Vow of Silence

L comes into 1st period and shoves a $5 bill in my face. He flutters his hand.

"What?" I ask.

He continues motioning, pointing to his mouth and back to the bill. He wants to buy chips [they are bane of my life, by the way]. His friend walks in and informs me that he has taken a vow of silence, and also lets me know L wants Hot Cheetos.

A few minutes later L grabs my chalk and writes "gay rights" on the board. "I can't break the vow," he writes.

L has posted two questions on the board: "Are the products that hair stylists use harmful?" and "Are gay people born unique, or do they chose to be that way?"

Earlier this year, L submited a story about his first kiss with a boy. He almost didn't turn it in, afraid of my judgement about him. For once, the uncanny sense that I'm only beginning to develop as a teacher told me what it was about even before I read it. "It's okay," I reassured him. "I can probably handle whatever you're writing about."

After school, L stopped by my room to say hello, as he does nearly every day. The vow of silence had lasted until 7th period.

Yes, L. Unique. We must choose it every day.

Research, Day 3

During the fluster of state testing, I decide to teach my students how to evaluate sources. Three of the computers are down, so they scrunch around the remaining ones, trying to balance a mouse, a screen, and two pieces of paper. They are the antithesis of my internet-savvy yearbookers who can always track down a proxy so that they can post on MySpace during class. These students have never googled their name. Some of them don't know about wikipedia.

By second period I realize they need a little more. I run through the difference between searching for David Ramirez and "David Ramirez". They do not know what credentials are. I give them the run down on B.A., M.A., PhD. I remind myself I couldn't keep the degrees straight until I was in college.

I set them loose. And forget to remind the stinkers that yes, I do see them trying to minimize the email and IM window when I walk by.

As of yet, day 1 has been the most entertaining. All their heads perk up when I mention that we will be reading a chapter titled "Why Do Drug Dealers Still Live With Their Mom's?" (from Freakonomics). The purpose is to show them how research begins with a question; they are tickled that I even mention the subject and swear in class while I'm reading a section aloud. Of course, few of them get that that's exactly how I'm hooking them into this little stinker of a project they'll be doing.

When I think they've gotten the point of asking questions, I ask them to write down a researchable question of their own. "It's got to be something you don't know the answer to," I tell them, dreading the "what is the capital of Texas?"-type questions I might see up on my very non-me bulletin board (I inherited it with the classroom). So I walk around to make sure they're asking good questions--yes, there is such a thing as a stupid question, I tell them--and come across T-'s question: "Why do girls get their period?" I stop with a smirk on my face, asking "You're sure you don't know the answer to that one?" and she tells me "yes" in all seriousness. She is a junior.

G-, also a junior, presses me on the assignment. "We can ask ANY question?"

"Yes," I answer.

"Well, I've got this question I asked my coach, and he never told us," G- replies. I decide to check it out before posting it up: "Why do we have pubic hair?"

English is so done, guys. Sex ed, here we come.