I waited on an old poker buddy the other night. The operative word here is "old." Buck's family had made reservations (which we don't really take) for 20. We like the heads up, and were ready for their arrival. I didn't know it was his family who was the nonreservation until they started filtering in, waiting in the lobby for the rest of the gang to show. The thing about the lobby is that it is the pass-through from the dining room to the bar where we get our drinks. You can't help but notice who is awaiting seating when you scamper through to throw your drink ticket at the bartender.
Well, I noticed Buck's wife first. She is a stunning long-haired gray beauty who has plump cheeks and those teacher glasses I'm sure she wore every single day that she lovingly taught her kindergarteners. She hasn't changed in all of the years I've known her. As it turns out, her mind is as sharp as it ever was too. Wow. Buck, on the other hand, is showing signs of wear and tear. He looks the proper old grandfather, his hair white now instead of the salt and pepper I remember. First glance told me his mind isn't all there. The vacant look that envelops the aged was on his face. I couldn't bear to say hello to them for fear that he wouldn't remember me. ME! The one woman his poker-hosting buddy let play cards with the old fogeys. You'd have to know Charlie to understand the great feat I pulled off being not only allowed, but invited to play poker with the big boys. But that's a whole 'nother story.
Buck was the life of the party wherever he went, so it seemed appropos for his family to be gathering on a Tuesday night to honor the patriarch of the lively family. After they were seated, and I learned they'd actually be my table to share with another server, I had to 'buck up' as it were, and say hello to him. I was delighted that he knew who I was after a little reminding from his wife. By God, he stood up and leaned over the table to shake my hand, even. It did my heart worlds of good to see some glimmer of the man who was so convivial back in the day.... He was well-known for his good humor, playful teasing, and genuine heart. I hope that intermittent Alzheimers leaves the man alone long enough for him to die peacefully of something else. He's far too social to be able to tolerate any other projection in my mind.
What seeing Buck and his family did for me was start a reel from years past of my own life and the lives of his children. How melancholy, funny, startling it is to realize how many events we have all passed through living in this small town that I call home again after six years away.
Seeing Susie again was a trip. The only daughter, and the youngest, you can imagine she's quite a Daddy's girl. She is also hilariously funny. I used to ride to school with her when we both commuted to a nearby college. Fridays our schedules meshed so we could save on gas. I used to drive out to her house and she would drive. (The only saving going on was for me. She was married and wealthy, but enjoyed the company and the opinion when she'd stop to buy a few hundred dollars worth of clothes on the way home). Well, one time we got into quite a pickle. I had a car that didn't exactly like to start every single time. That being the case, I would make sure I was parked so that if that ever happened at her house, I could glide down her steep driveway and pop the clutch. That ol' car fired up everytime when I got it gliding and popped the clutch. It was a brilliant idea too, me parking so as not to disrupt her afternoon should that car not start!
The day "it" happened was a day I backed just a little too far to the back of her driveway. The house and garage were on a hill. The driveway sloped down....and so did the backyard. I *thought* if we just pushed a little on the Vega GT, we could get it rolling forward, I could jump in and hit the clutch and wave goodbye on my way out. It could've worked, I swear. I still blame that whole incident on her wimpiness. When I yelled, "Three!" and pushed with all of my might from my position behind the driver's door, I really thought it would be seconds till I was happily tooling on home. But she wasn't strong. When the car gained speed on its backward roll through her backyard, I had two choices: 1) attempt a jump into the car or 2) leap away from the car. Those split second choices just suck. All I could see was me falling under the car and getting run over. I jumped away and the car veered to the only tree in the yard.
It was a very difficult thing to explain to the insurance company.
We laughed about that disaster for years after it happened. Still, Susie had trouble recalling how she knew me at her father's dinner. Those memories, like everything that doesn't get used, get rusty. Only in recalling my ex-husband could she properly place me. Heh. "No, no...Not with him anymore, but we are good friends." "No kids, no. You? Oh! Nice to meet you Ashley, Jason."
