Are You Smarter Than a Middle Schooler?

The school bell is about to ring.  Everyone is looking around nervously, hoping they are in the correct place.  Papers clutched in sweaty hands are checked once again so that each person can compare the class schedule to the numbers on the doors. Finally the buzzer sounds and people shuffle in to find a seat - hopefully near a friend - while the teacher starts going over a wealth of pertinent information.

Back To School Night at the middle school has begun.

Parents are supposed to follow their child's regular class schedule, going to each classroom for a condensed introduction and a review of the policies for that period.  Ironically the only people who look confident and assured are the volunteer students who are helping to direct lost parents to the proper classrooms.

I suspect that the scene looked very similar when my friends were in middle school themselves.  You have the focused ones who walk briskly to the next classroom, never looking up at others passing by.  There are the people who linger in the quad and talk loudly instead of worrying about the next bell.  Still others struggle to get where they need to be - whether it's because they are lost or running behind.  My husband was stressing me out as we approached a classroom and the bell rang while we were outside.  He's muttering, "We're tardy!  Not in our seats yet!  I hope they don't lock the door before we sneak in!"  Dude, settle down.  You won't get a detention, trust me.

The teachers would introduce themselves and the name of the class, and inevitably one parent would stand up, blushing, and leave the room in search of the actual place they needed to be.  I took particular enjoyment in that.  On the other hand, there was the dad who waited for a good 12 minutes while the teacher went over a detailed handout, only to finally get up, walk to the front of the class, and ask for a copy since he hadn't received one.  While the teacher turned to retrieve the page for him he smiled at the class and did a Forrest Gump wave.  Seriously?  It took you that long to realize you were missing something that everyone around you was reading?

I left the school feeling somewhat dazed.  My head spun with information, rules, expectations, and a dizzying glimpse into the requirements my son would be expected to achieve this year.  If I had to go back and redo middle school... yeah, I don't think I'd make it.  They're completing detailed science experiments and lab write-ups, learning computer programming, typing long essays on Google Docs, and figuring out math problems that can stump the teachers.  My friend was incredulous that her 6th grade son had a year-long syllabus for his class.  I'm pretty sure I didn't know what the word "syllabus" meant until my second quarter of college.  (I am now convinced that my grades would have been much better had I figured it out the first quarter).

I sure hope my son understands the concepts because what's being taught has moved beyond my comprehension already.  Are you smarter than a 7th grader?  No.  Obviously not.

Meanwhile my 4th grader is coming home and using new words he's learning in class.  "I am optimistic that my inquisitive and loquacious friends will not be punished for the pandemonium they are creating but I'm sure that they will be elated if we can reconcile the situation in a prudent fashion."  Huh?  Let's just go back to telegram communication.

Sons smart -(STOP)-  Mom confused -(STOP)-  Use small words and short sentences -(STOP)-

Homework Hell-p

I have a confession to make:  I enjoy solving algebraic equations.  And multiplying and dividing fractions.  (Glad to get that off my chest).  It's all like a puzzle to me and I love doing that kind of brain stimulating homework.  The thing is, it's not my homework.  My almost 12-year-old son is a huge procrastinator.  A big, stinkin', distracted, overstimulated mess of a boy.  He cannot just sit down and power through his assignments in a reasonable amount of time to then enjoy the rest of the evening with his family.  What should take maybe two hours takes him six or seven hours when you count dinner time, a few chores, and hundreds of visits to the bathroom.  No, he doesn't have any sort of disorder that makes focus near impossible (nor does he have a bladder the size of a pistachio) - he is just an adolescent boy with other things to occupy his mind and cause him to forget what he's doing.

When he started middle school we assumed he had the homework thing all figured out.  He didn't ask for any help and we didn't check assignments, but he's responsible and strives to do well, so the threat of failure was his own motivator.  But what is "failure"?  He started to worry after a string of math assignments came back with 3/5 points.  This meant that his grade was a measly 60% (for you math-challenged folks) which translates to a solid D-.  We all started worrying a bit.  And so began the homework checks before he went to bed and his revisions early in the morning before sprinting out the door.  I didn't really care for that method because it didn't allow for immediate recognition of what was wrong, so he and I started doing math together.

Of course, he had to remind me how to do each new process.  Dividing fractions?  You have to flip the numerator and denominator and then cross-simplify before multiplying.  Duh!  Right, I knew that... But he enjoyed being the tutor, which really translates to pointing out what an idiot I was for not knowing this stuff already.  Flashback to my own adolescence: I remember handing over my math book and worksheets to my dad so he could help me.  When he wanted to read the chapter first, I thought he was a total imbecile.  What?  You went to Berkeley!  You should know how to do high school math!  Jeez.  Yeah, what goes around, blah blah blah.

Most of the teachers make concessions for homework that seems to take too long.  If kids are spending too much time on it but seem to have mastered the concept, or the child needs more specific instruction, parents can sign off on the homework.  I don't think Zack's teachers really want a note detailing how long he lounged on each couch, what music he finally decided on, and his chosen method to stealthily shoot Nerf darts across the hall into his brother's room.  He's like the dog in "Up" - everything is distrac --- SQUIRREL! --- ting.  And it doesn't matter how many times I urge him to focus and keep working.  I'm even getting tired of hearing my speech, especially when he has his head on the table at 10 pm because he's so tired.

If only Minecraft made you complete an algebra problem before you could close the doors against zombies, things might be different.