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. 

10-12-2013

I realize that it has been a month since my last post. I have lots of excuses as to why, but it all boils down to one thing: it’s always someone else’s fault. I feel that it’s important to point the blame fingers in the faces of the guilty. The guilty ones have small faces because they’re children. And I think it’s time we stop sheltering them from accountability. It’s their fault because they take all my time and energy. In this blog, I will point out how trying to protect the children is actually hurting the adults. And yes, I am including myself as an adult here because I can legally drink. Just not where I live now.

First fact about kids that we tend to gloss over is that they are liars. Children lie to me everyday of the week. If I don’t see a child during the weekend, I usually dream about one talking falsehoods to me. Their lies aren’t big, but they’re there. An example:

 
Me: Who took my pencil?

A child 'claiming' he isn't hanging on the the tire.

Child: (While holding my pencil and       looking straight into my soul) Huh?

Me: Who took my pencil off my desk?

Child: I didn’t take it.

Me: Why are you holding my pencil?

Child: I’m not. This is mine. I got it from  home.    

Me: You got a pencil from home with my name on it?

Child: (Still looking at me) Yes.

Then they become indignant when I take it back, like I just took their lunch money. They’ll fight me a little, but since they are 8 and I’m a bit older, I usually win that tug-o-war. Which brings me to my next point.

They’re grubby. My pencil will come back with little teeth marks on it and some dark stains. Yes, stains. I will watch them wash their hands in the morning. We will stay inside all morning, yet before lunch, their hands are grubby again. I don’t know how this is happening from inside the classroom. I hypothesize that the grubbiness seeps from under the skin layer to the surface. I see no other explanation. And their favorite thing to do with their hands is to touch my beard. I have not had a good ‘thinning of the beard’ in almost 6 months now. There are not many beards out here and I guess they just enjoy the feeling of.......Wait. If their hands were clean but somehow get grubby without going outside.......?  I’ll get back to you on my hand-grubby hypothesis. I may have to tweak it some. (Not twerk.)

Actual proof of students draining energy from room.

So how is it their fault that I haven't written a blog in a month? Well, it just is. Children can usurp energy from adults like a black hole. (Again, I’m including myself as an adult here.) If we need to blame anyone in our country for over-consumption of energy, the judgmental eyes should be staring at the children. Scientific fact: Idling a SUV while watching Titanic on the backseat DVD player consumes less energy than a single eye-roll by a 9 year old. I’ve been unable to write because I’m too tired having energy usurped from me......gotta go. Football is on.

P.S. To future employers: This is a satirical look at children in general. Of course, students at your school would never behave in this manner so you shouldn’t get too excited over the post. 

        To my present employer: This is a satirical look at children in general. So just stay calm and chive. (Whatever that means. I saw it on a T-shirt.)

9-15-2013

Trying to find the treasure.

One of the refreshing parts of teaching elementary schools is the fact that students have no filters between their brains and their mouths. For example, I have a student who comes up to me every morning, pats my stomach, and says,”You eat too much.” Most people say that behind my back, but not the Dr. Phil of Nunam. I have a daily reminder that I do, in fact, eat too much. I remind her that sometimes telling adults things like that could hurt their feelings. She just smiles and says, “I know”.  She must be made of sugar. 

I hear things that make me laugh. During Social Studies, we were talking about different jobs in different communities. Since there are few jobs here, it didn’t take long to list them. I then started talking about the jobs available in Anchorage. Remember, I teach a multi-grade class: 2nd- 4th grade. Kids brought up the regular jobs, like police, firemen, and Walmart. I told my class that they could even make pizza at a Chuck E. Cheese. One student got real excited and even asked if I was kidding. I assured him I was not. He then asked how much he would have to pay them to work there. I had to reteach my lesson on employment.

Let the competition begin!

And I hear things that make me cringe. We have only one bathroom for our students at the school. This includes all of the high school students. So when I give my kids a break, I am always in the bathroom with them. Bigger kids can sometimes bother the little ones, so I make sure I protect my littles. Plus, left alone, they can make an awful mess. The other day, two boys went into the two stalls. As they did their business, they began talking about who could poop the most. It became a bragging point for one, who seemed quite proud of his earlier accomplishments. I guess if you can deliver the goods, flaunt it.

