Space Case

"We choose to go to the moon. We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard..."  -President John F. Kennedy

"Why?  Is this the WAST?  WAUNCH. of the space shuttoo?"  asked a kid during the Question and Answer portion of the Astronaut Encounter session at Kennedy Space Center.  We all inwardly chuckled as this kid was obviously dumbfounded that they would stop flying shuttles to outer space and back.  When I saw the microphone be placed in his little hand to ask a question, I thought, "oh...this is gonna be good," because I had been eavesdropping on his and his mom's conversation before the lights went out in the theater.  He used his biggest, best, outdoor, recess voice in a microphone that was tuned for the softest of voices.  He made sure to articulate as best he could with pauses in between words. 

I wanted to know, too.  But as an adult, and as all adults know, it all comes down to money.  Which is basically the answer he was given by Astronaut Jim Reilly, who was a veteran of three shuttle missions.  As I listened to him speak about his flight experience, I was filled with pride for my country, which in the recent past had waned.  All I seem to hear lately is how schools are failing, the United States is ranked behind this country or that country in math and science, that kids are being "left behind," and that our country is failing. 

I've been interested in space since childhood.  I wasn't obsessed and I didn't glue myself to news about NASA, I wasn't a complete Geek (just a partial geek), but I was very aware of the space race since it all occurred during my early childhood and news about it was usually on the TV.  I was born in the same year Neil Armstrong stepped on the Moon.  It was on my birthday (two years before I was born) that the Apollo  astronauts burned alive in the very capsule that was supposed to protect them from death.  Along those lines, it was the day after my 17th birthday, when I was at school in my drill team uniform practicing our half-time routine that we learned of the explosion of the space shuttle, Challenger, and the death of all the astronauts and teacher, Christa McAuliffe.  I vividly remember reading about her in People magazine before the flight and thinking about how cool that would be and wishing she was my teacher.  I will always remember when Ms. Doughty came out to tell us.

When the shuttle program began in the early 80s I was an elementary school student.  After the first space shuttle, Columbia, launched, in 1981, I wrote to NASA.  I have no idea what I said, but a few weeks later a large envelope from NASA was in our mailbox!  And it was addressed to ME!  It contained beautiful pictures of stars and planets.  I loved them so much and considered myself so lucky to have received them, that I rarely took them out of the package and no one (I mean NO ONE) else was allowed to touch them.  In sixth grade, I wanted to do my science fair project on space, so my mom took me to Woolworth's to buy supplies.  I knew exactly what I wanted to do:  make a mock-up of the solar system and maybe (MAYBE) use some of my precious NASA photos for background.  We couldn't find everything so I asked a clerk, who was up on a ladder hanging something from a ceiling, "Do you have styrofoam balls?"  In the next second my mom was cracking up and the man nearly fell off the ladder.  I needed 10 of them in various sizes so I could make them into the sun and planets.  What was so dang funny?

Ever since seeing the launch and successful landing on TV, I thought it would be "neat" to see that someday.  Well, Someday is here.  I became so wrapped up in my own life, my own education, career, and marriage, I forgot about space.  Sure, I knew astronauts were flying the space shuttle and doing who-knows-what from news blurbs and brief radio announcements.  One morning about a year ago, I was making my sack lunch and heard on the news that the shuttle had successfully launched and that there were only 3 launches left before the end of the program.  It took 5 seconds for that to register.  I dropped the knife and backed up the story.  Sure enough, she had said what I thought she said.  The shuttle program was coming to an end after 30 years.  The Space Transportation System was to be no more.  It hit me like a bolt of lightening:  I might not ever see a launch.

THIRTY YEARS!?  How could that be??  So I started googling and facebooking to get information and eventually made a plan to travel to Kennedy Space Center in Florida to fulfill my life-long dream "to see the shuttle launch someday."  So was everyone else, including people from all over the world.  I scanned the internet, gathered information, and decided to plan our trip to Florida for the final launch of Discovery on November 1, 2010, which fell right smack in the middle of the busiest time of year for a first grade teacher--assessment, report cards, and conferences.  Well, I thought, something has to give, and it's not going to be my only chance to see a launch.  So I made it happen.