There's Bob who used to work on my junky cars. My ex's parents were in an accident right by his house. My mother-in-law didn't survive it, but sends shooting stars over the highway there for me to see when I'm driving. Bob lost one of his sons in a similar accident, but was blessed to have one son who lived through it. I noticed he had a limp, and when he ordered his meal, he was slow in responding, but very definitely smart and articulate. Thank God for survivors.
Tom is adopted and has never forgotten that he is, feeling much maligned and left out. Even he showed up for what could be a father's last cognizant birthday party. He worked sporadically as a jack of all trades with my ex too. His son, the quintessential troublemaker in the trailer park where I lived on my own for awhile was also present to honor his grandfather.
Mark is a character from the past too. His daughter worked at this restaurant when I came back into town. He ocassionally went with us when we went to shoot dice with the Mexicans some nights. His ex-wife worked at the first restaurant I ever worked at (the very place I met my ex-husband), with her best friend who was my ex's ex. Oh yeah. Peyton Place. General Hospital. Soap. Desperate Housewives.
Their lives, as mine, have moved on. We are stunned by our growth, but mostly by our age. We march forward bravely, though we often don't feel like the audacious young adults we once were. For now, for us, it has to be good enough that we have the blessings of parents who still remember who we are and family who love us even when we are broken or wrong. I hope this family has that parental love from a man who deserves to remember them. Happy Birthday, John.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Friday, September 22, 2006
Ode to a Schoolteacher
Well, gosh. Some days you just get bowled over by people's generosity. Yesterday was one of those days--a day to make you smile, a day to make you feel good about something you haven't generally felt good about in a long while. Feeling good is a good thing, yes?
When flowers are delivered to you while others watch you receive them, it is a double delight. My teacher sent flowers to thank me for taking good care of his kids while he was healing from his surgery. I did not expect that. Of course, doing the unexpected makes the giver double delighted to do the good deed. It was a double-double delight Thursday.
I finished my short, long-term substitute teaching assignment yesterday. To say that I am relieved to be done with it would be grossly under-exaggerating how I feel. I feel free and unencumbered once again. The grind of the classroom stifles me, makes me forget all those creative and fun ideas I had for making literature and writing fun for high schoolers. I truly wish I could find the perspective and stamina required to face a classroom of unwilling participants five days a week for 9+ months. Sadly, I just can't. This latest assignment has taxed my self-worth more than I care to admit. I'm diligent, sure, but I don't have the spark most days to reach the majority. And settling for reaching the minority just doesn't cut it for me.
The changing of the guard (or in this case, the bestowing of the lanyard with keys) was a joyful ocassion for both participants. He, ecstactic and oddly nervous about the first day coming three weeks into the school year, and I, happily placing said lanyard over his head like a gold Olympic medal that was hard-fought and earned, danced through the exchange blissfully. We eased into the school entrance only after the crowd and busses were gone. We discussed the usual banalities that accompany recordkeeping and procedures, mid-project information (despite my fervent hope to leave things clean and fresh for his new start), and the early school year news.
One can never be too prepared for what might come flying at him in the course of a first day back when everyone else has had a head start. Leaving is easy. You simply forget every unflattering thing that was said to you and keep your eye on the horizon. But the Creative Writing teacher who stands in the place where I gave my best effort to get the students motivated needs to find that Zen place that will see him through the first moments of his return. It was my self-sworn duty to warn him of the pitfalls.
Having completed the chores of the afternoon, he offered dinner--his treat. I objected. He insisted. Finally, we resolved to try the not-so-new place with the reputation for outstanding food and wonderful ambience. He would pay the waitress, I would tip her. The diner down the street would have been fine with me, but he wanted it to be a reward for my jumping through the hoops which accompany the start of the year. There's always the computer glitches (there still are, no free pass there), the drop/add students who shuffle through and leave again, negotiation of putting your room back the way it was before they removed every last item from it, and implementation of all the new and improved dress code regulations, hall pass rules, seating charts, etc, etc, etc. It's truly a pain in the ass to get things organized again. He knows this is a job better suited to my abilities, so he's grateful. But I feel like the teaching is better suited to his abilities, so it's a good time to pass the baton to the anchor of this relay.
