She's back! (Don't get too excited... don't know how long it'll last.)
This weeks assignment: Another people-watching exercise this week! This time, let’s listen! Choose a stranger and do your best to overhear what they say, and then write it down. It can be on the phone, to someone else, or even them talking to themselves. What does their voice, word choice, or tone tell you about them? Feel free to write their exact words OR write it as you would for fictional dialogue. By now you guys know the rules aren’t what’s important, but the experience!
I'm kind of cheating. I hadn't read the assignment for this week (since I'd slacked off for two weeks, it was depressing to read others' stuff), but I overheard a good conversation this morning. After reading the assignment, I'm going to do my best from memory.
Today is parent conference day. Not for our students, but for our homeroom kids; we're discussing next year's schedule and blah-blah. Not the most fun way to spend your Saturday, but I'm getting paid. And, as you can see, there is a lot of free time.
The teacher next to me had a conference right after my first left. I was catching up on Twitter, but my ears perked up when I heard her say, "First, Student, I have a question for you. Why didn't you go to the office yesterday when I sent you?"
Wow. This was much more involved than I was planning on being with any of my students. (Honestly, half of them? I don't know their names.)
I didn't eavesdrop on the whole conversation, but the father's voice drifted from her table to mine several times. I liked the dad's voice -- it was firm, no-nonsense, tough.
"You call her Ms. Teacher, not 'her.' Her name is Ms. Teacher. She's not one of your friends, one of those girls you hang out with -- you don't talk about her that way. She's your teacher. You talk to her with respect."
I wish I could remember the other things he said. He laid down the law -- what the teacher says, goes. Period, end of story.
I liked hearing him talk to his son with respect, but a firm hand. The father was not going over the top, making grand, sweeping statements and announcing unreasonable expectations. This did not come across as a show for the benefit of the teacher -- the "I've neglected your discipline for years, but NOW we're going to make some serious changes, YOU HEAR ME?" chest-beating rant. He also wasn't boasting abuse: "Ms. Teacher is going to email me every week and let me know if you're behaving or not. And if you are not behaving, if she says you do one thing wrong in class, if you forget to say, 'Bless you' when she sneezes, you know what's going to happen, don't you? Yeah, you know. You're not going to be able to sit down for a week. Don't worry, Ms. Teacher, I'll make sure this never happens again."
He wasn't like that. I believed this dad. This wasn't a show, this was parenting.
But he still made me think of all the other times I've sat through a parent chewing his kid out just for my (the teacher's) benefit. The times when the parent has let me know that things are going to change, because he's going to beat the kid if he misbehaves again. And how much the parent values education, and how hard teachers work, and how teachers need to be respected... and then nothing changes. The kid acts the same way, gets the same grades, and the parent never follows up. Because the parent said all those things to look good, but he takes the kid's side at home. And, directly, indirectly, consciously, unconsciously, the parent teaches the kid that teachers do not need to be respected. That they are inconsequential. If the teacher doesn't do what we say, we just go over her head.
I don't know if you can tell, but I had a very unpleasant conversation with a very unpleasant mother before I wrote that paragraph. So the post I originally sat down to write, about the parent at the table next to me, kind of went away after the mother at my table had her say. This was several hours ago, and it's still with me. Every other conversation I have had today with a parent has been pleasant. The mother waiting to speak to me while the other woman chewed me out was very sweet to me. But none of those exchanges are going to stay with me; the unpleasant mother, and her unpleasant child, are what are going to stay with me.
I have an hour and 45 minutes before I can go home.
I hope I don't have any horrid typos in this post, because I'm not in the mood to reread (because I'll edit too much). So, there is it. Nekkid.
Showing posts with label WAG. Show all posts
Showing posts with label WAG. Show all posts
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
WAG #2 results, and the next Adventure!
From Nixy's blog
Last week's Adventurers:
Last week's Adventurers:
- Cora Zane
- J Strother - Mad Utopia
- Nancy Parra
- Jackie Doss
- Criss - Criss Writes
- Iain Martin
- Marsha - Marsha Writes
- Lulu - Introspective Liar
- Jesse Blair - SexFoodPlay
- Nixy Valentine
- Mickey Hoffman
- DMWCarol
- Aunt Sally
Also, join us on Facebook!Next week’s Writing Adventure:
“WAG #3: A New Friend” Sit somewhere that you can watch strangers passing by. Choose someone that you don’t know, but you can imagine being friends with. Describe them in concrete terms, particularly whatever it is about them you find appealing (or unappealing!) Feel free to also write what you imagine that makes you warm to them, but don’t forget to describe reality as well!
