Hiatus

I’ve been trying to figure out what I’ve been doing instead of blogging. Revenge-Victoria-sits-in-her-chair

I was obsessed with evil Madeline from Revenge. She can smile through the most horrendous comments, and evil doings. Plus, she has that cool chair where she sips her coffee while plotting against everyone. Her dresses are flawless, and she always has good hair. I told my colleague that I kind of wish I could smile and be evil simultaneously. She reminded me that was not a normal goal.

I have put my energy into refining my 3rd grade guided math. The other day, I looked up from my “meet with teacher” group, and saw an amazing thing: Children were engaged, on task, and collaborating about math. No one fell out of his chair, or asked me to sharpen a pencil the 567th time.  This class has a thing about sharp pencils. I’ve purchased two pencil sharpeners from Amazon; one already broke.

The following type of conversation happens daily:

Me: “We are going to do math journal, Number Talks, and then guided math.”

Student “Are we doing Number Talks today?”

Me: “Yes, we are doing Number Talks today.”

Me: “When you are done with your assessment, put it in the basket under the white board.”

Student 1:”Where do I put my work?”

Me:”In the basket under the white board.”

Student 2:-“Where do I put my test?”

Me: “In the basket under the white board.”

Student 3:”Do we give you our tests when we are done?”

Me: “No, put it in the basket under the white board.”

Then there is the stop everything, look at me, listen carefully classroom intermission.

“Everyone, hands on your heads. Look at me. The assessment goes in the basket under the white board. Thumbs up if you understand where the assessment goes.”

I’m working with my students to think outside the math box, or at least open the box and peek outside.

I have used picture prompts to show children that math is not confined to an hour a day, in my classroom. Slide25 This was a journal prompt one day.

Student: “There is no math in this picture.”

Me: “Yes, there is math in this picture.”

Student: “I don’t see numbers.”

Me: “Is math always numbers?”

Student: “Yes.”

Me: “What about geometry?”

Student: “Oh!”

Me: “There isn’t one right answer. Look for the math.”

Students are looking for the one right answer. I want them to see math as a part of their worlds that cannot always be defined with one correct response. I ask them if there are other ways to solve a problem, and they give me blank stares. It has taken me a couple of months to show students that the process in which they are doing math is very important. Just because they know that 3×3 is 9, doesn’t mean that they understand the many ways this multiplication fact can be represented, or what multiplication means.

I am on a math committee for my county. We discussed how the traditional algorithms, we have always taught, are causing students to have little to no understanding of number sense. For example, if we are dividing 45 by 3, we ask the kids how many times 3 can ‘go into’ 4; place value isn’t considered in this standard algorithm. What we are really asking is, ‘How many groups of four are there in 40?’. Students have to explain their reasoning more than ever now. So how do we balance the right answer with the process?

I have tried to show students a standard in every possible form. I say it is the same standard, but in a different outfit. They need to apply the skills to various situations, which may or may not be the examples used and practiced in class. I have changed much of what I do as a math teacher, and it hasn’t been comfortable or easy.

I have been personally challenged this year. As the literacy coach, I have had less time in classrooms, and spent more time in meetings and out of the building. I begin teaching the gifted endorsement Monday. I’m in a small panic, because now I’m teaching a class to teachers. I am driving myself a little nuts. Should I bring cookies? Candy? Tell a joke? Do a little dance?

We have a new evaluation system. It’s amazing that I’ve taught fourteen years, but at the end of the day, I am reduced to a number between 1 and 4. I do understand the efficacy of a standardized evaluation system for teachers. But, sometimes I don’t want to worry about it. I realized that my expectations for myself are, at times, unrealistically high. Some days, we just feel like a 3. And that’s ok. Isn’t that what we tell our students, and better yet, their parents?

I remember my early years of teaching, where I felt invincible and that I could affect change. I hope that I inspired or encouraged a few students along the way. In those early years, I was able to advocate for children without meetings, emails, or glaciers of paperwork. I just did it. I’m sure there was protocol; I just didn’t think about it.

Now, I advocate for students in different ways. A test score doesn’t fully give the scope of a child’s potential. And if a child doesn’t qualify for the gifted program, that doesn’t mean he or she isn’t brilliant. Children cannot be reduced to numbers and percentiles. There is so much pressure on everyone to perform. What happened to the utter joy of learning something new? What about taking risks in learning?

