#I cannot write this learning plan for this child if the classroom teacher does not give me samples of the child's work | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pedros-mustache-main · 4 years ago

Text

crayons & caresses

summary: you know it’s wrong, that pining after your student’s father is wildly inappropriate, but gosh if john deacon isn’t the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

word count: 12k+

warnings: pining to the extreme!, slight angst, discussions of parental death, health scare + medical response, alcohol, language, innuendo, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful)

a/n: mechanic/singledad!john is everything i didn’t know i needed in my life. also: WOW this took me a long ass time because i find john the hardest to write, but i love him so. much. so hopefully it’s worth the wait.

(photo: originally from @davidgayhan i think?? ugh look at him. i drool. yes i did set this during the brief short-perm-montreal moment. sue me)

september, 1981.

you love all of your students equally. each one is like a fingerprint on your heart: unique in their own way, made up of patterns and histories you will never be able to appreciate in full before they are whisked away to their next year. it is safe to say you adore the collection of twenty-four seven year olds who walk into your classroom each morning. their bright faces, some still chubby with baby fat, fill the lonely parts of your soul, and you leave your flat each morning with a sense of purpose and duty. you are their teacher, their guide through some of the most crucial parts of learning. it is an honor and a privilege to teach them—each and every one. but there is one student who sticks out among the rest.

his name is beau deacon.

beau is remarkably quiet. he’s small for his age, both in height and in weight. at times, he appears frail, what with the way he sits by himself in the corner during reading hour, flipping through a picture book with glazed over eyes, never really concentrating on what’s before him. he walks slowly during recess, preferring to stay by himself and drag a stick along the blacktop than play a game of kickball with the other boys. he whispers when he speaks and avoids meeting the eyes of those who do try and pry a few words from him.

you try to engage him—really, you do—but nothing seems to stick. not the participation reward system you build just for him, but use for the entire class. not moving his desk closer to yours. not even coercing your best friend ami to bring in her therapy dogs one afternoon early in the year. despite your best efforts, beau remains decidedly uninterested and removed.

it bothers and worries you to the point of questioning your colleague on the matter. martha is sixty, but spry as ever. she’s been your confidant this last year. you’re new to teaching, green as ever, but she has welcomed you with open arms and a plethora of advice. you feel comfortable sidling up next to her in the car-line one friday afternoon. it’s hot outside, summer not yet allowing autumn to take root, so you hold a hand over your eyes to shade yourself from the sun.

“can i ask you something?” you say, keeping your eyes trained on the children who filter out of the school and into their parent’s waiting vehicles.

“as long as it’s not about sex,” martha mutters. “haven’t had a good romp in so long i don’t even know if it still works the same way.”

you swallow a laugh as a trio of students pass you by. their mother waves over her shoulder, shouting her thanks, before shoving the children in the backseat of a tan mini-van. you watch the van pull away, another car rolling forward to take its place, before asking your question.

“beau deacon,” you start, hoping that, if you simply say his name, martha will fill in the gaps herself.

blessedly, martha twists and nods with a knowing smile. “i know that tyke well. had him last year.”

you release a huff of air in relief. “oh thank goodness. i’m almost beside myself. i don’t know what to do with him.” you frown as you attempt to speak as diplomatically about your student as possible. “he’s awful quiet. he doesn’t play with any of the children and barely looks at me when i speak to him. how’d you manage?”

to your dismay, the older woman just shrugs. “i didn’t really. his mum died all sudden like about halfway through the year, and he clammed up. no matter what i did, what tricks i tried to pull, he stayed completely unmovable.”

“oh.” your shoulders drop in defeat. “i didn’t know.” truthfully, your heart tugs for the child. to lose one’s mother at such a tender age? you can’t imagine the world of hurt he lives in. it’s no wonder he sticks to himself.

“you didn’t speak with his father?”

“no. was i have supposed to?”

“no, not necessarily. mr. deacon was helpful on a few occasions last year. we were sort of a united front, i’d say, when things were particularly bad in the beginning. perhaps give him a call. at least to let him know you’re in his corner.” she smiles and squeezes your bicep. “and you can always come to me, love. i may not have all the answers but i do have some.”

“thank you, martha. i think giving mr. deacon a call might be smart—” you turn at the tell-tale sound of feet dragging against the ground. in the few weeks since classes have started, you’ve grown to know the sound of beau deacon’s footsteps better than your own. he’s always on your mind, the sullen little boy with glasses, so it’s hard not to pounce on him with love when you turn around to see him in the school doorway. “oh! beau! we were just talking about you.”

beau stops walking, and his grip tightens on the straps of his backpack. he doesn’t look up at you, doesn’t say anything. he simply stands there, as if he’s listening but doesn’t know how to respond, so you soldier forward.

“do you have any big plans for the weekend, beau?” you ask.

he shakes his head.

“none with your father?”

another shake of the head.

“well, perhaps you’ll do something fun and you can tell us about it on monday, yeah?”

to your surprise, he nods, which is more than he does most days. you can’t help the smile that claims your lips and the way your arm waves a little too hard to his retreating form. he walks to a faded old corvette and opens the passenger door with ease. you can hear a muffled voice—his father’s no doubt—and see the man stretch his arm out to take beau’s backpack.

but then the car door is shut, and the chevy pulls out of the parking lot with too much speed to be safe when a child is in the front.

you glance at martha. she rolls her eyes and mouths men. you can’t help but agree.

a week passes before you finally find the time to phone beau’s father. you find his name—john richard deacon—and a telephone number in beau’s emergency contact form, shoved amongst a stack of other hastily filled-out parent paperwork. there’s no secondary number listed—not even a distant relative or family friend—so if the call doesn’t work, you aren’t sure what your next move will be. even so, after all the children have left and the other teachers are beginning to close their classrooms for the day, you slouch at your desk and punch the numbers into the phone. it rings three times before someone picks up.

“taylor auto-repair. this is rog.”

the voice on the other end is high and scratchy. you’re taken aback, both by the man on the phone and the blaring rock n roll music in the background. you aren’t an expert, but it sounds like zeppelin. not what you’d expected.

“hello?”

you shake yourself free of surprise, and the wheels beneath your chair scrape against the linoleum floor as you sit forward. “oh, sorry. i thought i was calling the deacon residence?”

“deacon? like john deacon?”

“yes, i’m beau’s schoolteacher. i thought—well, this was the number on the contact form.”

there’s a sigh, and the phone brushes against something rough before rog says anything more. “hold on.” when he speaks next, his voice is distant yet poorly muffled. “deaky! there’s some bird on the phone for you! what have i told ya about putting the shop’s number down instead of the house’s? fuckin’ hell, mate.”

you frown, pressing your fingers to your lips as you wait for... deaky... to take the phone from his co-worker. when a new voice does appear on the line, you again find yourself surprised.

“hello? this is john deacon.” john’s voice is almost lilting, like a song. it’s soft, comforting—though how you determine this from four simple words is beyond your understanding.

“mr. deacon, hi! my name is [y/n] [y/l/n]. i’m beau’s teacher. i thought we might have an over-due chat, if you have the time?”

“oh, hello.” there’s a pause on the other end, as if he’s considering whether or not he’ll entertain your out-of-the-blue phone call. “has beau done something wrong?”

you laugh despite the worried edge to his tone. “no, absolutely not! beau is a delight. he’s practically a model student. however, i do have a few concerns... do you have a moment?”

“yes, i can have. just give me a second.” the line goes muffled again, the only sound a fading rolling stone’s song before all goes quiet. you hear a door shut and the squeak of a chair before john speaks again. “i suppose this is about beau’s shyness?”

you choose your next words carefully, uncertain if john simply cannot accept his son’s retreat into himself or if he does not see it. you’d rather not jump to conclusions and alienate him on your first phone call, but you must admit your unease at hearing the word shyness. beau is far more than shy. despite the frown puckering your brow, you hold your concerns close to your chest for the moment.

“shyness is a word one could use, yes.”

“he’s been that way since his mum died last year.”

rolling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. “i heard. i’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

john makes a noise somewhere between a huff and a grunt and does not acknowledge your paltry offer of condolence. “if you’re calling to ask how you can fix ‘im, i don’t have any answers for you.”

“i don’t want to fix him, mr. deacon,” you say. “i simply want to help.”

“i’m sure you’ve spoken with mrs. cooper then.” he sighs, and the sound seems to rattle the receiver pressed against your ear. “look, i appreciate what you both are trying to do for beau. but he’s young, and the pain of losing his mum— i just don’t want him to rush into moving on.”

“oh, mr. deacon, that’s not my intention at all!” you wince at the high-pitch of your voice and clear your throat. good lord, this was not going as you’d planned. “i just want him to feel comfortable in the classroom, that’s all.”

“that’s kind of you, but i think it might be easier if you just let beau work it out for himself.”

you fall silent and glance down at the hem of your blouse. there’s a blue thread dangling from the article of clothing, and you pull on it, watching the thread unravel until it falls free from the shirt itself.

in all honesty, you’re puzzled by john’s hesitance to so much as entertain your concern. anyone—student, teacher, classroom parent—who comes across beau knows he’s more than shy. it’s written in his face, in the way he holds himself, in the way he shuffles aimlessly to and fro. god, he breaks your heart. you want to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from the cruel world.

but you’re not his mother. you’re merely his teacher, and you must respect john’s wishes despite how wrong you think they are. perhaps, in time, he will come around, see the need for a little concerted effort in helping beau work through his obvious grief-stricken state.

“is there anything more i can do for you, ms. [y/l/n]?”

clearing your throat again, you sit straighter in your chair and fiddle with a pen on your desk. you click the depressor up and down, up and down. “no, there’s not. i’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“you didn’t,” john says—and his voice has that indescribable soft quality you noted the moment he first spoke. “really, it does mean something to me that you even thought to call.”

“i care for my students a great deal.” you aren’t sure what brings the words to your lips, but the second they fall past your tongue, a flush crawls up the back of your neck. you’re sure you sound like a petulant child, whining at the mere inconvenience of a rejected idea.

“i can tell.” his tone is anything but salty. in fact, the truth dripping from each word leaves you decidedly flustered. you click the pen faster, your leg bouncing beneath the desk.

“yes—well—i’ll leave you to it.” though you add, “if ever there’s something i can do for beau, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“i’ll be sure to.”

after a rushed goodbye, you drop the phone to its base. the hard-plastic clatters, the coiled wire dropping in a pile on the desk. you press your fingers to your eyelids and groan. both deacon boys, it seems, have the power to infuriate and melt you at the precisely the same moment.

this, you think, does not bode well for the rest of the year.

if you’re being honest, you have to admit that you think of john deacon often as the school year falls into a comfortable rhythm. no matter how hard you try to forget the phone call, forget the way his voice lulled you into a strange sense of serenity, he’s like a specter in the back of your mind: always there and definitely uninvited.

still...

when the children work silently at their desks, you sit behind yours and struggle to keep your mind from wandering to either of the deacon boys. when you greet beau as he walks through the door each morning, you resist the urge to drop a question about his father’s well-being. when the faded red corvette pulls to the curb each afternoon, you bite your tongue and fist your hands at your sides to keep from introducing yourself properly through the open window.

it’s embarrassing, really, how much the phone call with john deacon has affected you. it’s embarrassing how... interested you are in his life. you’re a schoolgirl with a crush—a crush on a man you’ve never even seen! if you were to admit your undue fascination with the deacon household to your best friend ami she would laugh in your face and remind you how desperately you need to get out more. you keep your wonderings and your daydreams to yourself to save her the trouble of telling you what you already know.

come mid-november, when the students are well-adjusted to their daily routine and you’ve learned how to juggle so many personalities at once, you finally pause to take a breath. the breath comes at the end of a school-day. it’s drizzling outside—not raining, but not dry either. the sky is a wash of gray and a deep purple. there’s a storm coming, a bad one too from the looks of it. humming to yourself and contemplating whether or not you should stop by the grocery on your way home, you tug on your jacket and step outside the school into the chilled autumn air.

you’re about to cross the parking lot to your car when you hear a harsh sniffle come from your left. you pause, keys in hand, and twist to see a huddled form on the curb. it’s clearly a student and a young one at that. knees drawn to their chest, backpack large over their back, fingers interlaced on their knees, they are the picture of a frightened schoolchild. the hood of their blue raincoat obscures any defining features, so you hustle to their side and kneel down, but not before glancing at your watch.

nearly four. someone’s been forgotten.

“hey?” you tilt your head to try and catch a glimpse of the face beneath the shade of the jacket hood. “did mum not come through the car line?”

you barely stifle your gasp when the slick raincoat crinkles as the student turns to meet your gaze.

it’s beau deacon.

his eyes are puffy, tears still clinging to his blotchy cheeks. beneath the wide frames of his glasses, fear swims across his gaze. he draws in his lower lip and rubs his hand under his nose. his eyes flicker to the ground, his toes tilting inward.

you press a hand to his shoulder. he feels so small beneath your palm, like a fragile piece of clay, molded by tragedy and loss in such a short span of time. “where’s your father, beau?”

he shrugs. “dunno.”

