For Every Season...Turn, Turn, Turn

While I haven't been in education very long (15 years), many changes have occurred at the school level. Whatever happened to these items that I remember having in my early years of teaching? Let's retrogress to the teaching technology of the 80s and 90s.

1. The machine that you placed a carbon on and cranked by hand to make copies for your students--you know, the one with the purple ink that you loved to smell--I can't remember it's name because it has been so long since I've seen one much less used one.

2. Risograph--I think this is how you spell it. It's a step up from machine #1 because it could make hundreds of copies quickly, and you weren't required to hand crank it.

3. Dot matrix printers--these were great! You always had to make sure the paper was on track, and when it printed, it made a grinding noise. Well, maybe grinding isn't the write descriptor. The noise, if you were printing a long document, would lull you into a relaxed state because it was so repetitive. And you could tell when the printer came to a shorter sentence or was printing a single word. The BRRRRRTTTT sound it made would be just a BRT with longer stretches of silence as the print cartridge glided across the paper.

4. Paper for a dot matrix printer--the sheets were always attached to each other, and you could make banners with it easily. I loved printing out these banners and then coloring them in with my Crayola markers.

5. Computers with DOS operating systems--I've forgotten every key stroke that I had to learn to run one of these babies. I actually resisted learning how to use a computer until my last quarter in college (Spring 1992). I took a fiction writing class that semester and just could not endure the multiple drafts on my Brother typewriter.

6. My Brother typewriter. Man, I loved this typewriter. I wish I still had it. It was an electric typewriter, and I got it one year from my parents for Christmas. Typing was the best class I took in high school. I use it daily. I used my typewriter all the time as well. I typed every paper in college as an undergrad on that Brother typewriter, and any time I ran out of correction tape, I would cry. Thank goodness I typed well and had few errors. I even used it to type worksheets for my students my first year teaching.

7. Chalk boards--Can I just say that I don't really miss these? Whenever my fingernails would hit the board as I erased something quickly, my face and body would contort and I would begin my chicken dance. The squeal of nails on a chalkboard is worse than water boarding in my opinion. Other interesting accessories that came with the chalkboard were long pieces of wood covered with athletic socks to use as erasers. For some reason, these long erasers were preferable to the short black ones I used to clean by beating them against the telephone pole for my teacher in elementary school. I suppose in another ten years I'll be able to add dry erase boards to this part of my list, but not quite yet.

8. Small tape recorders that have the buttons at the bottom you use to play/record/fast forward/rewind/pause--I actually had three of these in my closet that I donated to the school library this year. They were great when students had to record something for an oral history project, for instance, but they were bulky and took up too much room in my supply cabinet. Now I'm writing a grant for podcast recorders. If the grant goes through, we'll be able to record small group discussions and use the recorders for collaborative or individual student projects which we can then post to the school website.

When looking back over my list, I realize that all of these changes have occurred because in some ways, educators have decided to work smarter and not harder (one of my mottoes). Instead of resisting the computer age, I joined the 21st century and am especially interested in how I can help my students use these new tools that are displacing the old methods of communication in and out of school. Unfortunately, educators are too often Luddites who are either too scared or too set in their ways to change. Some technology tools I foresee working their ways into schools include social networking sites (Nings, Facebook, Twitter) in some form. The person who can figure out how to create a social network that schools will approve could earn millions. Many schools block these sites for student safety reasons, but students are still using them at home. The resistance will be there until the Digital Generation currently students in schools becomes the generation running the schools. By then, we'll be focusing on applications no one has invented yet, and today's arguments surrounding the use of technology in schools will be forgotten.

Oops! It's Father's Day

The freewriting prompt this morning at BWP was personalized for me: "Oops!"

Father's Day was a day to remember at the Rucker house this year. Earlier in June during the week of Vacation Bible School, my youngest daughter accepted Christ as her personal Savior and made a profession of faith at the final VBS worship service. The next couple of weeks, she asked questions about details concerning the next step in the process.

"Hey Momma," she called one afternoon from the backseat of the car, "When can I walk down the aisle to join the church?" While driving, I questioned her about what joining the church meant. She was huffy with me. "I don't want to talk any more about it." We went about our business with no more talk about aisle-walking that day.

The next day, Rebecca was concerned about what she was going to say to our pastor when she walked down the aisle. "What do I say to Brother Wayne? How will I know he knows what I want to do?" she asked.

"Honey, I know that you have asked Jesus to live in your heart. You don't have to worry about the words. You will be fine! You'll know when it's time to walk down the aisle to join the church, and Brother Wayne will know just what to say to help you," I reassured her.

She is so my child. Worried about all the little details. She wasn't worried about the state of her heart; she just didn't want to say or do anything wrong. I just continued to reassure her. Two services came and went, but on Father's Day, she walked to the front of the church and talked with Brother Wayne.

What a perfect Father's Day for my husband. His youngest daughter publically makes a profession of faith and joins our church, and it is his special day as a Father.

Then, oops! We were late leaving church that day after standing up front to receive many well-wishes from those not hustling to beat the crowd at the local restaurants for a Father's Day lunch. For those unfamiliar with my church, it helps to know that we are in the middle of a building campaign all around our church, making arriving and leaving the building difficult.

I walked out the backdoor to cross the rear parking lot. We now park across the street from the church because construction has removed a large part of the rear parking area, leaving few spaces. We want to save those spaces for people unable to get around as easily as we can. On my way out the building that morning, I walked as I normally do under the pick-up shelter and out onto the asphalt of the parking lot.