I believe that Drama Club has given students a chance to take risks without the fear of grades. I promised myself that I would only direct one play this year. We have ten boys in drama, and they requested Shakespeare. So, we are doing Macbeth.  I really wanted to do Romeo and Juliet, but the suicide aspect is too heavy for elementary kids. So, I thought if I made them zombies, they couldn’t die. Yes, I’ve been watching The Walking Dead. Zombie Romeo and Juliet is a future project. It has to be written…

Teaching is very much like impressionistic art. The further away we get, the clearer the picture. When we are too close, everything is a blur, and unrecognizable. None of the parts are logical, and everything seems disconnected. We often get lost in the blur. I am thankful that sometimes, I have the awareness to step back and see the intended beauty of being an educator.

K

Advertisements

Inquiry Science-Ten Questions or Fewer-L…E…S…S…

Thank you Publix for fixing all of your lessess to fewers. It is a step forward for all grammar kind. I felt pure joy when I saw these new signs. I looked at the people around me, and they were just counting their items to make sure they didn’t go over quota. I count mine too, and even have guilt when the eleventh item makes its way into my cart. Then there is always that poor soul who didn’t see the sign, and has placed sixty-five items on the conveyor belt thingy. We all know because not only do we count our items, but we also count the items in the cart in front of us. Again, this brings me to my thoughts on inquiry science and the manner in which instruction is changing.  It happens, over time-even if it looks and sounds unfamiliar, like the cadence of fewer versus less.

Publix-2-0012

One of the last classes I took to complete my specialist degree was physical science. The class was inquiry based-or what I call  McGyiver science.

My professor insisted that we never give students the exact materials for an experiment that will guarantee the desired outcome. Science is about trial and error, acknowledging variables, and persevering.  She asked us if we were expecting perfect results, or encouraging students to re-work hypotheses, collaborate, and discuss the work? It may turn out that the growth is in the mistake.

That summer was complete with my ill constructed foam roller coaster that had neither a loop nor a hill, a defunct lemon battery, and toy cars breaking down because the load was too heavy. It reminded me of my home economics class where my decorated cake looked like abstract art, and my A-line skirt was used as an example of what can go wrong in sewing.  The other day, I was faced with a vacuum cleaner and a bag. The vacuum mocks my inability to get the bag to ‘snap’ in. However, I did use that vacuum cleaner to fight a snake in my house-so I used what I had available.

This year as a gifted teacher, I have focused on inquiry science with my 3rd graders. Part of teaching inquiry is letting your personal control freak go. The first step is to admit you are a control freak teacher. Then it is time to let go a little, and let the kids do the learning.

Things are messy. Stuff spills. Students have odd ideas of what will and won’t work. They are determined that a pound of bricks weighs more than a pound of feathers.

I asked them what they thought about inquiry labs:

“You never know what is going to happen.”

“We can do things on our own.”

“We have to figure things out.”

“We got to use duct tape.”

I will say that if you add duct tape to any classroom activity, you will have the undivided attention of your class. I don’t know why, but it is true. Of course, we had the discussion about DUCT tape vs DUCK tape.

“How do they use this tape on ducks?”

Asking questions is an art of sorts. I have been asking questions my entire life, and I now find myself teaching my students how to ask questions. If I were to get philosophical, I would say that we could use the Inquiry method to drive all our life choices. We are given some random supplies and a task to complete. We try to figure it out. If it doesn’t work, we change something and try again. Getting upset over a failed outcome doesn’t help anything. We have to figure out what went wrong. Sound familiar? We are challenged daily. The results of our efforts don’t always come out the way we expect, even if we use all of our supplies.

Image

Design a boat that will float with 100 pennies.

The 100 penny lab was a great one to start with. Kids were given duct tape, tin foil, 100 pennies, a pan full of water, and a task to design a boat that would float with all 100 pennies in it.

I asked about the variables and the answers I got were very interesting:

“The design on the duct tape. The ink may weigh differently depending on how many colors are in the tape you choose.”

“How fast or slow you put the pennies in.”

