught up with their assignments. I wrestled paper from the jaws of our bedraggled copy machine flashing "misfeed" for the thousandth time. I spent my lunch minutes helping students get caught up with missing work. My co-worker and I tussled with new curriculum during every spare moment and are still staying just a few days ahead of the students. I scheduled upcoming parent-teacher conferences, answered parent e-mails, attended a before school meeting for a student, completed special education assessment forms, went to the pet store to pick up aquatic plants for a photosynthesis lab, evaluated assignments, recorded grades, chased down missing assignments, recorded grades again, calmed a student who was mad at life, handed out eighteen pencils (a slow week), and kept 110 students accountable for their academic progress. An easy job, indeed.

If it sounds like I am complaining, perhaps I am just a bit. This week our state legislature did not pass a bill that would have given teachers a raise (it failed by one vote). Teachers in our state are currently the lowest paid in the nation. We are not asking to be the highest paid, but it is time for us to be a little more competitive with our neighbors. I look at the young teachers in my building and wonder how long they will stay with us when they can drive thirty miles down the road and get a significant raise just for crossing the border. I am grateful for their commitment to the kids in our state but would not blame them for leaving.

I never went into teaching for the money. From the moments I spent as a child playing school with my younger siblings (sorry about that, dear sibs) to my first real job, it was clear that teaching was in my blood. The profession has been good to me. It has stretched me in ways I never thought possible and I have helped hundreds of kids journey through education. I have felt moments of success and I have also failed, epically, at times.

So, in answer to the young lady's question, "I promise to make it look like I'm not working, if you promise to keep on working."

Games

The big game is upon us, a.k.a. Super Bowl, and all throughout the land there is much hype and purchasing of chips, dips and big screen televisions. I know enough about football to fill an eyedropper and that might even be a stretch. I am completely baffled by men grabbing, grunting and banging heads for the sake of getting a ball across a certain line. I am also shocked at how much money folks are willing to spend in the name of the game. My Calvinistic frugality cringes at such extravagance but I am going to hope some portion of the gajillion dollars spent goes to a good cause, somewhere, somehow.

With limited resources, few televisions, no electronics and little fear of safety, the playground games of my youth were a bit different from those found today. Our merry-go-round was a death trap to those pushing on the interior spokes, frantically trying to goad centrifugal force into action. The tall slide with open steps and no guard rails begged for climbing and crawling unrelated to the purpose of the slide. Somehow, we survived but I do think our merry-go-round should forever rest in peace.

Our group games were simple in nature and usually required little or no equipment. A favorite was Red Rover. Two teams made a chain, linking elbow to elbow and calling for a runner from the opposite team to break through the arm links. "Red Rover, Red Rover, send so and so right over." Of course, the so and so called was always the scrawny kid who had the heft of a mosquito. But, mosquitos have their own strategies. Look for the weak link along the chain, get a good run going and flail with all your might against the entwined arms. I always had a chance for action in this game because I was weak. Sometimes I had to run and always I was attacked by a runner. I don't remember if I was ever successful, but odds are I just finished the game with a sore abdomen.

Dare Base was another popular recess event. The rules were quite complicated. Suffice it to say, the primary objective was putting kids from the opposing team in "jail" and rescuing your own team members from their captors. I also enjoyed this game because I could be a part of the game without ever being too productive. Being in jail meant that I could just stand there with my hand outstretched waiting for someone else to do all the work. Staying out of jail meant keeping a low profile and not venturing too far out into enemy territory. Sign me up for that gig.

Fox and Geese was a winter weather game. Elaborate paths were tromped out in the snow to resemble the spokes of a wheel. I have no memory of the rules of the game. I think we spent more time stomping out the perfect design than we did playing the game. I know for sure that I was never the fox. The hapless goose was most likely my designation.

Recess games taught me a lot about competition and myself. It's okay to lose. You will find friends who have also made peace with losing. You will find strategies that help you avoid games. And, most of all, you will enjoy games that allow you to be yourself.

Forgive me for not wearing any particular colors for the big game this weekend. I will enjoy the grocery specials on snack foods. I love chips and this is my weekend.

Go, team, go!