jumpingfish

After all the students had the final exam, scratch paper, and the factor sheet. After they got out their cheat sheets. That is when the test started.

I slowly walked around and between their desks, looking over their shoulders, gazing across the room, turning to look behind me. And then I added a word of caution.

“If I see any wandering eyes, I will give zeros to both people.”

This is generally sufficient. (Well, that and the fact that adjacent students had different versions of the test.) With that warning in place, they all seem to focus just one what’s in front of them.

“And another thing,” I added. “I’m going to pass out Oreos.”

They turned to look, most with smiles on their faces. I held the blue and yellow packages up in the air.

” I have regular and golden. When I come by your desk, if you’d prefer Golden Oreos, the code is I’m golden.”

They laughed. 

In the end, only a few wanted Golden Oreos—out of 150 students, maybe a dozen. This is consistent year after year. They love the chocolate, and I confess I just don’t understand it.

As a result, as I speak, a open leftover pack of Golden Oreos beckons from the kitchen counter.

Source: Amazon post selling Vol 6

I dashed out of my room heading to a meeting and almost bumped into two girls in the hallway.

“Hello Mr. Hasan,” one of them said, waving her hand with a smile on her face.

I tilted my head. “Do we know each other?”

Sadly, this happens often. So I just ‘fess up to not remembering students when I don’t. And if I should, I further confess that it usually takes three embarrassments to force the neurons to finally retain names. We all get a chuckle out of it.

“No,” she said, “you don’t know me.”

“So… how do you know my name?”

“I’ve heard about you.”

Oh oh.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Irqat,” she said (or something like that). 

At this point we were in the main hall. They were going left. I was headed to the stairs in the other direction.

“Is that with a q or a k?” I asked loudly as the distance between us grew.

“A q,” she said.

I stopped and turned and pointed. “And it’s the q that makes the difference!”

“Mr. Hasan,” she shouted. “You get it!”

On the value of q, I suppose I do.

#silentsunday

I am thankful for … silence. Or at least for those who understand why. 

And thankful for warm Izzy in my lap. And for the Thanksgiving dinner that couldn’t be beat, prepared by the fair and industrious Trudy who baked and peeled and mashed and sliced. Now then, time a little something.

And of course thankful for the yellow and purple flowers in bloom. The acorns that sprout. The seeds that germinate. Lizards that stare. Bees that buzz. Butterflies that flutter.

But mostly for … silence. For just a little while longer.