“How smart the people in your group are.” (I admit, this was one of my favorites. )

I loved how these kids persevered until their boats floated. They were so excited, because THEY figured it out.

So, I became a little zealous.  The made duct-taped boats float, so they can build a bridge out of pasta!

“This isn’t working.”

“Are you sure you got the right pasta?”

We will be revisiting that activity with stronger pasta.  The kids did their own research on bridges that day. They told me what structures and shapes are stronger than others. They are re-designing the bridges for next week.  To think-I was ready to scrap the entire thing because it didn’t work out the first time. The kids assumed we would be doing the pasta activity again.

My students taught me my own lesson. Then I began to wonder how often I have scrapped something because it wasn’t turning out the way I wanted it to? We cannot teach without bringing these lessons home, because ultimately that is what we want our students to do. It is unlikely that a potential college or job will ask a candidate to build a pasta bridge.  But, isn’t it about the perspectives in which we perceive our obstacles?  And isn’t it great that eighteen third graders reminded me of this with their perseverance?

Here’s to using all the materials available to me (even if they aren’t the ones I wanted).

K

Where Do the Words Come From?

Writing comes from a blank space. There are no multiple choice options,  fill in the blanks, or answer keys. It is invisible until it manifests on paper or the computer. We arrange the words in various orders to convey thoughts. We move them around and shuffle them until they fall into  just the right spots.

words

I have been writing since I could hold a pencil. When I was younger, I didn’t talk much (which will be a surprise to those who know I won’t stop talking now). I remember just wanting to fade into my surroundings when any attention was focused on me. Just let me write!

In second grade, during show and tell (a school tradition that should be banned for good) my teacher asked me to get up in front of the class and tell something that happened over the weekend. I was already in trouble for having a daily “stomach ache” during math. I am convinced that my teacher believed that I got sick at the same time every day. Even if math was at a different time, I would suddenly fall ill. Who knew that skipping second grade math would haunt me for years to come?

I created a story where my brother was lost on a raft on the Chattahoochee River. I said he was wearing my mother’s dress, and we haven’t seen him for three days. I gave sensory details about the sounds of the water. I described the setting of the warm day and the sun beaming down on my brother, as he floated away into oblivion. I was on a roll. I wasn’t even self-conscious about the ‘pixie’ hair cut my mom insisted I get. Another blog. Another time.

I didn’t get to finish my story, because my teacher stopped me and told me to sit down. Later that day, my mom was called in to talk about my ‘storytelling’. I told them that my story was more interesting than what we really did that weekend. From that point on, my words came out of my pencil, not my mouth.

Many teachers have a story like this. A story where their spirits were lifted or bruised. A story where they had trouble with a subject and a teacher either helped them or didn’t notice. We all come to this job with a vision and a hope that we will do something to make a difference in someone’s life. I wanted to make sure that no child was made to feel that her words were unimportant.

The year I was asked to be the literacy coach at my school, I felt that I had an opportunity to give back to all of those teachers and administrators who held me up while making sure I had a safety net on which to fall. And when I did fall (which happened often) they were there without judgement and made me get up. They even overlooked my leprechaun trap gone bad project my first year of teaching. For the rest of the year, I was scraping green paint off the walls near the window where the leprechauns ‘escaped’.

This is my third year as a literacy coach. My first year, I just wanted the teachers to let me into their rooms. Other lit coaches told me suburban legends about how they didn’t visit certain halls, or how teachers had requested that they not come in. YIKES! I went into the job having been inspired by those teachers who kept me afloat my first couple of years of teaching.

My second year, I tried out lessons, implemented county initiatives, and got a global understanding of literacy from the view of the teachers and the students. Of course, there were many days I felt useless, and hoped to just inspire a student to write, or a teacher to teach writing with more confidence than the day before.

This year, I had a rather bumpy start because of some personal setbacks. I had a complete paradigm shift in my understanding of human nature. My suburban village was by my side at a very difficult time, and I am more grateful to them then ever. But, I tried to write, but I couldn’t find the words anymore. They danced around me, and I was unable to pick the right ones. If I couldn’t find my own words, how could I teach others to find theirs? Writing has always been so cathartic to me. This was more than writer’s block, it was a semantic void.

