Ten Years Ago, or, Random Thoughts About the End of the School Year

The end of the school year always makes me think about when I was student. I graduated from high school ten years ago, which makes me completely ancient to the little kids at the middle school. Today at school, the little sixth grade girl was looking at the newspaper and, for some reason, ended up looking at the obituaries. She pointed out one woman and made the sign for "old," but she inflected it to make the sign mean "extremely old/ancient." I thought she was going to show me some woman who had lived to be 98 years old or something but she pointed out a lady who had been born in 1944. The other deaf student and I started to tease her, both of us saying that 65 is not "ancient" old, sure it may be old, but to inflect the sign for "old" like that was not appropriate. I guess to a twelve year old, 65 IS ancient.

Today when I was leaving the building I ran into one of the deaf ed teachers from the elementary school (they have three in their building). This particular teacher's husband is a teacher in my building and she was dropping their son off on her way to an appointment. Apparently it was their little boy's last day of school (kindergarten) and he was sobbing about school being done for the year. I'm pretty sure that none of the middle school students will be as upset come Thursday. I'm also sure that no matter how much the tweens are anticipating summer vacation, EVERY staff member in the school is anticipating it a thousand times more than the students are. I don't remember wishing for summer vacation when I was student. I know I was glad that I had a break from assignments but I always liked school and I didn't want to be apart from my friends for three months. Now that I actually work in a school, I live for summer vacation. I LOVE having three months off. I like being able to sleep in (although for me sleeping in means not getting up until 8:30, maybe 9:00, instead of my usual 6:00 a.m.), I like being able to sit around and read books or watch movies or play on the computer for as long as I want, I like being able to go on trips and not have to feel guilty about missing school because there are no subs available for interpreters in my district, I like the freedom of not having a schedule.

However, if one was ever to ask me if I didn't like my job or working with the kids or wished to do something else, I would say, "Heck no." I love what I do. That doesn't mean that I don't appreciate a break every now and again, but I do enjoy my job.

One thing I liked about the last day of school when I was a kid was that our bus driver always brought popsicles for the kids on her bus route. That was pretty awesome.

The kids have been taking their district-wide end of the year tests the past few days. The kids hate the tests for the obvious reason that they're cumulative and therefore difficult. I hate the tests because they're always chock full of typos, leading me to wonder what kind of incompetent heads of departments think it's okay to expect the students to perform well on tests that are full of grammatical, editorial, and other errors. For example, this year's sixth grade science final repeats several questions verbatim, taking them from one page and then putting them on a page further into the test. One would think that that would mean easy points for the students; if they've already answered it once, they should be able to answer it again. But I just see sixth grade students who are frustrated by the time they get to question forty and don't realize they've seen that same question three pages ago. Not to mention that if a student did remember seeing that question before, it's possible that he answered it incorrectly the first time and will answer it incorrectly the second time, thus losing double the points.

Speaking of finals, I'll never forget the time I wrecked the curve for the class on a French final. Our teacher was going to grade the exam on a curve, which almost never happened at my school no matter how much certain students begged for it. She had to tell the class that she decided not to curve our test grades because one student earned a 103 on her test. Sorry, guys. When I was in high school, I was often exempt from most of my finals. A lot of our teachers wouldn't make us take the final if we already had an A in the class and our school had a policy that students could be exempt from one final exam for each grading period of perfect attendance (up to two finals per semester). I always opted out of my science or math finals. I mean, who really wants to take a calculus final? Yuck. French (I through III) was one of the easiest subjects I've ever taken, so naturally, I always opted to take the final in there.

I also took two years of German when I was in high school. Of course, my trusty sidekick, the Snicklefritz, in her pre-Snicklefritz days, was with me. This morning I randomly thought of one of the great tragedies of our high school careers... As I've mentioned, I was exempt from most of my final exams, so when I was senior I had close to a week off between the last day of official classes and graduation because all of the other grades were taking their finals during that week. Sis and I went into the school a few times during the week for graduation rehearsal, various end of year things, etc., and it was on one of those trips into the school that we found out that the facilitator of our German class had thrown out our final German project. We took German class through a satellite feed from Kentucky, so all of our projects and tests were mailed to the teacher and then sent back to us at the school. Our final project that year was to put together a calendar of German-related things, so Sis and I pulled the only all-nighter of our high school careers and created a calendar featuring famous German athletes. I can't even remember all of them, but I know we included Michael Schumacher, Steffi Graf, Boris Becker, and Katarina Witt. We were so ticked when we went into the school that day and the lady who was responsible for mailing our schoolwork to the teacher in Kentucky told us that she had received the graded calendar and then thrown it out because we weren't at school that week and she "didn't think that we would want it back." Ten years later and my blood pressure still rises when I think about it. Sorry Sis, to bring up the bad memory of that experience.

