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The Bulletin Board

Fri, 22 Jan 2021, 08:52 PM (-06:00) Creative Commons License

He stood gazing at the bulletin board outside our classroom.

It’s covered in drawings and descriptions that some of the kids drew and wrote. Of Deep Space Network antennas and black holes. Of Chicxulub crater and pyroclastic flow and the Hawaiian-Emperor seamount chain. Of kabuki and syncopation and the Royal Drums of Burundi. Of the Pillars of Creation and multiverses.

Perhaps he was wondering where the math was, or perhaps he got it.

That was the other day. On the next, the school went into quarantine. Students testing positive. Students in contact with them. Faculty testing positive. Faculty in contact with them. Staff testing positive. Staff in contact with them. So on that next day, they distributed laptops and hotspots to all the students during the last period of the day and sent everyone home not to return for a week and a half. 

Today there was no one to admire the bulletin board.

The Wrong Day?

Mon, 18 Jan 2021, 04:25 PM (-06:00) Creative Commons License

Was that the wrong dream for this particular day? 

On a day of dreams of freedom and peace. Of casting aside manacles and chains. On this day of struggle. Of black and white. Of justice. Was this the wrong day for that dream?

You might say so. That the day should not be stolen. Should not be repurposed for Covid or Zoom complaints, as legitimate as they might be.

But I say it was a fine day for it. Because dreams of freedom and dreams of peace, dreams of overcoming, these dreams will never come to pass as long as our children are isolated. The dreams we dream on this day in particular, demand that all our children come together again. 

I Dream a World

Mon, 18 Jan 2021, 06:47 AM (-06:00) Creative Commons License

 

Oh, Rachel Martin and Kwame Alexander in the morning. I haven’t felt this way about words on the radio since John Ciardi’s

We woke up to Rachel and Kwame’s challenge this morning. How about this…

I dream a world where all
my students walk into our room.
I dream a world where we 
come together and no longer meet in Zoom.

Doggerel yes, but sincerely felt. These students are the pulse of my life, and I so miss seeing them all together.

Hoping For Contagion

Sun, 17 Jan 2021, 07:14 PM (-06:00) Creative Commons License

“Mister,” said a disembodied voice from the monitor on the wall.

This rarely happens. So few remote students speak up. Certainly none as loudly.

“It’s Yolanda!” a student in the front row said.

 “Go ahead, Yolanda. What’s up?”

“Mister, is that because…”

She proceeded to ask a question related to simplifying square roots. It was a fine question — the best of the day. Perhaps everyone else was wondering the same thing. 

“That’s a good question,” I said. “Think of it this way…” 

A few minutes later, she asked another good question. And a few minutes after that, yet another.

Oh, I so hope that she keeps this up. Maybe it will be contagious.

Was this a test?

Sat, 16 Jan 2021, 09:59 AM (-06:00) Creative Commons License

A message popped up. It was from a student who has recently gone remote again. Many students are going remote again — some because their families are no longer willing to accept the risks, others because the school is doing contact tracing on kids testing positive. But I digress.

A message had popped up. The subject said “Test”, and since we recently had a quiz, I took a look. There was some kind of matrix with filled in bubbles.

matrix with filled in bubbles

Wait. What? 

Down further there were a few measures of (not too many) notes.

measures of not too many notes

Clearly meant for some other teacher, right? Maybe not, since I had recently been talking to band and choir kids about music and math (counterpoint, Bach, syncopation, … throat singing). 

“Did you mean to send this to me?” I replied.

“Sorry. I meant to send it to Mr Davis.” 

Whew. I was worried she was subtly testing me and that I had failed.

Greek Letters

Sat, 9 Jan 2021, 11:22 PM (-06:00) Creative Commons License

The bell had just rung. The students were settling in. Sixth period is always a little rowdy at the beginning, and this day was no exception. Suddenly one of the students was shouting.

“Mr. Hasan! What are these letters?”

The others looked over. He was holding the class notes up with both hands.

“They’re … curly.” 

“Ah yes,” I said.

And with that, they met alpha, beta, and gamma

alpha, beta, gamma in a math expression

On Looking Menacing

Sat, 9 Jan 2021, 01:03 PM (-06:00) Creative Commons License

1. On The Balustrade

It was long ago, it was summer, and it was Saturday. The air was warm, the sky was blue, and the sun was shining. I grabbed a backpack and caught the Metro to the Mall.

From Metro Center, I walked to the Capitol. I climbed the steps to where you can look out on the people and the grass and museums and monuments and memorials. I stood there gazing for a while and then got out a book and hopped up on the balustrade. 

Within moments, a Capitol Police officer arrived. “What do you think you are doing?” he snarled. 

I hopped down.

2. On The Senate Floor

The thugs pushed over barriers. They scrambled up walls. They broke into the Capitol. They pounded on doors. The broke glass windows. They brought pepper spray and weapons. They called for the hanging of the Vice President. They occupied congressional offices. They broke into the Senate and House of Representatives. They looted. 