Dinner was excellent, conversation was lively and varied. For the most part, we kept school topics at bay, enjoying other topics instead. It was a treat, for sure. The likenesses of our nonconformist behaviors made us giggle as we traipsed through these last few weeks, but the hugely different approaches to our classroom routines brought each of us face to face with our own demons, too. I envy his ability to reach so many students in a way that looks effortless to me. He wishes the organization of the necessary agendas of the school environment was easier to implement. But his gift is in reaching kids who would otherwise slip through unnoticed. How he dances the allowable freedoms of thought without losing the school manners with the kids is beyond my ability. It is this technique which has made my own degree feel so obsolete. I had some low days trying to strike this balance.
The man whose shoes I did not so successfully fill took it upon himself to express gratitude for a job done "okay" while he was out. And he did it in a way that made me feel better than okay about the work I've put into it. In a moment of deriding himself, he told me he was glad he didn't get what he deserved. I laughed, but if the truth were to come out, his expression of thanks for my very average work in his classroom makes me grateful that I don't get what I deserve either.
When flowers are delivered to you while others watch you receive them, it is a double delight. My teacher sent flowers to thank me for taking good care of his kids while he was healing from his surgery. I did not expect that. Of course, doing the unexpected makes the giver double delighted to do the good deed. It was a double-double delight Thursday.
I finished my short, long-term substitute teaching assignment yesterday. To say that I am relieved to be done with it would be grossly under-exaggerating how I feel. I feel free and unencumbered once again. The grind of the classroom stifles me, makes me forget all those creative and fun ideas I had for making literature and writing fun for high schoolers. I truly wish I could find the perspective and stamina required to face a classroom of unwilling participants five days a week for 9+ months. Sadly, I just can't. This latest assignment has taxed my self-worth more than I care to admit. I'm diligent, sure, but I don't have the spark most days to reach the majority. And settling for reaching the minority just doesn't cut it for me.
The changing of the guard (or in this case, the bestowing of the lanyard with keys) was a joyful ocassion for both participants. He, ecstactic and oddly nervous about the first day coming three weeks into the school year, and I, happily placing said lanyard over his head like a gold Olympic medal that was hard-fought and earned, danced through the exchange blissfully. We eased into the school entrance only after the crowd and busses were gone. We discussed the usual banalities that accompany recordkeeping and procedures, mid-project information (despite my fervent hope to leave things clean and fresh for his new start), and the early school year news.
One can never be too prepared for what might come flying at him in the course of a first day back when everyone else has had a head start. Leaving is easy. You simply forget every unflattering thing that was said to you and keep your eye on the horizon. But the Creative Writing teacher who stands in the place where I gave my best effort to get the students motivated needs to find that Zen place that will see him through the first moments of his return. It was my self-sworn duty to warn him of the pitfalls.
Having completed the chores of the afternoon, he offered dinner--his treat. I objected. He insisted. Finally, we resolved to try the not-so-new place with the reputation for outstanding food and wonderful ambience. He would pay the waitress, I would tip her. The diner down the street would have been fine with me, but he wanted it to be a reward for my jumping through the hoops which accompany the start of the year. There's always the computer glitches (there still are, no free pass there), the drop/add students who shuffle through and leave again, negotiation of putting your room back the way it was before they removed every last item from it, and implementation of all the new and improved dress code regulations, hall pass rules, seating charts, etc, etc, etc. It's truly a pain in the ass to get things organized again. He knows this is a job better suited to my abilities, so he's grateful. But I feel like the teaching is better suited to his abilities, so it's a good time to pass the baton to the anchor of this relay.