But when adults have that same missing filter problem, it is neither amusing or cute. We see these adults on Facebook, telling the world how their Irritable Bowel Syndrome has  been affecting them at work lately. Or people shouting to the world about how outraged they were at Miley Cyrus and her twerking. I didn’t care, so I never watched the video and continued with my life as usual. But more and more people complained, so I had to find out what twerking was. So I googled it and found out that twerking meant “to dance in a sexually suggestive manner”. So of course I had to watch it, several times. Miss Cyrus seems to possess some above average athletic abilities, but I was not outraged. My takeaway was that she was going to have some lower back problems when she gets older. Maybe as I get older I will become more outraged at what other people do with their own time. But for now, we should filter out outrage a little, because we are sounding like angry, old men, shaking their fist at the kids and telling them to “Get off my lawn!”

So, I would much rather listen to my kids talk about poop (daily) and remind me that I should cut back on my chili and rice portions. But I don’t think I want to hang out with them all of the time, because they do complain about some silly things. Like, “Why do we have to write so much?” “Why do we have to learn history?” “Why do we have to do your laundry and wash your dishes?” To be fair, they had a point on that one. But, clothes don’t wash themselves, so what are you going to do?

9-1-2013

This weekend was our 10 year anniversary. That means Monica has been hearing me say for the past 10 years, “Well, deal with it, we’re married.” And I have been hearing a boatload of things from her. Mostly instructions. “Don’t eat that.” “Pick up your underwear and socks. The ones in the kitchen.” “Take a shower. With water” “Throw that away, that’s not a suppository!”

With a directive purpose, I have become a better person under her supervision. I have been a much happier person because of Monica. I know the next 40 years of my life will continue to be a happy adventure with my best friend. 

Recess. I'm the one in the tan jacket.

In other news, school started last week. With the first day of school, there were new students in my class. I am teaching a younger demographic this year: 2nd, 3rd, and 4th grades. The 2nd and 3rd graders are new to my classroom, so there is still some anxiety with them. They are not sure how to deal with me yet. Their last teacher was a quiet, elderly lady who is much kinder than I am. I’m big, hairy and loud. Not what the kids wanted to see and hear from their new teacher. It was more like a bear encounter for them. It didn’t help that I hid behind the coat rack and jumped out at them and roared when they came into the room for the first time. They’ll get used to it eventually.

Our school has lost several students from last year, so my class has only 10 students as of now. The number will probably change during the year, as families and kids tend to move around a lot. So I expect to add a few more students as the year progresses, but right now I have about half as many as I had last year. That doesn’t always make it easier, but I promise not to complain. I realize there are teachers at other schools who are dealing with 30+ kids in their classroom. A real bear would come in handy for them.

Our school and our new housing.

Learning to manage younger kids will take time. It’s been only four days of school, but I am proud of myself that I haven’t made a student cry yet. Some have looked like they might when I was ‘redirecting their behavior’, but they held strong. Monica says they are still terrified. I think they are just being polite. I am excited about our Big Ten and what we’ll learn this year.

If there is an afterlife, I feel confident I will be allowed into the good part of town, the one they call Heaven. I imagine the scenario would go something like this: 

St. Peter:  Wow. (Shaking his head.) This does not look good.

Me: What do you mean? (Drinking a beer.)

St. Peter: (Pointing to a list of several violations against humanity) These!

Me: Oh, those. But what about this? (Pointing to a picture of Monica)

St. Peter: Well, if she put up with you for 50 years, I guess we could put up with you for eternity. Now, throw that away, that’s not a suppository. 

8-25-2013

I think our's will be the door on the left.
If not, somebody's going to be surprised
when I barge in on them.

The first week of being back to work is done and was spent sitting in the library in front of our VTC (video teleconference) monitor. We still haven’t had students in the classrooms yet because of the many changes that are going on in our district this year and the hours of training we need to endure. 

So we sat for six hours a day last week, listening to lectures on new reading curriculum and a new behavior plan to be implemented this year. Best practices states that long, boring lectures are the worst way to transmit knowledge. So of course, that is exactly what our district inflicts on us. When I got caught drinking whiskey and smoking a cigarette at age 5, my mom removed the contraband from my hands, took a long drag from the bottle and then the cigarette, and told me “Do as I say, not as I do.” (Editor’s note: Clay’s mother does not drink nor has she ever smoked!!) (Author’s note: When the hell did I get an editor? And why isn’t she on my side?) So I’m sure that more time was spent district-wide on Pintrest than on paying attention to the training. I will not name names. 