I worked my teacher magic, prepared to be gone for 5 days, completed all assessments, and got conferences scheduled.  The day before leaving, I finally told my students where I was going and what I was doing.  I began with my early childhood impressions and told them about what the space shuttle is and why I wanted to see it launch, that I wanted to witness history.  There were some questions..."What if it doesn't have enough gas to get up there?"  "What is a space shuttle?"  (are you kidding me) One girl burst out crying, but most were very excited.  I was surprised (and a little appalled) at how many knew absolutely nothing about it.  But that issue is a subject for another blog...

The trip started off with much excitement.  Finally!  We were on our way!  I could almost hear those solid rocket boosters igniting.  I knew full well that the mission could be scrubbed completely, our trip ruined, our money spent and gone.  I had low expectations and told myself that if I could just see the shuttle up close the trip would be worth it.

We arrived in Florida late at night and had to get up early for our tour to Kennedy Space Center.  Once there, we got on another bus and went directly to the launch pad viewing gantry.  There she was, Discovery, 3 miles away.  Her back was to us, but I was actually looking at the real deal!  We took so many photos you'd have thought I was a super model on a photo shoot.  I didn't want to leave.  What a beautiful, perfect, warm, sunny day.  We completed our tour after a few more hours, during which we viewed the Saturn V rocket from the Apollo days, watched videos and viewed displays, and basically filled our brains to capacity.  With our brains full and our stomachs empty, we headed back to the visitor complex to eat. 

Each day, we checked the internet only to discover the launch was again re-scheduled.  Every 24 hours it seemed we had to check in.  Then she was ready to launch on Thursday, but wait, it's supposed to rain.  Ugh!  Sure enough, it was postponed to Friday, our last day in Florida.  We got up Friday morning, checked the internet, and sure enough, she was "go for launch!"  Yippee!!  We anxiously packed and raced to Titusville.  On our way, the radio announced the scrub of the mission due to a hydrogen leak.  Like the day I heard about the end of the program, it took a few seconds to register, as I was so happily drinking my coffee and dreaming of those rocket boosters. 

I thought I heard wrong.  HUH?  It's scrubbed?  Why does "scrubbed" mean cancelled?  When we arrived at the park where we planned to view it and saw people leaving, I knew.  It was over and I wasn't going to see it.  I began to cry, but tried very hard not to.  But I couldn't believe it.  Even though I knew before ever leaving Sacramento that this could happen, it was still a shock.

Wait, we only had to fly 7 hours to get here and our flights were free.  What about all the people who came from Australia, Europe, and other exotic locales?  At least I didn't have to fly 25 hours to get home, at least I didn't have to spend thousands on airfare and have jet lag that lasts forever.  I don't think I know of any programs in any countries other my own.  I was barely aware of my own country's space program but people from other countries are fully aware of it.  Shame on me.

I returned home and went back to my classroom to tell the kids the news.  I learned that they had been asking their substitute teacher if it had launched.  They had been asking their parents about it.  They checked out library books about space.  Could it be that I'd sparked an interest?!  In my own quest to fulfill this dream of mine, un-lofty as it is, I've made previously unaware people, students and their parents, aware of the space program, and maybe (MAYBE) Someday, I'll see one of my former students flying the next generation of space craft!

John Kennedy said, "We set sail on this new sea because there is new knowledge to be gained, and new rights to be won, and they must be won and used for the progress of all people." Taken out of the space race context in which it was uttered almost 50 years ago, it applies even now.  I hope that President Kennedy's words will echo in future president's ears and they will have a vision for our country to once again be at the forefront of science, education, and equal rights for all.

There exists a new NASA space program called Constellation and it uses the Orion space vehicle.  It uses existing Shuttle and Apollo components, but "On February 1, 2010, President Barack Obama announced a proposal to cancel the program, effective with the U.S. 2011 fiscal year budget, but later announced changes to the proposal in a major space policy speech at Kennedy Space Center on April 15, 2010. Obama signed the NASA Authorization Act 2010 on October 11 which officially brought the program to an end."  Do you think if I forward Kennedy's Space Speech to President Obama, he'll change his mind?