“i guess he’s running late.” you look at your watch. very late. “should we give him a call?”

beau nods, and you stretch to your full height, offering your hand to help him from the curb. beau does not take it as he stands. he pushes his glasses up his nose and follows you inside the school office where he hesitates in the doorway as you borrow the receptionist’s phone to call the auto-shop.

no one answers.

lowering the phone to its base, you look over your shoulder. through the venetian blinds you can see the sky darkening as you hem-and-haw. in the distance there’s a flash of lightening, and fat raindrops dot the tan sidewalk.

you could leave beau with the receptionist. it’s not uncommon for parents to run late or completely forget about their child. normally, betty calls the child’s guardian and gives the waiting student a granola bar and coloring page or picture book to flip through as they wait for the mortified adult to speed to school. there’s nothing obligating you to stay.

just as there’s nothing obligating you to offer to drive beau home.

you look at betty and calculate the words of your offer. “would it be wrong of me to drive beau home? he lives on my way ‘s all.” boldfaced lie—at least, you think—but what betty doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

betty doesn’t stop clacking on her electronic typewriter. “i don’t think so.” she peers over her glasses at the clock hanging over the door, still typing. “i’ve got a dentist appointment in half an hour, so i don’t have time to wait around today. you’d be doing me a favor, love.”

“alright, it’s settled then.” you slip the thin strap of your purse over your shoulder and turn to beau with a toothy grin. “i’ll drive you home. maybe your father just isn’t feeling well today and overslept?”

beau frowns, and inwardly, you cringe, your smile faltering. beau’s mother died of an illness, so it likely disconcerts him to think of his father in a similar state. in a piss poor attempt at an apology, you grab a piece of chocolate from the bowl near betty’s desk and slip it in beau’s hand as you make your way to the parking lot. the faintest flicker of a grin crosses his face as he methodically unwraps the candy. you take that as a sign of forgiveness.

once beau is snug in the backseat of your station wagon, you pull into traffic with a bubble of giddiness in your stomach. what you’re doing is ridiculous. though you feel horrid beau was left behind, there’s a sick park of you that is glad for it. it’s unlikely you’ll ever meet john deacon unless fate throws you together. he did not attend back to school night, and as a single father, you doubt he has time for any of the other parent-student events on schedule for the rest of the year. in all honesty, you’re taking this opportunity to put a face to the man behind the phone call that’s plagued you with daydreams since it occurred.

if you can just see his face, just learn what he looks like, perhaps the fascination with fade. unless, of course, he turns out to be as attractive as your mind has made him out to be and then you’ll be in even hotter water than you are now.

adjusting yourself in your seat, you glance in the rearview mirror. beau has his head pressed against the foggy glass of the window, his eyes scanning back and forth as he takes in the surrounding scenery. rain droplets create dark shadows over his face, and you wonder if that’s what he feels like on the inside: foggy and rainy and shadowy. you shake the thought free; you read too many melodramatic novels.

“so, beau, what’s your address?” you ask, your tone obnoxiously chipper. he tells you, and you shrug as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel. “gotta give me more than that, hun. do you remember how to get home? do you think you could tell me?”

beau nods and scoots away from the window, leaning nearer the space between the driver and passenger seats. there a gleam in his eye. you catch sight of it as you turn right at his instruction and see him hovering near your shoulder. it seems that with each turn you make his voice inches a decibel louder until you can hear every word with a clarity previously unknown. he’s confident when he’s instructing you, when he knows what he’s supposed to do.

he’s confident when he’s helping.

you tuck the bit of knowledge away for later as you pull into the cracked driveway of a red-brick bungalow. the house is small and unadorned, the homes on opposite sides just as plain and simple. a single spruce tree, like something out of a holiday catalog, is the only foliage in the yard. gauzy curtains are drawn to block the sunlight coming through the two bay windows framing the white front door.

you turn the car off as beau slides across the bench to open the car door. grabbing your handbag, you all but tumble after him, hastening up the sidewalk.

“wait a minute! beau!” you punctuate your call with a breathy laugh and smooth the sides of your hair back as you approach the front door. the bubble of giddiness from moments before has turned to a bubble of nerves, and once again, you realize this moment is entirely ridiculous. still, you adjust your blouse and straighten the crooked edge of your collar.

beau’s left the front door open, his shoes and backpack already tossed on the living room floor. you hesitate at the threshold. you haven’t been properly invited in, but the open door might just be beau’s way of telling you it’s alright to invade his home. at least, that’s the message you decide to take.

crossing the threshold, you hold tight to the strap of your purse and glance around the cramped front living area. beau’s nowhere to be seen, and the home is silent as the grave. you bite the tip of your tongue when your gaze falls over a photograph of a woman holding a baby. it’s beau and his mother; has to be.

maybe... maybe you’ve overstepped your—

“beau, is that you?” the sound of heavy footfalls on stairs snaps your attention away from the photograph. before you can slip away and forget you ever had the silly notion of meeting your student’s father with the intent of something other than a professional hello, a man rounds the corner.

your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. it’s not the john deacon you’d imagined.

he’s shorter than you pictured, only several inches taller than yourself. his jaw is sharp, peppered with a five o’clock shadow, and a thick mustache almost covers his upper lip. a white wife-beater tucked into green trousers completes the ensemble, and his bare feet pad across the floor as he sticks his hand out in greeting.

“you must be the teacher!” he pumps your hand up and down, his grip crushing but his smile wide. his voice is friendly and welcoming, though you can’t be sure it was the voice you heard over the phone. so many days have passed since then, perhaps you just forgot, though it’s highly unlikely.

“i’ve been trying to call deaky ever since i got here, but the damn fool just won’t pick up. i don’t even know where beau’s school is so i couldn’t come and get him myself. the ship we run here isn’t very tight.” he rolls his eyes with a grin. “thanks for bringing him home, darling.”

your head swims as you struggle to keep up with the man’s fast pace. so, he isn’t john deacon? and john deacon isn’t here? you open your mouth to ask the first of several questions but he beats you to it.

“hell, you look positively confused. shut the door, won’t you? the rain’s getting in, and molly was always worried about the the hardwood. i’ll put on the kettle.”

“oh, i don’t—”

he bumps your hip toward the door. “nonsense! deaky will want to thank you for driving beau home.” he’s around the corner before you can refuse, so you shut the front door against the steady rain and slip off your shoes, leaving them beside the two pairs already against the baseboard.

you’re quick to follow him to the kitchen. the walls are a muted yellow, the countertops clear but the sink full of unwashed dishes. the refrigerator in the corner is bare save for the back to school letter you gave to each student to bring home to their parents. that—and a photograph of four men in a basement. it appears to be a homegrown band of sorts, and the man behind the drumkit is shouting at the man who looks like an overgrown string bean. you’re not sure which one is john, so you turn away, feeling rather out of place when the man at the stovetop says:

“beau’s probably in his room. he always holes himself away as soon as he gets back. doesn’t come out until supper. that’s when deaky gets home.” a pair of mugs clatter against each other as he pulls them from a cupboard. “brian says it’s just a phase, that he’ll grow out of it once he processes molly’s death, but i’m not certain.” the man’s eyes flicker to you, and he laughs, loud and short. “oh dear, i’ve done it again! i forgot you’re not in the loop. i’m freddie,” he explains. “part-time nanny, full-time diva.”

you accept the mug of tea as freddie passes it to you, a smile lifting your tight mouth. “[y/n] [y/l/n]. so you’re beau’s... nanny?”

freddie drops to the round kitchen table shoved in the space between the kitchen counter and the wall. you follow suit and stir a drop of sugar in your tea. “you could call it that. i just watch him in the afternoons, between school and deaky getting home.” he sighs. “since molly... well, things have been hard to juggle.”

“i thought mr. deacon picked beau up from school? unless that was you in the car i saw?”

“heavens no! i don’t drive!” freddie laughs again. “that was deaky you saw. he takes his break at the garage long enough to pick beau up and bring him here. i guess he and rog were overrun today. bet beau was terrified. poor dear...”

you glance over your shoulder, down the dim hallway leading to, you assume, beau’s bedroom. there’s a half-full laundry basket deposited outside another open door, perhaps the bathroom. a few mislaid toys litter the carpet. it’s reassuring, knowing that beau has a few good men in his life, willing and ready to raise him. still, there’s a pervading sense of loneliness throughout the bungalow. you saw it in the photos on the living room wall, but it’s here too: in the dead roses, brittle to the touch, in the table vase; in the index-card note tucked on a notch in the cupboard, the feminine handwriting unreadable from your spot at the table.

freddie’s voice is somber when its breaks through the thick air. “complications of pneumonia,” he says, following your gaze to a wedding photo on the hallway wall. “it came on quick but didn’t last long, thank heaven.”

unbidden, tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’ve never felt more like an intruder—and you know why.

your crush on john deacon is misplaced. you see that now. realizing what you’ve done in coming here—twist a child’s terrified moment of abandonment for your gain—makes you sick to your stomach. what kind of person are you? assuming a recently widowed father would be at all interested in his son’s pesky teacher? the thought brings a flush to your cheeks, and you rise from the table all too fast. the mugs of tea wobble when your knee connects with the underside of the table.

freddie frowns at you. “you okay, love?”

“i—” how to explain yourself without sounding a total fool or heartless woman? “i think i’ve overstayed my welcome” is all that comes to mind, and you aren’t surprised when freddie uses his foot to push your chair back out from under the table.

“sit down. john will be home soon. let him thank you then you can go.”

from where you stand, you look to your right. the front door practically screams for you to politely decline freddie’s insistence and high-tail it to your car, to get out while you still have the chance. but he’s making it too easy to stay for what you’ve come for: a peek at the illusive john deacon. you know you should go, that you should leave well enough alone, but despite your best intentions, you find yourself sitting down again and allowing freddie to bombard you with questions about teaching life.

half an hour later, when your sides hurt from laughing while freddie regales you with the dramatic story of beau’s birth, the door to the garage opens and closes with a loud click. you twist in your seat, arm draped over the back, and bite your lip hard to keep from drawing in a sharp breath.

by god, he’s a stone-cold looker. better than you could have imagined.

john deacon stands in front of the garage door, his head of tight curls wet from the rain. he’s tall but not towering, his shoulders made broad by the leather jacket across his back. he hasn’t noticed you or freddie as he’s too preoccupied with wiping the grease on his fingers across a piece of soiled cloth. he turns, not towards you, but towards the hallway when beau tumbles out of his room with a shout of joy. beau races down the hall, his arms extended, and jumps into his father’s waiting embrace. john mumbles something in his son’s ear, ruffling his hair, before dropping him back to the ground. the sullen little boy jumps around his father’s feet, chattering in great detail about his day at school, though he forgoes mentioning his father’s absence in the car-line.

you exhale, a wash of new tears covering your eyes as you stare at beau. he can be happy. you’d thought it impossible.

you must have exhaled louder than you thought because john looks over at the sound. his brow tightens in a frown of confusion, his eyes flicking back and forth between yourself and freddie, but freddie is quick to explain. he stands from the table and takes your hand, pulling you to your feet.

“deaky, this is [y/n] [y/l/n], beau’s teacher. remember you spoke to her on the phone?”

your cheeks heat at the thought of him mentioning the phone call beyond the walls of the auto-shop. warmth spreads over your face even further when he gives you a tight-lipped smile and extends his hand. you slip your fingers over his palm, and he shakes your hand.

for a moment, your hands linger as john glances at beau, who is tucked behind his leg. he cringes, groaning. “please tell me you didn’t go out of your way to bring beau home today?”

you drop your hand from his and clasp your fingers before your waist. scrunching your nose, you tilt your head to the side. “well...”

“bloody hell,” john murmurs. he screws his eyes shut and runs a palm down his face. “i’m sorry,” he says. “you shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“it was no trouble, really. in fact, you live on my way home.” the comment isn’t a falsehood. you’d realized as beau pointed his way home that your flat lie only a minutes down the road. just as it had then, the realization sends a nervous clench to your stomach now. the thought of the deacons so close...

“you must think me a horrible father.” as he says this, john reaches around to smooth his hand across beau’s back. the gesture, done mindlessly, almost makes you laugh. how could anyone find him a horrible father?

“absolutely not, mr. deacon.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward in something close to a smile. “john, please.”

you roll your lips together and blink rapidly to keep your eyes from going wide. john. “lots of people miss the car-line. it happens more often than you think.”

“well, let me give you something for your trouble.” he slides past you, the scent of cologne and car oil in his wake. his movements are stiff, hampered by beau who insists on clinging to his father’s leg, his ankles crossed over john’s foot.

“i don’t want anything, john.” you almost trip over his name. it tastes good, strong and steady. god, you’ve got it bad. “it wasn’t a hassle.”

john ignores you as he slides open a kitchen drawer. unsatisfied with its contents, he reaches for another before meeting your eyes with a wry smile. “all we’ve got is take-out menus anyway.” he shuffles nearer, beau still heavy on his leg. “thank you, ms. [y/l/n], for bringing him home. i got sidetracked at the shop and—” he sighs. “anyway, just... thanks.”