Dinner was excellent, conversation was lively and varied. For the most part, we kept school topics at bay, enjoying other topics instead. It was a treat, for sure. The likenesses of our nonconformist behaviors made us giggle as we traipsed through these last few weeks, but the hugely different approaches to our classroom routines brought each of us face to face with our own demons, too. I envy his ability to reach so many students in a way that looks effortless to me. He wishes the organization of the necessary agendas of the school environment was easier to implement. But his gift is in reaching kids who would otherwise slip through unnoticed. How he dances the allowable freedoms of thought without losing the school manners with the kids is beyond my ability. It is this technique which has made my own degree feel so obsolete. I had some low days trying to strike this balance.
The man whose shoes I did not so successfully fill took it upon himself to express gratitude for a job done "okay" while he was out. And he did it in a way that made me feel better than okay about the work I've put into it. In a moment of deriding himself, he told me he was glad he didn't get what he deserved. I laughed, but if the truth were to come out, his expression of thanks for my very average work in his classroom makes me grateful that I don't get what I deserve either.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
It Was Fun!
After a stressful week of trying to be proper in school, it actually felt good to go in and wait tables. I think it helps that the super busy time of the year is over. It was a steady night that wasn't too taxing, yet still profitable. As a server, you just can't ask for more. And I've got almost a dozen years in at this restaurant, so the routine is one I could do in my sleep. (And trust me, I have done it in my sleep on many nights)!
I had a section that is almost like having your own private room, as it is a narrow alcove-ish section that "L"'s off of the main dining room. The galley style layout lends itself to diners interacting with one another. Tonight was no exception.
At the peak of dining, a table of seven men were seated in my section. They were happy, having golfed and imbibed their day away. They were out-of-towners who wanted to know what was good, what my name was, and could they get some appetizers, and yes they wanted more cocktails! It's always a good sign when your table wants to know your name--it's like Pavlov's bell to a server because they will almost surely be 20 % tippers. But I digress.
They were a jovial lot ordering three rounds of cocktails during the course of their stay at Table #28. Of course it was one check. (The second bell to a server's ears, as it means they are not worried about paying more for Joe's dinner than their own. "Pool it! We'll figure it out." Inward server sigh--outward server smile). No dessert was needed as these weekend warriors had more cocktails to consume.
But a funny, funny thing happened at the end of their meal. When I arrived at the table to clear away the empty plates, two men were MIA. It didn't take long for the remaining men to point my attention to the lake where one of the missing-in-action was taking up the dare to literally go jump in the lake. Seems they'd promised to buy his dinner if he had the balls to swim out to the raft, where the slide stood forlornly after a summer full of attention, and actually slide down it. There were hoots when he submersed himself fully in the water, then cackles of pride as he swam to the raft. The other tables in my section couldn't help but take note of the drama playing out the picture windows that are the wall of the dining room. When the man heaved his body to the raft and began climbing the ladder every eye in the dining room near the window was on him. Busgirls came out from the kitchen to see what the commotion coming from the wing could be, waitresses stopped to watch just for a moment, fellow diners laughed with the warm and dry golfers who had proposed this silly stunt.
The free dinner-getter slid down once, but then climbed back up and positioned himself face first to make another splash. The diners in the wing and I found out that the bet included a belly flop. You had to hand it to the guy; he knew how to work a crowd. The cheering hit an all-time high when his belly flopped satisfyingly onto the water. This was turning into an Olympic-sized event!
The table next door to the rowdy betters was thoroughly enjoying the entertainment. One of the 60-ish women even yelled over to the guffawing friends that, hell, even she would go slide for a free dinner. She backed down only slightly when they assured her that they would indeed buy her dinner if she did so. The quiet table in the corner tolerated the ruckus and I did my best to soothe their shattered evening. All in all the man's expedition into the chilly evening air was a hit.
Belly flopper arrived back to the table just in time to receive the rest of the joke. His warm jacket was safely tucked into the kitchen, and I arrived to give him the bill, quoting exactly as they told me to say, "I'm supposed to give this to you, I guess." Loud laughter followed by those who had put him up to the task. One of them got it on his phone camcorder while another gave a play by play to a friend or significant other who was missing a legendary tale in the making. Oh, you know these guys will be giving this guy props for the rest of their days! I'm glad I could help them make a memory.
