Koi treasure hunting

Yesterday, Liberto casually mentioned that we had been offered the chance to take the koi fish from an abandoned pond beside a soon-to-be-demolished house in Savannah. His colleague, in charge of the demolition, knows how much I'm into koi fish and thus offered us the opportunity. I screamed, "YOU TOLD HIM YES, RIGHT??" I nagged Liberto all day Saturday until he called his colleague to find the address and when he could meet us there. When I was at the hairdresser, Liberto ran out to Lowe's to buy a new net--the old one is in tatters and our current fish, at 2 feet long, are too big for it anyway.

The friend couldn't do it yesterday, but he called early this afternoon and said to meet him at a certain address in 20 minutes. In anticipation, I'd already thrown together a huge Rubbermaid container, a plastic pitcher, disposable gloves, and plastic to line the car seat. Liberto, Paul and I drove to the designated residence on Mohawk Ave. It was a charming little cottage, the kind a hippie from the day might buy, but run down beyond repair now. It had been abandoned for a while. Next to the house was an adorable little koi pond filled with small fish of varying colors. Some were goldfish; some were koi, but they were all beautiful, just little sparks of color flashing across the small greenish pond. For me, it was like finding a treasure chest filled with bright jewels. J., Liberto, Paul and I spent an hour netting and scooping them into the large plastic container. We got somewhere between 15 and 20; if there were any left, they were hiding well. They are tiny; the smallest are a few inches and the largest about 4 to 5 inches. Of course next to my resident koi, they look microscopic. Normally, it's best to let new fish sit for 20 minutes in a separate container filled with the water they are about to enter, so they can acclimate. However, we were worried that they needed fresher water and some oxygen soon because their own pond had been murky and we had carried them home in concentrated murky pond water. So we just heaved them into our pond and hoped for the best.

Later, Paul and I stood by the pond and watched at least 10 bright orange newcomers line up under the waterfall to nibble at fish pellets which had accumulated there. They looked very healthy and vigorous to me. And probably very happy to eat.

I've harbored a fantasy that my next career will be raising and selling koi fish. I wish! That's a pasttime that fills me with passion, unlike grading vocabulary quizzes.

Another teacher bites the dust

One of the male teachers at my school was fired yesterday for hitting a student. At least that's how the story came together in the piecemeal fashion that I heard it---the Administration is not exactly going to issue a news release; they'll do everything they can to suppress it. The teacher's name is D. and he had a reputation for being heavy-handed and short-tempered with students. (But isn't that strong control supposed to be the ideal model, according to the Administration?)

I had lunch duty on Thursday, and while standing in the hall at my post I saw D. walking down the hall, accompanied by an AP, looking grim. I never, ever see him in the main building. His classroom is in the portable. He never visits the main building because his ex-wife works there. Last spring, she filed for divorce, which he contested. Soon she was complaining to the Administration that he was stalking and harrassing her during the work day, and there was some gossip that he would either quit or be terminated over that. It didn't happen. But he stays away from the building to avoid any encounters. So to see him in the main building Thursday made me wonder. On Friday, at lunch duty, I picked up a few phrases bouncing back and forth between teachers at the designated table. About D. and a student. Something about a shove. After school, another teacher, K., stopped by my room asking, "Did you hear?" She said D. had told a student to leave the classroom. He wouldn't. D. gave him a helpful push out the door. The student turned and hit him. Then D. slugged the student. That's what she heard.

I felt empathy for D. BECAUSE I HAVE FELT JUST AS ANGRY AND VIOLENT AS HE DID! The only difference is that, so far, I haven't acted upon it. It's not a good sign that I can easily imagine losing it and doing the same thing. That thin line between professionalism and rage could easily evaporate in a moment of passion, for any teacher. People who are not high school teachers (you listening, darling?) can't possibly imagine how stressful it is to hold in all the fury that builds up towards rude, disrespectful, ignorant, whiny students. L. tries to one-up my stories by telling me he works with rude contractors who shout and employees who whine and inspectors who won't do the work on time. But, I tell him, at least your boss always has your back. In my school and most schools, the Administration will turn on the teachers in a heartbeat.

K., the teacher in the room next door, and I have become friendly. She's a former college professor who teaches seniors. But she's ready to call it quits. She's a lot younger than I am, and is facing many more years in this profession if she doesn't find something else soon. She and I often talk about what bothers us the most about this profession. I so realize any job brings its downsides, but she feels that secondary teaching stands out as a toxic profession today. In no other job, she says, must a person accept so much dissing on a regular basis both from subordinates AND from supervisors. And why can't teachers be allowed to go off campus to eat lunch, like other professionals? What other job requires one to work at home every evening and weekends? Daily mass emails always scold, "Teachers, please don't......" fill in the blank. When do we ever hear one word of praise? You should hear her expound on the subject. Frankly, it fuels my discontent. I know it's all true, but I've tried to hold my nose, take a deep breath, and get through one more year, maybe two, and then kiss it goodbye forever. But I feel that she understands my ongoing conflict a lot better than L. does.

Those 11th graders---gotta love 'em!

One of my 11th graders made the following film advertising a fictitious product. Persuasion is part of the curriculum. For every 9th grader I want to murder, there are two 11th graders that make my day.
P.S. Trey is NOT a nerd in real life, he only plays one in films.