No homework tonight but we are starting to work on our social plays! I am really excited to see these as the classes have been working hard. The classes will be British explorers as they wander the New World.
Monday 2 December 2013
Monday 18 November 2013
Somebody's Got A Case of the Monday's
Today was a great day to start the week. We are still working on our short story analysis and should be done shortly. In Social Studies we are starting to get into the major themes that make up Pre-Confederation history.
All three courses are to have their point of view work done for LA. While in Social there is no homework tonight.
Shameless Plug: While many assume I'm just trying to win a Super Mario look-a-like contest I am actually trying to partake in Movember. Please check out my Mo-space
http://ca.movember.com/mospace/9319729
Enjoy your evening!
Friday 15 November 2013
Homework for the weekend!!!
We started the new comedy unit for LA this week. This weekend the students in all three classes will be doing a short story analysis on "The Day of the Raisin." The questions are in their work book on page 13.
Enjoy your weekend folks!
Before becoming a full-time writer, I used to teach elementary and junior-high school. I taught for eleven years. That’s well over two thousand days inside the classroom. I have to admit those days have blurred in my memory.
Except one.
The memory of one day is so sharp; it’s as if I have a videotape playing in my head. It was the day of the raisin.
Our school didn’t have a lunchroom or a cafeteria, so the students who stayed for lunch ate in their classroom. As soon as the lunch buzzer rang on the day of the raisin, several of my eighth-grade girls shoved some desks together so they could talk to each other while they ate. Watching them was Kevin, the boy who wore the title of Class Clown with pride.
Kevin regarded the clump of girls and a devilish grin creased his face. “I’m going to go over to the girls,” he thought. “And I’m going to gross them out.”
He opened his lunch bag and discovered his mom had thrown in a sandwich, a juice box, and one of those tiny packets of raisins. When no one was looking, he removed a single raisin and pushed it up his left nostril.
I repeat, I am honestly not making this up.
You may think his plan was to walk over to the girls, squeeze his right nostril shut, blow the raisin out of his left nostril, and start laughing. Nope, Kevin was more creative than that.
We’d had a math assignment that morning, a worksheet with word problems. Kevin took his copy of the worksheet over to the girls and asked for their help in solving the questions. His plan was to wait a few minutes, until the girls were halfway through their sandwiches, stop discussing the math assignment, twitch his nose, and say, “Hey, my nose feels weird. It’s never felt like this before. I wonder . . . would you excuse me for a moment while I check out my nose?” Then he planned to put his finger up his left nostril, pick his nose ever so slowly, pull the raisin out, wave it in front of the girls, and proudly proclaim, “Hey, check out the size of this baby!”
Of course, the girls would be utterly and completely grossed out.
Unfortunately, the plan didn’t work out as planned.
What went wrong? Well, when I was talking to the doctor after school, she told me raisins are dried-up grapes and the inside of your nose is a fairly moist place. The doc reasoned that, since Kevin had the raisin in his nose for several minutes, it may have softened up a little.
Maybe. But I think what really went wrong was the raisin was just too big in the first place. You see, when Kevin got to the “My nose feels weird” part of his plan and inserted his finger into his nostril, he discovered there was no room to get his finger beside the raisin to flick it out. In his effort to get the raisin, he shoved it further and further into his nose.
Of course, Kevin succeeded in grossing out those poor girls. They didn’t have a clue what he was doing. Can you imagine eating your lunch and suddenly there’s someone standing over you with a finger shoved way up his nose, digging around for something? We’d all be grossed out.
We later found out from Kevin that, at this point, he went to the boys’ bathroom and tried to blow the raisin out.
No luck.
The doctor explained to me why he couldn’t remove it from his nose and, although I’m tempted to give you the gory details, I think I’d better just say, “It was stuck.”
Stuck real good.
So now Kevin was faced with a dilemma. He’s in the eighth grade. Not kindergarten. He’s thirteen years old. Not three years old. What should he do?
Tell his friends? “Hey, guys, you’ll never guess what just happened in my nose.”
No. Bad move.
Go to the office? “Excuse me, sir, I have a slight problem inside my nose.”
No. Certainly not.
Phone home? “Hey, Mom, you remember those raisins you put in my lunch? One of them got stuck in my nose. Weird, huh?”