I gave him back his coat just before they exited the dining room. My tables laughed about the joy the men had given them through the rest of their meals. I had fun and was tipped well (ummm, 20% to be exact). And there must have been some karma around that Table #28 because the eight girls who sat there after the seven guys were just as mischevious. A man at the table next to theirs bought one girl's dinner, though I wasn't around to know why. (Some things are better left unknown, don't you think?) They were pleasant and funny, wanted to know my name, and oddly enough they were loud like the last diners to sit there. The woman who had offered to go down the slide for a free meal laughed when I brought their check and asked, "Is it getting loud again?" She agreed and admitted that they needed to leave since it was about all they could take to get through the last bunch.
Some nights are just more fun than others. Tonight was one of those stress-free work nights that we wish happened all the time in the serving world. Given the amount of stress and bad news I've had this week, I will take this night as a rare gift.
I had a section that is almost like having your own private room, as it is a narrow alcove-ish section that "L"'s off of the main dining room. The galley style layout lends itself to diners interacting with one another. Tonight was no exception.
At the peak of dining, a table of seven men were seated in my section. They were happy, having golfed and imbibed their day away. They were out-of-towners who wanted to know what was good, what my name was, and could they get some appetizers, and yes they wanted more cocktails! It's always a good sign when your table wants to know your name--it's like Pavlov's bell to a server because they will almost surely be 20 % tippers. But I digress.
They were a jovial lot ordering three rounds of cocktails during the course of their stay at Table #28. Of course it was one check. (The second bell to a server's ears, as it means they are not worried about paying more for Joe's dinner than their own. "Pool it! We'll figure it out." Inward server sigh--outward server smile). No dessert was needed as these weekend warriors had more cocktails to consume.
But a funny, funny thing happened at the end of their meal. When I arrived at the table to clear away the empty plates, two men were MIA. It didn't take long for the remaining men to point my attention to the lake where one of the missing-in-action was taking up the dare to literally go jump in the lake. Seems they'd promised to buy his dinner if he had the balls to swim out to the raft, where the slide stood forlornly after a summer full of attention, and actually slide down it. There were hoots when he submersed himself fully in the water, then cackles of pride as he swam to the raft. The other tables in my section couldn't help but take note of the drama playing out the picture windows that are the wall of the dining room. When the man heaved his body to the raft and began climbing the ladder every eye in the dining room near the window was on him. Busgirls came out from the kitchen to see what the commotion coming from the wing could be, waitresses stopped to watch just for a moment, fellow diners laughed with the warm and dry golfers who had proposed this silly stunt.
The free dinner-getter slid down once, but then climbed back up and positioned himself face first to make another splash. The diners in the wing and I found out that the bet included a belly flop. You had to hand it to the guy; he knew how to work a crowd. The cheering hit an all-time high when his belly flopped satisfyingly onto the water. This was turning into an Olympic-sized event!
The table next door to the rowdy betters was thoroughly enjoying the entertainment. One of the 60-ish women even yelled over to the guffawing friends that, hell, even she would go slide for a free dinner. She backed down only slightly when they assured her that they would indeed buy her dinner if she did so. The quiet table in the corner tolerated the ruckus and I did my best to soothe their shattered evening. All in all the man's expedition into the chilly evening air was a hit.
Belly flopper arrived back to the table just in time to receive the rest of the joke. His warm jacket was safely tucked into the kitchen, and I arrived to give him the bill, quoting exactly as they told me to say, "I'm supposed to give this to you, I guess." Loud laughter followed by those who had put him up to the task. One of them got it on his phone camcorder while another gave a play by play to a friend or significant other who was missing a legendary tale in the making. Oh, you know these guys will be giving this guy props for the rest of their days! I'm glad I could help them make a memory.