Thank you Marsha for contributing this week’s adventure theme!
Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify me so your post will be properly included in next week’s list. (Note, please include WAG #3 in the subject heading!) Deadline: next Tuesday, March 17th.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
WAG: #2 What I didn't see
(This week's adventure didn't have a title. I'm terrible at titles, so I gave it a very lame title. Deal with it. Our adventure, if you're too lazy to click on the link, was to go outside and "soak it in." Then, we had to write about something we did not notice at first.)
I love this weather, even though the temperature is dropping enough now that I'm getting a little chilly when the wind blows. But it's soft wind, because it's warm. It's the wind that blows before a Texas thunderstorm, where it looks like it should be cold but it's not.
The sky is overcast. It's not a uniform gray; if you look at it you'll see the bunching up of the clouds, but there isn't any blue sneaking through.
The wind is soft and almost warm (it was warmer before, it has cooled down. I'm hoping for a storm, because storms are fun). The wind has that stormy smell, that soft smell that's not really a smell but a feeling, of the rain to come.
I'm sitting outside the wine shop where Freddy works. It's in this hoity-toity "village" of shops and condos. The buildings are very un-Texan: the burnt coppers, mustard yellows, olive greens, and dark beiges of the buildings are going for a pseudo-European, Under-The Tuscan-Sun feel. I'll go ahead and give it to them. At street-level the buildings house boutique shops; the second and third floors have condos that may or may not have owners yet. The windows and balconies are architecturally European, but lack the flowers you see walking along the streets of Madrid, Sevilla, Paris or Genève. At the end of the street you have the town's City Hall building and public library (which I should visit, really... I wonder if they're open today?)
Outside the wine shop they have metal chairs and these "tables," I guess we'll call them, that look more like fancy, giant empty thread spools. Kind of like what the mice used as coffee tables in Disney's Cinderella.
In front of me, slightly to the left, the rotunda in the center of the intersection has green grass (how much does the city pay to make sure that looks "pretty" in our Texas drought seasons?), purple, yellow, and white pansies bordering the bushes surrounding the tree, which is a pretty sorry, scraggly thing, but still has leaves. The tree to the right of me is naked, poor little guy.
Across the street, directly in front of me, I notice the thing I hadn't noticed before, that I really should have -- this is me we're talking about. How could I miss what should be my favorite part of this whole faux-European tableau?
It's an old-fashioned lightpost. Not exaclty like the one I always pictured at the entrance of Narnia, but close enough. This one has one light at the top of the post and three more lights coming off the base of the first. They're not the glass spheres I saw on the streets of Spain and in my hometown (Santiago, Chile -- have I not mentioned that?), and they're not the square (what do you call a 3-dimentional trapezoid?) ones you typically associate with London and Peter Pan; these are cone-shaped but not pointy at the bottom. The bottom of the light is narrower than the top, but the bottom is flat, and the top has another, fatter cone at the top, like a little hat.
My backyard has an ugly, rusted pole that originally was intended for a basketball hoop, I suppose. I want more than anything to turn that ugly pole into an old-fashioned lightpost, like the one at the entrance of Narnia, just outside the wardrobe. That lightpost fascinates me.
Join the Adventure!
~*~
While I was enjoying the outside and the wind, the following took place:
If I may...
This girl (age 10?) just fell while crossing the street. She's walking with her toes inside her sneakers, but her heels resting on the back of the shoes. The shoes are untied, and as far as I can tell they are those Wheelie shoes. (There's a plastic clicking sound every time she takes a step that rubber soles generally don't make.)
She fell and hurt her elbow, and is making a big deal of crying about it.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow!" she bellows like a wounded harp seal.
Dad helps her up, and they finish crossing the street.
"Are you okay?" Dad asks when they reach the corner.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow, (sob), ow!"
On that very corner, a foot and three quarters from where they are standing, there is a bench. Where the girl could SIT and PUT HER DAMN SHOES ON PROPERLY.
No, they keep walking to the car, with the girl clomping along, owing and sobbing, with her shoelaces untied and her shoes not even on her feet.