Not a chance.
Tell his homeroom teacher? “Yo, Mr. Godfrey, you’ll never guess what’s in my nose.”
Nix to that idea too.
So Kevin did absolutely nothing. He spent the next thirty minutes of lunch with a raisin stuck up his nose. Think about that. It definitely wasn’t a pleasant experience.
We were fifteen minutes into Language Arts class before I noticed something was wrong with Kevin. He still hadn’t told anyone his problem, but I knew he was in trouble. Kevin was sitting in his desk, the front seat of the outside row, with his hand resting on the left side of his face and, more unusual, he was breathing through his mouth.
“Kevin,” I said. “What’s up? Do you have a headache?”
He shook his head sheepishly. “No.”
“Do you have something in your eye?” I wondered.
Another gentle shake of his head. “No.”
Now my curiosity was fired. “Kevin, what the heck are you doing?”
He beckoned me with his right hand. I walked over to his desk, bent over because Kevin was whispering, and heard the strangest sentence of my teaching career. “Mr. Godfrey, I have a raisin in my nose.”
I stared at him in shocked silence. Had I heard correctly?
Kevin whispered because he didn’t want anyone else in the class to hear what he was saying. He wanted only me to know. Unfortunately, Shannon, the girl who sat next to him, heard the whisper or read his lips. She glanced at me and in a loud, surprised voice exclaimed, “He says he’s got a raisin in his nose.”
My eighth-grade class immediately woke up.
If a thirteen-year-old boy told you he had a raisin in his nose, your first reaction would probably be, “Right, tell me another.” That was my reaction. I didn’t believe Kevin. I thought he was joking.
“What do you mean?” I puzzled. “You have a raisin in your nose? How did you get a raisin in your nose?”
“I put it there,” he answered.
“You put it there?” I mumbled in disbelief. “Kevin, why would you put a raisin up your nose?”
Before Kevin had time to answer, one of the boys at the back of the class yelled, “He’s saving it for later.”
Of course, that broke the class up.
Kevin got a little weepy. I could tell it was taking everything he had to hold back the tears. So I took him to the office and knocked on the principal’s door.
I wish I’d had a camera. The scene in the office would have won the photo-of-the-year award. There was Kevin, sitting in a chair, explaining the facts of his misadventure to the principal, Mr. Nightingale. I’m sure every principal in the country has heard a truckload of unusual stories from their students, but I could tell by the amazement etched into his face this was the weirdest tale Mr. Nightingale had ever encountered. All the principal could mutter was, “No kidding? No kidding?”
When Kevin finished (this is the point when I wanted a camera; this was the Kodak Moment), the principal said, “Let me see.” Mr. Nightingale actually peered up Kevin’s nose. I couldn’t help but laugh.
We took Kevin to the local clinic where the doctor removed the raisin with an instrument Kevin described as “a long, skinny, hooked pair of tweezers.” As soon as the raisin was out, Kevin asked the doc, “Is it okay if I keep the raisin?”
I repeat for the second time, I am honestly not making this up.
Well, the silly doctor dropped the raisin into a plastic pill vial and handed it to Kevin. Which he brought back to school.
When Kevin walked into the classroom, there was an immediate buzz from everyone. I hadn’t told my students the particulars of Kevin’s misfortune. We all know junior-highs can be merciless with their teasing and I wanted to protect Kevin. I didn’t have to be concerned. Kevin stood proudly at the front of the classroom, pulled the pill vial from his pocket and held it above his head. “A half-hour ago,” he proclaimed, “this baby was stuck in my nose.”
“Wow!” several students yelled.
“Awesome!” a few others called out.
Someone said, “Cool.”
“Gross me out!” Shannon complained.
You can see why I have such a good memory of the day. It is something I’ll never forget.
For the rest of the year, Kevin was definitely a celebrity in the school. People started calling him the Raisin Man, a nickname Kevin enjoyed.
Several weeks later, Kevin’s Home Ec assignment was to bake cookies. He made raisin cookies. When he offered one to me, I took it and said, “I’ll eat it later.” I confess that I never did eat the cookie. I just couldn’t. I mean, you never know where those raisins have been.
Enjoy your weekend folks!
