Really, come on down. It’s Little House on the Prairie up in here. Without the polite kids.
It is important that you understand that there are environments over which you have no control. NONE! The lowlands of Afghanistan, for instance, and my classroom rug. Both are said to reek of a county fair livestock barn. And don’t get me started on the chicken factor. Things have definitely hatched here. They incubated behind the microwave that doesn’t exist in my closet. Soon there will be a zombie chicken invasion. With the attendant lice on board.
Stuff is mutating at an alarming rate. The reality is that, if you are going to allow your kid to be within a three mile radius of a classroom carpet, you are going to want some vaccination happening. You really just can’t plan on controlling this shit. You might also want to heed the teacher’s request to donate hand sanitizer to the class. Your kid looks way dirtier when there are twenty-three peers drooling nearby.
The spilled milk factor alone calls for a haz-mat team. But this is an urban school, so haz-mat consists of a milling group of 8-year-olds, trying to sop up moisture with the least absorbent paper towels known to man: The Brown Paper Towel. Why do you think that a roll of these is 2.7 miles long? Because they soak up virtually nothing. Not cow’s milk, not goat’s milk, sure as hell not any cereal stirred up with a spork and combined with the milk or any goat, cow, or ox that you have your hands on. I would wager that clinical studies have been conducted (possibly at my own workplace) to determine the Brown Paper Towel’s effectiveness upon the spilled margarita. You could compose invites for a hipster dinner party on this paper, knot it up with some twine, and head on down to the brewery for some crafty goodness. Stop by the clinic, would you, and make sure your boosters are up to date?
Or, you could just take your chances, and become a disturbing and disturbed carrier like me! We can donate our bodies to science! It will be cool!
Photo: 
School Year Wrap Up: 2014 Report Card Comments June 23, 2014
Tags: end of school year, report card comments, teacher
Imagine, if you will, that you are a teacher in an urban elementary school. For the past ten months it has been your duty to systematically improve the outcomes of twenty-some little less-than-nine-year-olds. Pants have been wet. Spider monkey howls have been howled. Swaths of duct tape have hovered within centimeters of certain lips. I only alluded once out loud to a possible need to wear Pull-Ups to school due to frequent “I have a true emergency” pleas. If you do not see the miracle in the fact that students and teacher are still standing, you clearly need to watch more episodes of The Simpsons.
And so, the time has come, once again, to fill a space barely larger than that of a triple Tweet, with the critical written message that may be the only communication that a parent reads about their child (I don’t assume that they have read the previous comments). Also, the dang Cricket phone has long since been disconnected. As I have noted before, the nature of report card comments has been ambushed, like everything else in public education, by the Data Dementors. We are required to report mostly in numeric code. What’s left must tread lightly into the realm of the human being child. You’ll see what I mean. Please note: I use the word “actual” loosely.
Actual comment:
Skylark has increased her reading level from C to F. This is still far below the grade level target of M. Skylark continues to struggle with addition and subtraction within 20, and scored 27% on the most recent math assessment. Please practice daily with the materials sent home for the summer. I am hopeful that Skylark will focus on her schoolwork in order to make lots of progress next year!
Fake comment:
Skylark has progressed from level C (Come ON!) to level F (Freaking pay attention and look at the word and not your sparkly press-on nails that get lost on the floor and prevent you from looking at these things called letters!). Skylark is amused by Kleenex. Skylark won our class award for most consecutive days without turning in homework! Way to go above and beyond, Skylark!
Actual comment:
Bruce Lee has made some progress with math computation, and scored 40 out of 50 points on the end-of-year timed facts quiz. He should be reading at level M at the end of this grade, but struggled to reach K, as he sometimes gives up on tasks, and is tempted to socialize. I am confident that he will make more positive behavior choices next year. Good luck, Bruce!
Fake comment:
Bruce Lee could be the most successful kid in the class, but he is fully focused on his Thug-In-Training program. He was the first in the grade to learn to make spit balls! He believes that his desk is a wheelbarrow, and his seat, a rocking chair. His anger at being asked to complete schoolwork is surpassed only by his commitment to wear all-camo, all day, every day. I was delighted at his progress when he stated that, “I don’t steal markers from you anymore.”
Actual comment:
Tazmania scored 19 out of 50 points on her final math assessment, short of the grade level target of 40. She also has struggled with understanding what she reads, scoring 35% on her last unit assessment. Tazmania is frequently distracted and will need to focus on controlling her body as she moves on to the next grade level. Good luck next year, Taz!
Fake comment:
Tazmania practices Desk Twerking on a daily basis. We are all impressed by her ability to elevate her tush like that, and so often! She finds it difficult to complete assignments, as she is generally at eye level with her desk, which is a treasure trove of all the pencils, rubber bands, and sticky notes missing from the room at any given time. I am hopeful that her practice at lying pathologically will contribute to lots of improvement in her writing next year! Good luck, Tazmania!
Now, on to the comedy that is summer professional development!
Image:
Share this:
Like this: