4-27-2014

Well, the year is winding down. With less than 4 weeks of school left, I start to reflect on what we’ve accomplished in the classroom this year. I think about how much the students have advanced in their knowledge. I see how much they have physically grown over the past 9 months. I also reflect on the scars and physical damage they’ve inflicted on me. The loss of hair and memory, the graying of my beard, and the twitching I’ve developed in my left eye. I’m no spring chicken, but holy cats, they can beat a man down. 

Nine months is a long time to spend with a group of kids whose central plan is plotting my demise. But we have had a successful academic year. During this year, I have implemented my School House Rock learning plan for the class. I want them to learn grammar the same way I did; by watching cartoons. So, during free time in the classroom, I turn on the School House Rock DVD. If I can get my adverbs from Lolly’s, then by god so can they. When the kids are learning their adjectives, they look up at me when the “he was a hairy bear, he was a scary bear” part comes on. Not just because I’m large and hairy, but because I ate one of my students my first year here. I was new, inexperienced, and I just lost control one day. Do I regret eating a student? Sure, but he kind of had it coming and looking back I can justify it to myself. Maybe not to the parents, but to myself. 

Our math didn’t go quite as well as our language arts. I noticed some problems from our last assessment and it taught me 2 important things:

1. Borrowing from zero is a difficult concept in subtraction.
2. Understanding the differences between area and perimeter can be difficult.
3. We’re not learning the basic concepts of math.

Now, that’s not to say that the whole year was a waste when it comes to math. We did spend a lot of time working with perimeter and using Call Of Duty to explain what it means to check the perimeter. We learned fractions from pizza and probability by my angry outbursts. (Is it more likely that Mr. Clay will explode if 2 of us are making farting noises or 10 of us are making farting noises? They like to perform their own experiments.) 

A science fair experiment. It was a new torture devise they
made for me.

We had actual experiments for our science fair and we learned why people want to live near water. We’ve had kids spinning and revolving around one another pretending to be planets. We’ve had arguments over who got to be the sun. The sun seems to be a popular role since everyone else has to move around them while the stand there and gloat. We learned why people came to Ellis Island and why island has a stupid ‘s’ in it. (Because we’re pigheaded and don’t want to change things, even though we know it would be easier.) I don’t want to get sidetracked on a rant here, but if the Internet word Nazis really wanted to make a difference, I wish they would focus their efforts on fixing our problems instead of condescendingly pointing out when people mess up these complicated and convoluted grammar rules and spelling. We also farted. A lot. Everyday. Everywhere. 

We were picking up trash around the school last week.
Nobody was injured.

Now that we’re almost done, I start thinking about next year. I’ll have most of the kids again next year, so it’s not like I can just pass them off to the next teacher. I am the next teacher. I get to see my teaching mistakes next year, so it pays to keep working till the last day. But they will soon have 3 months free from me. They are already in their summer mode. I’ll look outside and the kids will still be out at the playground at 10:00pm. They’ve had a head start since it is much warmer this spring than normal; we have very little snow left. Now, I’ll leave you to continue humming your favorite School House Rock song. Your welcome. (See what I did there?)

4-5-2014

Since I write this blog about teaching in rural Alaska, people who are wondering about working out here often contact me to ask questions. I decided to share some of these questions with the good people who read my blog. And for people who are wanting to know what it is like to teach up here. These may or may not be real questions asked by real people. 

• A lady from Springfield asked me what type of conditioner she should use for dry, frizzy hair. (Bear fat, of course.)                                                                                             
• A young graduate from Harvard asked me if he should continue to date his current girlfriend, even though she has this “unhealthy fascination with stripper poles” while listening to Johnny Cash. (I told him no, and he should send her up this way so I could look at her Johnny Cash collection. I’m a big fan.) 
• What is teacher housing like up there? (This varies by village but we don’t live in igloos. The housing I live in was just constructed this past fall, so it is nice. We have two bedroom/two bathrooms. Other places have older units that have troubles with plumbing and keeping the rain out. And no, it is not free rent. Most places have housing built and provided by the school district, who then leases it to the teachers.) 

  

  This is a picture of our school and our housing.
  It is very close to each other, in a good way.

