Last week was the first of 2013 - a new beginning of sorts and so a propitious time to start this journal.

Random reflections on the week:

(1)  COMMUNITY.  At Duckfarm, there's a lot of love and community among the staff.  

D's father died over the holidays.  Love, concern and sympathy abound for her, flow over her.  The viewing is Monday after school.  Someone emails the Administration and asks them to postpone Monday's (useless) staff meeting so staff can attend.  Miraculously, they agree!  Many will pile into cars to attend.  D will see them, feel a rush of warmth at their concern, their care, be grateful she works at such a place.  This is the first place I've worked -- the only place I've worked, in fact -- where the word "community" in its true sense actually applies.

That's good stuff.

Why don't you talk about the kids?  Don't you care about them?  Isn't school primarily about them?

Well, yes.  And no.  Yes and no.


(2) KIDS.  At Duckfarm, kids are...as would expect.  Lovely and hideous.

Friday afternoon, I stand at the door as my kids line up for PE.  I'm less rigid than usual today -- I'll pay for it later with their misbehavior; I let them take their time, let the ones already in line talk.  I even chat with the 4 boys in front.  They are talking about who is strong, who can fight, how they will fight.

"I can fight really well!" says E.D., a solid, lean, pint-sized boy with chocolate skin, as he makes fists and punches the air.

E.D.'s hair is getting long.  It's a mini-fro.  I wonder to myself what his mom is planning with it.

"I can fight the best!" says F.G., a taller, milk-chocolate boy with a big cranium, a wide, rare smile, and an anger-management problem. (E.D. has that too.)

When he's done speaking, F.G. goes back to fingering the brush-top hair on top of M.N.'s head.  They're newish friends.  It's four months into the school year, and they've just started to get close.

M.N. loves football and strength.  That's about it, so far as I've been able to discover.  He has a sweet, rare smile.  He is being tested for a disability.  He's behind in all subjects, and his mom and I and his other teachers are worried about him.  You ask him a question, and there's a good chance you'll never get an answer no matter how much "wait time" you give him.  Recently, he cried quietly to himself, as the students practiced writing a short paragraph responding to a question.  The others write busily away (some way off base, but they think they have a direction).  He has no idea what to do.

F.G. gently brushes the bristly top of MN's hair some more.  One of our school rules is "keep your hands to yourself." So I ask MN, "Is that bothering you?"

He takes a long time to answer, with this question as with all others.

Eventually, he shakes his head no.

I let it go.

"I can fight," I say.

They look at me a bit surprised.  I run through the reasons why they might be: adults are not supposed to talk about fighting in a even a neutral way; the teacher is a girl, and girls aren't supposed to be fighters.

"With your fists?" asks ED.

Now I'm surprised.   I haven't thought my comment through.  Because I like puncturing their gender stereotypes, I ignore my better judgment, and say

"Yes.  With my fists."

There's a brief lull in the conversation.  They they go back to it, reasserting their prowess.

Finally, we're all lined up and ready for PE.  But it's too early.  So we do a "time waster."  I christened it that aloud, in a moment of unguarded talk.  Now the kids call it that too.  "Can we do a time waster?!" they say.  I picture them at home around the kitchen table.

"What did you do today?" a mom asks.

"We did a time waster!" a child replies.

This time waster involves walking around the building the long way, to use up a few minutes before we get to the gym.  Sometimes, as we're walking, I'll lead them in zig-zags, or only step on the blue tiles, or walk like a toy soldier from the Nutcracker.  Without my ever saying so, they know to imitate me.  They giggle ("quietly," I'll say, once or twice on the journey). They enjoy.  I enjoy.  Silliness is joy, to me and to them.


(3)  DEPRESSION.  At Duckfarm, there's depression.


Many employees were depressed to be back at school this week.  Not working means fun without stress for many.  School, even when fun, is never stress free.

Oh come on!  You're a grade school teacher.  What's stressful about that?!

"You get summers off, right?" say the unknowing.

No, not really.  I work 60-hour weeks.  So, when summer comes, I've already worked it.



"Your day ends at 4:00, right?" they muse.


No.  See above.



"Is it the kids that stress you out?"


No, not really.  It's the adults.  Who else?


The stress gets worse and worse.  The Reformers go merrily about their work, passing an avalanche of turds  that roll, roll, roll downhill to land on us all.  We are up to our knees in their fecal swamp.  The swamp keeps rising.

Is it really that bad?  Yes.



Happy Holidays!

Is there anything you like about your job?

Oh yes!  Lots! See above!  And I'll say more, later.  Take the good with the bad.  I have to.