Without warning, I was falling to the ground, a small scream escaping from my mouth. Keith was ahead of me and did not see what was happening until it was too late. Before I fell, my left ankle rolled to the left, my wedge shoe going out from under me. I had stepped on a relatively large piece of gravel that was loose in the parking lot. Several men quickly surrounded me to check to see if I was injured. I told them not to pull me up too quickly because my ankle had popped. Instead they got me up and between the three of them loaded me onto the rear seat of a golf cart used for shuttling people from one parking lot to another.

On the ride to the car, I tried to assess the damage. There were no visible marks on my foot, but I could see my foot beginning to swell on the outer edge. Keith took me to the local emergency room, overlooking my weak protest that it was just a sprain. The ER staff hustled me into the back as soon as I arrived, rolled in a portable x-ray machine, and within 30 minutes, I saw my two fractures on screen as the physicians assistant in the ER explained to me what had happened and what I would now need to do.

Two hours later, I had crutches, a filled vicodin prescription, and ice packs for my foot. Neither Rebecca, Keith, nor I will forget this Father's Day.

Bow to the breakfast gods

Bow to the breakfast gods
Kellogg and Quaker;
Cold and hot cereal,

fiber I favor.

Apple Jacks, Mini-Wheats,
Fruit Loops and Corn Flakes,
Eggo and Raisin Bran,
On the run meals, can't wait.

Old Fashioned Quaker Oats,
Oat Bran, Granola,
Take Heart and Weight Control--
This food's good for ya!

Eating my three square meals
is always a challenge.
With coffee, cereal,
Always I'll manage.

*photo by Kristin Brennan

BWP Freewriting 06-24-09

The Lessons of a Former Yearbook Advisor

When I was a yearbook advisor several years ago, I realized that there are a few things that you don't mess up--senior ads and senior superlatives.

At my school, students voted on senior favorites, which were not the same as senior superlatives. Senior favorites were students who were "the most likely..." and one male and female were chosen by their peers for each category. Senior superlatives were students who submitted an application of sorts listing all of their extracurricular activities who were also vetted against their discipline record. If they had participated in a certain number of clubs, activities, honor societies, during their high school years and stayed out of in school suspension (ISS), then they were eligible to be a senior superlative. This distinction was created to recognize those students who may not be at the top of the class but who had still contributed to the positive culture of the school.

The deadline wasn't arbitrary; the yearbook staff had to plan for pictures, gather a committee of teachers to make final decisions, and still meet the yearbook page deadline. Inevitably, I would have parents approach me after the deadline wanting to submit their students' forms. This was not a fight I chose to fight, and all forms were accepted.

My first year as advisor, I made the mistakes of not triple checking a list to make sure no student was accidentally left off and confusing senior superlatives for senior favorites. According to the previous advisor, senior superlatives could not have discipline records. Misunderstanding the distinction between senior favorites and superlatives, I had the principal go through the list of seniors and remove any who had discipline infractions resulting in ISS. The list came back to me much shorter. This was the list I used to allow students to vote on their senior favorites, not realizing that I had mistaken one recognition for the other. The morning of the vote, something was niggling me in the back of my mind. I finally went to the previous advisor to question her about the process. When I repeated what I had done, she realized that I had sent the list of seniors to be vetted for the wrong award. All seniors on track to graduate should have been listed on the voting ballot. By this time, seniors had voted. I immediately announced to the school that I had made a mistake on the ballot and that we would have to re-vote the following week during homeroom.

Unfortunately, one of Momma's precious dumplings went home and reported that his name was left off the ballot for senior favorites. That night, I got a phone call around 10 p.m. from Momma. I listened with the phone several inches away from my head. I apologized. I accepted responsibility for the fiasco. I explained why I made the mistake and that I had already trashed the original ballots and was preparing new ones for homeroom the following week. I apologized again to no avail. I was told that the student, his brother, sisters, mother, and father were all traumatized because Precious Dumpling's name was left off the ballot. I doubted this admission as I had taught Precious Dumpling the previous year, and getting him excited about anything would have been a miracle.

The coup de grace was when she told me that everyone in the small town where I taught hated me tonight, at that very moment. Having heard all I wanted to hear, I said, "Well, it's a good thing I don't live there and don't have to worry about it." Then I slammed the phone down. The forward thinking gal that I am, I immediately called my principal, though it was ten p.m., and informed him of the conversation.

He poo-pooed my concern until the next morning when he received a phone call from the superintendent because the mother had already called the board office that morning complaining about my mistake. Fortunately, I had owned up to the error immediately, made arrangements to rectify the mistake, and kept my principal apprised of every detail.

Did I learn any lessons from my stint as high school yearbook advisor? Yes. I learned that I worked with high school students, and I often reminded people of that when they complained about something in the yearbook. I also learned that I could quickly shut someone up by offering to step down as advisor so the complainer could take over as yearbook advisor the following year. It helped that I really meant what I said. I also learned that Precious Dumpling is always going to be precious to his Momma, no matter what he does, what he says, or how he looks. So don't forget to include his picture in the senior section, don't misspell his name in the book, and heaven forbid leaving his name off the list.

The Reality of Grits

When cold, grits won't mix
my pieces of cheese
into a smooth, creamy creation.

Mom's grits are butter-only.
A slice of Kraft is my only concession.

With calm deliberation, I tear
thin, cool strips which,
when torn again, become orange confetti
for the top of my grits.

With a spoon, I whirl the confetti
into the heart of my grits,
waiting for the white to adopt
a creamy, orange hue.

If I tarry too long before
coming to the table, my
punishment is assured.

Instead of a warm, creamy
orange creation, I just
get grits with cheese clots.

The reality is,
grits, when cold, don't mix.

Freewriting at BWP for 06/23/09