Let’s just say that upon reflection, I can only conclude that those officers looking out for the Capitol were, are, … I don’t know how to say this, but you know what I’m wanting to say.

That police force seems, in retrospect, to be just a wee bit selective in how they project their snarling.

I know. That’s not charitable. It’s not fair. It ignores very significant differences. But I’m just sayin’…

A quiet, dark skinned guy with a book needs to be kicked off the balustrade. But armed, insurrectionist thugs are …

Ok, I’m not sayin’.

3. On The Senate Floor, Take 2

Let’s take this from a different angle.

From The New Yorker’s summary

One man, clad in a combat helmet, body armor, and other tactical gear, was among the group that made it to the inner reaches of the building. Carrying zip-tie handcuffs, he was captured in photographs and videos on the Senate floor…

There were photographs of him. Not quietly reading a book, but wearing a helmet and body armor. Not sitting in the sun, but holding zip-tie handcuffs.

Reflecting on the optics of it, he later said,

I know it looks menacing. That was not my intent.

Interesting. Somehow I don’t think that response would have gone over well with Officer Friendly years ago when I was on the balustrade.

I know that the dude in the photo is dealing with consequences that make my hopping down from the balustrade seem trivial. But it’s not the consequences I’m talking about. It’s the police force.

What did they think might happen with that crowd? What on earth were they thinking they were supposed to do? Did they do no planning? No wonder their leadership has resigned.

Forgot It All

Sat, 9 Jan 2021, 08:48 AM (-06:00) Creative Commons License

It was the first day of the second semester of my third year as a teacher. What period was it? I don’t remember. First, second, sixth. One of the pre-AP classes. 

It had been a minor struggle all morning. The upgraded Zoom apps had a new user interface. The wireless was slow. Zoom was slow. Things weren’t starting out particularly smoothly — not quite chaotic, more like comedic.

“Someone’s in the waiting room,” someone said.

“You’re muted, Mr. Hasan,” someone else said. 

They know they need to tell me these things. And when they do, they say it like your brother might — gently, like a reminder. 

“We can’t see what you’re writing”. The Zoom waiting room window on my second laptop was covering the document camera window. 

“It’s ok,” one of them said. “Mr. Hasan just forgot it all over the holidays.”

True. So true.

Transfer Paperwork

Fri, 8 Jan 2021, 11:03 PM (-06:00) Creative Commons License

She came into the classroom before school started with a pink piece of paper in her hand.

“Hi Jennifer,” I said. “What’s up?”

“Would you please sign this?” 

I looked down. It was a form to transfer out of our pre-AP class. 

“Sure. Where do I sign?” 

“Here, I think.”

I signed on the line.

“Do I check APPROVE or DENY?” 

“Whatever you think.” 

“Well,” and I looked at her. “What do you want to do?” 

“I think I should transfer.” 

“That sounds like a plan.” I checked the APPROVE box. 

“Do you think you’ll end up in one of my other classes?” 

“I don’t know. I hope so.”

She looked up at me.

“Because Mister, I like the way you teach.” 

Where He Parked

Fri, 8 Jan 2021, 10:44 PM (-06:00) Creative Commons License

The double doors to the hallway were closed and locked. They always are after school, to reduce the chance of students wandering around. As I walked up, a young student was coming up from the other side, which was odd.

I opened the doors. He motioned as if he were going to walk through.

“Who are you looking for?” I asked.

He mumbled something about going outside.  

“You can go out those doors,” I said, pointing to the nearby exit.

He said something about his car. I asked if he was parked outside. He said yes. I asked if he was parked “over there”, pointing to the parking lot just outside. He looked confused and mumbled something about getting to his parked car so he could go home.

“Well come on,” I said. “I’ll walk with you.”

So I turned around, and we walked back into the math area, heading to the doors he seemed to want to go out.

He had just taken his final, it seemed. He was a freshman, I think. He had just enrolled in school that day, maybe. It was hard to figure out what he was saying, because his voice was so quiet, and he seemed frightened. (Wouldn’t you be if it was your first day on campus and you just got out of an after-school test and the building was dark?)

“Are you sure you’re parked out here?” I asked, pointing to the faculty lot.

He looked disoriented. 

“Did you park in front?” I think he was saying yes, but he was clearly confused.

“Come on,” I said. “I’ll walk with you.” I patted him on the shoulder.

We walked along the science wing in the grass. It was windy and cold, and he only had a short sleeved shirt. But it wasn’t far, and we rounded the corner quickly. 

“How about over there?” I asked. 

I think he said yes. Maybe he nodded. At least he had started to walk in that direction.

“Good to meet you, Victor,” I shouted after him.

“Good to meet you, too,” he said. 

It was the first thing I had clearly heard him say.

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