• A retired teacher from Montana asked if we still had to poop in buckets in the morning. (When and where I poop is my business, thank you.)
• A mortician from New Orleans asked if it is ok to paint his customers’ faces as clowns. (If you don’t make them sad-clown faces. I think that would send the wrong message.)
• A young man from Dallas asked if it is true that there is no law enforcement in some rural villages. (That is correct. The village I live in has no law enforcement. The Alaska State Troopers have a post about 20 miles away and will usually respond within 3-7  business days.)
• An elderly lady from the Washington D.C. area asked if I still eat my vegetables. (Mom! Stop hassling me!! We don’t have the opportunity for fresh vegetables out here. Most will freeze on the cargo plane before it reaches our village. And canned vegetables are out of the question. We can get frozen vegetables sent up here, but that would take up valuable freezer space allocated for the bacon supply. So, you can see why we have a limited amount of vegetables.)
• A duck call manufacturer from Louisiana asked if beards are compulsory for the people up there? (That is a very good question. The answer varies depending on whether or not you can grow one. Women are discouraged, but allowed. Children need written approval from their parents before attempting to grow a beard. Manly men are required and men who are trying to be manly grow one to avoid being pushed around. fyi, using halloween paint does not fool anyone, they only push you around more.)
• A prince from Nigeria asked if I would send him $2,000 in order for me to receive $1 million from one of my Nigerian relatives. (No)
• A teacher from Maine asked if it was true that teachers only had to teach for 10 years and they then could collect a large pension. (No. don’t be an idiot. there is no pension for teachers. we pay into a fund, which we get back when we feel there is an adequate amount for us to stop working and begin drinking daily. we also do not pay into social security, so keep that in mind when planning for retirement.)
• A student from Amsterdam asked what did it mean that most villages were “dry”? (A dry village means that purchasing or possessing alcohol is illegal. that doesn’t mean that there is no alcohol out here, it just means that I don’t have any alcohol out here. I want to repeat that: I don’t have any alcohol out here. so that means that i am on a first name basis with the owner of the liquor store in Jay, Oklahoma during the summer months.)

I hope that answers some of your questions. I may have to revisit this when I get (or think) of new questions. Now, I have to download more Cash from iTunes and begin construction on a new stripper pole. Yes, I said new.

3-15-2014

March seems like an incredibly long month. I think that standing next to February, a much shorter and balder month, makes March seem more substantial. Another reason is because every March, the students kind of turn on me. Not in a violent sort of way, but like a pack of passive/aggressive wolves. They move in a fluid, well coordinated motion. It is imperative that no student ever gets behind me or else I fear they will attack. Or take shit from my desk. Wolves are like that, putting their grubby paws on my stuff.  

Documented proof of me being attached by students.

One reason the kids turn into some sort of wolf/gremlin hybrid is because they are getting tired of me by this time of the school year.  And they have reason to be. They have sort of hinted at this, saying, “We, as a class of small wolflike creatures with grubby paws, are tiring of listening to Clay. We would appreciate if you would allow for more goofing off in the classroom.” I am of course paraphrasing. What they actually said was, “Stop making sounds out of your face!!” Then they stick their fingers in their ears and scream like goats. As you would expect, this is an unpleasant experience. This is March.

The kids are making other animal sounds during class. These outbursts are unexpected and unappreciated, by me at least. One sweet little girl made the sound of a donkey braying. Unprovoked and loud. (Although I’m not sure how one would provoke someone   into making that sound.) Right in the middle of a math test. And the oddest part of this true story is that nobody turned to look and see what was going on. And she went back to her math, just like she hadn’t emitted that awful sound. It was as if I was the only one who noticed this and found it out of place. This is March.

Here we have a student ready to fire.

By the time we make it to March, the kids have had six months of practicing their school farting. School farting is the art of passing gas at a moment's notice and without regard to decency or decorum. If one kid farts, others in the class will discharge within seconds just to show that they can too, similar to how dogs bark at each other at night when you are trying to sleep. Only now you can smell the barks. And the pride they have! Zero shame and high fives. Some weeks I let them choose what spelling words to use for the week. Last week one student’s word was “fart”. No, I told him, we are not using fart as a spelling word. “How about butt fart?” No, I told them, we are not using butt fart as spelling word. Besides, butt fart is two words not one. Their reply? “Ha Ha, Mr. Clay said butt fart!”  This is March.

