Our Older Students Are Wired For The Night
Mamacita says: Guess what; not every student is ‘more alert’ in the mornings; our older students are wired for the night. Believe it or not, many students are nearly comatose early in the morning and their brains spring into action later in the day. This is not always a result of staying up late playing video games, etc. Some people really are just wired for night. I’ve often wondered how different standardized test scores would be, if our students were allowed to take them at night instead of so early in the morning. Dawn. You know, when a lot of old people administrators are awake – is not beloved by everybody.
I’ve read in several places that while younger children are still usually early risers, the average high school student would greatly benefit from school that ran from noon till six.
That would have been so wonderful for a kid like me. Even better, for a kid like me, would have been high school from 3 till 9. P.M. I would have been wide awake and alert and ready to learn.
Sadly, such scheduling would not be possible for a variety of reasons, most of them stupid, such as some elderly principal saying “We’ve never done anything like that before.” Or some old coach saying, “When would we practice?” Like I care about that. (You can play games in the morning. From 7:30 till noon. You know, when you’re more alert.)
The most insidious reason of all, the reason many schools can’t have after-school programs, the reason many schools can’t have field trips during the day, the reason many schools can’t have after-school detention, and the reason many kids can’t stay after school for ANY reason, good or bad:
It’s because of the bus schedules. They are carved in stone. 
I am not putting down bus drivers in any way. Many of them are working two jobs, and can only drive a bus during certain hours of the day. I am, however, totally putting down the mentality that can’t seem to separate convenience of scheduling from welfare of student population. Hire more drivers. Split up the routes. We all have to make adjustments in our jobs when circumstances force us to, heaven knows I did. When are we going to make adjustments in our school day? For whose benefit should a secondary school day be planned? Who is most important? I vote for the students, but most administrations vote for the adults.
Another issue, of course, is the sad fact that many families rely on older kids to take care of the younger ones after school. Sigh. A different schedule would knock that into a cocked hat.
Employers would have to make a few changes, too. But what’s the difference, really, between a fast-food shift of 5-9 and 6:30-10? Some adult would get an extra hour and a half’s pay?
And, of course, many administrators are getting up there, age-wise. And old people keep early hours. Again, so what?
Teachers with young children? That’s a hard one, because I used to be one of those. But I adjusted for various schedules and so can anyone else. In this town, anyway, there are lots of daycare and sitters who are happy to work later in the evening. Not everyone shuts down at three!!!!!
But again. Adjustments for the sake of our kids. Why are they so hard to make?
Honestly. Sometimes I agree with Plutarch.
“Being about to pitch his camp in a likely place, and hearing there was no hay to be had for the cattle, ‘What a life,’ said he, ‘is ours, since we must live according to the convenience of asses!’ ”
What brought all of this up? Every semester, my students talk about how wonderful it would have been, to go to high school and be alert. It’s not that they didn’t try to be alert. It’s just that for some people, 7:30 in the morning is NO time to be talking about algebra.
I am one of those people.
My name is Mamacita, and I am a night owl.
There are many like me, and we have no rights.
Call the ACLU immediately.
(I have a hard enough time talking about grammar at nine thirty. But my night classes? My 2:00 classes? I’m on top of those, and I even remember what we’ve done in them.)
Equal rights for vampires! Support the ERV!
And how about some plain common sense (or UNcommon sense, as it apparently should be called these days) when it comes to making out schedules for our older students? A novel approach would be to take into serious consideration the biological makeup for the teen brain and body.
The preferences of adults should have nothing to do with it. If educators really want what’s best for the students, how about we put our money where the facts are, not some elderly administrator’s personal preference. Or a sports schedule.
Schedules can be modified.
And an extra half hour or so on the schedule of a bus driver or cook would be more than amply justified (morally and ethically, and I know neither of those words mean a whole lot to people who define education by money) by the benefits to the most important aspect of any and every school: the students themselves.
The Post Where I Talk About the Flu
No, no, not the one where I am cured of the flu; the one where I get the flu!
