Something of Value

Every once in a while I am reminded that you really don't need to watch soap operas if you spend most of your time in a middle school.

Thursday my fifth period kids are coming in to the room to put their things down and get ready for our walk down to lunch.  I'm getting ready to put up my agenda PowerPoint (a scrolling PowerPoint that gives the kids instructions and lets them know what we're doing) and I do a quick check of my email and see one from Mr. Math.  It reads, "If anyone finds a rather large stack of SWPBS money, beware!  I just had a bunch stolen from my desk and they didn't have my name on them yet."

Oh great.  However, I look up from the email and my eye falls on one of my kids in the back of the room who is standing there counting out his HUGE MASSIVE WAD of reward money.  The stack is so huge he has a massive binder clip on it that he's using as a money clip. Amazing.  Especially since this isn't the type of kid that's such an angel he's going to be earning that much money in the three weeks school has been in session.

We drop the kids off at lunch and then the team along with Mrs. Eagle are having our lunch and I mention that Sneaky Boy was in the back of the room counting out his cash and he may be the one we're looking for.  Mr. Math mentions that he had a number of sixth grade teachers email Sneaky Boy's name as well since he apparently did the same thing last year.  At this point Mrs. Language adds that she saw Sneaky Boy counting out a HUGE MASSIVE WAD of cash in her class as well, and in fact, he used five dollars of it to buy a chance to sit in her teacher chair for the period.

(Okay, some explanation - we're trying to have things for the kids to buy that don't cost us things in addition to the real items in our store.  So, kids can buy an opportunity to read the morning announcements, a ticket to sit in the teacher's chair, lunch in the library, and so on.)

Mrs. Reading then adds that Sneaky Boy was also seen in her class counting out a HUGE MASSIVE WAD of cash in her room and he also paid to sit in her chair for the period.  She suggests going back to her room to see what was on the back of the money he used to pay for this privilege, so she went back, and went to Mrs. Language's room as well, and brought back the ten dollars that Sneaky Boy spent with them that morning.

By this time Mr. Math has called The Enforcer and filled him in on our suspicions because we do take this pretty seriously at the school - this is the currency our kids use for a lot of rewards and shopping and it really does have value with them.  (Which, The Principal reminds us, is a good thing.)

I turns out that Sneaky Boy had forged all ten of the dollars he'd used to buy his chair-sitting that day.  He'd written most of our names on several of them (he spelled Mr. Math's name wrong!) and the reasons he gave for receiving the money was pretty funny.  On one where he'd forged my name he wrote it was for "saying yes mame" and another one from Mrs. Social Studies was for "telling the truth".  You can imagine how much fun we had with that.

By this time Mrs. Reading has the rather frightening thought that perhaps, while he was sitting in the teacher's chair in her class, he may have gotten in her desk and taken her supply of money as well.  So back she went to her room only to discover - you know where this is going, right? - that her reward money was all stolen out of her desk.

Mr. Enforcer comes down to the lunch room, snaps up Sneaky Boy, gets a hold of his wad of cash and asks us to sort it all out.  Most of it didn't have a teacher name or signature on it and the rest were mostly forged teacher names.  We have a policy that a reward buck has to have either a teacher's initials or name written in ink, or a stamp (I use a signature stamp) on them to be valid.  So, when you see one that's entirely filled out by a kid (and that's pretty apparent, especially when they can't spell our names correctly), then it's safe to say we may have a problem.

Well, truthfully, Sneaky Boy had the problem.  And he earned himself five days in ISS.

What's funny is that all this transpired in the span of about 15 minutes at lunch.  And it probably wouldn't have transpired if Sneak Boy wasn't so blatant in the counting of his cash.    I hope he enjoys all the workbook packets he's getting instead of labs!

The Sharpie Wars

So today I was walking around my classroom during third period (my first period of the day) when I noticed that my students looked like a bunch of dirty ragamuffins.

There were black smudges on their faces, necks, arms, hands, and just about any bit of exposed skin.  Weird.  Most of these kids are in my homeroom and I didn't recall them looking like this earlier in the day.  It wasn't until I walked around the room while the kids were working on their activity, that I found my answer.  Jock Boy, a jolly good-natured kid ever there ever was one, had an entire arm covered with writing, smudges, and who knows what.

"So what's with the tats?" I asked him, pointing to his arms.

"Oh that?  That's just Sharpie," he said.  "Cool, huh?"