March is half way done. The sun is out much longer now and continues to give us 6 minutes more each day. Every year goes like this. And every year I realize at this time that maybe it isn’t the kids who are turning on me. Maybe, just maybe, it’s their teacher who is getting grumpy. Maybe their teacher got tired and started feeling sorry for himself. So I remind myself that making barnyard noises and smells aren’t the worst things in the world and try to appreciate my surroundings a little bit more. But I will not turn my back for one second. Because this is still March.

2-23-2014

If you’ve ever had the privilege of listening to a teacher for any amount of time, you’ll realize that we tend to complain about things. A lot. For long periods of time. Some are legitimate (we shouldn’t have to build library shelves after school), while others are just made up whining (can we make Clay stop making those goat sounds during the meeting?). In my defense, goats make soothing, relaxing sounds that help others concentrate better. But there is one thing that a teacher will complain about and has every right to do so. SCIENCE FAIR PROJECTS. These things are killing me.

I am a vocal science advocate. If I had a dime every time Monica rolled her eyes while I was explaining why something is a load of crap because science has already disproved that, I’d buy her dark glasses so I didn’t have to see the eye-rolling. I’m usually yelling at the TV or my computer, so I don't always get to see the eye-rolling. But I know it's there. I love science because it gives us a way to test ideas and see if they are true or untrue. So, why do I hate the science fair?

Oobleck. This was pretty cool.

The process of making a science fair project is not a pretty sight. The process includes name calling, screaming, yelling, crying, yelling, and shameful behavior by all parties involved. This begins when we have to choose which project each student wants to choose. Since we live in a place where there is no Wal-mart, materials are hard to find here. So, many really cool projects have to be shot down by me because of the lack of resources and materials. This is the first stage of the yelling and name calling. I try to calmly tell them that we can’t do it because we don’t have liquid zinc and dioxicide carbonate powder. They irrationally let me know that they don’t care, they want to blow up a watermelon. 

Crazy River pouring his vineger.

Once they have been coerced into a particular project, they have to preform the experiment, record data, and explain what is happening to the rest of the class. This is the fun part for the all of the kids. The ones preforming the experiment love doing that part and the rest of the class gets a kick out of seeing what happens. Then all hell breaks loose again when we have to begin to prepare “The Board”. 

“The Board” is a three foot tri-fold board. The little scientists now have to prepare it by typing all of their procedures, materials, hypothesis, and conclusion. They then glue it on the decorated board along with pictures of them preforming the experiment. This sounds like a fairly mundane activity, until they start. First off, they have to type their data on the computer. You know, so people can actually read what they’re trying to communicate. I would assume that teaching a 3rd grader how to type is similar to teaching a 3rd grader how to fly an airplane. This is where the teacher begins to unravel. I am walking around the classroom as my kids are on the seven computers. I then began to shout letters for the next hour. “P!! It’s a P!!!!! No!!! A P!!! No!!! No!!! A P!!! Not an A for God’s sake! A P!! It’s a P, as in ‘Please find the P key’.  A frickin' P!!!!!”  This goes on for an hour a day for about 4 days, until they get their project all typed out. 

We did find raisins and Sprite.

We still haven’t had our fair yet, but that is the another fun part for the kids. Their teacher tends to calm down a bit and enjoy what the kids have done. I’m always impressed with effort and results when it is all said and done. The kids love it and will talk about it until we go through this next year. 

1-19-2014

I took a few weeks off from writing this blog for two reasons: 1) I was busy. b) I am lazy.  When a lazy person gets busy it kind of makes things weird in the world. So I am now sincerely apologizing for the Polar Vortex thing. I tried to warn Monica, but she kept me busy.

The busiest thing I did was to buy a house. We went to Oklahoma for our winter break,which was three weeks this year, and finished up the paperwork and closed on a house. Owning a house takes the pressure off me because now I don’t have to waste time thinking about where I will be spending my paychecks. There will always be plenty projects to pay for. 

Our new house in OK.

