More Investigative Work

The very next day after the "Hello Bitch!" fiasco where I had to match handwriting, another opportunity arose for more investigative work where I had to get a writing sample. Every year for the last two weeks or so of school, my students work on an "ABC Book of School Memories." It's a great activity, forces them to reflect, and hopefully they'll have a nice memory book to look back on when they are older. So this year, as in year's past, my students had this assignment. The books were due today. And as usual, only about half came in. But I sorted through the ones I got, making sure names were on them and everything was in order. Then I come to Gordon's book. Now, Gordon is a fourth grade boy. He's quite a sporty little guy; his dad played on the Husky football team in college. And Gordon is a pretty bright kid. But he's lazy, and I think he is babied at home. He seems to have a brother and sister who are quite a bit older than he is. His fine motor skills are not strong. I don't consider him to be a neat worker; his writing is usually hard to read and his drawings are primary. So I was quite surprised to see the cover of his book beautifully drawn with "ABC" prominently and neatly and aritistically displayed on front. I began to flip through the book, and every page was elegantly and legibly printed. It was beautiful. And I knew in an instant that he did not do it. He did his drawings, or most of them, and I knew the ideas were his. But the writing in the book was not. So I called Gordon into the hallway. I had his book. After the door to the classroom closed, I said to Gordon, "Gordon, I just finished looking at your ABC Book, and I just want to say that this is the most beautiful work you have ever done! Each page is so neatly written, it's almost like you didn't even write it! If I didn't know better, I'd say someone else wrote it! How were you able to do such neat work that I've never seen you do before?" Gordon sort of liked his upper and then his lower lip, a habit he has thereby giving him sort of a clown mouth as it is red and chapped. "Well," he said, "I just wanted to do my best work. I wrote really slowly so that I could be neat." "Well, you sure succeeded!" I said. "In fact, I'd like to see you do this again! Come here!" I took him back into the classroom and gave him some unlined construction paper, the very same the kids used for the ABC books. "Let me turn to one of my favorite pages in your book!" I flipped through his book until I found a page with a lot of writing. "Here," I said. "I love this page! So much writing, but it is all so neat. Let's see you do that page again!" He sat down at his desk, page and book before him, crayon in hand, and began to copy as neatly as possible. His tongue kept licking his lips. Soon, though, he brought it up to me. "I finished," he said. I eagerly took it and looked at it. Then I looked at him. "Gordon," I said. "Come back to hall with me." I walked out without looking back to see if he was following me. In the hall I turned to Gordon. I held his freshly written page next to the page from his ABC Book (Gordon had actually done fairly neat work, too). "Gordon," I said, "This does not look like the writing in the book. Look at the writing in the book. Look how even it is. Your writing on this page you just did is not even. And look how you crowded in these words...Gordon, I'll ask you again. Did you do the writing in this book?" He knew he was caught. You can't deny the writing when it is in front of him. "No, I didn't do the writing..." he said quietly. "Well, Gordon, I didn't think you did when I first saw it," I said. "So who wrote it?" "My sister," he answered. "She did a nice job. But it wasn't her job to do. It was your assignment. And you are almost in the fifth grade. You should not be asking or allowing anyone in your family to do the work for you. You are perfectly capable of doing this work yourself. Further, the more writing you do, the better you become. If someone else is doing the writing, then you don't improve. You just remain like a little kid. How does that help you? Now, I don't want to hear of you doing this every again. It is your assingment, and you are the only one who should do the work. Do you understand me?" Or something like that, I think. He nodded yes. "I cannot give you a grade for everything in the book. I'll give you a grade for the ideas and for most of the pictures, since the ones at the end don't look like your work. Maybe I'll give your sister a grade, too. She gets a good grade for neatness, but she gets a failing grade for not letting her brother learn on his own." Oh, gee. The end of the year is upon us. Two bald-faced lies. Many times in the hallway talking sternly to a kid. But catching them in their lie? Priceless.

Hello, Bitch!