NASA's space program has helped us people here on Earth, something I didn't know until my visit to KSC.  Everybody knows about velcro, but I didn't know the development of major life-changing, life-improving, and life-saving gadgets such as artificial limbs, silicon, eye-glass anti-scratch and UV coatings, heart monitors, ultra sound, and all of our technological advances in personal computers, cell phones and internet were all due to NASA. 

Well, I'll be up in the wee hours of the night on November 30th at to watch the final launch of Discovery at 1:05 a.m. on NASA TV.  It will be the most expensive, furthest travelled, most anticipated, 30 second long, TV-show viewing EVER! 

I'm so inspired by NASA I created jewelry.  If you're curious, visit my etsy shop at
https://www.etsy.com/listing/76775419/small-space-shuttle-necklace



Links:
President Kennedy's Space Speech:  http://www.historyplace.com/speeches/jfk-space.htm
Constellation Program:  http://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/constellation/main/index.html
Kennedy Space Center:  http://www.kennedyspacecenter.com/

What's That Smell?

If you can't laugh at yourself, at whom can you laugh?  Who said that?  I love that saying...

When I was in 2nd Grade, in 1977,  I loved my teacher, Mrs. Bjorkman.  She had horn-rimmed glasses and almost black, short hair.  She wore a dress everyday and loved us kids.  She also loved playing her piano as we sang patriotic songs.  There we'd sit on the floor, "indian style" (now it's "criss cross applesauce"), as she be-bopped away on the keys, singing "You're a Grand Old Flag" and "Yankee Doodle."  She played standing up with her back to us and I remember how her round butt looked, bouncing around right in front of our faces, her skirt swaying back and forth, her feet, bound in sensible shoes, tapping the beat.  She was always smiling...

One day, we were all sitting on the rug while she sat in her chair reading us a story.  I liked listening to stories as they were entertaining, the room was quiet, and they didn't require any effort on my part.  As I listened to her voice and almost became sleepy from the noise of the fan and quietness of the room, I farted.  Out of the blue.  Loudly.  And there was no escaping who it had come from.  Needless to say, the red face, the laughter that ensued, and the assurance from my teacher that "now kids, everybody does that" is still happening today in all classrooms all over America.  That's something they don't teach you in college.

Children fart.  All the time.  Fart sounds never cease to amuse even adults, who must resort to buying Flarp noise putty to get their laughs.  What would we do without boys to make fart sounds with their armpits?  Even a balloon expelling air causes fits.  We all just have to admit:  Farts are really funny.  The next time a kid farts, look around at the other kids and revel in their faces of pure happiness and laughter.  You will be laughing in no time, too.  The next time you need to cheer someone up, exchange fart stories.  Or read them Walter the Farting Dog.

Ok, wait.  I have to amend my previous statement:  Farts are really funny, until the smell hits you.  An elementary classroom after lunch has its own unique blend of aromas that originate from 20+ (or 30+ depending on what grade-and that could be a whole other post on smells being emitted from pre-pubescent tweens) humans who've eaten a variety of lunch entrees, from pizza to chicken nuggets, salad, mac n'cheese, corn dogs, "taco boats,"  and even bean burritos!  Why the HELL do they serve raw broccoli at the salad bar?  The cafeteria workers/menu planners ought to sprinkle beano on everything and call it something clever.  Fart-buster dust?  I'm not a fan of air freshener, but some days the citrus febreeze finds its way into my hands and I'm spraying away, I'll take asthma over this stench any day!

Teachers (and volunteers! you are not off the hook) also pass gas in their classrooms.  But what's so great about that is the kids always get blamed.  I, shamelessly, have crop-dusted many a learning station as I walk by, only to hear someone else get blamed for farting.  Just the other day, I had had a delicious chicken burger on a whole wheat bun with field greens and tomato with hint of lime tortilla chips and a diet Pepsi for lunch.  Well, those tiny little air bubbles made their way to the exit sign just in time for class to start.  So I just routinely dropped my bomb and walked away.  I'm the teacher, I can do that.  Unfortunately for me, the kid who was in the drop zone was not known for his subtlety and announced as he waved his hands in front of his face (smiling and laughing) that it "smells like rotten eggs over there!"  Not one kid thought it was me.  I'm the teacher, I don't fart.