I gave him back his coat just before they exited the dining room. My tables laughed about the joy the men had given them through the rest of their meals. I had fun and was tipped well (ummm, 20% to be exact). And there must have been some karma around that Table #28 because the eight girls who sat there after the seven guys were just as mischevious. A man at the table next to theirs bought one girl's dinner, though I wasn't around to know why. (Some things are better left unknown, don't you think?) They were pleasant and funny, wanted to know my name, and oddly enough they were loud like the last diners to sit there. The woman who had offered to go down the slide for a free meal laughed when I brought their check and asked, "Is it getting loud again?" She agreed and admitted that they needed to leave since it was about all they could take to get through the last bunch.
Some nights are just more fun than others. Tonight was one of those stress-free work nights that we wish happened all the time in the serving world. Given the amount of stress and bad news I've had this week, I will take this night as a rare gift.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
There's Nothing Funny about Huck Finn
Note: I took this down briefly yesterday, but have decided to put it back here with a few edits. My apologies for anything that might have been offensive to the man whose shoes I'm not successfully filling. No disrespect was intended because I'm really poking fun at my own inner beast here. Please laugh with me--or at least at me.
Okay, so today was so daunting that I must write about it. Keep in mind that I'm substitute teaching for the guy who is the favorite teacher of almost every kid in school. He's unorthodox, fun, inspiring, wise, interesting... I, on the other hand, am very structured and controlling in my classroom. That's not to say I'm not "fun." I pale in comparison, however.
I'm spending my days bending as far from my left brain philosophy as I can so as not to disrupt the ebb and flow of the creative classroom I'll leave behind in my short-lived legacy in Room 19. But that bitchy little control freak that lives inside of me wants there to be order. She demands that time given to read or create character profiles be used wisely. "And if it's not," she cackles, "I will assume I'm not giving enough homework." Who the hell just said that?? Geeeez!
Well then fine. I'm not fun. I'm not fun at all. I expect my students to want to use the time I give them to complete the work so that their after school time is their own. Lord knows that enough of them have practice, and jobs, and family obligations that keep them busy right up to the time that they need to be laying their heads on a pillow so they can do it all again tomorrow.
My Modern American Literature students have had the introduction to The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, complete with the slavery discussion. We talked about Mark Twain, the South with its customs and norms from the late 1800's, and naughty little boys like Huckleberry. Then I read the first chapter to them. When I asked the class what kind of a kid Huck Finn is, they got that he's bored. They understood that he didn't want to be schooled by Miss Watson. They knew he is an adventurous kind. What they didn't get is that our narrator is hilarious.
"Is Huck Finn a funny guy?" I ask with eyebrows raised hopefully.
Blank stares from all but one student who exclaims, "Huck Finn is hilarious!" My spirits lift! If one kid can get it then surely the others are just having a hunger fade for a moment.
"Great! Why do you think he's funny?"
I get the vague teenage reply about "he just is" because he says things funny. Well, Cody is right, Huck says things in a humorous way. Several minutes of squirming through this conversation brings us to the bell. We all go to lunch frustrated by the humor.
That was yesterday. Today, I'm on a mission to bring this point home. Sarcasm. I have to make them understand plain sarcastic humor. We review what we learned about Huck from our first short chapter, with special cheers to the kid's bankroll. We know he's an adventurous type based on how he came to his wealth. And I gotta think we are a little in awe of a kid having so much money. It's all good and I've got the students verbalizing some generalities about the novel. Time to move on to that humor bit I insist they get.
I tread lightly on my feet. "We talked a little bit before the bell yesterday about Huck Finn's humor level," I say. "Can anyone find an example in the first chapter of where we see his humor come into play?" Those blank stares and downward fidgeting looks take hold of the classroom. "Please look in the first chapter," I plead. I sit quietly, remembering the inservice advice of letting kids have enough time to answer or finish projects. (Apparently, we as teachers don't understand the time concept. As a result, we hurry students into answers that are not well thought out).