I taught writing in various classrooms last week.  The small people found all the words I was missing. They grabbed them from the air. They found them under their desks. They pulled them from their book bags. The scraped them from the floor. There were plenty to go around.

Not only did my words come back, but so did my spirit. After thirteen years in education, I still love my job. When we let our guard down, and the kids in-we can find all of our words.

K

Theater Mom to Soccer Mom

There is an underground society of sportmania that has eluded me for years. They live among us. A friend suggested that is ME who was living in an underground society of theater. No, that couldn’t be true.

I have two amazing daughters (Serena 19 and Violet 10) whose extra curricular activities have always been composed of reading, art, and acting. Neither one has ever played a sport, until this year.

Well, Serena took ballet when she was three, but during the recital she ran and hid in the corner. Oh and there was the time Serena was obsessed with social science fairs. She won first place with her Women in the Military project and placed third on her Audrey Hepburn Humanitarian project. (This project inspired her to dress as Audrey Hepburn for Halloween, and to her dismay no one knew who she was.)  She even won trophies for reading a lot of books.  My all time favorite was Serena trying out for talent show in elementary school. She did a little jig to, “I’m Holding Out for a Hero”. Yes, a third grader gyrating to Bonnie Tyler.

Her non-sport winning streak continued to high school drama. I am very proud that she won “Best Stage Kiss” in her senior year. I think that would be hard to do. The practice involved in preparing for such an award would be exhausting. I am just laying the foundation of my personal experiences with my kids competing and winning stuff. Oh…maybe just Serena competing and winning stuff.

Violet considered competing in Battle of the Books. (This sounds like a warrior like battle where the adversaries pelt each other with books of various sizes.) But, it is where kids read an assigned list of books then they compete in a game show like finale. She declined because she didn’t want people telling her what to read. And the list was long. And there were boring books on the list. And there were too many deadlines.

I heard of these alleged weekend games and weekday practices. There were rumors of children being picked for various teams, bladeedahh. I never listened, because thank goodness, none of it applied to me. Those sports words would float into oblivion. I was more worried about whether or not one of my daughters memorized her lines, or had her costume  for the upcoming production. I have spent the last few years in theaters, not soccer fields. So when my youngest daughter decided to play soccer, I was perplexed. My neighbors (Kate and Jay) helped me through the process. I’m sure their conversation when something like this,

“Geeze, she is clueless.”

“How many times did you have to  send her address to register?”

“Does she know Violet will need turf shoes and shin guards?”

“Does she know what turf shoes and shin guards are?”

I didn’t know there was a difference between cleats and turf shoes. Honestly, I had never heard of turf shoes until Jay took me to Target to get Violet her soccer gear. Did you know that soccer balls come in different sizes? I sure didn’t. Then there are shin guards that are attached to the socks, and some that are not. What to do?

So, we go to the first soccer rehearsal, I mean practice, and I stand by the goal to watch. I look around and I’m the only parent standing there. I walked back to my car to see the multitude of family vehicles illuminated with ipads, Kindles, iPods, and phones. Ahh! This is the secret, soccer parent society.

You cannot win or lose in a play-well you can suck to high heaven and we pretend it didn’t happen, or you can be all Sally Field where everyone loves you. During a production, theater moms don’t scream:

“Good job! Get in there! Say those lines!”

“I believe you are the character!”

“Change the director! Bad blocking!”

There has to be some clandestine book of sport mom rules somewhere. I was unaware of the gear I needed to fulfill my soccer mom duties. I didn’t have a stadium chair the first couple of games. Then I needed to look into purchasing a visor cap-not a visor and not a baseball cap.

I just learned that there is a soccer scrap-book club.I thought I could give $30 and have it done for me, but these people wanted me to actually cut out stuff and glue it in a book. Then there is the meeting new people thing, and having to be social thing, and having a quasi-sensible conversation thing. I have already blogged about my social ineptness. I am fully aware of my weaknesses, and I know that my attention span couldn’t withstand such scrapbook tedium. I fully appreciate the scrapbook aficionado, in fact I envy their focus. I digress.

Violet finally gets her soccer costume, I mean uniform. She is number 14.

