Questions....Can you answer them?

Here are a few random questions I was asked throughout the day...that I remember...and I don't think it scratches the surface:

Can I work in your room today?
What would you say if I told you I was finished with my paper?
Why do all wars start with religion?
Why won't people listen?
What did you think about the guitar playing?
Was it good?
How do I cut the part about macro invertebrates and still keep the same idea flowing in my paper?
Will you rap for us in class tomorrow?
What should I do to my product?
Did you like the play?
How do I shorten this?
Do you feel privileged?
Can you show me an example of a really good introduction?
What did you think of the sound effects?
Can you tell me if my Found poem fits with the second paragraph of my paper?
How will I ever pay for college?
If I wanted to get a loan, what do I need to do?
How much does college cost?
I've already been accepted, but when do I need to tell them I'm going to college there?
Do you know where I can get a job?
Do I have to work today?
Who would ever, in their right mind, read the entire book of Gone With the Wind?
Can we take a nap?
Can Eric stay in my classroom third block today?
Would you send Kurtis to the office?
What if I don't pass the placement exam?
Do I double-space the Works Cited page?
Do you have my flash drive?
What do you think Heaven is?
Do you think I should combine these two paragraphs and cut the part about salaries?
Do I double-space individual entries on Works Cited...even within the same entry?
How do I put this information in a graph?
Why does someone think a "bad" Christian is going to Heaven over, say, a good Muslim or Mormon?
What does forgiveness mean?
What do you think about me writing poems to start each section?
What do you suggest I start with in my introduction?
Do I have to combine all the characters right now to write a short story?
Can I use the movie "Super Size Me" as a source in my paper?
Can I go to the bathroom?
Can I get a drink of water?
Can I go to the library?
Can I go to lunch early?
What color is that?
Can we warm-up talk today?
Can we stop writing?
Can you proofread my resume, if you have time?
Do we have to go to school on Saturday?
When are you coming to look at our products?
Will you wait until after Alpha Rho Tau before you take the collage?
Can I write a poem about my daughter?
What did you think about Nickel and Dimed?
Can you come over on Sunday to see my Senior Project?
We've found a way to make $288,000, want to split it with us?
We're dropping out of school, what do you say to that?
Can you print my paper?
Do you want to see my bruise?
Will you write me a letter of recommendation?
Are you telling me "anyways" ain't a word?
What does "Not Yet" on my paper mean?
WHO got the "Approved by Ms. Daugherty" stamp?
Are you sure you know what you're doing?
Can we all just introduce ourselves?
When is spring break?
Can I read my writing out loud today?
Ms. Daugherty, why you lookin' at me like that?
Would you read this for me and tell me what you think about the storyline?
Is there a way to call outside of the school?
Can I check this book out?
Did you like The Horse Whisperer?
Would you cover my lunch duty on Tuesday?
Have you had a piece of cake today?
Are you wanting something from McDonald's?
What could we do for our senior prank?
Can you believe we worked the entire block?
What do you think is right about religion?
If I had two different jobs but at the same place, are those two different bullets on my resume?
Is something wrong, Ms. Daugherty?
What magazines would you like to keep for next year?
What does it mean to write visually?
Am I the "responder" of the paper? Or am I the "author"?
Do I put my name there?
Which title do you like?
Why are you always running out of post-it notes?
How did you get so happy?
At what point do we stop all this nonsense?

if i stop writing...you stop reading...

Funny how that works.

I'm swamped and haven't spent the time I would like keeping my blog up to date. And a lot of things have happened since March 15, the last blog entry. Every day one or more of my students will make a comment like, "Oh, Ms. Daugherty...that's got to go in the blog!" One of the most humorous recent classroom happenings was when Joe, one of my favorite conversationalist, told me he was getting a new tattoo of Michelangelo playing the drums. So, to me, I envision an aging artist from the 1500's with a pointy gray beard wearing a regalia bonnet and Gothic velvet robes and hosiery from the Renaissance.

