I found the most amazing note today.

I was in the library and looked through a random drawer, and I found a note. It read:

Hell yeah. What kind do you do?
ghetto a lil like BS u?
All kinds. Tango, salsa, break, etc.
awsum can u do da heel toe teach me
Y? Usually kids think that a tomboy shouldn't be doing that type of dancing!
yea wat the hell

Imagine a 6th grader asking another 6th grader to teach her the heel toe. As the students love to quote me in saying, Amazing.

I ate quail last night.

Unrelated to the title, I had a student observer today. He's actually a friend of mine from UIC. He's clearly Desi, and I'm clearly not. He is walking around the class, helping students with their group work, even though I'm English and he's History. One student yells out the question:

"Is he your brother?"

I just started laughing. My students are so darn cute. I will miss them. It is really hard to leave the students at the end of the year. You spend so much time with them that they begin to feel like your children. They act like they hate me, but then they get upset when I mention not being there next year.

"You can't go. Who's going to teach us? We don't want Ms. ***** back."

I'll miss the kid in 1st grade who clings to my leg and the 2nd grader who looks like I did when I was his age, completely adorable ;).

I'm sure there will be a water works from my side come June.

Ticking...

I'm not really enjoying language arts. Grammar rules do not excite me so much.

The past few days we've been moving to studying the writing of short stories. 6th grade had "They're Made out of Meat," 7th grade had "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge," and 8th grade had "The Cask of Amontillado." All I got from the students was "I don't understand this" and "This story is dumb." Then, once I explained it, they thought it was pretty cool.

Next we'll begin writing stories. This should be fun. The imagination of these kids is so limited. They get bored at every moment. Even when we took a field trip to the zoo, some kids were playing PSP rather than looking at everything. They had to tear me away from the gorilla cage; I was having so much fun.

I'm still counting the days until blast off. Preparations are underway.

Dua (supplication) of 'Omar ( ra)

اَللَّهُمَّ اجْعَلْنِيْ صَبُوْرًا

وَّ اجْعَلْنِيْ شَكُوْرًا

وَّ اجْعَلْنِيْ فِيْ عَيْنِيْ صَغِيْرًا

وَّ فِيْ أَعْيُنِ النَّاسِ كَبِيْرًا

Oh Allah, make me patient

and make me thankful

and make me in my eyes small

and in the eyes of mankind great.

Counting the days...

SubhanAllah

I was just looking at this blog, and I noticed the date of the last entry. I haven't updated in over a month. How did the time fly by so quickly that I didn't even realize it? I've been busy with moving, and working, and working, and working. What else? Nasty ice storm, car full of stuff, 60% humidity in my apartment, and we're already halfway through 2nd quarter. This year is flying by, but the days tick by slowly until they're gone. I don't even have time for a regular post, just this little rant. And a poem that captures some of my frustrations when teaching poetry.

Introduction To Poetry

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

-Billy Collins

When I came to the school I'm currently at, I was replacing a former teacher they call Mr. B. He taught P.E. class and some other subjects, and I don't think the kids especially liked him, except his lack of structure and discipline.

They ask me, "Are you just going to let us play basketball like Mr. B did?" or they say, "Mr. B never made us run." and so forth.


Anyway, today we were walking to the field to play kickball with the 2nd graders. I was carrying one of the new soft kickballs that the school purchased with our Go-Girls-Go grant money. I thought this ball would work much better than the soccer ball or the volleyball we had been using. I told the students to walk behind me, and they kept yelling about all sorts of things. Above the steady white noise that is the 2nd graders I heard:

"Mr. K, you have way more balls than Mr. B ever had."

I told the kid, "Thank you, but please don't ever say that again."