The Day of the Raisin
by Martyn Godfrey
This is a true story. Everything in it actually happened in my school. I am honestly not making this up.Before becoming a full-time writer, I used to teach elementary and junior-high school. I taught for eleven years. That’s well over two thousand days inside the classroom. I have to admit those days have blurred in my memory.
Except one.
The memory of one day is so sharp; it’s as if I have a videotape playing in my head. It was the day of the raisin.
Our school didn’t have a lunchroom or a cafeteria, so the students who stayed for lunch ate in their classroom. As soon as the lunch buzzer rang on the day of the raisin, several of my eighth-grade girls shoved some desks together so they could talk to each other while they ate. Watching them was Kevin, the boy who wore the title of Class Clown with pride.
Kevin regarded the clump of girls and a devilish grin creased his face. “I’m going to go over to the girls,” he thought. “And I’m going to gross them out.”
He opened his lunch bag and discovered his mom had thrown in a sandwich, a juice box, and one of those tiny packets of raisins. When no one was looking, he removed a single raisin and pushed it up his left nostril.
I repeat, I am honestly not making this up.
You may think his plan was to walk over to the girls, squeeze his right nostril shut, blow the raisin out of his left nostril, and start laughing. Nope, Kevin was more creative than that.
We’d had a math assignment that morning, a worksheet with word problems. Kevin took his copy of the worksheet over to the girls and asked for their help in solving the questions. His plan was to wait a few minutes, until the girls were halfway through their sandwiches, stop discussing the math assignment, twitch his nose, and say, “Hey, my nose feels weird. It’s never felt like this before. I wonder . . . would you excuse me for a moment while I check out my nose?” Then he planned to put his finger up his left nostril, pick his nose ever so slowly, pull the raisin out, wave it in front of the girls, and proudly proclaim, “Hey, check out the size of this baby!”
Of course, the girls would be utterly and completely grossed out.
Unfortunately, the plan didn’t work out as planned.
What went wrong? Well, when I was talking to the doctor after school, she told me raisins are dried-up grapes and the inside of your nose is a fairly moist place. The doc reasoned that, since Kevin had the raisin in his nose for several minutes, it may have softened up a little.
Maybe. But I think what really went wrong was the raisin was just too big in the first place. You see, when Kevin got to the “My nose feels weird” part of his plan and inserted his finger into his nostril, he discovered there was no room to get his finger beside the raisin to flick it out. In his effort to get the raisin, he shoved it further and further into his nose.
Of course, Kevin succeeded in grossing out those poor girls. They didn’t have a clue what he was doing. Can you imagine eating your lunch and suddenly there’s someone standing over you with a finger shoved way up his nose, digging around for something? We’d all be grossed out.
We later found out from Kevin that, at this point, he went to the boys’ bathroom and tried to blow the raisin out.
No luck.
The doctor explained to me why he couldn’t remove it from his nose and, although I’m tempted to give you the gory details, I think I’d better just say, “It was stuck.”
Stuck real good.
So now Kevin was faced with a dilemma. He’s in the eighth grade. Not kindergarten. He’s thirteen years old. Not three years old. What should he do?
Tell his friends? “Hey, guys, you’ll never guess what just happened in my nose.”
No. Bad move.
Go to the office? “Excuse me, sir, I have a slight problem inside my nose.”
No. Certainly not.
Phone home? “Hey, Mom, you remember those raisins you put in my lunch? One of them got stuck in my nose. Weird, huh?”
Not a chance.
Tell his homeroom teacher? “Yo, Mr. Godfrey, you’ll never guess what’s in my nose.”
Nix to that idea too.
So Kevin did absolutely nothing. He spent the next thirty minutes of lunch with a raisin stuck up his nose. Think about that. It definitely wasn’t a pleasant experience.
We were fifteen minutes into Language Arts class before I noticed something was wrong with Kevin. He still hadn’t told anyone his problem, but I knew he was in trouble. Kevin was sitting in his desk, the front seat of the outside row, with his hand resting on the left side of his face and, more unusual, he was breathing through his mouth.
“Kevin,” I said. “What’s up? Do you have a headache?”
He shook his head sheepishly. “No.”
“Do you have something in your eye?” I wondered.
Another gentle shake of his head. “No.”
Now my curiosity was fired. “Kevin, what the heck are you doing?”