Mamacita says: I am not a Twilight fan by any stretch of anyone’s imagination; they’re too poorly written and my sensibilities can’t deal with that, but the way Edward is cured of the flu by Carlisle did catch my fancy for about five seconds.
Or maybe it was the thought that perhaps on the same day Edward was cured of the flu, Lavinia died of the flu.
Whatever – both cases of the flu brought a lot of money into somebody else’s hands. Or a lot more time, which is sometimes the same thing. Time is money. Whatever.
The important thing right now is that I have the flu. Not just a bad cold – the flu. The Bite-Me-Carlisle, Nice-of-you-to-leave-me-your-money-Lavinia flu.
It’s not as dramatic as I was led to believe. It’s just tedious and awful and no fun at all. Although I will admit that once I started getting some Tamiflu into my system, and that super powerful prescription cough syrup started daring the sore throat germs to step over this line, c’mon, ya sissy, things started looking up.
I slept like one drugged into coma, which may be a more accurate description than you realize. That part was lovely, except for all the phone rings. If you called me and a drowsy, drugged-up she-beast answered and was rude to you, you shouldn’t have called here while I was sick my apologies.
It’s been over a week now since The Diagnosis, and I’m still groggy and tired and coughing. The worst is over, though. I hope.
As for the phone rings, I don’t mind if YOU call, but all these solicitations are getting old fast. Doesn’t the “no call” list work any more? And if I cold-called a stranger and that stranger actually growled at me and that growl sounded like a really angry werewolf, not 
just a throat-clearing, I’d apologize and hang up fast. No looking back. And especially no calling back. Rude? Hey, you’re the one who called me.
I’ve been very lucky for many years, germ-wise. Virus-wise. Whatever. This was just not my lucky season.
On the bright side, today I’ve been up since none-of-your-business-o-clock and I haven’t fallen asleep in my chair even once.
This time next week, I plan to be completely well and ready to get back to school. And if anything disrupts those plans, you might want to hold the phone away from your ears or you’ll hear a really scary growl. . . .
In the meantime, call me any time. My voice is mostly back and my temper is moderate and I’m lonesome and oh holy scheiss, Minute Maid Soft Frozen Lemonade is so good when one is sick. And when one is well. Too bad it’s so hard to find.
Girl Scouts, Cookies, and Why I Don’t Give To The United Way
This was originally posted in 2008, but a friend’s problem with the Girl Scouts reminded me of my own problem with the Girl Scouts and specifically with the United Way. I’m sure many Scouts love selling cookies and I’m sure many of you depend on the United Way to help support various worthwhile agencies and clubs, but my experience with both Scouts and United Way has not been outstanding. This is why I donate services instead of money; I target specific places I want to help support and I get in my car and drive there and work hard and support them. But give them money? I don’t.
Prove me mistaken. Please? I want you to, because disillusionment isn’t a fun place to dwell.
Mamacita says: I was looking through my jewelry box tonight and I found my Girl Scout stars and badges and pins. I was a Brownie, and then a real Girl Scout, and I absolutely loved it until sixth grade, when Scout Headquarters decided to mix ages and put together all-new troops with various levels in each.
This sucked, so I quit. All the older girls quit. It meant we could no longer go bowling, because the little kids had to be watched and taught. It meant the end of our going for the badges because we were expected to help the little girls earn theirs. It meant we could no longer hang out in the Public Service kitchen downtown and cook stuff, because the little kids had to be watched and shown how to do everything. And watched.
We were being used as babysitters and we didn’t like it.
That Public Service kitchen was awesome. We had loved going there, even though our scout leader’s idea of teaching upper elementary girls to cook consisted of “how to read the instructions on a box of cake mix.” I was genuinely shocked to discover that there were girls my age who didn’t know how! I mean, seriously, how stupid could they get? Yes, I was compassionate even in my youth.
Twelve-year-old girls who had never cracked an egg. Twelve-year-old girls who didn’t know how to measure water. I was horrified. I’m still horrified.
I still have my Public Service pin, too. I’m almost afraid to ask, but does anybody else out there remember. . . . Reddy Kilowatt?