We had a good time in Oklahoma for Christmas; spending lots of time with family, eating good food, and visiting my friends at the liquor store. We even were able to listen to some good music in the City on New Year’s Day night. 

Getting to OK is not a fun event. From the time we get on our first plane in Nunam Iqua to when we land at the Northwest Arkansas Airport, we’ve been traveling for about 24 hours. Not all of it in a plane, some of it in airport bars, but still, 24 hours without sleeping in the prone position. 

For those of you who haven’t had to spend much time in airports, I’ll share this tidbit with you: They suck. They suck in almost every way possible. They’re crowded, stinky, crowded, loud, uncomfortable seating, crowded, and there are a lot of people there. If you like to people watch, you’ll get your quota for that in about 2 minutes. But I do learn some things while in airports. For instance, I learned what Hank Hill is doing now that his show is no longer on the air. He makes announcements on the intercom at the Houston Airport. 

Hangover Ball at the Wormy Dog Saloon. Jason Boland,
Wade Bowen, and Adam Hood.

I also learned that I can tell a person’s age by the distance they position their finger to their iPhone when they use the phone. The older the person, the further they keep their finger from the phone, and they peck at it. Much like a chicken eating off the ground. It is in a random cadence how they strike the phone. There is also a cutoff age where people use their thumbs instead of their index finger. I think around 44, because my wife is 29 and uses a mix. I am 47 and use my index finger usually. When I text angry, I use my middle finger. 

I also had my first personal, one-on-one experience with the fine folks at TSA. As I finished standing in the scanner so they could have a good look at what kind of underwear I was wearing (I bet they were surprised), they asked me to come with them for a personal inspection. Well, I was new to this, so there was some confusion on my part. I had my shirt off and my pants to my ankles before he asked me to step out of the line and said we were just going to just look in my backpack. I was embarrassed, TSA guy was annoyed, and the gal behind me pretended she didn’t look. But I know she did. After they found no contraband in my backpack, they released me back to Monica. She also seemed annoyed at me. 

But we made it back without further incident. We stayed in Anchorage for a night before heading back home. We found out the Polar Vortex thing affected things up here too. It had been warm, but the cold followed us north. People like it cold up here, so everyone’s happy now I guess. I could tell the kids were happy to see us return, because they kept asking when I was leaving again. 

12-7-2013

I blogged a couple of weeks ago about my students and I think I said they cheat and lie. I know that may sound harsh, since they are kids and all. But if you asked them, I think they would agree with me; only it would be in the form of a lie.

Then they would smile and try to confuse you by asking for some candy. 

They try that tactic a lot. They think that if they switch topics on you, you’re likely to forget about the butt-chewing you were about to give them, and joyfully begin discussing their favorite Spongebob episodes. “Spongebob!?” I shout. “Spongebob isn’t even a real cartoon! I’ll tell you what a real cartoon is. Bugs Bunny. Now there’s a cartoon.” Then they’ll agree and skip back to the group and I stand there mumbling to myself about being duped again. By a seven year old who’s missing his front teeth. The one who wants to be referred to now not as Christopher, but as Crazy River. I comply.

Since the boys in my class are boys, I don’t trust them to go to the boys room unsupervised. This gives me the opportunity to hear and witness some of the most foul and disgusting sounds, smells, and ideas anyone should bear witness to. To me, using the bathroom is a private affair. I don’t want to talk to anyone, look at anyone, and for God’s sake, I don’t want to hear anyone. But these boys firmly believe this to be their social event of the day. And what would a social event be without some kid walking out of a bathroom stall, gagging and gasping for air. He’ll say, “That is so gross!” Which apparently is Yupik for “Hey, take a look at this turd!” And they all rush into the stall to gawk. They all agree that it is truly gross and proceed to high-five each other. I have even honest-to-God heard one kid singing “What a Girl Wants” while taking a crap. I assured him that in fact, it is not what a girl wants. His reply was a wet rumble that is still echoing off the tile walls. Touché, Crazy River.