Today in the afternoon, Molly came up to me. "Mrs. Teacher, someone gave me this." She handed me this bright yellow piece of foam, the kind used for craft projects. It had something scrawled on it in blue pen. I read it in disbelief. It said, "Hello Bitch! To: Molly From: Johnny" I looked up to make eye contact with Johnny. "Johnny?" I said. "You wrote this?" He adamantly shook his head no. Molly confirmed that indeed Tommy had handed the note to Johnny to give to her. So I called Tommy over. "What is this?" I asked. He seemed confused. "Molly said you gave it to Johnny to give to her. Did you write this note?" I asked further. "No," Tommy replied. "I found it in my desk." "You found it in your desk?" I asked. He nodded. Well, it wasn't out of reach that someone could have planted it in Tommy's desk just to get him into trouble, although my class just seems too nice and too family-like to do that. But maybe the intent was that it was a practical joke. But, Tommy then spoke. "I only added that last part," he said. Well, that was Tommy's undoing. I looked at the note. "You mean you added the 'From: Johnny' part?" Tommy nodded. "Why would you want to get Johnny into trouble:" I inquired further. Johnny shrugged, and I smelled something fishy. The 'From: Johnny' part looked suspiciously like the 'To: Molly' part...I had to find a sample of Tommy's writing so I could compare the note. Now, our last day of school is next Wednesday. We have been writing a poem a day, as I always do the last coupld of weeks of school. Then I put together these collections of their poems and give them out on the last day of school. It's a cute keepsake, and I hope a treasure. But I hadn't really been good about checking off the poems to see who had turned in what...And Tommy isn't the most reliable when it comes to turning things in. So this forced me to be organized. I took my Homework basket and began to sort and check off the various poems. There were about five different poems so far. And as I feared, Tommy either hadn't turned in a poem or he'd done it on the computer. I began to worry that I wouldn't get a good writing sample. Then I hit pay dirt. There was a poem done by hand by Tommy. And sure enough. The 'H' in 'Hello' matched an 'H' in the poem. The lower case 'e' in the the 'Hello' matched an'e' in the poem. Aha. I knew I had him. "Tommy, I need to see you in the hall, please," I said. I walked out without turning around. He followed me into the hall. I shut the door to the classroom, and turned to Tommy. "Look," I said. I held the note next to the poem he had written. "It looks to me like the exact same handwriting as the note. See? These two H's are the same. And so are these two e's. Now, did you write that note?" Tommy looked down at the floor, desparately trying to think of a way out, I am sure. But he had been caught. Finally he admitted that he had written the note. "So you wrote a mean note about someone, used profanity, and lied to your teacher. Hmmmm. I'm thinking you and I will be going to the office at your recess. You need to have a chat with Mr. Principal." We went back into the room, and Tommy, who sits in the back, sat down and put his head in his hands. I knew he was crying. Basically, Tommy is a good kid. I was hoping this would make a big impression on him. I pretty much ignored him. I sent an email to his mom, who loves me. Then I sent an email to Mr. Principal. Then I was just busy doing other things. Soon, Tommy comes up to me, and he looks awful. "Mrs. Teacher, I really don't feel well. My head aches," he said. "I'm sure it does," I said. "Guilt and fear will do that. I'm glad I'm not you..." and I returned to my busy work. Finally recess came, and I took Tommy to the office, just as Mr. Principal arrived. "All right, Tommy, come on in...I read the email from Mrs. Teacher..." I left the note, the poem, and a white slip with Mr. Principal and left. It was my planning time. If all went the way it should, Tommy will think twice next time.

It's My Birthday, and I'll Cry If I Want To

THe other day it was Crazy Hair Day at our school. I, of course, did not participate...but kids had fun. Many of my students did have crazy hair styles. Later that day, just as I had gotten the kids started on a reading assessment so I could give some end of the year reading grades, my door opens as a parent peeks in. In a loud voice (I love how they seem to not even realize that hey, the room is deadly silent, so something important must be going on...)she said, "Can I have anyone who wore a crazy hair style to come into the hallway for a picture?" I sigh, and say yes. I dismiss about half my class, and get the other half settled. Quickly, the kids who left came back. "Her battery died," they said, "and she'll come back later for a picture." Oh joy, I thought. Another interruption. About 2 pm the same mom opens my door. "I can take the picture now," she tells me. "Well, about half of my class is not here," I told her. "They are in math interventions. If you want to come back at about 3:10, they'll just be down the hall in music, and you could grab them then." She said that would work. So we went about the rest of our day. At 2:35 I sent the kids out for recess. After recess we just stack and pack, and they get either music or pe for the last 35 minutes of the day. As we lined up in the hallway outside of music, Tina, an adorable little girls whose birthday it was that day, came up to me. "Mrs. Teacher!" she said. "I didn't get my picture taken for Crazy Hair Day!" "Well, no one did," I replied. "Mrs. Parent Helper's battery died. I told her to grab you guys from music to get the picture." "But other kids are saying they got their picture taken!" she cried. I looked to my other crazy-haired students for verification. They told my that Mrs. Parent Helper had grabbed them during recess. Tina had not gotten her picture taken with the group from my class. "I'm sorry, Honey," I said. "I guess she did take the picture." Tina walked to the back of the line, her head hanging. Soon, had her head in her hands and was crying. That damn mom, I thought. Why didn't she take the kids when I told her? Why did she think grabbing them at recess was a good idea? "C'mon, Tina," I said. "I'm going to find someone to take your picture!" I marched her, still crying, to the office. I hoped at least that Mr. Principal would be there, or that we could find him, as he lives for taking pictures of students and school events. We got into the office, and lo and behold, there was Mrs. Parent Helper, signing out her younger daughter from school. "Oh, good!" I exclaimed. "We found you! Tina didn't get her picture taken for Crazy Hair Day when you grabbed the kids at recess, and she is very upset. And it's her birthday today. No one should have to be upset on their birthday..." So Mrs. Parent Helper took a picture of a smiling, red-eyed Tina with Crazy Hair. I hope it makes it into the year book.