"Uh, not exactly," I said.  "You know it's not allowed in the Student Code of Conduct, right?"

He looked crestfallen.  "It's not?"

"It's not," I said.  "So, let's get cleaned up tonight and not do it again, okay?"  He agreed with a smile and went on with his work.  And as I continued to walk around I realized that what at first looked like dirt was actually Sharpie smudges.  I didn't pursue it beyond the quick conversation with Jock Boy (which all the kids eavesdropped on) but continued with my class.

And then my fourth period walked in looking just as bad.  And then my fifth period, same story.  So at lunch, the time when all of the teachers on The Team get together, eat lunch,  and check in with what was up with the kids, I found out that all of us were seeing these Sharpie smudges on our students.   As Mrs. Reading said, "It's a bit hard to focus on a kid's question when there's a big black line going across their face."

After lunch Mrs. Social Studies and I pulled aside one of our kids that we could more or less trust and get the truth out of and asked her about the Sharpie smudges.

Apparently the kids, on the way back from the gym and their other electives, were having "Sharpie wars," in the hallway.  Basically they were taking Sharpies and drawing lines on each other as the mass of seventh grade humanity made it back to the core part of The School (where there is more supervision and they can't do anything that stupid without getting caught.)

Oh.  Good.  Gracious.

I'm used to Seventh Grade Stupid Stuff, but jeepers, it's only February!  This kind of stupid stuff really shouldn't show up until after spring break!  If this is a sign of the spring to come, it's going to be a long, long time until school is out.

Staplers, the Handy Tool that Can Staple...Well...Anything

I hate wasting time. And some of the biggest time wasters in my day (aside from the student who wants to interrupt class to inform you that he found gum under the table and silly stuff like that), is passing out things. I hate taking time to pass out papers so I file them in students mailbox folders instead. I hate passing out lab supplies so I have one student from each group get the supplies. And I hate passing out things like scissors, staplers and glue sticks (which I use a lot) so I have them in a nice plastic shoe box with a lid on each lab table.

When I first put out the supply boxes, as we call them, I give the kids very specific instructions about what's inside, how they are to be used (honestly, these kids have to be taught not to bang on staplers), and how if any of the materials are abused or stolen, those boxes would disappear and they'd have to find their own staplers, glue sticks, scissors, and what not. And of course, they are instructed in the most important rule regarding these boxes: These Are Not Toys To Play With So Do Not Open The Box Until Told To Do So. Over and over and over again. I must say this a dozen times a class period in the first weeks of school just to pound it into their heads.

Obviously, however, some kids need a little more head pounding to get it.

I have, case in point, one young man whom we'll call Stapler Boy. Stapler Boy came to us with some baggage but he's certainly capable of following simple directions such as Do Not Open The Box Until Told To Do So. However, the temptation has been too much for him so this past Wednesday he open the box and decided to play with the stapler.

Now, staplers and seventh grade boys can be a toxic mix if the boys are smart enough to figure out that you can shoot staples at your friend by lowering the base of the stapler. (Most students are smart enough to figure out if they do anything that damn stupid the Wrath of Bluebird will come down upon them, so they don't). I tend to notice when a kid is playing with a stapler and looking as if he's wanting to turn it into an advanced pea-shooter.

Stapler Boy looked, quite honestly, guilty as hell when I busted him the first time for playing with the stapler. But I'm still in my "I'm teaching them how to behave and understand the procedures and policies of the Land of Bluebird Mode", so I didn't get too upset, I simply told him to put it away. The second time I caught him I told him, more forcefully, to put it away again and to Do Not Open That Box Again.

The following day Stapler Boy not only was out of his seat without permission at least three times, and he decided to play with the stapler again. The rest of his lab group is having a grand time on their engineering design project (build a shelter that can withstand wind, rain and has room for 4 people), but he's busy walking around with a stapler. After the third time of telling him to Put The Stapler Away!, I yanked him into the hallway and asked him just what on earth he was doing.

"I don't know," he answered. I swear if I had a dollar for every time a seventh grade boy said that to me, I'd be wealthy beyond imagining.

I decided I had no choice but to write up Stapler Boy on one of our new PBS classroom discipline referral forms. I wrote down about the MULTIPLE warnings that Stapler Boy got, the interventions I did (counseling, alternative assignment since he wasn't helping his lab group anyway), and then gave it to stapler boy to write down his side of the story. His explanation? "I was just playing with them."

But the best part came later when Mr. Math came by after school.

