I’m sure most people have one teacher they remember as being tough yet are thankful for their efforts years later.  Mine was my 10th grade English teacher Mrs. Swanson who taught me what little I know (remember?) about grammar.  No matter what I did I couldn’t seem to ace her class, and I remember distinctly my mother telling me that Mrs. Swanson was the best teacher I could have wished for.  I didn’t believe her at the time, but now I’m thankful for every paper I got back that had more red ink than black.

Our youngest son Justin really liked both of his teachers last year, Mrs. Tarmey and Ms. Beavers, but he’s probably going to remember Mrs. Tarmey how I remember Mrs. Swanson.  Mrs. Tarmey required her students to write in a "reading response" log every day.  They were to read for approximately 1/2 hour and then immediately jot down their thoughts.  Justin loves to read, but he HATES sharing his thoughts about it whether it’s in writing or verbally.  Consequently it was like pulling teeth to get him to write his log.  On the other hand Ms. Beavers was responsible for running the multiplication game which Justin enjoyed thoroughly and enabled him to whip his siblings at our "who knows the answer" games over dinner.

Today I was going through some stuff and I came across his reading log.  The first thing that strikes me as I read it is the brilliance of the format that Mrs. Tarmey used.  Each day’s entry is written as a letter (Dear Mrs. Tarmey…) and she would write a reply to each one.  Some of her replies were one or two sentence questions while other days required more feedback and would begin with "Dear Justin." Poor Mrs. Tarmey had to exhort the boy on a daily basis to share more of his thoughts and feelings.  He tried to get away with regurgitating the plot of each book but she would have none of it.  Then he started sharing random thoughts that had little to do with what he was reading ("I hate war") and she’d reign him back in with a "Dear Justin" message.

My favorite entry is one that Celeste shares regularly when she talks about the log.  It’s dated 12/14/2006 and it begins this way:

Dear Mrs. Tarmey,
I’m writing very slowly so I have less time to clean my room.  Well, Bobby and Loor are underground.  The reason they’re underground is that the crowned prince was murdered and the chances of stopping a war with him…

In the margin next to the first sentence Mrs. Tarmey wrote "Sneaky!" 

The next entry was a perfect example of how Justin tried to fill space and Mrs. Tarmey had to redirect him.  Here’s how he ended his entry:

I only have one thought that’s even slightly related to the book.  The thought is: This was just thirty pages in the book!  A personal thought that I’m having is: I like the song I’m listening to right now.  I don’t like this song, I love it!
I’ll see you tomorrow,
Justin

Mrs. Tarmey replied with this in the margin:

Don’t listen to music while reading.  Our brains cannot focus on more than one thing.  Either read or listen to music.

Then she whipped up a "Dear Justin":

Dear Justin,
Please tell me your thoughts on what you have read. Are you enjoying the book? Would you want to live in a fantasy world? What would it look like?
Sincerely,
Mrs. Tarmey

Sure enough in the next few entries the boy started focusing on giving his thoughts about what he was reading, but of course within a week or two he’d ventured off into la-la-land and she’d have to reel him back in.  Throughout the year she managed to do so in such a manner that she wasn’t harsh, but she was just clear that she expected more.  And when he did well she made sure to write that too.

Looking back I’m sure Justin will remember how much he dreaded the reading log, but I’m also sure he’ll really appreciate what it did for him.  I know that he already views language arts this year as a walk in the park by comparison. If he becomes a writer he’ll probably also realize that Mrs. Tarmey was his first editor. (I’m going to sic my Mom on him next.  That’ll re-define the word "tough" for him and I have the hatchet jobs she did on my H.S. papers to prove it).  From my point of view I’m reading these logs and realizing that Mrs. Tarmey did this exercise with dozens of students.  That’s an incredible amount of work.

We’re definitely saving this for the family scrapbook because it is a
priceless look into the year that was 5th grade for Justin.  I just hope that there are more Mrs. Tarmeys in Justin’s future so we have more stuff like this to save.  He’ll definitely be the better for it.

Just got the following text message from my oldest, who’s a freshman at West Forsyth H.S.: "Someone brought a gun to school."

My instant reaction?  "Holy shit!"

I’m not going to clean up the language because, well, I don’t know many parents wouldn’t say or think that.

My message back: "Are you on lockdown?"