“again, you’re welcome—and call me [y/n].”

there’s a moment where you’re simply staring at one another, the room around you lulled to a comfortable silence. john is handsome, of this there is no doubt. perhaps he’s not striking in a classical way but you’re sure someone would have killed to chisel a bust of his face during the sixteenth century. it’s regal and sure in all the right places, but soft where it counts: around the eyes. when he chuckles at something freddie says, his eyes fold around the edges, and your heart all but gives out.

“what do you say, [y/n]?”

“sorry?” hopeful no one caught you ogling, you bring your attention front and center, turning to freddie. his proposal dawns on you a second too late to be anything but obvious. “stay for dinner? no, i can’t do that.”

“why not?” freddie reaches out to pinch your forearm. “it’s our way of saying thanks, and neither of us will try to poison you with our cooking. we’ll just have brian bring something ‘round.”

you shake your head and scoot around freddie to lift the handbag hanging from a kitchen chair. “i’d like to, but i’ve stayed too long already. perhaps another time.”

prying beau from his leg, john trails behind freddie as you make your way to the front door. freddie wishes you well, reminding you to drop by any time, and john simply lifts his hand in a motionless wave. on the front stoop, hair tangled around your face by a sharp wind, you lean your torso across the threshold.

“mr. deacon—i mean, john,” you say quickly, willing your voice to sound stronger than you feel. “if you’d like, i can drive beau home in the afternoons. i live not five minutes from here, and it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

john hesitates. beau stands in the kitchen, his head poked around the corner. john looks over at his son then back at you. “that’s a kind offer, but i like coming to the school.”

your eyes flick to beau, to his round, soft face and intelligent eyes. yes, if you were his mother you’d enjoy coming to pick him up too.

with a nod, you retreat into the wind. “well, the offer still stands.”

as you slide into your car and pull out of the driveway, waving to beau who now stands in the doorway, you hope against hope that john will accept the offer one day—just so long as it means you get to see him again.

he calls during the middle of show-and-tell. you nearly forgo the call as abby sinclair insists on lifting her pet toad for all to see and you’re worried she’ll drop it, but you’re waiting for a message from the front desk—missing package again—so you pick up on the last ring.

“hello?”

“hi, ms. [y/l/n]. it’s john deacon. is this a bad time?”

“oh, mr. deacon!” you wince at the delight coloring your voice and tear your eyes away from abby, who has handed her toad off to max. “i was expecting a call from the front office.”

he snorts out a rushed laugh. “sorry to disappoint.”

you brush a lock of hair behind your ear. “no, not at all.” out of the corner of your eye you catch max squeezing abby’s toad between his palms, and you push the phone away from your ear. “oy! max, knock it off! abby, please put the toad back, dear?”

john is chuckling on the other end of the line when you return to the call. “sorry,” you say. “show-and-tell.”

“i know. beau was excited this morning.”

with a smile, you glance at the boy in question. “he did very well. everyone was impressed with what he brought.”

“brian made that for him as a birthday gift, so he can’t take any of the credit.”

“he didn’t! he explained who made the planets, but he did want to be clear about who painted the stars.” you hesitate, the sound of laughter over your shoulder reminding you not to get too entangled by the sound of john’s voice. “is there something i can do for you, mr. deacon?”

“right, yes. well, it’s a bit awkward... do you remember a few weeks ago when you drove beau home?”

you nod, the memory lifting from your heart with ease. how could you forget? you only replay the evening like a film every night before you fall asleep. “of course”

“do you remember offering to drive him home again?”

“yes.”

“i’m in a jam at the shop and can’t leave this afternoon. would you mind? taking him home, that is.”

you answer without hesitation. “i can do that. it’s not a problem.”

“you’re a life-saver. it’s just with freddie not driving... i guess what i mean to say is thanks. it helps me out a lot.”

“i’m happy to do it, john.”

“i promise i’ll make it worth your while this time. proper take-out and all.”

“you really don’t have to do that,” you say, hoping he does anyway.

“no, freddie will insist. i’ll let you get back to class for now. thanks, [y/n].”

“don’t mention it. good luck with your jam at the shop. i hope it’s cleared up soon.”

“me too. all the sooner to get back to beau—and you.”

he hangs up before you can respond, and you’re left with your jaw scraping the floor and your heart in your throat.

all the sooner to get back to you.

the words circle your head like a drug for the remainder of the day. you can barely focus as you teach, stumbling over your words and through math equations and spelling tests.

surely he didn’t mean it like that. he probably just tacked you on at the end of the sentence in his haste to get back to work. he probably wasn’t thinking when he spoke.

but, by god, you were listening.

you’ve never been so head-over-heels for a man in your life. each day when you wake up with john at the forefront of your mind, you wish for a morning where you can stay in bed and dream of him all day—his voice, his smile, his gentle way with beau. it all makes you crazy. ami calls your fascination puppy love and claims it will fade with time, but you wonder if it’s gone deeper. you’re interested in more than john deacon’s looks. you’re interested in what makes him tick and whether or not he’s in a band with the three other men who constantly appear in every conversation you share and whether or not he misses his wife and what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning. you what to know him and be known by him.

all the sooner to get back to you.

perhaps it’s wishful thinking—a dreamy idea on the part of a lovesick woman—but part of you wonders if he feels the same way about you.

driving beau home becomes part of an unspoken routine. after sharing dinner at the deacon household that second evening, john admits when walking you to your car how overwhelmed he can feel between his job at the auto-shop and his responsibilities with beau. with a tentative hand on his forearm, you promise you’ll help lighten the load. he thanks you by squeezing your fingers with his, and then he’s gone.

it begins by driving beau home every monday, wednesday, and friday. you enjoy your time with him. as soon as he settles in the back seat of your station wagon, he comes alive. the protective shell he wears in the classroom is replaced by the bright and earnest eyes of a seven year old boy, curious about the world and all it has to hold. he asks you questions and tells you stories, and you laugh as you watch the light dance in his eyes. he’s a sweet child, and you truly treasure the afternoons you spend with him.

one friday, you drop him off and find the cozy bungalow empty. beau has stopped retreating to his room once returning from school—at least, this is what freddie tells you—so you’re not completely surprised when beau invites you in for an afternoon snack. you are surprised by the empty house, however. freddie is nowhere to be seen and neither is john. what concerns you even further is when beau opens the refrigerator and slams it shut with a huff.

“nothin’,” he mutters, slumping to the table with a groan.

“what?”

“there’s nothing in the fridge.”

“what do you mean by that?” you cross the floor and open the fridge, hoping beau’s comment is nothing more than a hungry child displeased with the array of choice and nothing to his liking, but you find his statement to be true. the fridge is woefully stocked—naught but a half-filled carton of orange juice, three apples, and a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. you glance over your shoulder. “is it always like this?”

“no.” beau circles about on his chair. “but it’s happened a few times since dad and uncle rog got more busy at the shop.”

“well, that won’t do. grab your shoes, beau, we’re going to the market.”

once returned from your grocery run, you teach beau how to make spaghetti. he stands beside you on a stool, pushed up on his toes as he watches you prepare the boiling water and pasta. as you wait for the pasta to soften, you set about crafting a homemade pasta sauce. it’s your mother’s recipe, and it’s easy to make. easy enough that you allow beau to carefully slice the tomatoes under your supervision and dice the onions and sprinkle the spices.

the kitchen smells like your childhood: fragrant yet simple, sweet and comforting. somewhere in the waiting for the sauce to simmer, beau turns on a radio and draws you to the center of the kitchen. he holds your hand tight and kicks his feet to the music. you laugh and mirror his movements. he grabs your other hand and steps on his stool, forcing you to bend in an awkward twirl around his finger. you struggle but complete the movement, though he attaches himself to your shoulders like a barnacle. you whirl around on your socked feet in attempt to toss him off, but he holds tight, his fingernails digging into the skin of your collarbone. he squeals in your ear, a mixture of laughter and gasping breath and shrieks.

“mama, mama, stop!”

he says it without thinking, his head lolling against your shoulder as you stop short at the sound of his breathless voice. he giggles against your back then releases himself and slides to the floor. you stare at him, feel his words in the back of your throat like an uncomfortable burn, and then you hear the garage door shut.

you swallow hard and force your eyes from the yellow-and-white linoleum floor. beau hops from his stool, sauce-covered spoon in hand, and rushes to his father’s side.

“daddy, look, we made dinner! miss [y/l/n] and me!” he tugs on john’s shirtsleeve, but john’s just staring at you, his face unreadable. beau turns to one of the other three men crowding the hall behind john. “uncle roggie, taste it!” he forces the spoon in the face of a mulleted blond.

eager to break the thick tension, you motion to the spaghetti. “i—there wasn’t anyone home so...” your sentence trails off, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

so many eyes on you. you feel exposed against them all, caught in a domestic moment with a child that’s not your own in a home that’s not your own.

john looks over his shoulder, eyes flashing in anger. “fred?”

freddie winces. “about that, deak.” he rubs the back of his neck and glances at beau. “i can explain later.”

“you’d better,” john mutters.

“i should go,” you say at once, hastily grabbing your things from the table. your keys jingle in your hand with the force of your anxiety, and you stub your toe against the floor in your hurry to put your shoes back on.

john’s hand on your arm stops you. you look up, stooped as you try to slip the back of your sandal over your heel. he looks down at you, face still remarkably unreadable. “no, please stay,” he says. “you made supper.”

you shake your head and rise to your full height. “i’ve intruded enough already.”

you’re embarrassed, too. the gaggle of men heard beau’s slip up; they heard him mistake you for his mother—and certainly they saw the immediate flush of happiness rise over your cheeks at the sound.

mama. you’d always hoped, always wished, someone would call you that one day. you just didn’t think you’d hear it from a student with a deceased mother and a father you pined after first.

“[y/n], stay.” john’s voice is soft, breathy, and his eyes flit back and forth between yours with a startling amount of intensity.

how can you say no?

once the dinner has been divided, you sit beside john on the couch in the living room. the kitchen table is too small to host the gathering, so the living room was deemed appropriate just this once, to beau’s great delight. he sits on the floor at the coffee table, a tall glass of milk beside his plate of pasta, his eyes bouncing over everyone in the room with unrestrained joy.

“beau, why don’t you introduce everyone for miss [y/l/n]? she doesn’t know all your uncles.” john nods to his son in encouragement, and beau is only happy to take the job.

standing, beau crosses first to the impressively tall and curly-haired man sat beside him on the floor. “this is uncle brian. he likes space and teaches all the big kids at uni.”

he moves to freddie, who sits on a plush armchair. “this is uncle freddie, but you already know him.”

the last man leans against the foyer table, his ankles crossed and sunglasses still perched on his nose. beau pats his arm. “this is uncle roger and he works with daddy.” in a stage whisper, he adds, “he thinks he’s a lot cooler than he really is.”

roger guffaws and lightly pushes beau’s head to the side. “oy, you twerp, take that back!”

glancing about the room, you nod in greeting. “it’s nice to meet you all. i’ve heard quite a bit.”

brian smiles at you from the floor. his legs are bent awkwardly beneath the coffee table, and you’ve noticed the way he helps beau cut his side salad and keep sauce from dripping to the area rug. “all good things i hope?”

“oh yes, of course.”

“[y/n], dear, you really must tell brian what that student of yours did last week,” freddie pipes up. “it had me laughing well into the night. i’m sure some of his twenty-year olds are much the same.”

“i shouldn’t, fred.” you look at beau, who is watching you in interest.

freddie nods in understanding and tugs on his earlobe. “little ears, yes. maybe another time.” he pushes brian’s shoulder with his foot. “really is a riot of a story.”

as supper progresses, conversation twists and turns down different avenues. you explain how you came to teach in the area and find you used to work with one of brian’s newer colleagues. freddie tells the group about his recent run-in with an angry bird watcher in the park. his gestures are so grandiose he whacks roger in the chest, who has come to sit on the arm of fred’s chair. there’s more laughter than there is silence, and you settle back in the couch. at one point, john drapes his arm over the back of the couch—not around your shoulders, but close enough to send your heart into overdrive. it’s all you can focus on—the proximity of his muscular arm behind your head—as brian explains to beau the difference between the big and little dippers. even as roger describes the ramshackle band they four participate in on the weekends, you barely register the words because you swear to the high heavens you feel john’s pointer finger purposefully brush against your shoulder.

beau begins to yawn sometime near the eight o’clock hour, and you jump from the couch when you realize you’ve stayed so late.

“good lord, i’ve got to go!” you shuffle about the room, gathering your belongings, as john rises behind you. “i didn’t know it was so late!”

his hands are in his pockets, and he studies you as you put your shoes on. “got a big date tomorrow?”

you frown. “no,” you say on a laugh. “i’ve actually got breakfast with my mum.”

he looks away for a moment, but you can’t help but note the edge of a smile.

he grabs his jacket from the coat-stand when you’re ready. “i’ll walk you out.”

at the door you wave to the others. “good night, all! it was nice to meet you.”

roger tips an imaginary hat. “i’m sure we’ll meet again, [y/n], if deaky has anything to say about it.”

freddie kicks the back of roger’s leg, and the injured man doubles over in a yelp of pain. “you fucker!” freddie mutters. “you know that—”

john ushers you out the door before you can see or hear any more.

the night air is chilly, and you warm your arms around yourself. you reach for your keys in the depths of your purse and slide them into the lock on the driver’s side of your car. it’s dark out. you can barely make out john’s features beneath the light of the moon, but when he shuffles to the side, an automatic flood light turns on above the garage. you blink against the sudden light and smile, chuckling beneath your breath as your vision adjusts. you’re not eager to leave quite yet, and he doesn’t seem eager to send you away, so you both stand, looking at one another in the darkness of the drive.

