purdy, purdy day

From speaking to me recently or reading my blog, one could come to the conclusion that all my class ever does is go on field trips. People have even gone so far as to say: "Wow, your job is fun... all you guys do is take field trips!" Let me just take this moment to briefly clarify that although taking students on field trips is exciting and worthwhile, herding a class of students on and off several public bus lines while trying to ignore the dirty looks that commuters throw you and comments like: "Aren't there school buses?", while reminding students to say "excuse me" and "thank you" dozens of times, is exhausting. Still, this is honestly a small price to pay for the enriching experiences and sense of possibility that a day off campus can provide.

Today's field trip to the symphony was a blast. The San Francisco Symphony really does a wonderful job creating a program that is educational and kid friendly. At the end of the show, Little Capone came up to me and said, "I almost cried, a little bit," showing about an inch of space with his index finger and thumb. M. was happy, because the last song they played was from "Fantasia 2000," which he has at home.

After the symphony, we headed to the Mission. While waiting for the train, my students discussed the state of Texas with much authority (A's dad just went to TX and so he's been bringing it up a lot).
"Ms. V, do you know how they say 'pretty' in Texas?" he asked.
"How?" I asked
"Purdy," he said matter of factly, to which I couldn't help but laugh.
Then the conversation steered to all the cowboys that live there and their guns. A said that he was scared to go because there are so many people shooting everywhere.... this is coming from someone who lives in a neighborhood with a high rate of gun violence. It's so funny how they can talk with so much conviction about thing that they don't really know that much about.

Once in the Mission, we went to visit Mission Dolores. They let us in for free and we took a tour in the chapel, the basilica, and the cemetery. I'm always impressed at how my students react when faced with new things. Across the board, they were all interested and asked questions about what they were seeing. I am convinced that there is not a single subject that you could present to them (in kid friendly language) in which they would not be interested. I love this age group! Walking through the cemetery JJ, came face to face with his own mortality. He spotted his first name on a grave and grew very somber. He came up to me after we had left and said: "Ms. V, I don't want to die." My aid and I tried to explain to him that we usually die when we are very old- or so we hope... but he was not convinced.

After visiting the Mission, we walked to Dolores Park to have lunch. As we were walking , we had to circumvent a cluster of about 4 police cars at the intersection and a man on the curb in handcuffs. My kids continued to walk with their partners and hardly flinched. Yes, we were taking in the enriching realities of the city of San Francisco, as they presented themselves to us.

The park was as wonderful as on Tuesday. The sun was out and a whole new batch of dogs that my kids could and did befriend and play with. They also made friends with a couple of college students who were playing frisbee and who showed them how to throw and attempted to organize a game of ultimate frisbee. N. and JJ. overcame their fear of dogs- N. stopped shrieking loudly everytime he saw one and actually started petting them.
We stayed for a long time and came back right in time for dismissal. One of the many things about field trips that I love is seeing my kids in a more relaxed setting and being able to have conversations with them. I'm already starting to get sad about the 3rd graders going to a different school next year. What will room 103 be without JJ, and the three others who will be leaving? But, I can't dwell on such sad things. Tomorrow is Dr. Seuss' birthday, and there is a fun day ahead!

DO, a dear

On this beautiful spring day, my class went to the Herbst Theater to see a play called "People Like Me," which was quite good (mostly dance performances from various countries). After the performance, we headed to Dolores Park to eat our lunches where we came into contact with dogs of all sizes (shout out to Sparky and Little), watched a juggler, covered in beautiful tatoos perform just for us (T:"Can you juggle with four things??!" Juggling man: "Sure!"), rolled down the park's bountiful hills (I was a passive observer on this one)... Little Capone took me up on my suggestion of having a cartwheel contest and proceeded to do over 25 consecutive cartwheels down the hill. When he had finally had enough, he stood up, swayed from left to right and collapsed on his back like a 21 year old celebrating his birthday. We stayed longer than all the other classes and when, as if by magic, the playground cleared, all my kids took over the swings. I can't emphasize enough how satisfying it was to hear M.'s shrieks of excitement at being pushed higher and higher and then, they all burst into a swinging rendition of R. Kelly's "I believe I can fly." I felt like we were in the Sound of Music- living the scene where Maria makes play clothes for the children out of curtains and takes them out to frollick and sing in the rolling Austrian hills. Substitute a view of San Francisco for the Austrian Alps and insert the Pied Piper of R&B instead of "Do, a dear..." we were living it. Then on our way home, as we hiked up to the J line, my kids burst out in a string of giggles and "ew"s. I turned to see what they were looking at... a butt naked man sunbathing. I laughed and told them not to say "ew"- it's rude, afterall. So maybe it's not as wholesome as the Sound of Music (and I hope no parents get disgruntled about the nudity...) but god, do I love San Francisco!

Today little JJ came to school with the darkest bags under his eyes and sank into a world deep within himself the moment he sat down. Calling his name would temporarily shake him out of his zombie state into which he promptly returned, staring at an undetermined void in front of him. When other students went to get their practice books, I called him to come talk to me. After a few questions and some more revealing information from my classroom aid, I found out that his mother had drunk coffee at nighttime and because she was unable to get to sleep, had watched movies and talked on the phone as if the 10 year old who shares her room was not even there. The dark circles were demystified. I sent him to take a nap in our classroom libary on our classroom's prided lamb pillow, promising to wake him up for recess. P. covered him with a big blanket and in a matter of minutes, he was out cold.

When recess time came (only 10 minutes later), I decided to let him rest and took the rest of the class out to play. Not more than 5 minutes later, I saw JJ, as if woken by a 6th sense that he was missing recess, looking betrayed that we had not alerted him of the present play time. I gave him an ultimatum: "You can play now, but if you do, you won't be able to go back upstairs and nap when we're all working." Usually, JJ doesn't listen to logic and couteracts things that I say with statements that are not in themselves logical either. This time though, he ran back upstairs to our room lickety split and went right back to sleep. He woke up about 30 minutes later and joined the class to work.

haircuts

"N. is baldheaded!!" cried many voices as I approached my class' line. N., stared at me sheepishly under the hood of his orange coat, much too warm for the spring weather we've been having.
"Baldheaded," I have come to find out is a hilarious term to my children, which when it is uttered sparks firecrackers of laughter in their eyes as they try to suppress giggles.
N. was in fact "baldheaded." His head had undergone the fate of many an 8 year old boy's head of being completely grazed by the clippers. His cranium looked as naked as the body of a newly shorn sheep... or as M. put it, "He is baldheaded... just like Earth. Cause you know, Earth is baldheaded." At this moment, I juggled simultaneously pointing out to Michael that he had just spoken in similes and reassuring N. that his haircut looked great. After a little coaxing, he uncovered his dome- a freshly mowed lawn where his abundant forest of curls had once been (although usually held down by plentiful dollups of pommade).
As we recited the pledge of allegiance and our student creed in unison with the rest of the school, I wondered what had prompted this extreme cut... lice? the parent's desire to cut out the precious morning prep time it took to douse his locks with gel? It was funny, I thought, how the main perpetrators of the giggling and finger pointing were themselves "baldheaded." C. for example, who has always donned a close shave, was the first one to point a finger and let himself be overtaken by hysterical laughter. N.'s haircut was the talk of the town for the rest of the day and any mention of it by another teacher, reignited a chain effect of giggles in all my students.