Two years at Back-to-School Night, karma came to get me.  I had given my presentation, something I never got used to doing, but managed ok, and some parents were hanging around to chat.  I briefly talked with a few and suddenly I was face-to-face with a "hot dad."  We're talking 6'5", tan, big guns, strong....and his wife, who I personally know as a former colleague.  We hadn't met yet so he introduced himself and gestured to shake my hand.  So I said, "Nice to meet y-FART!" at the exact moment we shook hands.  His wife just looked away and tried (bless her) to pretend she didn't notice and a pregnant parent said, "Oh, that happens to me all the time!" as she patted her very huge abdomen.  OK, I'm not pregnant.  I just had Taco Bell cause I haven't been home since 7 a.m.

All I could do was laugh, because once again I found myself in the same second grade predicament.  I turned beet red, suffered a little awkwardness, and then just laughed and so did everybody else.  Maybe someday you'll find on bookstore shelves a book entitled, Mrs. B the Farting Teacher."

It turns out Mrs. Bjorkman was right.  It does "happen to everybody" and it is really funny. 

The End Is Here

It is the end of my summer vacation.  As I type, I'm torn between the laptop and the bedroom, where I could be spending my last peaceful afternoon reading my book and then nodding off to sleep for an hour nap, after which I'd mosey on into the kitchen for a snack, click on the tv to see what's on Oprah or HGTV.  I often find myself feeling guilty about having so much time off and then complaining that it's almost over.  It's a little like being a poor little rich girl.  Everyone has problems, I suppose.

I'm contracted to work 183 days a year.  That's one day more than half the year.  I have all weekends, holidays, Thanksgiving "Recess," Winter "Break," Spring Break, and summer off.  All in all, a total of 182 days a year.  I don't think I can describe in words how wonderful it is to have this time.  The last day of school, May 27th, seems like it was just last week and a year ago, but it was also a vision of this expanse of time spread out in front of me as beautiful and as vast as the Caribbean Sea.  I said good-bye to the "babies" I greeted back in August who seem so much older and independent now... who I helped teach to read, write, spell, add & subtract.  I also (hopefully) taught them to be creative, to take risks, that making mistakes is a good thing, and how to deal with bullies and to not become a bully.  I hope they remember.  I hope they know I poured my heart and soul into them.

Every year when it's time to start all over again with a new batch of "babies" I have mixed emotions.  I simultaneously can't wait to get back but want time to have a life.  I want to get started, set up the room with new supplies, clean desks, and a new arrangement of furniture.  Inside I promise myself that this year I won't let piles of paper grow on that shelf nor will I let the dust bunnies take over.  I am going to be organized!  I am going to be the best teacher EVER...I will take time to listen to his problem, I will know exactly how to handle it, I will not get mad, frustrated, irritated or annoyed. This year, I will hear my alarm clock go off at 5:15 am and I will wake up with a smile on my face and shout, "I'm Up!," pop out of bed, and optimistically face a new day.  I'll hop in my car in my very cute and well-put-together outfit and zip through my commute like it was only 5 minutes, and arrive at my classroom door refreshed and ready for the day and greet my students exactly like Oprah greets her studio audience.  I have lofty goals and I set the bar high.  But like the magic eyeball I keep in my glove box (think Magic 8 ball, but it's an eye ball) that I found in my desk a few years ago, which I'd confiscated from some kid, would say, "Yeah, right."

I wish I had it in me to be this person.  I do, just not all the time.  Don't get me wrong, I LOVE MY JOB.  I thoroughly enjoy first graders (they still say funny stuff like Kindergartners, but they're not as inexperienced as Kindergartners and, for the most part, know you should go to the bathroom in a toilet).  There is something to laugh about every single day.  I often find myself saying things like, "Hold your balls!" which is very funny after you've shouted it down the hallway at the top of your lungs without thinking of what you sound like but in an instant realizing what you sound like.  My colleagues and I are good friends and I'm looking forward to seeing them again and hearing about their summer adventures. But most of all I'm looking forward to meeting the little guys and gals I'll be hanging out with all year.