“your friends are nice,” you say.

he hums in agreement. “m’yes, they are. we just started as a screw-around band a few years back, but when molly got sick...” he pauses, clasps his hand on the back of his neck, and shrugs. “they’ve been my lifeline, y’know?”

“i can’t imagine what that was like, losing her. i’m glad you had them around.” you suck in a deep breath. “about earlier... i didn’t know beau was going to say that, and i’m sorry it happened. i realize that my... involvement might appear to be me wheedling my way into your family, but that’s not it, really! i mean, i like you and beau—as friends—but i’m not trying to...” you sigh, shaking your head. “i’m sorry it happened ‘s all. i don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

before you know what’s happening, john’s reaching out to cup your cheek. his smile is soft in the glow of the moon and the floodlight, and your heart stops in your chest.

his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “i haven’t seen beau that happy in a long time. you’ve brought a lot of joy back into the house, [y/n].”

you’re sure you’re sweating despite the chill of night. you shake your head, but his hand holds fast against your face. “no,” you whisper. your voice sounds heady, even to your own ears. “beau’s just a good kid.”

“yes, and you’re a good teacher.”

is his face inching closer? you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

“a good teacher and a good person.”

if it weren’t for your firm hold on the car door handle, you think you might slip to the ground in a puddle of goo.

his lips are on yours, then, and you fall into his arms as he holds you against himself. you have dreamt of this moment far too many times to count, but you never thought it would happen. really, you thought you would finish the year without ever knowing the taste of john’s deacons lips.

but there he is, and there you are, and he tastes like the wine he drank during supper. he is more eager than you thought he would be, and soon he has your back pressed against the door of your car. you huff into his mouth and feel your eyes roll back into your head when he drags his lips across your jaw, inching closer to that spot behind your ear. your arms practically quiver around his shoulders, and you open your eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of a particularly bright star winking down at you.

he catches your lips again, and you feel hot and delicious all over.

“john,” you mumble against his mouth. “john.”

loathe as you are to stop the moment, you do, pushing his shoulders until he pulls himself away. his hand still cradles your hip, and he looks flushed in the moonlight. you’re sure you look equally as rumpled.

you grin. “well.”

he matches your smile, though it’s fleeting. “call you, yeah?”

unlocking your car door, you nod. “please do, mr. deacon.”

he shakes his head on a chuckle and shuts the door, waving gently as you pull out of the drive. when you’re several homes away, out of eyesight, you drift to the side of the road and blast the air conditioner. then you pound your fists against the steering wheel and let out a muffled squeal of delight.

he doesn’t call you.

when you sit down to think about it, it’s not that great of a surprise. you’ve been around him only a handful of times, and though you’ve both been comfortable in those moments, you don’t blame him for resisting whatever it is he feels for you. there’s beau to think about. you’re his teacher; surely there’s some line you shouldn’t be crossing? there’s molly too, and her memory and the years they spent together and the child they had together.

if anything, you figure he’s using you to test the waters of romance again. those stolen touches and deep stares and that kiss in the drive—it’s all just experimentation. the conclusion drawn from those experiments? he’s not ready.

you sigh, take another sip of wine. maybe you should stop driving beau. you like john; you like him a lot. and after that kiss, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. you thought about him before, but never this much. he threatens to consume your every waking moment, and it scares you because he’s not interested. desperately pining after a disinterested man means one thing: ruin. if you stop driving beau home, put some distance between yourself and the deacons, the puppy love and infatuation will fade over time.

it has to or you’ll go crazy.

it’s early evening, and your stomach grumbles. your flat is quiet as you putter around the kitchen in search of a suitable supper. there’s not much in the cupboards and even less in the fridge. you desperately need to go to the grocery store. take-out it is. withdrawing a handful of menus, you spread them out on the counter and flip through them mindlessly.

your thoughts are elsewhere. always on john.

you wonder what compelled him to kiss you. he’s an enigma, john deacon. you’ve seen him in moments of great levity—when he’s around beau or his friends or recounting a story from his youth. he has an infectious laugh, delightful crinkles around his eyes, and a quick wit. but he can be hard, too, like an immovable stone. he’s quick to toss a glare at anyone in his way in those moments of weakness, and his biting wit can turn sour at the drop of a hat. you chalk it up to weariness, those moments. weariness, loneliness, frustration. it doesn’t phase you, though perhaps it should.

with a groan, you drop your forehead to the cool counter and shut your eyes. the kiss lingers on your lips; it has the entire week since. you want him badly—in more ways than one.

the telephone rings, and you startle, clutching a paper menu to your chest. “fuck,” you whisper. you need to get a hobby other than daydreaming. pressing the phone to your ear, you barely get out a word of greeting before someone’s shouting at you on the other end.

“[y/n]? it’s fred! we’ve got a fuckin’ problem over here.”

you frown. “freddie? what’s going on? why are you are john’s? it’s a saturday.”

“no time for that! how fast can you get here?”

“well, i don’t know. i’ve got to—”

“beau’s sick! he’s on the bathroom floor, moaning and groaning and—shit!—[y/n], i don’t know what to do!”

“i’m sure it’s just a tummy ache, fred,” you say. “i see it all the time in my class. give him some pepto and he’ll be fighting fit in the morning.”

“no, [y/n]!” something in fred’s tone—a raw, animal fear—has you standing straight, your heart stuttering in your chest. “he said he feels like he’s gonna die just like molly did!”

“okay, okay.” you begin to move toward your bedroom, but are yanked back by the phone chord attached to the wall. you stumble backwards with a grunt. “okay, i’m coming, fred. just hold tight.”

“fucking hurry!”

you slam the phone down, rush to your bedroom to change from your nightclothes, and jump in the car without a pair of shoes. as quickly as you can you race to the deacon household. the sun dips low, casting an orange glow over the suburban streets lined with family cars. you grip the steering wheel tight, your heart thumping a prayer of protection for beau.

the driveway of the bungalow is empty, the garage door thrown open. the old convertible john toys with in the evenings is parked inside, but his everyday vehicle is gone. cutting the engine of your car, you run through the garage and into the house. fred stands in the hallway, pressed against the bathroom door. he looks ridiculous, clad in a bright yellow bathroom and bunny slippers, but he pounds his fist against the door, pleading for beau to unlock it and let him in. he turns at the sound of your bag dropping on the carpet.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes. he grabs your arm and wrenches you to his side. “beau, miss [y/l/n] is here. why do you talk with her, huh?”

before you say anything to beau, you frown at freddie. “where’s john?” your whisper sound harsh in the dim lighting of the hallway.

“at the shop. overtime. i can’t reach him.”

you jerk your head to the phone sitting on a side-table in the living room. “go try again and i’ll stick with beau here.” when he’s gone, you slide to a sitting position on the floor and press your ear to the thin wood of the door. “beau? beau, honey, it’s me.”

beau only groans in response.

“beau, can you please open the door? i want to help you. that’s it; just help.”

there’s a pause then you hear: “no. go away.”

“it’s okay if you’re embarrassed, beau. we all get sick sometimes. fred and i just want to help you feel better.”

there’s the sound of water sloshing and then a hard sniff. “i want my mommy.”

“oh, baby, i know.” you clear your throat to work past the lump rising to the surface. “come on, just let me in. i promise it’ll be okay.”

“but... what if i die like her too?”

“that’s not gonna happen, beau. i promise.” he doesn’t respond, so you plead once more. “please let me in.”

he shuffles to the door, unclicks the lock, and cracks it open. through the opening, you can see his pale face gleaming with sweat. gently, you push the door open further.

beau’s curled on the floor, his head bent toward his knees. his arms tighten around his stomach, and a spasm ripples through his body. he’s dripping with sweat, his star wars pajamas soaked through. hot air clogs the room, and you switch on the overhead fan. pressing your fingers to his forehead, you cringe and draw back. he’s burning up.

“beau, baby, what hurts?” you finger some of the sweat-matted hair away from his forehead.

“my tummy.”

“what’s your tummy feel like?”

beau shakes his head into the floor. “bad.”

“do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?”

“already did. on my floor.” he opens his eyes long enough to stare at you through thick lashes. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize about that. we’ll get it cleaned up later. i’m just gonna go get you some water, okay?”

he groans, shifting against another spasm of pain. “okay.”

stepping back into the hall, you grab freddie’s arm before he can slip into the bathroom. you tug him to the safety of the kitchen. his eyes dance between yours, expectant.

“well?”

“did you get ahold of john?”

“no, the fucker.”

“we’ll have to go pick him up then.”

fred’s brow twitches. “what? why? what’s wrong with him?”

you throw a glance down the hall when beau whines. “i think it might be his appendix. my dad’s burst last summer and he looked a lot like beau does now.”

“fuckin’ hell.” freddie runs a hand across his mouth. “just what deaky needs.”

you nod in agreement. “i know. we’ve got to take beau to a hospital, though, before it gets any worse.”

“yeah, yeah, i know. go get the car started and i’ll meet you in a minute.”

several minutes later, you’re en route to the auto-shop, freddie cradling beau in the backseat of your station wagon. the drive is tense, your bare foot hard on the gas pedal. beau wrestles and whines against freddie’s hold, continuously asking for his parents and where you’re taking him.

no one wants to say the word hospital, so his cries go unanswered.

freddie directs you to the auto-shop, his phrases terse, and you pull into the drive with a sharp squeal of tires on gravel. with the car still running, you hurry across the parking lot, loose pebbles catching on your feet. music blasts from a stereo within the garage. it’s loud and obnoxious and keeps you from locating john fast enough.

“can i help ya, miss?” a lithe man steps out of a side office, his hairline receding and face near gaunt.

“yes—i’m looking for john deacon.”

the man continuously wipes his hands on a dirty rag. none of the oil and grease on his fingers budges. “he’s down there.”

dirt and grime covers the bottoms of your feet as you race down the shop. cars of all varieties line the wall to your left, some stationary on the ground, others lifted towards the vaulted ceiling. there’s a handful of men at work, but you don’t recognize any of them as john. you’re prepared to start shouting his name when a familiar voice stops you.

“[y/n]?” it’s roger. “can’t get enough of our deaky, can you?” he’s chuckling as he steps out from behind a truck. “what are you doing here?”

“it’s beau,” you say, and his face falls.

“over here.” roger wastes no time in finding john beneath a volkswagon beetle. only john’s legs are visible, his knees bent and leather boots firm on the floor. he curses when roger hooks the toes of his shoes around a curve in the sliding plate on the floor and drags john out from under the car.

“what the fuck, rog? i—” john stills when his eyes land on you. his muscle tee is loose over his chest, and a line of grease mars his forehead. he swallows. “[y/n]... i...” he sits up. “i’ve been meaning to—”

though you’re curious about the end of his sentence, you cut him off. “beau’s sick. we’ve got to take him to hospital.”

the blood drains from john’s face in an instant. the wrench in his hand clatters to the cement ground, and he’s grabbing your elbow, pulling you toward the exit, before you can say anything more.

“crystal, i’m gone!” he shouts, practically shoving you in the direction of the car.

there’s either no reply or you don’t hear it because john shouts for freddie to move the fuck over and give him beau. you slide behind the wheel and pause, twisting to catch a look at the scene in the back.

beau looks like a newborn swaddled in his father’s arms. his face is wet with tears and sweat, and he sobs in his father’s grasp. john feels beau’s forehead and frowns, muttering an oath under his breath. then his eyes flick to yours.

“what are you waiting for? go!”

you don’t need to be told twice.

it’s another fifteen minutes before you reach the hospital. your head throbs under the stress of it all: beau’s pitiful moans for help, john urging you to go faster, freddie barking directions as he slaps the headrest behind you. before you’ve pulled to a complete stop, john is out, beau in his arms. you shoo freddie after him.

“go! i’ll park the car.”

by the time you’ve found a parking space and picked your way across the parking lot, beau’s been admitted for emergency surgery. his appendix, as you suspected. it’s a routine procedure, and he’ll be fine within the next hour. relief floods your system at the news, and you find john and freddie sitting beneath a large fish tank in the waiting room. you take the open spot beside john and cross your ankles.

“your feet are disgusting,” fred says. he points to the bottoms of your feet, dark with dust, dirt, and grime.

you shrug. “forgot shoes.”

the quiet of the waiting room is both a comfort and annoyance. a clock on the wall ticks loudly, and the fish tank bubbles at an uneven rate. every breath you take feels too loud, and the antiseptic smells cling to the inside of your nose.

still, the quiet gives you a moment of rest. you catch your breath. you let the knowledge of skilled and capable doctors working on beau ease your heart-rate. it will all be okay; he’s going to be okay.

you glance at john. his fist is pressed against his mouth, his eyes shut. his leg bounces, and you dare to reach over and lay your hand against his knee. he stills, his eyes flashing to you.