Meanest Interpreter in the World

Who's the meanest interpreter in the world? It could be me, considering I made a sixth-grader cry on Friday. But, I'll let you be the judge.

I interpret for two deaf students in the same language arts class, a little boy and a little girl. Last Thursday, the little girl was absent (a frequent occurrence). Friday, both students were back in class and the little girl had picked up her make-up assignment and started working on it during class. I was interpreting the current day's lesson for her and the other student when this little girl started asking me for help on her make-up work. I stopped interpreting for a moment to tell her, "Not right now, the teacher is talking, pay attention," and went back to interpreting the lesson. Apparently my response to her demands for help was unsatisfactory, because this girl then started hitting her desk to get my attention and was emphatically pointing at her make-up worksheet. I looked at her and then pointed to the teacher and again said, "Pay attention."

At this point I could see that she was getting very frustrated with me. Her paper was on her desk and she kept poking at it and hitting her desk. Now, keep in mind, there is another deaf student in this class, the teacher is busy teaching a new lesson, and this little girl has used no language whatsoever, she's only been hitting her desk, pointing to her paper and angrily looking at me. So, I said, "Excuse me," to the little boy and then stopped interpreting for a minute to talk to the little girl. In a basic English translation, I told her to knock it off. "I'm in the middle of interpreting. The teacher is talking and not only are you missing the information, but now [the little boy] is missing it too. And, if you need my help, you could try asking for it politely, saying 'please help me,' instead of being rude and pounding on your desk." I lectured this little girl for probably 45 seconds. At the end of my lecture the little girl just sat still for a moment and then she started to cry. I gave her some kleenex and then I just left her alone for a little bit because I didn't want to draw too much attention to her (she didn't need all of the other students to stare at her) and the teacher went on with class.

I felt kind of bad that this girl started to cry because of me, but I don't think I was too harsh with her. The two of us ended up talking about it a little bit later and she was okay then.

"FAMILY FUN: Your Mom and Her Sister"

Again, from Stephen Colbert's I Am America (and So Can You!) 2009 desk calendar, this entry for March 19 kind of piggy-backs on my last entry about twin sisters:

"Is your mom the one who 'got the looks' or the one who 'got the brains'? Either way, she resents her sister for getting the other one!"

Twin Sister MEANS Twin Sister

Last week I was telling two of the kids about traveling in a plane and what that's like and about a month ago I was helping the little sixth grade girl with a homework paper about knights and suits of armor, so I told the two sixth graders that I would bring in some pictures of when I went to Europe. Sis and I flew over to Amsterdam and then spent some time in Germany, Paris, and London with our older brother, went to tons of museums, etc. Today, I took those pictures and some other stuff that I picked up in Europe to school to share with the kids. The two of them FREAKED OUT over those pictures. I had no idea how utterly fascinated they would be by some old ticket stubs, a map of the Paris Metro, and some random pictures.

I started off by showing them my airline ticket stubs from the flights Sis and I took. We looked up the cities on the map and I told them a little bit about the whole ticket/boarding process. Then I showed them some ticket stubs from the subway and explained how I had to put money into a machine and the ticket spit out of the machine and then I had to put it into the turnstile and walk through to get to the platform for the train. We looked at the subway map a little bit and they were impressed that we managed to find our way around Paris considering everything was written in French.

And then the freak out started. They saw a picture of Sis at the British Museum, standing next to some Egyptian artifacts; I told them that I took the picture, that it was my sister in the picture, not me. The little girl didn't believe me at first, until she saw a picture of Sis and me standing next to each other and then she half-screamed, half-shrieked, startling the whole class.

This is a perfect example of how unbelievably visual these students are. I have told these students that I have a twin sister on numerous occasions. I have said that we look remarkably similar. My name sign IS the sign for twin, only instead of the 'T' handshape, I use the first initial of my name. The little boy in this class has a twin brother himself, and knows that being twins means that someone else in this world looks like you. But the fact that I am a twin did not register for these two until they saw the picture of me and a girl who looks almost exactly like me standing next to each other. They did not really understand that when I sign TWIN SISTER, SAME AGE, FACE SAME (the ASL signs I use), that I mean twin sister.