But they are very helpful when problems arise in the classroom. For instance, when I am having technical difficulties with my interactive whiteboard, they have all kinds of supportive hints for me. They will kindly start shouting out pointers on how to fix the problem: “Turn it on!” “Is it plugged in?!” “Turn it off!” “Try turning the knob!” “Turn it back on!” “Give us candy!!” What? I calmly turn around and logically explain that yes, I know how to trouble shoot a technical problem. I point out that I’m 47, they’re 8. I remind them that at 8 years old, they haven’t been through a divorce, endured a mortgage/proctology ordeal, or ever had to decline a food because it was too late at night. Their response to my point that I have have life experience and they don’t is, “Haha!! You’re old!” It is the finger pointing and laughter that hurts the most. 

They’re right. I am much older then they are. So I sit down and explain to them that when I was their age, we didn’t have fancy computers or interactive whiteboards. Wikipedia didn’t exist; we had to open books. With our fingers. They stare at me in astonishment. This look has been called the ‘No Way’ effect. Just now. By me. I continue to explain to them how lucky they are to have all of this technology available to them to help them learn about the world around them. They nod their heads and ask if I tried wiggling the power cord. 

Everyday in the classroom, or the boys restroom, I hear something interesting, funny, or disgusting from my students. This is why I enjoy my job. If you walk by your office bathroom at work and hear the conversations I do, you may want to report them to your supervisor or to Homeland Security. I get to blog about them. 

11-16-2013

We moved. Not to a different town but to a different house. We moved across town to a new 4-plex housing unit built by our school district for the teachers. This was a move unlike any move I’ve done before. Mainly because I couldn’t find an excuse to get out of it.  Well, I had plenty of excuses. She just wasn’t buying any of them.

Housing availability in most Alaskan bush village is a tricky deal. Land ownership in the village is not obtainable for individuals, so we can’t buy a house up here. The Native Corporations own the land and they usually build the houses and sell them to native residents. When the government began to build schools out here, the teachers needed places to stay, so the school districts built housing for the teachers to rent. So yes, we pay rent on our teacher’s housing. It is subsidized, but I could rent a house in Oklahoma for about the same as I rent here.

The housing that I lived in for almost 3 ½ years was a half-mile walk from the new school. It was located near the old school and we are now moving in to the housing the district just completed at the new school. The old housing was just that, old. I think my house was built in the late sixties or early seventies, as part of the BIA school they had here. It had issues, but mostly it kept us dry, warm, and the toilet flushed when we pushed the handle. We would get snow through the ceiling in the kitchen if the wind was blowing in a certain direction, but that didn’t happen often. The rugs in the bathroom would freeze to the floor in the winter, making that first step out of the shower a second wakeup for the day. But it served us well. The half-mile walk will not be missed in the winter storms.

The move itself is a long process. There are four families moving up to the new housing. We don’t have any vehicles for the move, except the ATVs. So, we have been shuffling plastic totes on the back of the two ATVs for the past week. And we still are not completely finished but close. And it’s been an ordeal. It is exhausting, complaining, as I tend to do. Monica claims she is getting tired of it too, but sometimes she lies. Also, it takes a lot of effort on my part deflecting angry glares coming my way. It seems as if she’s almost annoyed with me.

This is what has been keeping me off the floor.
I'll take blame for some of this sadness but not all.

Now we have a new house. And most importantly, we have new furniture. Our old furniture was awful. It was uncomfortable, falling apart, and I’m certain contributed to my hair loss. It did keep us up off the floor, but barely. My chair was held together by duct tape and I had to use extra pillows for cushions. The couch where Monica ruled the house from also used old pillows and cardboard for support. Now we have new furniture that reclines with footrests. The only problem is that they are made of microfiber. When I stand up out of my chair, between the fleece and microfiber, I have enough static charge to power a Prius for 50 miles. But I usually use that electrical charge to shock my hand on the refrigerator door. I think I am going to put duct tape on the handle.

New chair, new house, old me.

The weeklong move using four-wheelers is nearly complete and I am enjoying the benefit of being less than 50 feet from my place of employment.  Now, when I forget something back at the house, like maybe pants, I can go back and get them. Instead of when we lived across the village, I would just have to figure that whatever I forgot must not have been that important. Also, the school is going to strictly enforce the “wear pants” rule. I’m anxious to see what ‘strictly’ means.