A full minute ticks by as they thumb through all four pages of the first chapter without success. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
"Okay. Let me give you one example." I play this up to my best potential. I describe (and act out) the scene where the spider is crawling on him. (For those who don't remember, Huck accidentally sends the spider into the flame of his candle which panics him since killing spiders is bad luck. He does 3 spins and crosses himself at each turn). The kids laugh (unkindly) at my idiocy, but not at the Mark Twain humor that is Huck Finn. Even when I further explain his reputation for being adventurous and boyish, and the silliness of a superstitious dance to ward off the evil of accidentally killing a spider, they disdainfully protest.
"That's not funny."
"Okay, but it's silly, isn't it?"
"Not if they believed it at the time."
"Okay. Can you see how silly a young boy would look doing a dance like that?"
"Not really."
The girl who has been making sure I know she thinks I'm stupid says, "There's NOTHING funny about Huck Finn."
I assure her that there is. She protests again for attention. She's winning. I'm pissed now. I tell her (in my best teacher voice, of course) that if she doesn't find anything funny in Huck Finn, then she will miss some great entertainment from the book, as well as lose some of its of meaning. (It's the overtones of hearing the story through such young eyes, isn't it??) She volleys back with a long dissertation about how she can read a whole book and understand everything she's read.
I think of the Seinfeld episode where Jerry has the rental car reservation, but arrives at the desk to find that there is no car for him. After a back-and-forth with the woman at the desk where Jerry tries to tell the woman what a 'reservation' is, she replies that she KNOWS what a reservation is. Jerry responds with one of my all-time favorite Seinfeldisms, "I don't think ya do!"
I'm trying not to roll my eyes at the book snob. I finally decide that I must avoid an all out war with these children. I'm not hitting my mark here. I give up the fight, but not without one last firing of my mighty teacher cannon. "I want you to find one funny (or sarcastic if you are having problems with the terminology) example from chapter one and hand it in before you leave for lunch today."
With that, I made the reading assignment and proceeded to shut up and go about my own work. Suddenly, the Teacher vs. Me mentality disappeared as one by one, hands were raised to see if "this" or "that" was a sarcastic piece of humor. In the end, they all turned in a sheet of paper with an example on it. I'm not grading them, but it's good to know that in some small way I won that battle.
Maybe tomorrow Huck will make us laugh with something better than a funny little commentary on how he would rather go to hell (the bad place where Tom Sawyer will surely be) than heaven (the good place where they play harp all day).
Now I remember why I don't teach full-time.
Okay, so today was so daunting that I must write about it. Keep in mind that I'm substitute teaching for the guy who is the favorite teacher of almost every kid in school. He's unorthodox, fun, inspiring, wise, interesting... I, on the other hand, am very structured and controlling in my classroom. That's not to say I'm not "fun." I pale in comparison, however.
I'm spending my days bending as far from my left brain philosophy as I can so as not to disrupt the ebb and flow of the creative classroom I'll leave behind in my short-lived legacy in Room 19. But that bitchy little control freak that lives inside of me wants there to be order. She demands that time given to read or create character profiles be used wisely. "And if it's not," she cackles, "I will assume I'm not giving enough homework." Who the hell just said that?? Geeeez!
Well then fine. I'm not fun. I'm not fun at all. I expect my students to want to use the time I give them to complete the work so that their after school time is their own. Lord knows that enough of them have practice, and jobs, and family obligations that keep them busy right up to the time that they need to be laying their heads on a pillow so they can do it all again tomorrow.
My Modern American Literature students have had the introduction to The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, complete with the slavery discussion. We talked about Mark Twain, the South with its customs and norms from the late 1800's, and naughty little boys like Huckleberry. Then I read the first chapter to them. When I asked the class what kind of a kid Huck Finn is, they got that he's bored. They understood that he didn't want to be schooled by Miss Watson. They knew he is an adventurous kind. What they didn't get is that our narrator is hilarious.
"Is Huck Finn a funny guy?" I ask with eyebrows raised hopefully.
Blank stares from all but one student who exclaims, "Huck Finn is hilarious!" My spirits lift! If one kid can get it then surely the others are just having a hunger fade for a moment.
"Great! Why do you think he's funny?"
