At 10:30 this morning I wheeled out of room 301 (my homeroom) to begin a dizzying all-day rotation to each 7th grade classroom. I returned to my little angels at 2:00, ready to put in one last hour of PSSA test-prep before we called it a day. I yelled for a full hour. Half of the class thought their conversations more important than my lesson and were evidently unintimidated by my consequences. Halfway through the hour I notice a small sticky-note attached to my worn leather shoe. I recognized it as one of my own precious sticky notes I had purchased the week before. Fearing the worst (knowing it to be true), I strode to my desk drawer and discovered my stack of sticky-notes was gone. vamoose! stolen. No one confessed. No one snitched. Which isn't what I wanted. I wanted them all to feel rotten. And to feel sorry for me. I wanted them all to run home and break their piggy banks to buy me a new pad of post-its. "We are family!" I touted. "When I am not in our house I expect you to protect my things, not steal from me!" Then I tripped over the projector cord and knew it was a bad day.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
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