We spent two days receiving training on the new district-wide behavioral plan. The behavioral plan is for correcting student behavior, not staff.  Although, I think it would be in the best interest of any organization to be able to modify or correct a behavior of staff and administration. Except my behavior of course. I was thinking more of how the underlings, us teachers, could work behavior tricks on the administration in order to have some common understanding of the priority levels of needs in a school setting. But that would necessitate the use of magic, not tricks, which doesn’t exist. (Editor’s note: Clay’s school administrators don’t approve of magic or tricks to manipulate students or staff.)(Author’s note:  Noted.)

On the happy side, our new housing is looking like it will be done by Thanksgiving. Our district is building a new four-plex directly behind our school. Our walk to school is now about a half-mile each way. When we move it will be exactly 34 ft. each way. This will be great on those blizzard days, but it will become more difficult to hide from the principal. I don’t mean ‘hide’ in a bad way, but more of a ‘not being able to be found’ way. I work better that way.

Kids will be showing up at the school door on Tuesday. They have already expressed their desire to start already. They have come to our house, reminding us when school starts. Yesterday, we had two of my students come to the window of the classroom where Monica and I were working. They asked for math worksheets to work on outside the window. And they turned them in! We’ll see how long their excitement of receiving school work continues. One of my soon to be former students asked if I would come to his new classroom and holler at him, just for fun. I wonder how many other students will be missing my hollering? Maybe just the fun hollering.

So with our VTC meetings done for a few weeks, I’m looking forward to school starting. I enjoy the routine of the classroom and using my new behavior strategies with the students. Instead of yelling “Sit Down!!”, I will calmly inform them that sitting down will be in everyone’s best interest. (Author’s note: I’ve tried this approach with Monica. So far with little success.) (Editor’s note: Noted.)

8-17-2013

My wife reminded me yesterday that I hadn’t updated my blog in almost 4 months. I think her exact words were,” You smell bad and stop making that sound with your face mouth.” So, I stopped playing Rockband, took a shower, and sat down to write about our summer.

It all started in May with a plane ride from Nunam Iqua to Fayetteville, Arkansas and ended in August with the exact opposite flight. In between we took a trip to Washington, D.C., one to South Dakota, watched 6 baseball games and saw/heard over 25 musical acts. I will not disclose the number of beers I consumed, mainly because I lost count on the second day back. I smoked 12 racks of ribs, grilled about 14 chickens, and grilled more than a dozen pizzas. I was also distracted most of the summer with text messages from someone named Carlos Danger. Very friendly guy. 

In addition to all of that, my mother spent three weeks with us in Oklahoma before we drove her to Washington, D.C., where she will be residing. She wasn’t there to mother me, she stopped that years ago. When I was like two or three. She was there for her own entertainment. For example, after coming back in the house from a walk this summer, I explained how I stepped on a snake. And when that happened, the snake coiled itself around my calf. I reacted like any worldly 46 year old man would have; I screamed like a 5 year old girl and kicked. When I kicked, the snake slipped off my leg and out into the brush. When I explained my near-death experience to my mother a few minutes later, she did what any 71 year old woman would do; she laughed. Very similar to the way she laughed about my pants accident last year.  I let her stay anyway.

Planning our trip back home to Nunam Iqua is always an event. We left Oklahoma on Sunday morning and arrived in Anchorage about 8 that evening. It was a long flight (7.5 hrs) from Houston to Anchorage, but we managed to get there without anyone getting punched in the face. We did not have Drunk Baby sitting in front of us showing off his collection of tantrums. Drunk Baby has traveled on the same plane as us in the past, and his parents have placed him either directly in front or right behind us. Kicking, screaming, crying, and yelling are all part of his repertoire. But, his frequent flyer miles must have expired, allowing the flight to be was a pleasant one. We also ponied up the extra money in order to have an exit seat and more leg room. I wasn’t happy about being extorted by the airlines, but the fact that my knees didn’t block my view of my book made for a pleasurable flight.

We spent Monday morning shopping for food and other items we’ll need up here to survive for the year. Along with ordering our meat for the year and most of our groceries, I bought two pinatas and about 15 lbs of candy. Watching kids use a stick to beat candy out of an donkey made of paper is always a delight. 

We made it back home to the village three days ago and it feels good. Not just because I’ve been forced into better personal hygiene, but to see our Alaskan friends again. The hugs from the kids are always a good welcome home. And now that I’m back in my rickety, uncomfortable chair, I will be updating my blog for my fourth year teaching at Sheldon Point School again.