I have no idea what to do with the kids whose independent reading level is 1.5 -- 2.5, read each book three times, write notes on post-its, discuss the book with me, have portions of the A.R. quiz read to them, and still get 1 out of 5. No idea. There are no strategies left. The cupboard is bare.
The Smarty Pants awards: when kids demonstrate mastery of skill clusters they write their names on various shorts -- I've got camo, board, and lime-golf -- and we hang them from a clothes line by the windows. The only thing better than seeing those things covered in Sharpie-written names is correctly predicting, everytime, which kid will write his name directly over the crotch. Everytime.
Someone at the Arizona Department of Ed read portions of this blog, and on that basis, wants to fly me to some resort near Phoenix to speak to educators on the topic of my choosing. I hereby formally welcome all similar invitations.
I burned a CD with two tracks: 1) The Imperial March from Star Wars, and 2) the London Something Choir singing the Hallelujah Chorus. As we work on killing Evil Run-Ons, I ask for the thumbs-up, thumbs-down for each sentence and then blast one of the two tracks. I've done this maybe 482 times in the last week and I still haven't gotten tired of it.
Most teachers I know reference their schools as school or work. As in, "I'll be at work until 6:30 most days." Rarely will they include the proper noun identification of their school. KIPP teachers, however, are huge fans of the proper noun. As in, "I'll be at KIPP until 5:00 most days." It's pretty annoying.
I've never meet a successful educator who thinks merit pay is a bad idea.
Cafe patrons in the Mission on Halloween almost universally think it's cute when a bunch of 7-year-olds barge into the place, tear-ass to the front counter, grab fistfulls of candy, and tear-ass back outta the place, slamming various doors and making noise. Almost no one thinks it's funny when a bunch of 7th-graders do it. Except maybe me, and maybe only because I'm trying to erect ideological distance between myself and those around me. Or maybe I'm just glad they're not out smoking the icky and getting kicked off my basketball team.
My point guard, on why her family's immigration was a good thing: "Because back there, at this age, I'd have to be out selling things."
It's still unclear whether the greater mid-week paper grading lubricant is coffee or cheap beer. I'm afraid that if I haven't been able to come to a clear decision at this point in my career, such a realization may never come.