One evening, I decided to be that cool mom in the front yard, kicking soccer balls with my daughter. Cool huh? Well, the thing is that I don’t play soccer. In fact, I ran track and cross country throughout high school, and I avoided any sport involving balls, sticks, or rackets.  Violet kicks the ball to me. I run toward her. I kick the ball. Slow motion timing ensues, it really did.  SMAaaaacccckkkkkCK  (that is the word in slow motion).  The size four ball pummelled her in the face. Yes, I am responsible for her first soccer injury half way through the first season. I am happy to report that the swelling has diminished considerably.

PRODUCTION TIME! No, I mean, GAME TIME! Thank goodness I didn’t yell break a leg to the team. I’m sure that the line of parents sitting in chairs would have shunned me.

There she is, wearing her three sizes too big shorts,  running, kicking (sometimes losing focus and twirling her hair) and playing SOCCER!!!!

It took me a while to figure out which goal was our team’s. Then as soon as I get used to our side of the field, they switch sides after half time.

I was pleased to watch my stepmom and 82-year old father bring deck chairs (from their deck) to Violet’s soccer game. At this point, I even  know that I am supposed to have one of those foldy stadium chairs. Geeze.

DECK CHAIRS

After soccer, other sports creep their way in. My boyfriend’s daughter plays softball and half way through the first softball game (I had EVER attended) he realized I had no idea what was happening. Their costumes, oh uniforms, were awfully cute and color coordinated, but there are so many rules, and apparently there is an illegal way to pitch. I learned this from the softball hecklers.

Then last night, I went to a SPORTS BAR and watched the MMA fights. I was totally engrossed in the smack downs. What has happened to me? I watched soccer, softball, and MMA all in one day. I even have a favorite fighter, Roy (Big Country) Nelson. This was more than my theater DNA could handle.

After my day of sports, I felt as if I was neglecting the theater. But this week, we are preparing for our productions for drama club. I have to paint sets, coordinate costumes, schedule extra rehearsals, direct, produce, and not end up twitching and hiding in my classroom bathroom. I wonder how I’m ever going to get through these production, and make sure the kids have good experiences on stage?

Saturday, I saw one of my drama club students (who plays Peter Quince in Midsummer Night’s Dream) playing soccer. Her soccer and theater worlds seem to blend very well. She was also in The Battle of the Books last Thursday.

It is the end of another school year, and I can check off year thirteen in education. As I watch these kids prepare for various events, productions, and games, I can only be inspired by their drive and ability to seamlessly meld their extra-curricular worlds.

Here’s to theater, soccer, and an occasional smack down.

K

Gratitude.

Collective grief is the only way to describe what happened in our school the Monday after the Connecticut school shootings. During car duty, I thought about the parents who kissed their children good-bye that morning. I thought about how those parents didn’t know that they would never see their children again. Without talking, I knew we were all thinking about our own children, and how we couldn’t survive such a tragedy.

The new years come without our permission. We may have unfinished business, or maybe we are still wondering what would happen we had made alternate choices. What could have been different?

When I see a car accident, sometimes I think, That could have been me, if I were here five minutes ago. And usually, I think about what may have delayed me. I wonder about our place in the world, and how many times I will be afforded a coincidental delay. It just isn’t enough to fully appreciate our lives when tragedy happens. But, sometimes we do.

We look for messages in tragedies. There is no message in the Connecticut incident. Sandy Hook Elementary is the new school for the survivors of the shooting last month. I read this quote from the attached article:

Sandy Hook Elementary School parent Vinny Alvarez says he took advantage of an open house at his daughter’s new school to thank a teacher who helped protect her class from a rampaging gunmanSandy Hook

This scenario isn’t something for which we could ever be prepared. How does a teacher shift from teaching, to saving the lives of his or her students? Where did that courage come from? Is it in all of us? I am amazed by the human condition.

We wonder how we got here, and how to prevent such events from happening again. I still think of the faces of the victims. I think about what must have happened that day; I cannot fathom any of it. If the domino had fallen another way, could the outcome have changed?

As the holiday season comes to a screeching halt, and I begrudgingly resume my episodic days, I can only be grateful to have a rut. This year, for me, has been a challenge. My nineteen-year marriage ended, I sent my eldest daughter to college, and I earned another degree. These life events are insignificant when images of that day fill the minds of parents and educators across the country. It didn’t happen to us. But, what if it had?