What I dread is the alarm clock, the scheduling of every single minute once that bell rings at 8:45. I am a slave to the clock, even after school.  There is never enough time to do everything:  stretch, greet, play, draw, spell, paint, read, count, go to recess, go to the bathroom, eat a snack, teach some more, discipline, be on yard duty,  oh $hit, I forgot to run copies, inhale lunch because there's work to do!, go to the line, listen, talk, walk, sit quietly, make-the-children-be-still-and-listen-to-a-story, draw some more, cut, glue, clean up, recess, bathroom, gulp water, sing, dance, stretch, cubbies, chairs up, clean the floor, bell, staff meeting, team meeting, site council meeting, patch meeting, or maybe I could just....breathe.  But no.  My brain immediately goes to what I have to get ready for the next day.  No matter what was accomplished on any given day, I feel behind and I know I will never be caught up.  There is always, always something that needs doing.

People ask, "What are you going to do with yourself with all that time off?  Won't you get bored?" 

I asked my Magic Eyeball this question, "Will I get bored this summer?"  Know what it said? 

"Yeah right."

Bad Words

My first words were "oh chit." 

Having grown up in a family that didn't mince words, I knew of the existence of pretty much all the bad words.  My grandma was famous for her routine rant of "goddammitalltohellshitfartbastard!"  Kids, however, were not allowed to say them, not ever, and if we were to slip and utter one out loud, God would hear and we would go to hell.  I was seriously afraid of hell (I went to catholic school so going to hell was something I knew one had to avoid).  So I never said the words.  I believed, however, that grown-ups were somehow exempt. 

One day, I was performing the chore I hated more than anything.  I was picking up dog poop in the backyard.  It was fall and there were leaves on the ground.  The shovel was heavy, I was clumsy, and didn't see the big pile underfoot (we had big dogs whom I loved dearly who made big piles of poop).  I stepped in the dog poop and under my breath said, "Oh shhhhit."  I stopped, looked around.  I thought lightening was going to strike me, and when none did, I breathed a sigh of relief and vowed to never say it again because I had narrowly escaped disaster.

I once used a "bad" word that meant something entirely different than I thought it did.  When I was in Girl Scouts, in fourth grade, I told my mom that I like the green M&Ms because they make you horny.  I thought "horny" meant "happy."  Since I wanted to be as happy as possible, I was picking out all the green ones and eating them first.  La, la, la, la la.....yummy, yummy, these are soooo yummy!...Her reaction was completely surprising to me.  I was immediately set straight and turned crimson red. 

So often, in learning the english language, kids get confused.  They somehow know a straight up middle finger means something naughty, but they're not quite sure why.  How do you explain that one?  For that matter, how does one explain the f-word?  Shit, crap, damn, damn-it, ass, asshole, screw, piss, pissed off, butt, butthead, dick, and even the f-word and, I'm sure, a bunch of other words I can't conjure at the moment have been uttered by the wee ones, in most cases, innocently.

We all know the "s" word, the "a" word, the "d" word, the "f" word, and the "a" word.  But what's the "j" word?   (It's jerk, in case you were wondering)

One day, I was walking my class back to the room after lunch.  I'd already been greeted happily by their hot, sweaty, smiling faces, listened to the tattling, dealt with the usual complaints, and started reminding them of the walking-in-line-procedures:  "When our hands are at our sides, we're lined up straight and tall.  Mouths are closed, eyes look ahead, then we're ready for the hall."  Off we went, a delicate balance of my watchful gaze and my trust that once my back was turned, they'd continue to walk in a civil, non-twirling, single file, quiet line (that's a pipe-dream, but I still try year after year).  All along, there was this feeling, an unconscious note in my mind, that I didn't have everybody.  Someone was not in line.

At the same moment I became aware of that thought, Frank (of I Wost My Wunch fame) came running up with his eyes wide and sheer "oh shit!" panic written all over his face.  "Mrs. B!!!!!  SOMEBODY WOTE 'FUCK YOU' ON THE WOST AND FOUND!!!!" 

In "struck speechless" shock (did this kid really just shout Mrs. B someone wrote fuck you on the lost and found?) I said, "WHAT??"  I didn't expect or know that he would repeat it.

Again he shouted, more earnestly, "SOMEBODY WOTE 'FUCK YOU' ON THE WOST AND FOUND!"

I bent down, put my finger over my lips to indicate "sh" and "ok, I heard you" and I kept walking with my class to the door.  Nobody asked anything and nobody seemed to care. 

It was just a word they'd already heard before.  Let's get inside, it's hot out here.

