Aw Shucks

Not to toot my own horn, but Alonzo told me today that I'm his second favorite teacher.  So yeah.  I'm kind of a big deal.

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I'm fairly certain this pronouncement was precipitated by today's mini field trip.  We went out to the Metro station down the block to survey people for a project.  Basically we encouraged children to talk to strangers.  They got to hold clipboards and ask questions.  They got to be outside in the sun on a mission.  They got to have busy grown-ups (including one who Michael referred to as "a fancy businessman") give them their full attention.

It was almost as awesome to the third graders as the time I brought in some foam clocks for practicing telling time.  The dollar aisle at Target had yielded an excellent deal, so I bought a few and brought them into class the next day.  As I took one out of the package, Donivan watched in amazement and declared, "You're the best teacher ever!" I handed it to him to use on an assignment and his gaze never once left the clock's googly eyes.  I'd like to imagine that this designation as "Best Teacher Ever" was coming after Donivan's deep reflection on the whole of his experience in the third grade and about how much he'd learned.  But no.  If you, too, have $3, you may just well become the Best Teacher Ever also.

Today, though, was at least not so much of a "Buy me stuff and I will think you're awesome" moment.
We had returned to school from the survey-giving and were working on something else, when Alonzo came up to me.  I'll assume that just prior to that he had been engaged in a deep reflection on the whole of his experience in the third grade (which just happened to include today's outing) and about how much he's learned.  He delivered the compliment with a huge smile and waited for me to soak it in and get the warm fuzzies.

Now, in the world of adults, "second favorite" means "You're good, but you're not the best," which really just boils down to, "You're not the best."  Gee, thanks for rubbing it in.

But for eight year olds, the standings are what the standings are, with no hidden implications.  Second favorite in a carefully ranked order is a pretty awesome position to hold, and worth sharing with the honoree.  "She will feel enormously complimented!" Alonzo must have thought.

And so I accepted Alonzo's pronouncement as a genuine appreciation and thanked him.

It did beg the question, though, "Who is your number one favorite?"  "My kindergarten teacher!" he replied.  I mean, who can beat that, really?  I'm quite content to be Alonzo's second favorite.

Shhh!

There are plenty of times in a school day when I encourage lots of talking--about different kids' approaches to solve a math problem, planning out how to do a collaborative art project, or about the news article we just read. When it's time to rein in the noise, though, I reach into my bag of noise level tricks and pull one out: "If you can hear me clap three times;" our school quiet signal; a clap pattern to repeat; or a good old fashioned "Shhh!"

I do a lot of shushing every day. The playground noise level that's currently happening might need to be turned down to the currently required lunch noise level or a lunch noise level might need to become a quiet voice. Sometimes even a quiet voice, though, is over the noise limit and must be shushed down to a no talking level. Fart noises get shushed. Random comments shouted out get shushed. When the drama teacher explains, "This activity will require self-control," and Christopher blurts out, "I have that!"--yes, more shushing.

Nowhere do I do more shushing, though, than on a field trip. Towards the end of a field trip, I often slip into a subconscious zone of quieting where I just utter a long, continuous shhhhhh to dampen not only the noise level but the general body movement level. This extended shhh has been known to last for up to 12 minutes and also, on occasion, to occur while I sleep, dreaming of a field trip.

Any given field trip from art museum to anything involving a bus has quite a heightened number of noise level reminders, but today we went to the ultimate shush-fest known as the U.S. Capitol. The building is beautiful and stately. "This building is important!" the kids declared. Yes--so important, in fact, that they have gold trash cans. Or at least gold-colored trash cans that Thomas and Kyron were pretty sure were the real deal. And if gold trash cans don't dictate a certain noise level, I don't know what does.

Once the tour guide started talking in the rotunda, I was in the zone, trying to break my 12-minute record. At the end of the tour, we got to visit the place where all the legislative magic happens--the House floor! We entered the House gallery to watch the Congress in action below. And by "action" I mean seven House clerks standing around chatting with each other. Nevertheless, this was the REAL, actual-laws-get-passed-here, shown-on-the-news-all-the-time House of Representatives and it was time to break out the deadly combination of shush + extreme glare, meant to convey, "I say 'no talking' a lot during the day, children, but you must believe me that there is REALLY no talking in CONGRESS."

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One Less Spider

Taking a trip into the depths of actual nature with a class of city kids is always an adventure. Today we went on the annual trip to Great Falls National Park for a hike and some information about animals from Ranger Mike. There were picnic tables for lunch, restrooms with running water, and a flat path to walk on, so clearly I am using the terms, "actual nature" and "hike" loosely. Nonetheless, it was much more nature than we see in our day-to-day concrete-filled, city lives.
  City kids marvel at every aspect of nature. One year, even on the drive to the park entrance, Terrance stared in awe out the bus window at the huge trees that lined the road. "Is that real?" he asked. Yes, Terrance. They are real trees, and it is a real forest, and it is not plastic. Today as we made the same drive to the park, Zoe spotted a house along the way. "There's a house!" she exclaimed, completely surprised that people would actually think of living way out here in all this nature. A house in the woods--what will they think of next?
  As we pulled into the park, Jaylen informed me that she had seen a "wild deer" before. "In the zoo." We forged ahead through the real trees, and while we didn't see any non-zoo deer, we did get to pet a real snake and touch a real fox pelt. We also happened upon a real daddy long legs, which drew a crowd of at least ten kids, oohing and ahhing as the spider made its way along a boulder.
  When the spider met an unfortunate, shoe-related fate, Bryson lamented the loss of this small piece of nature. "Man," he said. "Now there's like one million spiders. Before, there was one million and one."