Half Goat????

I asked my seventh graders to spend two minutes walking around the room just observing and then write me three questions. I got asked about what the yarn was for (I'm going to teach the kids to knit while I read to them), where I got my awesome fountain (Smith and Edwards), what was the "head" with the slit in the top for (so I can "Put STUFF IN YOUR HEAD!"), and whyI had so many board games (I'm turning them into grammar games). But my favorite question was "Why is there a half goat hanging from your ceiling?" Then I realized that the kid was referring to Skippy who is CERTAINLY not a half goat, thank you! He's a gargoyle and he attempts to keep out evil spirits just like any other respectable gargoyle!!! Oh, and then somebody asked who the "guys" on the bulletin board were. I certainly have my work cut out for me...They're the Beatles in case the glare obscures them. The poster in the lower right hand corner is the IMAGINE memorial to John Lennon in Strawberry Fields in Central Park. We'll be taking students there this May.

Oh, they were also curious as to why I had Incredible Hulk Hands. I really had no answer other than they had screamed "TAKE ME TO SEVENTH GRADE!!!" from the Deseret Industries shelf. That will just have to do. You just never know when big green foamy hands that growl when you push the button are going to be exactly what you need to restore order.

And last but not least, they wondered about the guy with the orange hair hanging over by the Muppets poster. That's Beaker--endearing because of his charming lab coat, his can do attitude, and his unique limited vocabulary. Let the wild rumpus begin...Welcome back to School.

Beatles Italiano

When I look in the mirror I often gasp. Who is that and where did she come from? Graying temples, little crease lines around my lips. And then if we head south...let's not. In my mind I feel young. I have never been more comfortable with who I am or what I'm doing. But recently I was brought up short by a triple dose of generation gap-itis. One of my seventh graders asked me if the Beatles had come from Italy. I stopped dead in my tracks. Then I just turned slowly, walked to the window, and looked out over the street below. Is it possible that an entire generation (and I hold his parents responsible) will enter adulthood (however loosely we define that) not knowing the Beatles???? No Hey Jude, Revolution, Martha My Love, Here Comes the Sun?? NO HERE COMES THE SUN??? Can anything possibly fill that gap? It was a grim moment. I realized that not only am I waxing old and cracking as I do it, but the world I'm entering is peopled by short humans who will never know the 60's or Reagan or black and white TV or nickel ice cream cones or wearing dresses to school every day. And even though I can plaster my classroom walls with Beatles posters and teach poetry from a superb book called Beatles to Beowulf, it will just never be the same as turning on Ed Sullivan and watching America ape out as four mop tops direct from ENGLAND bounce around on a stage and change society as we knew it. And that is truly a sadness.