“he’s going to be okay, john.”

on the other side of john, freddie jumps to his feet. “i’m going bananas just sitting here.” he rubs the side of his head. “might burst. i’m gonna give brian a call.” he stalks away, his bunny slippers slapping against the linoleum floor.

you shake your head, biting back the urge to smile.

but then john’s fingers curl around yours, and you can’t help but give into the grin.

you look up, meet his eyes.

“i didn’t call you,” he says.

“no, you didn’t.”

he shifts in seat and looks to the floor. “you should be wearing shoes.”

at the turn of conversation, you frown then follow his gaze. “yes, i suppose.”

“take mine.” he releases your hand to bend down and undo his laces.

“no, john, don’t be silly. i’m fine.”

“please, [y/n], take the shoes.” he slides the boots toward you, and you begrudgingly slip your feet into the warmth of his shoes.

you look silly, the pair of you—your ill-fit mtv t-shirt, loose jeans, and oversized leather boots; his muscle tee with the aptly faded word muscle scrawled across the chest, his faded jeans, and socked feet. one of his toes pokes through the end of his sock, and his exposed arms look cold in the frigid air of the waiting room. you laugh.

“we look like a pair of bikers or something.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “not much of a biker. that’s crystal’s territory.” he doesn’t look at you when he continues speaking. “i’m sorry i didn’t call.”

on a sigh, you drag the boots across the carpet. though it pains you to do so, you let him off the hook. “it’s not a big deal, john. it was just a kiss. no promises.”

“i know.” his head tilts to the side. “but i wanted to call you. nearly did twice, but i chickened out.” he turns, then, and meets your eye. “i like you, [y/n].”

you smile, but know it doesn’t reach your eyes. still, you reach for his hand again. “i like you too, john. i’ve enjoyed getting to know you and your family.”

he shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is firm. “no, i like you. that’s why i kissed you and that’s why i didn’t call. because you make me so bloody nervous.”

your shoulders drop, as does your jaw.

“ever since you dropped beau off that first time, i’ve been thinking about you and about you and him together and then he called you mum and i saw the way you acted with him and—” he pauses for a breath. “molly was different with beau. i mean, she loved him, but she was always so fragile and worried and—and that’s not the point! the point is that you make beau happy and you make me happy. and i want to be happy again.”

“john...”

his grip on your hand tightens as he leans closer. “make me happy, yeah? i’m stubborn as a mule and shy, too, but i want you—badly.”

the fire in your heart spreads at his words. it spreads throughout your body until you feel like you could burst and shine a light into even the darkest corners of the earth. a laugh bubbles forth from between your lips. you lift a hand to stifle it.

“you want to know something?” you ask.

“what?”

“i’ve been pining after you, john deacon, ever since i heard your voice over the phone. i was content to just wallow in my daydreams, but this seems better.” you lift your fingers to brush his chin. “a lot better.”

“i can’t promise i’ll make a good boyfriend. i’m pretty rusty.”

“me too. we can be rusty together.”

he grins, leans forward further, his nose brushing yours. “can’t promise there won’t be hiccups. i’ve got baggage.”

“i can carry it.”

he kisses you, his hand on the back of your head, keeping you firm against his mouth. you grin, your teeth knocking his as you laugh. his curls are soft against your fingertips, and you hold on for dear life when he chuckles into your smile.

“mr. deacon?”

john kisses you once, twice more, before pulling away to look at the doctor. “yeah?” he doesn’t sound the least bit embarrassed to be caught in such a position in the middle of a hospital waiting room, but you hide your face against his neck. your cheeks hurt your smile is so wide.

“beau’s ready to see you now.”

john stands and extends at hand. “comin’, dove?”

your footfalls are hard against the ground, the boots heavy around your ankles, as you walk with him hand-in-hand to beau’s hospital room. you lean against his side, breathe the comfort of him in, and smile.

yes, this is much better than your daydreams—baggage, boots, beau, and all.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon fic #queen #queen fic #j writes

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scribble-fox · 4 years ago

Text

Secondary English Teaching in WA; An Open Letter.

I am an English teacher. I do this job because it is a calling. It’s a passion. It’s something that can make a real difference in people’s lives. But I have a problem and it’s a problem that affects all of us. I am failing to be the best I can be because there is simply too much to do.

In the first place the job of an English teacher encompasses a lot. A child needs to be able to read and write and understand sophisticated vocabulary. They need critical thinking and empathy and the ability to comprehends both fine detail and larger trends. They need creativity and accuracy and clarity and conciseness. But we also look at modern issues, new media, social values and the broad and changing landscape our students must make sense of. This stuff is all in the curriculum in grand sweeping statements up for our interpretation. We are good at our jobs. We do our best to arm our students with the skills and knowledge they need to take on the world they will head into and if only that were our only job.

Not only must we compete with rapidly changing media and the increasingly diverse set of backgrounds and beliefs, but we must individualise the learning experience for each of the 31 children in each class. If we have an hour of lesson and we manage to get into it right away without any disruptions – the children all magically sit in their seats with pens and paper out smiling eagerly and quietly up at us – that still gives us less than two minutes per student. Many of our classes contain five, six, seven – I once had 13 – students with individual education plans. This means I need to remember who needs checklists and who needs chunked instructions and who I can’t directly instruct and who needs coloured paper and who must be reminded to wear their glasses. All while managing the behaviour of 31 teenagers, many of whom have mental or emotional issues to contend with.

This is just in the classroom. Contrary to popular belief, teachers don’t go home at three o’clock and spend half their lives on holiday. A study of English teachers in NSW found the average English teacher was working 49.4 hours per week. But that includes part time teachers. Those of us on a ‘full load’ often work 55+. Each class takes planning. Each IEP needs adjustments within those. Each class takes printing and prepping and most of all, marking. The biggest problem with comparing English teachers to other secondary teachers is the marking. On average, a paper in English takes 15 minutes to mark. If you have the standard five hours of DOTT time (duties other than teaching) then you can mark 20 in a week, assuming no interruptions. But remember that a class is 31 and a teacher has many classes. Some weeks you have three or four classes worth of marking to do. And when are you supposed to make resources, find worksheets, read texts, do professional development? In what other job are you expected to spend your weekends sitting at a desk?

Then there’s the admin. More and more of it. Recently I spent an entire hour of DOTT time recording unsubmitted assessments in each student’s digital profile. Another hour I spent calling parents because a no surprises policy means you have to contact home at any hint of failure. Two hours after school filling in reports on negative behaviours and the consequences that resulted. I’ve spent my short lunch time making sure misbehaving students scrape gum from under the desks or finish off work they didn’t bother to do in class. I’m supposed to put the goal, the lesson resources, the homework and a detailed plan online for every single lesson. Forget about excursions. No one on a full English load has time for that. And job progression? There’s a reason most principals and deputies are ex Phys Ed or Math. I’ve wasted hours doing the same few professional developments over and over because they are required. I’ve had three identical sessions on how to use a particular piece of technology and I know what the process is for dealing with asbestos despite the complete irrelevance it has to my position. The kids with IEPs have a separate reporting system that requires us to comment on each curriculum point tackled. We are expected, especially if we are young, to be on committees and in working parties and be going above and beyond. We are already going above and beyond. A not-English teacher has too much work to get on with. We are being paid the same wage to do twice as much.

But it isn’t money we want. We aren’t greedy. We aren’t complaining about the pay. What we want is conditions we can work in. What we want is to be able to be the best we can be. The number one asset to education – the one thing that makes all the difference – is teachers. Teachers are the biggest factor in the success of a child’s education (See Hattie 2018) and a school’s stats, and we cannot be great teachers when we are stretched this thin. Is it any wonder really that our literacy has slipped so far? In the 2018 PISA rankings we dropped to 16th in reading. We were 8th back in 2006. 8th!

This problem compounds. With each year we are spread thinner and thinner. With each year our kids are further and further behind. And they are already coming into high school behind because primary school teachers aren’t specialists in everything. How could they be. Just because you can read and write, doesn’t mean you can teach phonics. And they are expected to cover English, Maths, Science, Humanities and Social Sciences and anything else they can’t get a specialist for. Kids also need to spread their writing between typing and digital literacy and handwriting. You wouldn’t believe how quickly their hands hurt from writing.

The problem, as it is, compounds but the plans are worse. In the name of progress, the plans in the department are to make sure kids have access to as many electives as possible. That sounds nice in theory. What this means in practice is that they lose lessons in their core subjects. One school is already paving the way for this with only three hours of English (and other core subjects) per week for lower school kids. Are they crazy? School is about creating a strong foundation to build on. Gap years are for trying things out. This tester school has been testing it for a few years now. But the test has failed. Kids are struggling. And of course, they are struggling! The English curriculum is huge. The subject is challenging. We already know that it’s too much, even to be delivered in four or five hours a week. Soon, English teachers everywhere will be expected to cram their carefully crafted courses into 3/5ths the time. Well, we won’t stand for it. Not least of all because we won’t cope. The teachers at this tester school aren’t coping. Especially when it means a fuller timetable.

How does less classes mean a fuller timetable? Well, just like for subjects with a lighter marking load, teachers are timetabled by teaching hours, not by number of classes. Instead of teaching four or five different classes. Teachers end up with six or seven. Either all lower school or the gaps are filled with subjects out of area. What does more classes and more students mean? More marking, more planning, more admin.

But there is a solution. There is a way to lift the standards of our teachers and our students in turn. Give English teachers less work. Put a cap on the number of students and classes. Make a full-time load for English teaching .8 (Hale does it!). Don’t expect out of hours work. Make less admin or provide aides to do it (Job creation?). Don’t cram curriculum into three lessons a week and fill up any extra time. Don’t interrupt the term with constant assemblies and activities. If you have to add more work, employ more people to do it. It’s simple and It makes a colossal difference.

I’m an English teacher. I dream of being able to plan interesting and innovative lessons. I long to provide the support my students need. I need to inspire. I know I can change lives. I can empower children to break free of poverty and trauma and build a future we can all be proud of. That’s what all teachers dream of but right now we are drowning. Right now, we are treading water in a vast ocean, hidden behind the waves and the swell and we are shouting to the distant shore. Hear us. Please hear us.

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

Text

[CN] Shaw’s 2020 Birthday R&S

🍒Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an R&S which has not been released in EN!🍒

[Prologue]

The birthday event begins with MC in an antique store, in search of a moderately priced antique. She had asked Shaw for help since she’s been having difficulties finding one

Unexpectedly, Shaw gives her the keys to an antique store the next day, telling her to take whatever she wants

Even though MC knew early on that Shaw used to have a mentor who owned an antique store, she still feels strange about it - she’s unable to associate antiques, which are filled with rich history and culture, with Shaw

She wonders if Shaw visited this antique store regularly in his childhood

She notices that a drawer is open:

There are several yellowed exercise books lying inside, and “Shaw” is written on the bottom right corner of the covers in pencil.

MC: Could these be Shaw’s exercise books when he was young?

Curious, I take out these “major discoveries” from the drawer, my mind whirring with countless questions.

At the back of my mind, I have a feeling that this place has a special meaning to Shaw.

MC: Maybe, for Shaw’s birthday…

While I’m thinking, something else in the drawer attracts my attention.

There are three copper coins, the colours antique, under sheets of writing paper. Covered in dust, they seem to be calling out to me voicelessly.

[Chapter 1: Exam Results]

At 4pm on a Friday afternoon, the math teacher wraps up her final point and closes the lesson plan.

The black board is decorated with the homework for the weekend. The teacher pushes up her spectacles. There is a big stack of exam papers on the table. “Last week’s exam scripts have been marked. Come and take them when I call your name.”

“This time round, most of you have improved. Only one student did not pass.” She takes up the exam script at the very top, flips it open, her eyes sweeping across the last row of the classroom, stopping at the seat at the very corner.

“Shaw.”

Hearing his own name being read, Shaw unwillingly stuffs the interesting comics underneath the table, taking his time to stand up. At the same time, the whole class cannot help but turn around and look at him evenly.

Sensing the surprised and teasing looks in their eyes, Shaw instead raises his head high and walks forward, stuffing a hand into his pocket with a devil-may-care attitude.

Taking the exam script from the teacher, Shaw stands in place, flipping through the script to look at the questions he got wrong.

Well, he did get more questions wrong than expected…

But math itself as a subject is annoying. It’s fine if he doesn’t do well.

He folds the exam script, folds it again, and again, before stuffing it into his pocket, turning around to return to his seat.

The teacher’s eyes unhappily trail behind Shaw, before she once again talks in a serious tone. “This time, everyone has to have their parents sign the exam script. I’ll check them on Monday afternoon.”

Shaw raises his eyebrows in mild disdain. It’s just a signature after all.

The old man copies the calligraphy of the Tang and Song dynasties so perfectly that even experts cannot tell. A mere signature wouldn’t be difficult.