The moment 2012 came to a close, I felt nothing but gratitude. Gratitude for the ugly parts as well as the momentous occasions. Gratitude for my daughters, my family, my friends, my job, and for a few coincidental delays.

K

Invasion of the Recycling Bins

My environmental science class is slowly altering me, like the pods-I’m slowly being taken over, and there will be another, just like me-reducing, reusing, and recycling. I’ve been aware, and haphazardly tossing my La Croix, snob water, cans into the recycling bins. But, after a few weeks of environmental science, the guilt began to eat at me. Isn’t it always true that our intentions are to save the planet…..later?  I did some research, because that is how I roll before I take on another obsessive habit. Only about 30% of people in the south-east recycle from their homes. More people recycle in the north than they do in the south.

I sit in class with eleven environmentally savvy people. Yes, they are a bit weird, and the idea of watering your lawn with the water from your shower caused an electric stir throughout the room. (My professor suggested that we put a bucket under us as we shower.) Apparently, going green isn’t always convenient, comfortable, or attractive.

He asked us this-“How many of you get rid of your clothes because they are worn out?”

Silence.

Student: “Do you mean if there is a stain on it?”

Professor: “Can you still wear clothing if there is a stain on it”

Student: “Yes, but why would we?”

Professor: “Because it serves the purpose of clothing you.”

I glanced at my new DSW, sparkly wedges. The thrill of the sparkle was cloaked in blackness.

Professor: “What would happen if (those of you who love shoes) were to give up all of your shoes except for one pair that would get you through the season?”

I broke into a cold sweat. My left leg involuntarily shook. Visions of my color-coded closet being emptied made me dizzy. I believe I had the vapors for a moment.

It would have to be like a 12-step program. You can’t go all cold turkey on a shoe obsession for goodness sake!  This idea is not possible, at the moment.

Professor: “How many of you could change your habit of buying new clothes, and only wear clothes from consignment or hand-me-downs.?”

Student: “Sorry, I have to draw the line there. I don’t know what those people did in those clothes.”

Our professor poses these questions to make us think. I began to wonder why I have so many things that I don’t need.

The turning point was our discussion about the book Ishmael. Well, maybe it was this quote that made me perk up one Saturday morning,

“TEACHER seeks pupil. Must have an earnest desire to save the world. Apply in person.” Daniel Quinn-Ishmael.

Every summer, I seek out what will put that first-year-teacher mojo back into my spirit. This just may do it.

The teacher in this story is a gorilla. He is telepathic, and he is able to teach the ‘narrator’ how things came to be. The premise of the book is that there is more than one species on the planet. Sustainability is a collective effort. Get off your butt. Do something. Of course, as I was listening to the discussion, I was sipping from my Dunkin Donuts to-go cup.

Environmentalism is like a flu virus. You get exposed, then 3-5 days later, the effects begin to take over. I have this nightmare, that I’ll be that lady who dries her paper towels, breaks appointments with friends to rinse the plastics,  and keeps the same paper bag for her lunch for three years. I will be shunned, and people will tease me by throwing recyclables into the trash.

It is just that I’ve never met an environmentalist who wasn’t, well….a bit fanatical. I have witnessed, the go greeneries, filtering out the non-recyclables from the recyclables. They are in a frenzy, and we all know never to make eye contact. Because, inevitably, we are the ones who tossed the styrofoam cup into the bin, on our way to some very important place. Now, I appreciate their efforts. There are a few people who try to keep us all on track. No wonder they are manic and angry. They are doing their part, which is way more than many of us are doing.

I had to conduct a data-driven experiment for my final project in environmental science. I wanted to see what would motivate my daughters to recycle more. Yes, there were variables like one stealing from the other’s bins. They both took from my bins, and suckered people to save their recycling. My smaller one, collected beer cans from my neighbor. But, by the end of the month, during the last week-my recycling bins were filled to capacity, and my trash output had decreased. During this time, I became that frenzied recyclist who began following my children when they get up to toss something.

Me: “Where are you going to put that?”

Child caught in the scary mom vortex: “Um…in the…well…um the recycle bin-yes…it is going there.”

Me: “Right answer.” (Insert cackle).