As a lovingly handled my pins, I remembered my last contact with the Girl Scouts. It was in the eighties, when my daughter was in lower elementary school. I taught in a small rural K-8 school, one of three middle schools in a large system, and the only one that was wayyyy out in the country, miles from any kind of business. Next door on one side was a cow pasture. On the other side was a cemetery.
There really wasn’t much of anything for the little girls to do, so I thought about becoming a Brownie leader and organizing a troop of Sara’s friends and classmates, meeting every week right there in the school so their parents wouldn’t have to drive all the way to town, and re-creating the fun experience I’d had as a Brownie, myself. We were so poor that I was cutting up my dresses to clothe Sara for school, but my time would be free. I’d been giving to the United Way for years, and they would pay for supplies, etc., right?
It didn’t happen.
I called Girl Scout Headquarters and asked how one went about doing this. The woman I spoke with was ECSTATIC that I wanted to be a Scout leader. She proceeded to tell me that my list of girls would be waiting at the office, and oh, I should find a meeting place in town because that would be central, and oh, I needed to find a business to sponsor us, and oh, when could we start selling cookies?
I had a few questions. The first one was, what list of girls? I had a list of girls, well over twenty. “NO NO,” she said. “We have a waiting list of girls. Your own daughter may join them, of course, but the rest will have to be put on another waiting list.” I could feel the pulse begin to pound in my neck.
My second question was, what do you MEAN, a business to sponsor us? I’d been giving to the United Way for years; I thought that was paying for Brownies, etc. in my community. “Well, no,” she said. “The United Way doesn’t pay for anything concerning the individual troops.”
My third question: Where is all this United Way money I’ve been donating, believing I was sponsoring scout troops, paying for craft materials, refreshments, etc, actually going, then? “It all goes to Corporate,” she replied.
My fourth question: Am I buying carpet and wall art, and paying salaries and benefits and retirement, for Corporate, with my donations? Why am I buying carpet and wall art and paying salaries for an organization that then tells its individual troops they have to solicit businesses for craft supplies and refreshments?
“Um, if you’ll give me your name and phone number, ma’am, I’ll have someone call you tonight.”
You do that.
Later that night. . . “Rinnnng.”
“I feel there has been a misunderstanding regarding your desire to be a Brownie leader?” I’m hoping, so, yes. “We already have several lists of girls who need a leader, so we’re hoping you’ll agree to do that. They’re all in town. When can you start selling cookies?”
I prefer to lead a troop out in the country, right in my classroom, immediately after school. I have a list of over twenty little girls.
“I’m afraid that wouldn’t work out for the girls on our lists. They all live in town and really prefer a central meeting place. When can you start selling cookies?”
I’d be happy to include some of the town girls in my troop, but I have twenty names of little girls right here already in the school building.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. We already have lists of girls right there in your town. When can your new troop begin selling cookies?”
I don’t live in town. I live out in the country, fairly near the school. The little girls on my list all live out in the middle of nowhere, and after school in our building would be perfect for them, and for me. Now, please tell me about soliciting a business to pay for what I thought the United Way covered.
“I hope this won’t in any way compromise your opinion of the United Way, ma’am. The money they collect is all sent to corporate and distributed among the qualifying agencies; they don’t support individual local Scout troops. Local Scout troops must ask a bank or store to sponsor them.”
Then why are the Scouts on the list of local supported United Way clubs and agencies?
“Um, ma’am, why don’t I have a United Way representative call you and explain?”
Don’t bother.
A frantic woman from the United Way called me the next night, but I wasn’t interested.
I give to many local charities, agencies, and clubs, but I do not give to the United Way. I had never been so disillusioned in my life. I do it all individually now. And as I said before, I usually donate services so I know for a fact exactly where my “donation” goes.
If anybody can explain all of this to me, I’d really love to hear it, because even though it was years ago, the memory still makes me furious. Is it still like this? Please say no.
Until I find out otherwise, I’m not signing up for United Way. I’ll continue to donate services and goods to specific places.
Administrators can buy their own carpet and wall art.