He retrieves the stack of comics from underneath the table and puts them into his bag. With sufficient preparation for the end of school, he waits for the end-of-class bell to sound.

[Chapter 2: After School]

Entering June, the cicadas grow increasingly chirpier.

Over 60 years old, the antique shop shopkeeper sits on a rocking chair, fanning himself while checking Shaw’s homework. The prescription of his reading glasses is too shallow, and he has to squint. “The way you write this… Why does it look like a dog crawling. It’s so crooked.”

Shaw takes an eraser to erase a sentence he has copied wrongly. He cleans it till there is not a trace of it left. In an elevated volume, he answers, “It doesn’t matter if the words look ugly as long as I didn’t write it wrongly.”

While saying this, he feels through his pockets and takes out two exam scripts. “My teacher says this one needs a signature.”

Taking the script from him, the shopkeeper laughs until he rocks back and forth. “Kid, it’s fine if you don’t score well, but your luck couldn’t be any worse. Even if you take wild guesses, you couldn’t have gotten such low marks.”

He sits upright, sighing a few times. He folds up his fan and takes out a ball-point pen from his front pocket. With a practiced motion, he signs them.

He sighs deeply. “Shaw, since I’m not your parent, I shouldn’t be teaching you anything.”

Shaw had just closed his pencil box with a “pa”. Hearing his mentor sigh, he takes out his exercise books from his bag again, before returning to a state of studying. “All right, all right, I know what you’re going to say…”

“I won’t talk about big life lessons. Your school teacher would have talked about it more than I have. From today onwards, apart from the homework your teacher has given you, you are to write two pages worth of math questions, and copy a short essay every day. Only after you’re done will I teach you my craft.” He stands up, holding a tea cup and walking towards Shaw. “Whether you agree or not, give me an exact answer.”

Shaw doesn’t make a sound but merely furrows his eyebrows.

The shopkeeper laughs. “Just look at your capabilities - even a math question can stump you. If you can’t handle this small difficulty, how can you think of yielding something big?”

“I’ve never found math difficult. I simply don’t like math.” Shaw sets aside his exercise paper and takes out a brand new sheet. “Next time, I’ll let you sign an exam script that has 100 marks.”

“Wow, look who’s ambitious.”

“Hmph, this is nothing.”

[Chapter 3: After School]

There is only one class on Wednesday afternoon. After school, Shaw carries his bag and runs towards the shop.

Once he enters, he sees his mentor eating some kind of medicine – small white and yellow pills in his palm.

“Why are you here at this time? Oh it’s… I forgot, it’s Wednesday today.” The shopkeeper talks while he turns around to walk into the kitchen. “Put down your bag and wash your hands. I bought a big watermelon!”

Shaw knows the old man has high blood pressure, some heart issues… He doesn’t have a concept of these things, but knows that it isn’t something good.

Without a sound, he puts his bag down and takes out his exercise books and practice questions.

“Don’t rush to do your homework, come eat some watermelon first.” The shopkeeper puts half a watermelon into Shaw’s arms and guides him to the outside of the store, bringing two small stools over for them to sit.

The watermelon, which was just taken out of the fridge, glistens with water droplets. The red flesh has a spoon stuck in it. Shaw scoops a big chunk from the middle. It’s very sweet.

The shopkeeper is also holding half a watermelon, but eats very slowly. Noticing Shaw staring at him, he sighs and shakes his head. “I’m old, so I can’t just eat these cold things…”

While saying this, he looks towards the drawer inside the store. “Your mentor is 62 this year.”

“When people become old, they love to talk about reason. They don’t want you to walk the crooked path they have because it’s a waste of time. You’re still young, so you think you have a lot of time to spare, so you don’t notice. I want to teach you that this is wrong. You need to spend the time of walking down a crooked path to do other things.”

After saying this, he points towards the whole street lined with antique shops. “You can’t just look at these. Learning calligraphy and painting today, and tomorrow jade, and thinking you’re living a serious life. Spending months and years to take care of this palm-sized shop – You can’t live like this. You are my disciple, and I will teach you all my skills. But apart from this, you still have to learn other things. Whatever you can learn, learn it all, and learn it well.

“You have to look at the big world, craft a career, aim higher, be more forward looking…”

He looks at Shaw affectionately. “Put in more effort, learn all my skills, and then get out of here!”

Shaw turns towards the watermelon and lets out a glum “humph”. “You’re old, but I’m still young. I still can’t differentiate plus minus multiply and divide. You’re old so you should be the one putting in more effort to live for a long time, so I can take my time to learn all these things.”

It’s summer, so the night comes late. The clock already signals the time as 6pm, but the light has not yet dispersed.

Shaw puts a brush back into the drawer, takes off his gloves and wipes the sweat off his forehead. “Old man, I’m hungry. Why not let me join you for dinner?”

In the kitchen, the shopkeeper is washing vegetables. He takes out a small box from the fridge, pulls back the curtains and returns to the shop.

“I didn’t cook your portion, but you can eat this if you’re hungry.” He removes the cover of the small paper box, and Shaw’s eyes widen.

“What, you think I wouldn’t remember your birthday?” The shopkeeper retrieves a cake from the paper box, and removes the plastic surrounding it. “Once you’re done eating, go home quickly!”

Shaw takes a spoon, muttering in a small voice, “It doesn’t matter if I go home late anyway.”

“Today is different. A child’s birthday is the same day as a mother’s suffering… But you’re too young and still can’t understand this. On other days it’s fine, but today is different…” The shopkeeper holds up his tea cup and goes to the counter.

[Note: The actual phrase is: “儿子生日母亲的苦日”, which doesn’t have a direct English translation. The meaning is that the day a child is born is also the day the mother suffers in childbirth to bring him into the world]

“I don’t know why adults don’t have an issue with you hanging out here all the time. But I can tell that you wear clean clothes every day, and that your shoes are polished. These are because of your parents. Let this old man add one line of reason – if you’re angry with your parents, you’ll regret it eventually.”

Shaw lowers his head, biting the spoon and says evasively, “No one’s angry with them.”

“You don’t call this being angry? It’s not that I’m picking on you, but boys should manage their tempers better. If you’re unhappy, you have to say it straight out, don’t just keep it boiling in your heart without a sound and then wait for someone to come coddle you. With your personality, in future, you’ll become a person who never speaks from the heart. Even when you’re with someone you like, you’d put on a front – That wouldn’t be good.”

“Old man, what are you thinking all day long?” Shaw retorts, not bothering to clean his mouth which has been dirtied with cream. “I will never have someone I like. I play soccer with a few guys in class, and they spend the entire day talking about who they like. It’s so annoying.”

The shopkeeper laughs at how Shaw says this with an air of righteousness. “Which is why I say you’re still young.”

Shaw digs into his cake and lets out a “hmph”. “I’m not young. I just haven’t grown taller.”

The shopkeeper sips his tea. “Guys do take longer to grow. Maybe you’ll be taller than me in two years.”

“Two years is way too long,” the plastic spoon dangles from Shaw’s mouth. “The best thing would be to wake up one day and suddenly be taller. Mm… I want to grow to this height. No.”

He stands on a chair, using his hands to gesture until he is satisfied. “At least here.”

The shopkeeper responds with a sweeping gaze, “That’s 180cm though.”

“180cm is very good.” Shaw sits back on the chair contentedly. “I’ll make a wish to grow to 180cm.”

[Chapter 5: Fate]

The shopkeeper looks at the clock on the wall, and slowly puts down his teacup.

“Since it’s your birthday, I’ll read your fortune.” He pulls open the drawer and takes out three old copper coins.

Shaw finishes up the last bite of cake and throws the packaging into a bin. “You’ve already read my fortune many times and the results are always the same. Yet you’re doing it again?”

The shopkeeper looks slightly down, but his voice remains calm. “I have nothing else to do anyway.”

The first throw, one heads and two tails.

The second throw, one heads and two tails.

The third throw, two heads and one tails.

…It’s really not much different from the last reading.

The shopkeeper shakes his head, his hand ready for the fourth throw. The copper coins fall on the table with a jingle, and a combination which has never been seen before appears – all three are negative.

“Wow, there’s a change!” The shopkeeper says in a higher pitch than usual.

In the middle of downing his drink, Shaw almost falls off his chair at the shopkeeper’s sudden outburst.

The jingles from the copper coins continue. The final two throws are no longer the same ones as before.

Shaw looks at the coins. “What does this mean?”

“It means that in the future, you will definitely not always be alone.” The shopkeeper rubs Shaw’s head with a bright smile on his face. “I was always worried about what would happen to you, with such a stubborn personality, if I weren’t around anymore…”

“Of course I wouldn’t always be alone. I’m not alone now.”

Shaw puts the three copper coins in his hands, looking like he doesn’t take the reading to heart – He has his family, pretty good friends, a few friends from the neighbouring class who buy tidbits with him. His life will continue this way.

Even though it’s a little boring, but he wouldn’t be alone.

“Also, old man, you won’t have any problems, and will definitely live for a very long time.”

Shaw speaks, and softly repeats the sentence, “You will definitely live for a very long time.”

The dusk has begun to settle outside. The shopkeeper holds the copper coins between his fingers, and gently sighs. “That’s why I say you’re still young.”

[Chapter 6: Birthday Present]

After packing his bag, Shaw looks at the clock on the wall – he should reach home by 7pm, just in time for dinner.

“You’re leaving already? You don’t want your birthday gift?”

The shopkeeper appears from behind the counter, tossing his gaze to the cupboard. “It’s been there for a whole day and you still haven’t found it yet.”

Usually displaying antiques, the drawer now has within it a box wrapped in colourful paper. Shaw curiously walks over and rips off the packaging, revealing a small wooden box.

A dark brown Rosewood bracelet rests in his hand.

In his eyes, this is something only an adult can have.

At his age, he would have received books, stationery, toys or models – none of which he likes.

He is always treated like a child, but he has grown up since a long time ago.

“This bracelet isn’t something expensive, it isn’t that much of an antique, but it is made of quality Rosewood.”

“If you’re bored, you can play with this, and learn to manage your temperament. You’re still young, so it’s fine if you’re still impatient and stubborn. But if you continue with this little attitude of yours, you’d lose out eventually.”

“In this line of work, you need to have patience. One, only when you manage your emotions would you remain focused. Two, good things come to those who wait.”

“The change in your life is also something you will have to wait for.”

These words completely fly over Shaw’s head. He puts the bracelet onto this wrist, coils it around multiple times until it can stay on.

“In future, no matter what you face, you have to be calm, and be patient.” The shopkeeper gently taps Shaw’s head, and frowns. “Have you committed all this to memory?”

Shaw rubs his head, his eyes still trained on his present, completely engrossed with it. “Ahh – yes I remember, I remember!”

“What do you remember?”

“Remember… that I have to hurry home for dinner!” Shaw turns around and grabs his bag, disappearing out of the shop. Before that, he raises the hand that dons the bracelet and waves.

The stars flicker, and the light is reflected in Shaw’s eyes. His eyes are smiling.

#mlqc cn #mlqc #mlqc shaw #love and producer #mlqc spoilers

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rpgsandbox · 5 years ago

Link

Introducing the Teacher-Gamer Handbook

The Teacher-Gamer Handbook is a resource for educators to lead Role Playing Games (such as Dungeons and Dragons) in the classroom, in homeschool and online. It contains a full semester of robust lesson plans and the pedagogical infrastructure to last years that teach 36 life-skills to players with pre-created adventure suggestions, narrative arcs and prompts.

The main premise is: you can’t learn something unless you notice it. The purpose of the RPG Skillset is to generate multitudes of continuous opportunities to notice things within at least 36 major domains of self-development. The possibilities are endless.

My name is Zach.

Here is a brief history of how the Teacher-Gamer Handbook came to be:

1982 played Dungeons and Dragons for the first time - my character died in the first 10 minutes, it was so fascinating and unlike anything I had ever experienced... I was hooked! I have been playing RPGs for thousands of hours and almost 4 decades. Some would call me an O.G. (Original Gamer).

1990’s adventuring in life, school, work, music production, becoming Canadian and starting a family steered me in new directions.

2002+ raising two boys with my wife Sophie, I was teaching and studying by day, hangin' with the family and playing RPGs when I could on weekends.

2006 enrolled in an MA program in Education to better understand the “how” of teaching and learning.

2010 finished my Masters in Education focused on authentic learning and life-skills curriculum development.

2012 realized that role-playing games (RPGs) in Schools was an untapped resource. I began working on the Teacher-Gamer as an extension of my Distinct Self well-being program.

2014-2016 brought RPGs in Schools curriculum into the classroom at Green School Bali

2015-present Wild Mind Training workshops blending RPGs in Schools with mindfulness ramps into wilderness trips with Wildlife Conservation Society.

2020 Teacher-Gamer Revolution! - happening offscreen on tabletops everywhere! Let’s get radical about balancing EdTech and AI coming into schools by bringing our teacher’s hobbies into life-skills classes that enrich youth with socio-emotional and literary skills while maintaining the distinctly human teacher-student relationships that cannot be replaced by computers.

