Grading then Three Visitors

I punish myself by assigning all of these written assignments at the end of the semester. So I sit just at the end of class yesterday with the mound of essays and tests to grade. I start to nod off as I attack them. I started moving through the 5o or so tests pretty quickly. Then I decided to take on an "autobiographical story". Miles was on top. Miles is the one who learned so much from his eighth grade writing teacher that he wanted more writing in my class. He is probably the singular reason that I am assigning this major writing project at the end of the semester.

I read Miles' paper about his most exciting skateboarding trip ever. I found it quite unexciting. After correcting a few errors and attempting to give him hints on spicing up the paper, I decided to search for examples of good writing on the internet, a time consuming endeavor. I found several good pieces about skiing. Nevertheless there is a dearth of good writing on skateboarding. I found writing even worse than Miles', but little else. I found a skateboarding paragraph that could pass, and included that. I attached my research to his paper. Given the amount of time that I spent on his paper, I could be grading these things well into 2011.

My first visitor arrives in an IM from Olesya in Rubinsk, Russia. She comments on the cold. I write, "Today it was actually snowing outside. It totally disrupted my class. My students were so excited." She writes, "Weather is unusal here. No snow yet :( ."

At 3 P.M. I turn the Streaming version of the News Hour. A shy gentleman enters my room. "My name is Patrick. I am a new social studies teacher." My first thought was that he was looking for a teacher to student teach with. And that might relieve me of some of the responsibility of my history class. "I am going around meeting teachers in hopes that they hire me on the substitute system." We have a new on line computerized sub system. I said that I would call for him when I needed a sub.

At 4 P.M. someone knocked on my door. A well dressed older gentleman and his wife appeared. He introduced himself as a graduate of Analy from the year 1947. I invited him in. He looked around the room rather pleased, then walked to the back and touched the last desk in the fourth row. "That where I sat. Mrs. Bettler's English class. She was a great teacher- hard as nails, strict but kind. She was my best teacher." We chatted about the condition of the building, and how well it had been built in 1935. He said, "I turn 80 this month. And we were here to visit my daughter. I told my wife that since we are here, we must stop by the school." He had been an officer in the Navy for 20 years and now retired. He obviously had great affection for both the school and that particular teacher. He and his wife thanked me and left.