Followed by a wait of a couple of minutes.  WAY too long.  Finally a reply:

"No they dumped it in the woods.  the cops have him"

Then I realize it’s lunch time for the boy and he’s just catching me up on his day as he does occasionally.  Let’s just say I have no need for an afternoon cup of coffee.

Update: Just checked the local news sites.  The Winston-Salem Journal’s site has no mention of the gun (just before 1 p.m) but the WXII site has a short story saying that a BB gun was found at the school and details are to follow.

Gun vs. BB gun is just a small detail, huh?  If it was indeed a BB gun that was found then I just discovered my son has a future writing news teases.

I’m doing something that is best not to do: I’m blogging in anger.  An hour ago I was working in my home office, happily dealing with the mind-numbing tedium that most non-lottery winners encounter every day, when my daughter knocked on my door and asked for help with her algebra.  Well, math is a struggle for me but I figured I could handle whatever basic algebra she’s encountering at this point in her school year.  Oh, how wrong I was!

It seems that my daughter had a substitute teacher today and according to her he spent 1/2 hour regaling the class with fond memories of his youth and telling them how lucky they are to have computers.  He also managed to hand out their worksheets, tell them to leave their textbooks at school and do their best for homework.  Nary a bit of instruction to be found.

That’s how I ended up in my office madly Googling problems like "the lesser of two consecutive even integers is 10 more than one half the greater" and visiting cheesy websites that offered solutions to the problem, but without much explanation.  Compounding my ire was the disappointment I felt in myself for not remembering how to do this stuff.  Yes, 25 years is a long time to remember something but I’m still able to remember how to spell "Pythagorean Theorem" without breaking a sweat.  I don’t remember what the hell it is but I can spell it!

Anyway, when I couldn’t figure out how to help I resorted to cursing out (under my breath) the substitute, the person that hired him, the Winston-Salem/Forsyth County Schools and the U.S. Department of Education for putting me in this position.  I understand that there’s a lot of pressure to accurately fill out the state mandated bubble tests to a minimum degree of proficiency, but for God’s sake help us out here!

Yesterday I read a piece titled "How Homework is Hurting Our Family" in the Wall Street Journal section of the Winston-Salem Journal’s Sunday business section.  The author, Jeff Opdyke, writes the following:

I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point U.S.
schools decided that if you can’t teach ’em, test ’em…or pile on more
homework.

The result is that my son’s life — and by extension
our family life — is a constant, stress-laden stream of homework and
tests and projects. It overshadows everything we do, always hanging
over our head. It affects our weekends, our meals, our vacations, our
work time, our playtime, our pocketbooks.

And to what end? Maybe I’m missing something, but when
did schools determine that the best place for kids to learn math,
science and English is at their own kitchen table?

Hallelujah brother!  Now I’m not going to lay the blame entirely on the teachers.  They often have over 30 students per class to deal with and they have to make sure that their students pass the No Child Left With an Imagination Behind – mandated inspection. That’s a situation they don’t have much control over.  On the other hand there have been more occasions than I can count where the kids have come home with work and absolutely no classroom preparation.  Sometimes it’s because the kids weren’t paying attention, but other times it was because the teacher didn’t get to it in class and sent them home with the worksheets and the expectation that Mom, Dad or Uncle Google would bail them out. 

All of this was annoying enough when the kids were younger, but now that they’re getting past the point where the remnants of Celeste’s and my educations end we’re running into dangerous territory.  I don’t mind getting the kids help via a tutor when it’s obvious that the work is too difficult for them despite the extensive preparation provided by the teacher, but it burns my toast when there isn’t any classroom prep at all. 

Again, I don’t want to paint all teachers with this brush.  The vast majority that we’ve dealt with over the years have been hard working, talented and obviously cared for the kids.  As I said they are dealing with some tough situations every day and I have a great deal of respect for them.  But I also believe that even the best teachers are being forced to heap more and more work on the shoulders of the kids, and by extension their parents.  And speaking for this household I can tell you that if the future of my children’s advanced math education relies even somewhat on my weary brain then they’re in a world of hurt. I imagine it’s much the same in many other households.

Okay, I’m done ranting and am officially in a lessened state of pissedoffment.  I do, however, have a final note for our friends at the Winston-Salem/Forsyth County School System:  If you’re going to put someone in a classroom as a substitute teacher and that person’s not qualified to teach then at least tell the nimrod to send the textbooks home with the kids.  If not I’m going to hunt every one of you down and force you to figure out how to find "the lesser of two consecutive even integers is 10 more than one half the greater" without any help and see how you like it.