What We Need & What You Get

I started this campaign for three main reasons:

It is time to put the Teacher-Gamer Revolution on the timeline, now, globally. It is so important to take what you have inside you and put it into the civic sphere. I urge all educators to make the world a better place by combining their passions with their pedagogical skills and make them available to the public.

Self-publishing the Teacher-Gamer Handbook (TGHB) will launch this new step of my career with all the support of my colleagues, friends and anyone who likes the idea that robust off-screen game-system-learning (engaging face-to-face life-skills development) is a viable initiative to balance the influx of technology into schools.

The TGHB is my calling card, a beacon, an organized methodology that I can put into the hands of people I meet at conferences, conventions and school boards wherever I go.

I took a calculated risk and have already borrowed the money to:

finish the book

have it typeset in the style of a role-playing game handbook

make videos to explain how teaching RPGs in schools works

build a website with a private interactive forum.

I also plan to use the momentum and connections I make with so many people around the world to take the curriculum to the next level.

My ultimate goal is to hit at least $60,000 so that I can spread the methodology online and hit the road when the world opens up again to safe conferences and in-person education.

Here's the Teacher-Gamer Revolution plan for the funds raised on IndieGoGo:

Hard Copy prints of the book for everyone!

Hit our stretch goals and produce additional resources for Teacher-Gamers to accompany the Handbook.

Finish the next three handbooks full of additional lesson plans, classroom activities and teaching strategies.

Newsletters with practical activities

Instructional videos

Teacher-gamer website features celebrating educator success around the world

Weekly Webinars for online outreach and support

Teacher training workshop deployment to implement new full-scale RPGs in the classroom programs.

Head to Conferences and speaking events to grow the community and gain traction.

Continued customization of RPGs in Schools curriculum in community centers, school boards, correctional facilities and homeschools far and wide.

Finish the next three handbooks full of additional lesson plans, classroom activities and teaching strategies.

Benefits for the Educators

help schools transition into more life-skills programs that prepare youth for adulthood

build progressive opportunities for face-to-face off-screen courses in schools

maintain positive attitudes about the future of schools

work to make life-skills more prominent in schools for the subject teacher who is getting pushed out by tech

Strengthen relationships with students through gameplay

The last thing a teacher wants to feel like is “obsolete”. There is some hustle each teacher must do to remain fresh, viable and relevant in their community, but if teachers are trying to battle incoming tech or are being asked to do more tech type roles, they will have to find ways to shift the consciousness of the institutes they work in or be moved around or pushed out.

This is a call to teachers to take their passions- or at least an opportunity to pick up this methodology to teach games- and deploy life-skills into their learning environment.

The Impact

By contributing to the Teacher-Gamer Handbook, you are doing more than just buying a book or helping it get printed, you help:

establish the printing, distribution and sale of the book

the off-screen Teacher-Gamer Revolution gain traction and take flight

bring viability to the TEACHER-GAMER profession

subject teachers to collaborate with their peers to build robust game systems into learning opportunities

wilderness survival teachers establish classroom simulations of safety and role-playing through authentic learning narratives

bring a whole new piece of curriculum to holistic education

make in-roads for RPGs in Schools to become a discipline unto itself that helps youth process the multiverse of systems, franchises, worlds and cultures that are coming at them at high-speed through the internet and media.

The Story

The Teacher-Gamer Handbook has been over 8 years in the making!

The RPGs in Schools program was originally developed as an extension to a Personal and Social Development Local Programme course cycle in Canadian public school – a well-being curriculum program of life-skills electives at The English Montreal School Board in Quebec. Since then, the RPGs in Schools program has been adapted into the Wild Mind Training resiliency program for youth, 10 years old and older in schools and camps in Indonesia and the UK where I have been working over the last 6 years.

Starting in 2014, Green School Bali was an early adopter of the RPGs in Schools Program where I ran Introduction to Dungeons and Dragons as an English literacy course (creative writing) in high school and as an English literacy course (communication thematic) in middle school.

Every child surveyed in Green School reported that they liked the RPGs class and over half of them considered it their favorite class!

As I went along, I started realizing that all the life skills (21 basic and 15 advanced) that I was teaching could be dialed in to meet various curriculum goals and that if I put learners on a narrative cycle such as the Hero’s Journey, they would begin to recognize so many more thematics, symbols, motifs and literary forms as they relate to so many of the stories, books, films, TV series, mangas and other sagas that they follow.

Re-branded as Wild Mind Training, over the last 4 years. I have been experimenting with more mindfulness, wilderness conservation and improvisational theatre elements. As a home school aggregate on the weekdays and a weekend workshop for day school children, I have ironed out the kinks of three different levels of Introduction to Life-Skills through 3rd edition Dungeons and Dragons courses.

As with any pedagogy delivery system, the context and content (ie. role-playing game being used) can be adjusted into the area of study or subject. What matters most is that the learning system is authentically motivating and delivers opportunity after opportunity to acquire literacy, socio-emotional and life skills.

Risks & Challenges

Getting the book printed is only the first step. I’m taking a huge financial risk of my own even if the project does not get funded. In order for it to succeed, I have to get out there and hit the road to show people how the methodology really improves the learning experience for the students and teachers.

I’ve got to hit trade shows, book speaking events, and still create workshops to help teacher-gamers really kickstart this program.

Let’s keep it real: this is an alternative learning method that requires adaptation. There may be backlash as conventional school systems are entrenched in “standardization”. I have to keep pushing this body of work as a complement to curricula by expanding the resources for teachers.

Gamification has brought games into education, but have also made the teachers gatekeepers to the computer. The negative result is that kids will be on their best behavior just to be allowed to get on screen. We need to bring value back to the teacher-student relationship, also making the teacher-gamer an exciting part of education - off-screen!

The Teacher-Gamer Revolution is on!

And I am ready. The time is NOW. If not us, then who?

As a network of early adopters it is YOU that will help me carry this forward and YOU that by belief in this project, will help extend the reach of the Teacher-Gamer Revolution.

We have some goals to hit, and time is of the essence. There has been so much learned by going for it and I am so excited to turn this guerilla-style launch of getting the first Handbook off the ground and into teachers hands everywhere.

We will try to get questions answered as soon as possible, just know we are also trying to get the book to print BEFORE the end of the campaign and have a lot going on.

That being said, we are GOING TO PRINT and get your copies to you as SOON as possible. Depending on your location this could take some time as we are a GLOBAL movement with community around the world, but can only afford to print in ONE location at this time.

Print and delivery is scheduled for June 15th and getting copies in your hands by July 1st. But again, your patience is much appreciated and we will update you every step of the way!

Thanks to you for all your patience and getting involved.

Indiegogo campaign ends: 24 April 2020

Website: [Teacher Gamer] [facebook] [twitter] [instagram]

#RPG #indiegogo #Teacher Gamer Handbook #real world #education

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dutifullylazysalad · 4 years ago

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Literacy Libraryguided Reading 101

Literacy Libraryguided Reading 101 5th

Reading Literacy Worksheets

Literacy Libraryguided Reading 101 Lesson

What every teacher should know

Feb 6, 2018 - Explore Lauren McGlone's board 'Literacy - Library', followed by 361 people on Pinterest. See more ideas about classroom library, reading classroom, classroom organization.

Reading 101: A Guide to Teaching Reading and Writing

Literacy Centers 101: Pocket Chart Center Day 3 of my summer vacation and what am I doing??? Well, I did have a wonderful time today at Centre Island with my husband, kiddies and dear friends of ours.

Emergent Literacy Reading 63 IV. Emergent Literacy Writing 79 V. Mathematics 87 VI. Science 101 VII. Social Studies 107 VIII. Fine Arts 113 IX. Physical Development 117 X. Technology 122 Appendices 124.

The Certification Exam for Educators of Reading Instruction (CEERI) Teachers who complete the Reading 101 modules will learn about critical skills for proficient reading and best practices that support students’ acquisition of these skills.

In this book we have an English 101 class explaining what “literacy” means to them and the way this word has gained meaning as they have grown older and gone through many experiences. The personal stories that are shared within these pages reflect where reading and writing started for each student and the way that their literacy journey.

Reading 101 is a collaboration with the Center for Effective Reading Instruction and The International Dyslexia Association.

Learn the definitions of phonological awareness and phonemic awareness — and how these pre-reading listening skills relate to phonics.

Phonological awareness and phonemic awareness: what's the difference?

Phonological awareness refers to a global awareness of the sound structures of speech and the ability to manipulate those structures. Phonological awareness is an umbrella term that encompasses both basic levels of awareness of speech sounds, such as rhyming, alliteration, the number of words in a sentence, and the syllables within words, as well as more advanced levels of awareness such as onset-rime awareness and full phonemic awareness.

Phonemic awareness is the most advanced level of phonological awareness. It refers to a child’s awareness of the individual phonemes — the smallest units of sound — in spoken words, and the ability to manipulate those sounds.

Phonological awareness (PA) involves a continuum of skills that develop over time and that are crucial for reading and spelling success, because they are central to learning to decode and spell printed words. Phonological awareness is especially important at the earliest stages of reading development — in pre-school, kindergarten, and first grade for typical readers.

Explicit teaching of phonological awareness in these early years can eliminate future reading problems for many students. However, struggling decoders of any age can work on phonological awareness, especially if they evidence problems in blending or segmenting phonemes.

How about phonological awareness and phonics?

Phonological awareness refers to a global awareness of sounds in spoken words, as well as the ability to manipulate those sounds.

Phonics refers to knowledge of letter sounds and the ability to apply that knowledge in decoding unfamiliar printed words.

So, phonological awareness refers to oral language and phonics refers to print. Both of these skills are very important and tend to interact in reading development, but they are distinct skills; children can have weaknesses in one of them but not the other.

For example, a child who knows letter sounds but cannot blend the sounds to form the whole word has a phonological awareness (specifically, a phonemic awareness) problem. Conversely, a child who can orally blend sounds with ease but mixes up vowel letter sounds, reading pit for pet and set for sit, has a phonics problem.

Dr. Louisa Moats explains to a kindergarten teacher why it is critical to differentiate between the letters and sounds within a word when teaching children to read and write.

Reading 101 is a collaboration with the Center for Effective Reading Instruction and The International Dyslexia Association.

What are the key critical reading skills, and how do we use them to comprehend? And why does background knowledge matter?

This section presents my latest thinking on comprehension with The Comprehension Process Staircase as a visual aid.

(Illustration by Sandy Gingras, whose Website is here.)

Literacy Libraryguided Reading 101 5th

Here's an important essay on why background knowledge matters: 'There's No Such Thing as a Reading Test' in The American Prospect by E.D. Hirsch and Robert Pondiscio (June 13, 2010)

Here are two video training modules that explain key topics on this page:

Comprehension Process MODULE:

This 23-min SELF-PACED video explains The Comprehension Process Staircase and how to use the Quadrant Analysis Approach to images (reinforcing the comprehension process with visual analysis).

For more resources to support your work around comprehension, please check out the following:

TLC Website “Comprehension 101” page--lots of tools to download! And you can show students the Comprehension Process Staircase!

TLC Blog post on Quadrant Analysis--a detailed explanation of how to teach the Quadrant Analysis approach (which is also explained in the video)

Here's the FREE link to the Comprehension Process Module PowerPoint.

***

This 20-min SELF-PACED video explains the four key critical reading skills (paraphrasing, inference, vocabulary in context, and summarizing/inferring main idea) and how to teach them. NOTE: Watch The Comprehension Process MODULE before this one.

For more resources to support your work around key critical reading skills, please check out the following:

TLC Website “Comprehension 101” page--lots of tools to download!

TLC Website 'Analyzing Literature' page--ditto!

Here's the FREE link to the 4 Key Critical Reading Skills Module PowerPoint.

***

Here are the 4 key critical reading skills:

SKILLWHAT IT LOOKS LIKE AND WHAT IT ENTAILSTESTING CODE WORDS PARAPHRASING

(AKA Literal Comprehension)

“The man fell down.”-> “He collapsed.”

Paraphrasing means “translating literally” or “putting something in your own words.” This requires you to:

Unpack vocabulary (attack roots; use prior knowledge and context clues).

Unpack syntax and grammar (unpack clauses and phrases; pay attention to punctuation).

Draw inferences from idioms.

NEW: For a useful strategy, seeHow to Paraphrase-3rd grade Practice, How to Paraphrase-MS Practice, How to Paraphrase-HS Practice. For tips on how to create critical reading questions, see How to Create Critical Reading Questions: A Recipe.

See also Rewordify.com, a powerful, free, online software that intelligently simplifies difficult English, for faster comprehension (IN OTHER WORDS, it paraphrases for you).

Facts

In other words

According to the story/passage

What does this mean?

Plot-related

Paraphrase

INFERENCE

(AKA Extended Reasoning)

“The man fell down.”-> “He must have been sick.”

Inference entails drawing a conclusion, making a prediction/guess, or figuring something out. To do this, you need facts/information, and you need to ask questions about the given information. See the comprehension process described below for more explanation.