I get the vague teenage reply about "he just is" because he says things funny. Well, Cody is right, Huck says things in a humorous way. Several minutes of squirming through this conversation brings us to the bell. We all go to lunch frustrated by the humor.
That was yesterday. Today, I'm on a mission to bring this point home. Sarcasm. I have to make them understand plain sarcastic humor. We review what we learned about Huck from our first short chapter, with special cheers to the kid's bankroll. We know he's an adventurous type based on how he came to his wealth. And I gotta think we are a little in awe of a kid having so much money. It's all good and I've got the students verbalizing some generalities about the novel. Time to move on to that humor bit I insist they get.
I tread lightly on my feet. "We talked a little bit before the bell yesterday about Huck Finn's humor level," I say. "Can anyone find an example in the first chapter of where we see his humor come into play?" Those blank stares and downward fidgeting looks take hold of the classroom. "Please look in the first chapter," I plead. I sit quietly, remembering the inservice advice of letting kids have enough time to answer or finish projects. (Apparently, we as teachers don't understand the time concept. As a result, we hurry students into answers that are not well thought out).
A full minute ticks by as they thumb through all four pages of the first chapter without success. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
"Okay. Let me give you one example." I play this up to my best potential. I describe (and act out) the scene where the spider is crawling on him. (For those who don't remember, Huck accidentally sends the spider into the flame of his candle which panics him since killing spiders is bad luck. He does 3 spins and crosses himself at each turn). The kids laugh (unkindly) at my idiocy, but not at the Mark Twain humor that is Huck Finn. Even when I further explain his reputation for being adventurous and boyish, and the silliness of a superstitious dance to ward off the evil of accidentally killing a spider, they disdainfully protest.
"That's not funny."
"Okay, but it's silly, isn't it?"
"Not if they believed it at the time."
"Okay. Can you see how silly a young boy would look doing a dance like that?"
"Not really."
The girl who has been making sure I know she thinks I'm stupid says, "There's NOTHING funny about Huck Finn."
I assure her that there is. She protests again for attention. She's winning. I'm pissed now. I tell her (in my best teacher voice, of course) that if she doesn't find anything funny in Huck Finn, then she will miss some great entertainment from the book, as well as lose some of its of meaning. (It's the overtones of hearing the story through such young eyes, isn't it??) She volleys back with a long dissertation about how she can read a whole book and understand everything she's read.
I think of the Seinfeld episode where Jerry has the rental car reservation, but arrives at the desk to find that there is no car for him. After a back-and-forth with the woman at the desk where Jerry tries to tell the woman what a 'reservation' is, she replies that she KNOWS what a reservation is. Jerry responds with one of my all-time favorite Seinfeldisms, "I don't think ya do!"
I'm trying not to roll my eyes at the book snob. I finally decide that I must avoid an all out war with these children. I'm not hitting my mark here. I give up the fight, but not without one last firing of my mighty teacher cannon. "I want you to find one funny (or sarcastic if you are having problems with the terminology) example from chapter one and hand it in before you leave for lunch today."
With that, I made the reading assignment and proceeded to shut up and go about my own work. Suddenly, the Teacher vs. Me mentality disappeared as one by one, hands were raised to see if "this" or "that" was a sarcastic piece of humor. In the end, they all turned in a sheet of paper with an example on it. I'm not grading them, but it's good to know that in some small way I won that battle.
Maybe tomorrow Huck will make us laugh with something better than a funny little commentary on how he would rather go to hell (the bad place where Tom Sawyer will surely be) than heaven (the good place where they play harp all day).
Now I remember why I don't teach full-time.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Apologies
Sorry to have disappeared from the blogging scene the last week or so. My life is spinning me crazily about. (Or is that birthday train operator going this fast)?? Anyway, I will try to resume my peevish rants as soon as I get through this little scuffle I've got going as a long-term substitute teacher.
I'm boning up on my "fly by the seat of my pants" teaching methodology and should be good to blog by next week. ;)
I'm boning up on my "fly by the seat of my pants" teaching methodology and should be good to blog by next week. ;)
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