Posted in Humor, Math, Mnemonic devices, STEM, Whimsy

Chapter 64: Wakanda Forever!

Every now and then, I come up with something ridiculous that works far better than it has any right to. Such was the case a few months ago, when I was teaching my seventh-graders how to use cross-multiplication to find equivalent ratios. I asked a kid to tell me the first step in a problem similar to the one I’d just shown the students, and the response was a blank stare. (Seventh-graders, as it turns out, have the memory of a goldfish and the attention span of a fruit fly. I am still learning workarounds for this.)

“You cross-multiply by multiplying the bottom of one fraction by the top of the other,” I said, making a sort of “X” gesture with my arms and pointing to show which numbers should be multiplied. As I spoke, the gesture reminded me of something, so I closed my hands and added, “Looks kind of like the Wakanda forever salute. That’s how we’re going to remember it.”

The kids rolled their eyes and laughed at their hopelessly white, middle-aged math teacher mimicking T’Challa’s famous salute, and then we tried some more problems. Whenever somebody got stuck, I said, “You need the strength of the Black Panther to solve this one.”

About half the kids now mutter, “Wakanda forever!” while they’re working out equivalent-ratio problems.

I imagine Shuri would approve.

Posted in Humor, Memories

Chapter 42: Quote Book

When I was in college, the campus newspaper office had a beloved tradition that involved transcribing funny comments people made in the newsroom and pasting them into a battered old photo album we referred to as the Quote Book.

I brought that tradition to several subsequent newsrooms. I now keep an electronic quote book on my school computer and add to it now and then. Most of my favorite quotes fall under the category of Things I Never Expected to Have to Say in a Classroom. Among those gems:

“Stop eating staples.”

“Do not attempt to milk each other.”

“Damon, quit panhandling.”

“Matthew, quit leg-pressing Preston.”

“Stop making Barbie behave like Chucky.”

If you’ve taught very long, none of those directives is likely to surprise you. If you’re a bright-eyed college senior graduating from a teacher-ed program: Welcome to the profession. You’ve just spent four years learning classroom-management skills and pedagogical strategies so you can spend the rest of your life telling seventh-graders not to eat office supplies.

Totally worth it. I highly advise starting your own quote book so you can look at it on bad days and remember why you thought this was a good idea.

Emily

Posted in ELA, English, Humor, Lesson plans, Literature, Shakespeare, Shenanigans, Tools

Chapter 21: Roasted by the Bard

NOTE: This is the fourth in a series of four posts on easing your students into Elizabethan English without terrifying them.

You’ve taught your kids scansion. You’ve introduced them to Shakespeare’s poetry. You’ve given them a little taste of his humor. You’ve pushed them to think about his language. But they’re still not quiiiiiiiite convinced they’ll be able to understand his plays. He’s just too fancy.

Today is the day you take him down a peg or two. Continue reading “Chapter 21: Roasted by the Bard”

Posted in Dr. Seuss, ELA, English, Humor, Kinesthetic, Learning styles, Lesson plans, Literature, Poetry, Scansion, Shakespeare, Tactile, Whimsy

Chapter 18: Sam-I-Am(b)

NOTE: This is the first in a series of four posts on easing your students into Elizabethan English without terrifying them. 

I didn’t take any fun pictures of this next lesson, because I was too busy clapping (more on that in a minute), but as I prepare my sophomores for our Hamlet unit, I have to share my favorite trick for introducing kids to Shakespeare:

Let Dr. Seuss do it for you. Continue reading “Chapter 18: Sam-I-Am(b)”

Posted in Classroom management, Discipline, Humor, Pranks, Shenanigans

Chapter 8: Trickery

My English IV students have, over the course of the semester, picked up a bad habit of steering every conversation in the most inappropriate possible direction. Every time they do it, I remind them that my classroom shares a wall with the superintendent’s office, and it would be most unfortunate if she overheard some of their comments.

They are unbothered. They are also hilarious, but a girl has to draw the line somewhere, and I decided to draw it in a memorable but largely painless fashion: I talked my superintendent into coming in during class and convincing them that she had heard every word that had come out of their ornery little mouths.

While I tried (and mostly failed) not to corpse, she came in and delivered a stern lecture in a tone so calm and so icy, it unsettled me a little bit — and then, instead of tipping her hand and letting the kids in on the joke, she simply walked out, like:

obamamicdrop

It was GLORIOUS.

I pointed out that I had warned them, turned back to the board, and let them sit there for a few minutes in stricken silence while I continued reviewing for their final.

About a minute before the end of class, I told the kids I was going to let them in on a little secret. With a purely Slytherin grin, I said, “She’s never heard a single word through that wall. She just came in here to mess with you because I put her up to it.”

I wish I had video of their reactions. They couldn’t decide whether to be horrified, outraged, or delighted by my deception, so they basically did all three at once.

I reminded them that there was a moral to the story: Watch your mouth, because if your superintendent is that intimidating when she’s pretending to be mad, you probably do not want to see the real deal.

We’ll see if that works. Probably not, because seniors, but at least I tried.

Emily