I love this weather, even though the temperature is dropping enough now that I'm getting a little chilly when the wind blows. But it's soft wind, because it's warm. It's the wind that blows before a Texas thunderstorm, where it looks like it should be cold but it's not.
The sky is overcast. It's not a uniform gray; if you look at it you'll see the bunching up of the clouds, but there isn't any blue sneaking through.
The wind is soft and almost warm (it was warmer before, it has cooled down. I'm hoping for a storm, because storms are fun). The wind has that stormy smell, that soft smell that's not really a smell but a feeling, of the rain to come.
I'm sitting outside the wine shop where Freddy works. It's in this hoity-toity "village" of shops and condos. The buildings are very un-Texan: the burnt coppers, mustard yellows, olive greens, and dark beiges of the buildings are going for a pseudo-European, Under-The Tuscan-Sun feel. I'll go ahead and give it to them. At street-level the buildings house boutique shops; the second and third floors have condos that may or may not have owners yet. The windows and balconies are architecturally European, but lack the flowers you see walking along the streets of Madrid, Sevilla, Paris or Genève. At the end of the street you have the town's City Hall building and public library (which I should visit, really... I wonder if they're open today?)
Outside the wine shop they have metal chairs and these "tables," I guess we'll call them, that look more like fancy, giant empty thread spools. Kind of like what the mice used as coffee tables in Disney's Cinderella.
In front of me, slightly to the left, the rotunda in the center of the intersection has green grass (how much does the city pay to make sure that looks "pretty" in our Texas drought seasons?), purple, yellow, and white pansies bordering the bushes surrounding the tree, which is a pretty sorry, scraggly thing, but still has leaves. The tree to the right of me is naked, poor little guy.
Across the street, directly in front of me, I notice the thing I hadn't noticed before, that I really should have -- this is me we're talking about. How could I miss what should be my favorite part of this whole faux-European tableau?
It's an old-fashioned lightpost. Not exaclty like the one I always pictured at the entrance of Narnia, but close enough. This one has one light at the top of the post and three more lights coming off the base of the first. They're not the glass spheres I saw on the streets of Spain and in my hometown (Santiago, Chile -- have I not mentioned that?), and they're not the square (what do you call a 3-dimentional trapezoid?) ones you typically associate with London and Peter Pan; these are cone-shaped but not pointy at the bottom. The bottom of the light is narrower than the top, but the bottom is flat, and the top has another, fatter cone at the top, like a little hat.
My backyard has an ugly, rusted pole that originally was intended for a basketball hoop, I suppose. I want more than anything to turn that ugly pole into an old-fashioned lightpost, like the one at the entrance of Narnia, just outside the wardrobe. That lightpost fascinates me.
Join the Adventure!
~*~
While I was enjoying the outside and the wind, the following took place:
If I may...
This girl (age 10?) just fell while crossing the street. She's walking with her toes inside her sneakers, but her heels resting on the back of the shoes. The shoes are untied, and as far as I can tell they are those Wheelie shoes. (There's a plastic clicking sound every time she takes a step that rubber soles generally don't make.)
She fell and hurt her elbow, and is making a big deal of crying about it.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow!" she bellows like a wounded harp seal.
Dad helps her up, and they finish crossing the street.
"Are you okay?" Dad asks when they reach the corner.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow, (sob), ow!"
On that very corner, a foot and three quarters from where they are standing, there is a bench. Where the girl could SIT and PUT HER DAMN SHOES ON PROPERLY.
No, they keep walking to the car, with the girl clomping along, owing and sobbing, with her shoelaces untied and her shoes not even on her feet.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
WAG #1 results, and the new Adventure!
From Nixy Valentine's blog:
WAG #1 results and WAG #2 guidelines below!
Wow! You guys are the best. I wasn’t certain how many would participate, but I’m really glad to see so many getting into the spirit of things. The assignment this week was to describe the sky. This was observational, so writers were encouraged to use descriptive words more than metaphors or emotive words.
For those who participated, please cut and paste the links below (and instructions for next week, if you wish) to your own blogs. This will help promote the group and give some linky love to each other, creating a fantastic cross-promotional network of WAGs!
————————
Nancy Parra - This Writer’s Life
Jackie Doss - The Pegasus Journals
Next week’s Writing Adventure:
For next week, go outside, and sit for a minute. (This can be in your yard or garden, on a city street, in a park, in a shopping centre, where ever you choose!) Soak in everything you see, hear, smell, etc, for a moment, and then describe something that you did not notice at first. This can be anything! Just make it something that you overlooked when you first arrived. Keep your descriptions as concrete as possible!
Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify me so your post will be properly included in next week’s list. Deadline: next Tuesday, March 10th.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
WAG: The Sky Is The Limit
This is my first post for the Writing Adventure Group, created by Nixy Valentine and some other awesome writer ladies. Expect to see one of these posts about once a week...
Of course I would leave this to the last minute, which happens to be a day when the temperature is in the 30-40s.
I took a photo of the sky Thursday, at sunset, when the sky was all different colors and this one cloud looked like an oil painting. And when it was warm outside. But I didn't have time to sit down and write, so this photo doesn't count.
Today, it's cold. (I hate cold.) And windy. But at least it's sunny. The sky is a full blue, not a wimpy pale blue but a full, rich blue. And it's fully blue, without a single cloud in the way. You can see a sliver of the moon (not enough to photograph, though). Depending on the kind of person you are, it's either a clipped toenail God forgot to pick up after giving Himself a pedi, or, if you look a little more closely, you can see it's just the Moon, in profile, sneaking out in the daytime to see what we're up to. You can see its eye and nose. First I thought it was laughing, but now I think it has its lips pursed. We must be upsetting it.
Maybe it's annoyed by the dogs barking next door. They sound like yippy dogs. I'd be annoyed too.
So that's the sky.
The sky itself looks boring today, all plain and cloudless. It's a pretty shade (and if I knew more about shades, I'd tell you which shade of blue it is. I know enough to know it's not royal blue, and I really wouldn't call it cyan. And that's a printer-ink color anyway, not very nature-y. I'd like to say it's cerulean, because I like the way the word sounds and I want to use it, but I have no idea what color cerulean is. A shade of blue, but that's it. Maybe when I go back inside to my Internetz-ed laptop I'll Google it.)
(Sorry, had to scroll up to see where I'd been before I went off on that tangent.)
The sky itself is boring, but when it's the background to the greens and browns of the trees out here, it works nicely.
The sound of the water fountain helps, too. I'm not one of those who's into artificial ambient recordings, but when it's actual water trickling, yes, it's soothing. If you made me listen to a recording of this at work or elsewhere, I'd probably go batty after a while.
Then again, the ambient recording wouldn't have the yippy dogs in the background, would it?
Join the Writing Adventure Group!
Of course I would leave this to the last minute, which happens to be a day when the temperature is in the 30-40s.
I took a photo of the sky Thursday, at sunset, when the sky was all different colors and this one cloud looked like an oil painting. And when it was warm outside. But I didn't have time to sit down and write, so this photo doesn't count.
Today, it's cold. (I hate cold.) And windy. But at least it's sunny. The sky is a full blue, not a wimpy pale blue but a full, rich blue. And it's fully blue, without a single cloud in the way. You can see a sliver of the moon (not enough to photograph, though). Depending on the kind of person you are, it's either a clipped toenail God forgot to pick up after giving Himself a pedi, or, if you look a little more closely, you can see it's just the Moon, in profile, sneaking out in the daytime to see what we're up to. You can see its eye and nose. First I thought it was laughing, but now I think it has its lips pursed. We must be upsetting it.
Maybe it's annoyed by the dogs barking next door. They sound like yippy dogs. I'd be annoyed too.
So that's the sky.
The sky itself looks boring today, all plain and cloudless. It's a pretty shade (and if I knew more about shades, I'd tell you which shade of blue it is. I know enough to know it's not royal blue, and I really wouldn't call it cyan. And that's a printer-ink color anyway, not very nature-y. I'd like to say it's cerulean, because I like the way the word sounds and I want to use it, but I have no idea what color cerulean is. A shade of blue, but that's it. Maybe when I go back inside to my Internetz-ed laptop I'll Google it.)
(Sorry, had to scroll up to see where I'd been before I went off on that tangent.)
The sky itself is boring, but when it's the background to the greens and browns of the trees out here, it works nicely.
The sound of the water fountain helps, too. I'm not one of those who's into artificial ambient recordings, but when it's actual water trickling, yes, it's soothing. If you made me listen to a recording of this at work or elsewhere, I'd probably go batty after a while.
Then again, the ambient recording wouldn't have the yippy dogs in the background, would it?
Join the Writing Adventure Group!
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