Knowing Joe, this all makes perfect sense. He's a drummer. He's an artist. I can see his eclectic tastes in tattoos leading him to make a choice to tattoo one of the most famous artists and sculptors of all time on his body playing his most favorite musical instrument.

No. I couldn't have been further from the truth. Joe is 18. Michelangelo to Joe is a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, and his hero from his Saturday morning childhood.

Knowing Joe, that all makes perfect sense.

I saw the drawing. And I used my own processing skills to put it all together. It was obvious. On Joe's sketch book was a beautiful, intricately drawn Michelangelo...complete with a jumpsuit, turtle shell and mask, playing a set of drums like a patriotic Civil War drummer boy.

I couldn't believe it. The sad thing, no one in the room thought of Michelangelo the artist. With the recent release of the new TMNT movie (that's Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for all of you who aren't in the know), and Joe's obsession with the four pre-historic pop culture heroes, everyone automatically thought about the surfer-loving turtle who claims pizza as his favorite food.

Although it was funny, I am sad. I've seen St. Peter's Basilica. I stared at the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel. I stood mesmerized in front of the statue of David. I've walked all over Florence and Rome seeing bits and pieces of Michelangelo's work and never once thought about a green turtle.

This story also relates to a piece of literature I teach in my English classes. Geoffrey Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales is a collection of narrative poems about a group of pilgrims on their way to Canterbury, England to pay homage to a saint. The narrator challenges the group members to each tell a story on the journey, and a winner will be chosen at the end. The Nun's Priest recites a fable about a rooster names Chanticleer and his lovely lady Pertelote.
"Chanticleer!?" My students always quote with disbelief. "Like in RockaDoodle?"
"What's RockaDoodle?" I ask.

And then my students freak out on me and my incomplete life.

useless blog (now not so useless and titled "the face of an American teenager...")

I'm blogging because I need to write, but I have nothing to write about...or maybe, just nothing I want to say at the moment. I feel like my students who look at me with blank stares and glazed eyes.

I've perused through several other blogs already this afternoon, some to get ideas, some because they are my friends and I want to know about their lives.

Mark in London wrote about his near death, but hilarious, experience in The Ox and the Lamb Pub a few nights ago. Cool Cat Teacher quoted another blog about an ICT conference for kids, where kids teach the teachers what they have been doing in their classrooms with technology, and what lessons were important for them. Kids will be the keynote speakers and participants throughout the conference. Of course, this is in theory mode right now, but I think it's a novel idea.

Probably the most disturbing blog to me this morning was when I linked from Janet Morrison's Community Dialogue to Larry James' Urban Daily to read about Monica. This heart-wrenching story about an illegal immigrant teenager who, with no prior records, spent the weekend at an immigration center and then in jail because she did not have proper identification on her. About to graduate from high school, Monica is an honor student with good grades and no discipline record...and although her country (she's been here over a decade) will deny her any rights, her school teachers don't. To them, she's a typical American teenager about to graduate high school. She doesn't look out of place because she buys her clothes at the mall, or finds trendy bargains at local thrift markets. She uses local cell phone service and pays for things she needs from local stores. She carries her school work in a back pack or a fashionable bag. She has conversations about music and movies. She listens to an Mp3 and has a MySpace. She studies. She listens in class. She gets her homework done on time. She's thinking about her dreams of a family, her college applications, and her aspirations about a career. Inside, there's excitement about the new chapter in her life that's about to begin, and a little nauseous anxiety, even though, like most 18 year-old's, she would never admit it.

Now, her new chapter is scarred for a decision her parents made when she was five to bring her to a new country so she could get a better education, a better job, and a better life. She was offered a place to live, a loving family and neighborhood, and an education. She offers the 21st century American society money, work ethic, intelligence, and a voice to vote.

I don't know Monica personally, but I know her. She's a daughter and a best friend. She might be a sister and an aunt. She might even be a teacher's pet. The point is, she's someone. She's not an illegal immigrant. Monica is the face of an American teenager.