I Wost My Wunch

Does anybody out there remember his or her first grade teacher? I do, her name was Mrs. Fiskin and she wore her brown hair in a bun everyday. I wanted my mom to do my hair in a bun, too. I was in the red reading group, the Late Birds, and loved to play on the bars at recess. At lunch, I threw away my apple and ate my Ding Dong instead (don’t tell my mom!). From my earliest memories, I’ve been friends with boys. Ford liked to hang upside down on the bars and go on the rings with me. Evan and I played with the blocks, building roads and ramps for the Hot Wheels cars. I had/have red hair, was called “Carrot Top,” “Red,” and “Freckle Face” by the “big” kids. My mom said they were just jealous, but I, in all my 6 year old wisdom, knew she was wrong.

I’m now a first grade teacher, and have been for 14 years. I’m about to start my 10th year at a school in the Sierra Nevada foothills in California. California is a beautiful state full of diverse landscapes and diverse people from all walks of life. I love it here and hope to never leave. I consider my classroom a microcosm of sorts, full of diversity in terms of learning ablilities, learning styles, reading levels, behaviors, boys, girls, socio-economic statuses, religions, languages, and personalities. I love it, and hope I never have to leave.

First Grade is different now compared to my first grade experience of the 70′s. Back then, there weren’t any state standards. Schools were funded and life was good, at least according to me. All I knew was that when the bell rang it was time to stop what you were doing and do something else. And there was always someone in charge, who knew what to do. We had time to practice our printing, to read leisurely, to work on our projects, and to play. I had my own desk, the kind you can prop up with your pencil like the hood of a car. I used to hide my head under that hood and organize. When I was in first grade, school seemed easy. We were expected to learn to read with Dick and Jane, to learn to add and subtract, and to learn to get along with each other. We didn’t have homework.

Today's First Graders have a long list of concepts they must learn in 10 short months.  They have homework.  Blegh!  But many of them also have to deal with divorce, autism, obesity, diabetes, ADD, ADHD, drug abuse, alcoholism, bullying, abandonment, depression, anxiety, and a whole slough of issues a lot of adults can't handle.  More than ever, children need us adults to be there for them, to be compassionate and empathic, and show them a way to solve their problems.

Yet children are still children. They say and do really funny things. In my blog, I hope to preserve some of that, and, hopefully, preserve my own belief in childhood. Teaching and being around children keeps me young at heart and light-hearted, yet it keeps me grounded and ever-mindful of what’s important in life: do what makes you happy, whether that’s painting a picture or writing a novel, drawing on the sidewalk with chalk or throwing a ball.

A student of mine from 2 years ago reminds me of this. I’m changing his name for this blog, although that’s a shame since his name is such an important part of him. I’ll call him Frank. Frank has blond hair and brown eyes (which are always smiling). He has autism, he is high-functioning, which means he is social and talks and plays with other kids. He likes to “move it-move it” while walking in line.  He tried in class, but being much less mature than the others, was constantly distracting them. All he wanted to do was play. This made me crazy some days, but it’s also what I loved about him. He got lots of services of which speech therapy was one. He learned how to respond when someone says hello to him. He was to practice his /l/ sounds, which he pronounced as /w/. I think you know where I’m going with this story…

For the rest of this story, you need to know the lunch procedures at my school. The kids play first, then eat. That means they have to put their lunches in a designated spot on the playground and when they leave the classroom, I also leave.  And lock the door. Occasionally, kids would be so wrapped up in getting to recess, they'd forget their lunch (in spite of multiple reminders from me), which meant I invariably had to stop eating and walk all the way back to let them in. I made it clear to the students that I did not like this, and for the most part, they were very good about remembering what to do.

But one day, Frank left his lunch in the room.

Apparently this realization caused a panic and he rustled up some kids to help him deal with me. All I knew was that one minute I was walking to the teachers’ lunch room, anticipating 30 minutes of time with grown-ups, and the next I was being accosted by a posse of 6 year olds with Frank at the helm exclaiming, “Mrs. B! I wost my wunch!” My heart melted. He was obviously genuinely upset (about the realization that he would starve to death or his guilt over interrupting my lunch, I'll never know).  So I walked back to the room with him so he could get his wunch.