"Hey did you have staplers in your room today?" he asked.

"I always have staplers in my room," I answered. "In their toolbox. Of course they aren't allowed to use them without permission, and we didn't use them today."

"Well Stapler Boy was messing with his ear this afternoon and told me he'd used a stapler to try to pierce his ear today," he said.

Oh. Good. Gracious.

This kid will be lucky if he ever does a lab again since it's apparent I can't trust him with tools of any kind. I pulled him aside the following day and told him so. The kids finished up their lab and he sat by my desk and did a worksheet packet which involved nothing more dangerous than a pencil. He wasn't happy, so perhaps he may learn something from the experience.

Mr. Math has already set up a parent meeting for next week. This should be interesting.

Why Learning Cursive Can Come In Handy

One of the things I've noticed in the past few years is that quite a number of my students don't write cursive. In fact, some of them can't even read cursive. I actually started to print on the white board a few years ago because I had a number of special education kids who could not read cursive, so couldn't read anything I wrote on the board.

Not that any of my kids really pay all that much attention to what I write on the board anyway...

Some of the other seventh grade teachers have spent some time in elementary classrooms and mentioned that cursive isn't really taught as much as it was when we were in school - back in the dark ages when you were expected to sign, not print, your name, and be able to make your "T's" and "Q's" just so. (I always hated the Q's, they looked like the number two too much for my taste.)

This lack of familiarity with cursive could, potentially, cause a problem.

Like, for example, when you go to forge your mother's name on a vocabulary study log.

And you use a pencil.

And print her name not once, not twice, but three times (but if you were really motivated you should have printed it ten times to get full credit!).

And you spell it two different ways.

And it doesn't look like anything remotely like your mother's signature which we have on file.

Goober.

Blinded By the Light

You've just got to wonder about 7th grade boys.

My fourth period class is, well, interesting. It's a small class, but there are at least three kids in there that Do Not Get Along With Anyone. At All. That annoy and drive everyone nuts. These three have their own tables and work on their own, while the rest of my class does group work.

And they're perfectly content working on their own because they don't like the other kids any more than they like them.

The rest of the kids are also getting very good at correcting all the other kids in class. Including, Fog Boy.

Fog Boy is in a perpetual fog. He's a nice kid, but he's also at risk as he does nothing and hears absolutely nothing you say. At all. It's so bad that he'll raise his hand to ask a question about something I just said and his classmates will all roll their eyes and yell, "She just said that!" This happens all period. His hearing has been tested and it's perfectly fine. It's just that he's too busy fiddling with papers, playing with the zipper on his pencil pouch and basically just checked out to lunch and running about five minutes late. Today his table partner did a fantastic job of prompting him with "Pay attention!", "Look, here on the paper!" and other prompts that I usually do but she's taken it upon herself to do them as he's driving her crazy with his perpetual fog.

It's so bad that I give the class directions by starting off with his name, "Okay Fog Boy, and the rest of you, open your book to page 53," and the like. He giggles and thinks it's funny, but at least it gets his attention for about three seconds.

So today we're going over the guided outline we started yesterday (these kids have a huge problem reading content so we're working on teaching them how to outline their reading), and Fog Boy raises his hand and I call on him.

"I can't see what's going on," he says.

"That's because you stared at the light!" screams the whole class back at him.

"He what?" I ask them.

Drama Boy, who really is in drama, but acts more mature than most of his classmates, answered for them. "While you were out in the hall watching the kids, that fool stood and stared at the light in the projector for like five minutes."

Oh good gracious.

"You stood and stared at the LCD projector light?" I ask.

Fog Boy giggles. "Yeah," he answers. "My eyes are burning."

The rest of the class by now is rolling their eyes, tossing up their hands and just grousing over the foolishness of Fog Boy yet again.

"Why on earth would you do that?" I ask him. Although I'm not sure I really want to know.

"I don't know," he answers.

So, I filled out a nurse form for him and sent him on his way but only after writing specifically what he did so that the nurse would know that it was a very poor decision on his part. The other kids were insisting that any behavior that stupid would generate a write up and the nurse was sure to do it. (We have a new nurse this year - she's not warm and fuzzy like our last one and these kids are nearly scared of her.)

After Fog Boy left the rest of the class sighed and settled down. I paused for a moment and asked them, "Is it me, or is he like this all the time?"

"All the time!" they chorused. "And he was like this in sixth grade too!"

And he's driving them just about as crazy as he's driving me.