With Kyna's new school comes a new set of daily routines for her to get accustomed to, one of which is the Problem Of The Day (POTD). Every morning she finds at her table a small rectangular piece of paper with some questions on it. Today's paper looked like this:
1. 8 + 2 = ____
2. 6 - 1 = ____
3. Fix the following sentence:
kim gave me a bok
____________________________________________________________________________
As an adult, steeped in many years of schooling, I would rewrite this as:
Kim gave me a book.
However, Kyna pounced on 'bok', and changed it into 'box', writing:
Kim gave me a box.
I thought this was both a fantastic and an equally correct solution to the problem. Furthermore, it adhered to the spirit of this particular school beautifully; to forge one's own way by exploration, taking chances and using creativity to make sense of the world around us.
Kyna was extremely pleased with herself and went over to get her work checked by her teacher. Unfortunately, her teacher is as steeped as I am in 'right answerness' and she corrected Kyna, stating that it should be 'book' not 'box'. Kyna was crushed. She returned to her seat frustrated and near tears. I was in a pickle. I didn't want to confront the teacher in front of all the students, but I could also tell that Kyna was going to use her familiarity with me as an outlet for her anger. Time to leave and see if she could sort it out on her own. I hugged her, told her I felt her answer was an excellent one, that her teacher was so focused on another equally good answer that she couldn't see that Kyna's answer was perfectly acceptable, then I beat a hasty retreat.
At the neighborhood Starbucks one of the other parents approached me and asked how we were settling into the school. I think he was sorry he asked. I spent the next half hour ranting about how horrific it was that the teacher (who really is a lovely person) failed to live up to the lofty school ideals, destroying my child's faith in the decency of humanity along the way. He very rationally suggested I email the teacher with my concerns. Reluctantly, I spent all day composing, then revising, my mental email. My final draft was polite, considerate, and crystal clear about why her actions were dead wrong. I thought of Kyna all day, hoping that she hadn't dissolved into a puddle of tears, hoping that she wasn't emotionally scarred for life, afraid to take a risk ever again. As a parent it was a draining day.
After school Kyna seemed in good spirits. Obviously she had repressed the pain in order to cope. I hemmed and hawed until curiosity got the better of me.
"So. Um. How did the box/book thing work out this morning?"
"What?"
"You know, the POTD?"
"Oh! Yeah, that. I wrote 'book' and showed my teacher."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, she gave me a check mark." A slow smile spread across Kyna's face. "Then, when she wasn't looking, I erased 'book' and rewrote 'box' and left it on her desk."
Emptied many, many bags of manure onto my fading autumn garden. I watered everything well, pruned judiciously, and even planted a new basil for upcoming cool weather pasta sauces. The very ground seemed to sigh.
Well. Things are slowly settling down. Work was as crazy as usual last week, but everyone, the kids and the teachers, have been so encouraging that I feel positive despite being frazzled. As I try to explain math concepts with clarity and precision I find myself thinking of the memorable math teachers in my own past. There were only two. My first year calculus teacher and my second year multi-variable calculus teacher. These two men (I don't think I ever had a woman math teacher, hopefully that has changed somewhat now) where amazing. Both taught for only fifteen minutes of a fifty minute class and what they put on the board was so clear, so succinct, and so well delivered that both received standing ovations at the end of the year. From the students. We may have been eighteen, but we knew when we were in the presence of greatness.
Alas, I have not achieved this yet. I am nowhere near standing ovation worthy, and my students definitely agree. While they have written very positive reviews in regards to working with me, which makes me very happy, I have also apparently 'put too much math on the white-board'. If I hadn't had my own experience with the two math greats in my past I might have been at a loss as to how to correct that. Truthfully I am still at a loss about how to fix that, but at least I have a clear idea of where I want to be. Sounds sort of like life really. I know where I'd like to be, now how the hell do I get there?
Sigh. I haven't really delved into politics on this blog and truthfully it's because I'm a Grayist. And I'm not talking about aliens. I believe that we should respect each other for what we have to struggle against as Americans and humans, even if the view expressed by our fellow American is 180 degrees opposite to our own. I believe we should, as a nation, support one another. I believe in the wonders of Universal Health Care. If other countries have managed to do it, then 'The Greatest Country On Earth' should be able to achieve this as well. I believe in hard work, I believe in non-judgment. I believe taking care of your own crap and staying the hell out of other peoples lives, but I also believe in providing support and services for those that need or ask. I believe that the most intelligent do not always have the best solutions, and that the least intelligent often have a great deal to offer. I believe in Right and Wrong, as well as the Gray Middle Ground. Humans are so inherently flawed, so completely inadequate for the job of leading a country it seems like a farce to actually have to vote for one. Cynical, I know. Such is the nature of a Grayist.
But!
The nature of Gray includes optimism as well as pessimism, and I will vote. I will vote for a flawed, power hungry idealist, who has the hubris to actually believe that they have the ability to make our country better, for everyone, with the help of 535 other power hungry idealists that make up our legislative branch plus a handful of advisers. I would ask if you have ever witnessed 535 people agreeing on anything, but I forget, if you are American, you have lived here for the past little while and can probably picture this conundrum quite vividly. Throw in some lobbyists to 'help' those 535+ people make appropriate decisions and you have a good picture of what I think of Washington D.C.
Please, oh please, may the best contestant win. Whomever that may be.
So today felt better. Although, I felt that way around lunch time yesterday, and then look what happened. So let's just suffice it to say, I think I'll live. I arrived home able to cook some dinner and putter around in my slippers. I have the deepest respect for working mothers, teachers, and parents of teenagers. Although, honestly, my students so far are totally awesome. Open, responsive, respectful, and intelligent, a total pleasure to teach.
Today was the first day of my carefully prepared Study Skills class. I printed out my handouts, thought of an ice breaker, and carefully went over my introduction speech. I was prepped. Ready and eager. Then it came to light that eighteen kids needed a math refresher and they needed it now. All my carefully planned activities went out the window and I completely winged a forty minute math lesson to eighteen fifteen year olds, who, I might add, had been pulled from their really fun chosen electives to do math for an additional forty minutes at the end of the day. I'll just leave how well that went to your imagination, shall I? Because I certainly don't need to relive it.
Then, like a knight on a shining motorcycle, Chris managed to get home from work early so I could attend my long neglected yoga class. There are no words to fully express my gratitude. I am a new woman. A sore and somewhat hobbling woman, but in control of my mental faculties once again. Yoga is the antidote to teaching math to fifteen year olds on zero prep time.
Ohhhhhmmmmmmmmmmm.