He beckoned me with his right hand. I walked over to his desk, bent over because Kevin was whispering, and heard the strangest sentence of my teaching career. “Mr. Godfrey, I have a raisin in my nose.”
I stared at him in shocked silence. Had I heard correctly?
Kevin whispered because he didn’t want anyone else in the class to hear what he was saying. He wanted only me to know. Unfortunately, Shannon, the girl who sat next to him, heard the whisper or read his lips. She glanced at me and in a loud, surprised voice exclaimed, “He says he’s got a raisin in his nose.”
My eighth-grade class immediately woke up.
If a thirteen-year-old boy told you he had a raisin in his nose, your first reaction would probably be, “Right, tell me another.” That was my reaction. I didn’t believe Kevin. I thought he was joking.
“What do you mean?” I puzzled. “You have a raisin in your nose? How did you get a raisin in your nose?”
“I put it there,” he answered.
“You put it there?” I mumbled in disbelief. “Kevin, why would you put a raisin up your nose?”
Before Kevin had time to answer, one of the boys at the back of the class yelled, “He’s saving it for later.”
Of course, that broke the class up.
Kevin got a little weepy. I could tell it was taking everything he had to hold back the tears. So I took him to the office and knocked on the principal’s door.
I wish I’d had a camera. The scene in the office would have won the photo-of-the-year award. There was Kevin, sitting in a chair, explaining the facts of his misadventure to the principal, Mr. Nightingale. I’m sure every principal in the country has heard a truckload of unusual stories from their students, but I could tell by the amazement etched into his face this was the weirdest tale Mr. Nightingale had ever encountered. All the principal could mutter was, “No kidding? No kidding?”
When Kevin finished (this is the point when I wanted a camera; this was the Kodak Moment), the principal said, “Let me see.” Mr. Nightingale actually peered up Kevin’s nose. I couldn’t help but laugh.
We took Kevin to the local clinic where the doctor removed the raisin with an instrument Kevin described as “a long, skinny, hooked pair of tweezers.” As soon as the raisin was out, Kevin asked the doc, “Is it okay if I keep the raisin?”
I repeat for the second time, I am honestly not making this up.
Well, the silly doctor dropped the raisin into a plastic pill vial and handed it to Kevin. Which he brought back to school.
When Kevin walked into the classroom, there was an immediate buzz from everyone. I hadn’t told my students the particulars of Kevin’s misfortune. We all know junior-highs can be merciless with their teasing and I wanted to protect Kevin. I didn’t have to be concerned. Kevin stood proudly at the front of the classroom, pulled the pill vial from his pocket and held it above his head. “A half-hour ago,” he proclaimed, “this baby was stuck in my nose.”
“Wow!” several students yelled.
“Awesome!” a few others called out.
Someone said, “Cool.”
“Gross me out!” Shannon complained.
You can see why I have such a good memory of the day. It is something I’ll never forget.
For the rest of the year, Kevin was definitely a celebrity in the school. People started calling him the Raisin Man, a nickname Kevin enjoyed.
Several weeks later, Kevin’s Home Ec assignment was to bake cookies. He made raisin cookies. When he offered one to me, I took it and said, “I’ll eat it later.” I confess that I never did eat the cookie. I just couldn’t. I mean, you never know where those raisins have been.
Monday 4 November 2013
Welcome To My Blog!
Hello everyone,
I hope that this blog can grow into a place where we can continue class discussions, post homework and answer questions.
We will now have web based assignments where you will be required to participate online. These assessments will be both formative and summative. I'll explain this in more detail in a future class.
This should be an exciting way to connect and learn.
Finally, my class twitter account is up, @MrGMerc. Please use the hash tags #MrGSS #MrGELA so we can create a thread of questions and answers.
If you have any questions please do not hesitate to ask.
Mr. G.
I hope that this blog can grow into a place where we can continue class discussions, post homework and answer questions.
We will now have web based assignments where you will be required to participate online. These assessments will be both formative and summative. I'll explain this in more detail in a future class.
This should be an exciting way to connect and learn.
Finally, my class twitter account is up, @MrGMerc. Please use the hash tags #MrGSS #MrGELA so we can create a thread of questions and answers.
If you have any questions please do not hesitate to ask.
Mr. G.
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