Hopefully, my kids will think about their carbon footprints a little more. I know I will.

This week is the 4th of July. I won’t begin to discuss the firework/atmosphere controversy.

Happy Fourth!

K

Found in A Cyber-Place

The song, Too Much Time on My Hands was playing on the radio as I left my friend’s house. Yes, a Styx song gave me perspective. During this holiday break, I have spent many hours doing human things like reading, writing, and spending time with friends. I even made fried chicken. I have also spent time attempting the triple word-triple letter score on Words With Friends. 

I’ll begin with my enlightening thoughts on WWF. I began playing the game because a persistent friend signed me up so that she could defeat me. There are secret social rules to the game. I have competitive thoughts about my opponents as I am playing. But, when we see each other, we pretend that the word war is a non-event. I have this odd, clandestine relationship with fourteen WWF people. It is a very different relationship than the real ones we have. Face-to face interaction is vastly different from iPad to iPad communication. There are even reminders on Facebook when it’s your turn to play. I will find my way out of this obsession. I’m thinking the two graduate classes for which I so willy-nilly registered will bully WWF out of my life.

Somehow WWF made me think of the T.V. show-Lost in Space. (I don’t try to analyze my connections anymore.) If you are unfamiliar with the show, I suggest that you YouTube a few episodes.

I remember watching the show and thinking that the future would be a great place where we wear noisy, silver jumpsuits. The most interesting part of this picture is that it was someone’s vision of the future. The show was created in the sixties. It was supposed to represent 1997. Well, they were off a tad. Here is Dolce and Gabbana’s futuristic line in 1997.

Notice that in the Lost in Space picture, there are no Apple products. If they did update their walls, I imagine they would be:

“I love Robot. He saved me from giant attack plants.” Will Robinson

“My New Year’s resolution is to have a larger vocabulary. And maybe a new name.” Robot

“O.K. everyone, I need your advice. Should I keep my bangs?” Penny Robinson

But, the Robinsons didn’t blog. They didn’t Tweet, text, or Facebook. They had conversations-with each other.

The education connection is about to happen.

When I took online classes, I imagined my teacher watching Friends reruns and cooking dinner, while grading my assignments. Although I appreciated the absence of the nonsensical prattle, I missed the discussions and the physicality of learning.

If you have ever been in an engaging classroom, you may have noticed that students do odd things as their brain synapses fire. I have seen children bounce, hold up signs, clap their hands, and illustrate the concepts. Conversely, do you remember a class where the drone of the teacher left you passed out on your desk, creating drool puddles? The first thing I notice when I’m teaching is students’ body language. As a result, I am aware of my personal body language, which has been an issue for me in the past. (I tend to make faces.)

We have a program at school where students bring in their technology. This includes iPads, iPods, Tablets, and lap tops. I am excited about the program.  I know how important it is for students to be technologically savvy. But, the thought of the impersonalization that would result from the technology program bothered me. Students were responding to instruction with a blind tapping of letters on various devices.

I am all for the use and expansion of technology. I always have my iPad, iPod, Andriod, and laptop at arms reach.  My ability to tune out my environment with these apparatuses, surprises me.

Who needs to talk when we can send my messages through cyberland? It is a black hole into which we easily fall. The lack of personal connections exacerbates social awkwardness issues. By the time people meet to visit, they already know every minute detail of each other’s lives.

“I got a new car.”

“Yah, I saw the picture on your FB post. Oh, I have this great new Coldplay song I would like to share.”

“Oh, someone posted it on my wall today.”

“Oh, I’ll be right back. I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Didn’t you just Tweet that you went?”

“Yes, actually I did. By the way I received your Evite for the party. I read your blog about your new baby-congrats. I will get back tot your text about our cyber book club meetings.”

“Ok, well it was great catching up.”

It isn’t such a farfetched thought to have students taught by videos. It is a horrendous idea, but one that could happen. I have said the following things to my students:

“I am not a Wii game. I will never be a Wii game.”

“My name isn’t Ms D.S.”

“Bleip, Blong, Brip. Do I sound like one of your games?”

I can use this humor with older students. They understand what I am saying, and they laugh.

Moderation is a great thing. I’ve said this before. Maybe, I’ll get off the computer and go talk to someone.

Happy New Year

K