Their reactions were hilarious. They started going through my pictures trying to guess if it was me or Sis, trying to tell us apart if we were together in the picture, comparing the pictures of us if we weren't together. A couple of times I thought they were going to rip my pictures apart in their frenzy to compare which of them thought it was me or Sis.

Later I was telling a couple of the other interpreters about this and they were equally as surprised by the kids' reactions. It's a little scary to think that I can sign something simple like, "I have a twin sister," and the students don't really comprehend what that means until I show them a visual. What does that mean for the rest of what I'm signing...like in language arts or math class? Yikes, are you getting anything of what I just signed (interpreted)? We came to the conclusion that the little boy who has the twin brother probably did not realize that twin is a generic term, not specific to boys and not specific to his brother and him. There are more twins in this world than just this boy and his brother. I promised them I would bring in a couple more pictures tomorrow; the little girl would especially like to see some wedding pictures. I'm not sure how much more their minds can take...especially when I blow their minds again by showing them a picture of Mom and her twin sister.

Flying Through the Clouds

Today at school I had a totally cool but wistfully sad (for me) conversation with two of the little sixth graders about flying. We were sitting in study hall and I don't quite remember how we started talking about airplanes, but somehow we got on that topic. I was telling the two of them about what it's like to be up in an airplane, how it feels to take off and land, and what looking out the window feels like. I told them all about looking down at the ground and seeing mountains and buildings and roads and rivers far below. They were amazed when I said that airplanes can fly through the clouds and even go above the cloud cover. I explained that sometimes it can be dark and cloudy, even raining, and the plane can fly above the clouds where it is bright and sunny. I've flown above clouds so thick it looks like nothing but white cotton with no hint of the ground below and I've flown over the ocean with nothing to see below but endless water. (The little girl wisely said that with nothing to see but water, one could fall asleep at that point of the trip, until there was actually something exciting to see).

They were so fascinated, it was almost heartbreaking. They've never been on a plane before and I don't know when or if they will ever have the opportunity to fly somewhere. Their families certainly cannot afford to travel in such a manner. I know that not everyone on Earth gets the opportunity to fly in an airplane (heck, I'd never flown before the age of 21), but what struck me was not that their families may not be able to afford airline tickets, it was more that these two miss out on so many experiences because they cannot fluently (or even effectively, sometimes) communicate with their families. How many times have they seen something interesting and tried to tell their families about it? How many times have they seen something confusing and not been able to get an answer as to what they saw? How many times have they gone somewhere with their families and not fully realized what was going on? How many times have they sat at the dinner table and not known what was being discussed? They get a lot of their information from watching television, but how many times do they wonder what the people on the screen are saying? Even with closed captions, these two children's reading ability doesn't allow full access to the information.

Fred Thompson is NOT Digging It!

Hmm, since I've signed up for Facebook, I seem to have neglected this blog. My sincere apologies. Actually, I'm addicted to the game Geo Challenge and it's hard enough for me to stop playing in order to go to bed and get to school, let alone publish some blog posts.

Another reason I haven't posted lately is because all of my good stories are either stories about the frustrations of dealing with the deaf ed. teacher at my school or stories that require a listener to actually see me because they involve some kind of signing. A lot of the good stories I have involving the kids require me to actually show what we're talking about and since there is no written form of ASL, I can't type about it.

Most of the people who read this blog know that "Fred Thompson" is the name I use to refer to my downstairs neighbor. He is thusly named because of the little Fred Thompson campaign sticker that was so jauntily displayed on his Impala's bumper for so long. Plus, my neighbor is an older gentleman, so the name fits. Anyway, Fred Thompson just rang my apartment's door bell to ask if the car that was so rudely parked in front of his garage could perhaps belong to any guests that may be visiting. I answered the door even though I was wearing my Care Bears pajama pants because I heard his horn honking repeatedly in the parking area outside our garages and knew that if someone was parked in front of my garage, preventing me from pulling in, I would want people to respond to my ringing of the doorbell. Of course, the Care Bears pajama pants would indicate that I did not, in fact, have guests over, so the car parked outside his garage was not connected to any business concerning my apartment. I did, however, commiserate with him over how ticked I would be if someone had parked in front of my garage.

"A Word to All You Feminists"

Again, from Stephen Colbert's I Am America (And So Can You!) 2009 desk calendar:

"A Word to All You Feminists:

Stop 'liberating' moms by trying to make them join the workforce. They're already doing the job that God put them here to do: Everything."

Thanks, Mom, for doing everything.