NEW:Paraphrasing and Inference Organizer AND Quotations to Paraphrasing and Inference in the Download Zone will help students practice these skills. Also check out Character Traits: Quote and Explain and Question-Inference-Evidence & Explanation ORGANIZER, Question-Inference-Evidence & Explanation ORGANIZER MODEL, and Question-Inference-Evidence & Explanation ORGANIZER MODEL LESSON PLAN

Here's a fun way to invite students to apply their inference skills: Read 'The Conversation Piece' by Ned Guymon (which originally appeared in Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine in 1950) and figure out what is going on in this dialogue.

Infer

Suggest

Conclude

Because/why

Most likely

Probably

VOCABULARY IN CONTEXT“They’re not interested in being diverted from their direction with alternative routes.” The word “diverted” in this context means

A) amused B) less experienced C) taking the same route D) sent in a different direction

Vocabulary in context requires you to infer meaning of words using the context and your prior knowledge.

What does ____ mean in this context?

Based on the passage, what does ____ mean?

NOTE: At least one distractor will use an alternative meaning of the word in question. In this example, “A” is the distractor. FINDING MAIN IDEA/ARGUMENT

(AKA Summarizing)

The main idea of this passage is

The yearly festival in Pamplona, Spain, always includes the Running of the Bulls.

Running alongside the bulls as they are moved from the corral to the bullring in Pamplona, Spain, has become an exciting and dangerous sport.

The bravest runners carry newspapers with which they touch the bulls as they run through the streets.

The Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, Spain, has been going on for about three hundred years.

Finding the main idea/argument, AKA summarizing, requires you to infer the key message(s) from the text. Your ability to do this is based on how well you are able to paraphrase, infer, and determine vocabulary meaning from context. Also, you have to understand the difference between ARGUMENT and EVIDENCE. See the comprehension process described below for details.

After reading the article/passage/story…

The central idea

The theme

This passage is mostly about

The author would probably agree

The best summary

How do we use these skills to comprehend? See below. Start at the bottom.

INFERENCE(S) -> EXPLANATION

Draw new inferences and generate more explanations. These join your prior knowledge/skills.

??? + PRIOR KNOWLEDGE/ SKILLS

Ask more questions… MORE “TEXT”

Paraphrase, etc. This “text” may confirm or challenge your prior knowledge/previous inferences.

FOR EXAMPLE: If the next sentence says, 'He had had a fever all day,' your prior inference is confirmed. If, however, the next sentence is 'He should've bought the shoes with velcro straps,' you would correct your incorrect prior assumption/inference.

INFERENCE(S)

-> EXPLANATION

Draw inferences in response to your questions, and support them with explanations. These infererences and explanations join your prior knowledge/skills. FOR EXAMPLE: Given no additional information about the man who collapsed (no mention of shoelaces or attackers) and knowing that healthy people are generally able to stand up without falling down, you might infer that he fell down BECAUSE HE WAS SICK. NOTE: You will continue to think this until new information challenges your thinking.

??? + PRIOR KNOWLEDGE/ SKILLS

Ask questions based on paraphrasing/translation and your prior knowledge/skills.

FOR EXAMPLE: Given the case of the falling man, you might ask, 'WHY did he collapse?' You might recall prior instances of seeing people tripping over shoelaces, fainting, or being knocked down.

YOU APPLY IT/

THEM TO

“TEXT.”

^ ^

PARAPHRASE: Put the “text” in your own words. NOTE: “Text” could be almost anything: words, pictures, or a situation (e.g., reading the defense on a basketball court).

Unpack vocabulary.

Unpack grammar/syntax.

INFER from idioms.

FOR EXAMPLE: Given the text 'The man fell down,' you could paraphrase this as 'He collapsed.' For a useful strategy, see How to Paraphrase-3rd grade Practice,How to Paraphrase-MS Practice, How to Paraphrase-HS Practice in the Download Zone.

YOU HAVE

PRIOR KNOWLEDGE/ SKILLS.

^ ^

Start here.

You approach the 'text' with your prior knowledge, which includes:

Previous experiences

Context

Texts read/academic content knowledge

Knowledge of conventions (genre, grammar, syntax)

NOTE: If your 'prior knowledge' is incorrect, it will affect your ability to process the 'text.'

FOR EXAMPLE: If you believe that 5 times 5 is 30, then when faced with a math word problem requiring the multiplication of 5 x 5, you will not solve the problem correctly.

Reading Literacy Worksheets

For more information on strategies for teaching the 4 key critical reading skills, see Reading Comprehension Strategies Overviewin the Download Zone. For a 'Sample LESSON PLAN to LABEL CRITICAL READING QUESTIONS,' see MS English Lessons & Units. Want to review the FOUR CRITICAL READING SKILLS (paraphrasing, inference, vocabulary in context, and summarizing/inferring main idea) and teach your students how to identify test questions that deal with these skills? Check out this Sample LESSON PLAN TO LABEL CRITICAL READING QUESTIONS and HANDOUTS for the lesson. Also, see READING Home Page for other helpful subsections.

Sometimes, to demonstrate comprehension, we want students to explain quotations. Check out the Explanatory Quote Response Organizer and Explanatory Quote Response Organizer MODEL.

For additional excellent resources on reading instruction (esp. nonfiction text support), even if your state doesn't use PARCC assessments, check out the PARCC Prep page.

Literacy Libraryguided Reading 101 Lesson

IN THE DOWNLOAD ZONE for Comprehension 101:

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laffinandlovin-blog · 4 years ago

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It’s a long post today folks!

I would like to begin this post with the assurance that I am safe and under the great care of amazing mental health professionals. I’m surrounded by the love of amazing friends and family. It is not lost on me that I am incredibly lucky to be employed and therefore have the opportunity to have great healthcare. Not everyone can afford professional care. Because of To Write Love On Her Arms, more people can. Because of To Write Love On Her Arms, I have a permanent community of support. I know I am about to share very personal information. I also know that when I’ve done so before, someone has always reached out in appreciation. I’m not writing for appreciation. I’m writing with hope that someone feels less alone. I am writing to combat the stigma that we cannot talk about mental health. If I have learned anything (and I’ve learned much), I have learned that it is okay to ask for help. It is ok not to be okay. I have learned that the bad feelings ALWAYS pass but some storms last longer than others. This pandemic has been incredibly difficult for many people. Some people experienced depression and anxiety for the first time and others felt their depression and anxiety amplify to new levels. I’m writing to say: I am here for you. I see you. I believe you. I’m also here to say thank you. Thank you to the friends and family members meet me in the sadness and love me because of it not in spite of it. Thank you for the hard conversations, the song recommendations, the cards, the IG messages, taking me to the doctor, holding me when I cry even though I’m not a hugger, for taking me to the ER junior year of college when I had a debilitating anxiety attack, and most of all for accepting the good days, the ugly cries, the loud and obnoxious laugh, and the understanding that I have a mental illness-I am not an illness.

Here’s the abridged version.

About 15 years ago I successfully convinced myself that I was stupid while studying for Chemistry as a sophomore. I just did not get it. I went to a private all-girl college prep school. Academics were intense. I worked my tail off, fell asleep with my books in my arms, and obsessed over school work. I was never very good at positive self-talk- I constantly put myself down. I was too fat, too dumb, didn’t have weekend plans therefore I had no friends. I was “too sensitive” and I became disgusted with myself. I would cry and cry and cry because I just did not know how to get past these hurdles-the doubt bullies. My dad would pick me up from school every day and the tears would come. At the time we didn’t know I was dealing with a major depressive disorder. I was told I had nothing to cry about at 16 and asked why I was so miserable. I believed that I was truly just a miserable and moody teenager-don’t we all go through that phase? Sometimes at night when I was studying I would bang my head against my bedroom wall questioning why I was so stupid, why I didn’t have any friends, and why I was so ugly. I look back now and know that was the depression talking. I never got lower than a B on a report card, I was student council president, and I had many friends. However, I didn’t know how to get the depression to just shut up already.

Those formative high school years and the negative mantras shaped my journey into adulthood. I successfully convinced myself that I was unattractive and undeserving of romantic love or any love for that matter. I would scratch my arms to feel some physical pain to make sense of the internal pain.

Amazing people were sprinkled into my life since the time I was in grade school (friends) and since birth (family). I had no idea how to explain my experiences with depression to my family. By the time I got to college I had become pretty set in my ways and my detrimental thinking. I remember calling my mom during what was most likely my first panic attack during college. She assured me that it was probably my nerves and stress (which were huge contributors) and to “try some tea and listen to Johnny”. John Mayer’s music was the first that I was able to identify with in terms of anxiety and depression. It wasn’t his most popular stuff but it was a lifeline for me. I also found in college a group of friends that became my chosen family. They didn’t understand my illness either but they were and are the most patient, supportive, and caring people I could have ever hoped to meet and still be close with 14 years later.

After year after graduating college, I moved to Boston. My relationship with Boston is a pretty great love story because of the people I met there. For the first time in my life I met people who struggled with self-worth, self-injury, and relied on medication to keep themselves safe. During a particularly difficult season of my depression, I began self-harming. My therapist and I decided it was best for me to begin an IOP (Intensive Outpatient Program). For 3 hours a night, 3 nights each week, for 6 weeks I attended a program where was enveloped in acceptance. I have never had plans to take my life however, I have thought that the life I was living just wasn’t worth it. I thought for sure that the best part of my life was behind me and that I really didn’t have much worth living for. I was convinced that I was a lost cause. The effectiveness of the meds always wore off and there were weeks at a time when I questioned if this life was worth fighting for. I found friends in Boston that I still reach out to to this day when things are feeling very low. Those people, unfortunately, know what it’s like to question if this is all worth it. Those people, fortunately, remind me that the fog does lift even if it feels like it’s all I know.

Now at 32, I still struggle almost daily. Where I am at 32 is very different than what I envisioned. I have wanted to be a mom since as long as I can remember (I had 40 baby dolls as a child and they all had names. They were also my students in my pretend classroom in my basement.). I long for romantic love. Someone who I can love and be loved by. But the real love. That person who can call me out and be my biggest fan. And vice versa. Someone with a big heart and an accepting mind. This is getting gushy. I regress. And to be a mom. I long to be a person who is fortunate enough to create her family and love her job and her friends and dogs and stand up for others and speak out against injustice. I’m not there yet, but I’m getting closer every day.

When I look back on my experiences thus far with anxiety, depression, and suicidal thoughts, I think about just how lucky I am that I have a sister, brother, parents, cousins, aunts, childhood friends, high school friends, high school teachers, college friends, Italy friends, furry friends, Boston friends and roommates who have loved me through my darkest times. I am amazed by the support, both of those who haven’t had experience with mental illness before loving me and those to whom I am forever connected because of our similar experiences. My people are #worthlivingfor.

There is so much #worthlivingfor. I’m so glad I’m here to experience it.

I am fundraising with @twloha to help provide access to counseling for those who need support. Please visit https://give.twloha.com/fundraiser/2871863 .

Thank you for reading this. personal message. It was long and it was sensitive. I am grateful for the courage to share and thankful for every listening ear and kind heart. I could write pages more. But today I encourage you to share what is #worthlivingfor in your life. Tag me (@lafferrx on Insta). Spread the love- the world needs it more than ever.

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schrijverr · 5 years ago

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Professor Elric?

After The Promised Day Edward is sent on a miliary mission to Hogwarts where he will teach Alchemy to his students. He is told not to interfere with their business, but he has a hard time not getting involved with this weird Voldy prick.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

Chapter 6 out of 10.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Umbitch was really getting on Edwards nerves. She had been on his trail like a bloodhound ever since he’d shown up. She wanted to know what the limitations of Alchemy where, what he knew about Amestris, if he knew You-know-who and how he taught. She had been aching to get inside his classroom, but so far he had managed to keep her out. It seemed like his luck had ran out, he knew he shouldn’t have told those fifth years he was a muggle, ever since that she had been unrelenting and now the day had come.

“Good morning class, as you can see we have a guest. Why she insists on coming I don’t know, but she is here to disrupt so expect this lesson to be a bit different that usual.” He began.

He nodded at Umbridge before turning back to his students and saying: “We have been studying Alchemic arrays for some time now. This will be the last theoretical lesson before we move on to doing Alchemy in the classroom. When I call on you, you will come forward and draw the array I tell you on this table. I will show it to the class and we’ll collectively decide if it is correct, if it is I will use it to transmute some of the materials I have here.”

“Hermione, could you please draw an array to transmute the rust of this iron dagger?” he asked.

The girl drew the perfect circle, which he knew she would. She was very smart, liked to study and just generally knew her stuff. Once the class had also determined it was the correct transmutation-circle he preformed transmutation. He didn’t do it often, so there were still a few gasps when the rusted iron dagger came out in perfect shape.

“Okay, next. Neville, could you draw an array to change this heap of chalk into some crayons for the board?” he said.

While the boy was drawing he looked at Umbridge, she was writing on her notepad while mouthing words to herself. It seemed harmless, but he had heard the stories, once she was comfortable in your classroom she would attack you with questions. He didn’t have more time to think about it, because Neville was done drawing.

He showed the array to the class and asked: “Draco, what do you think of Neville's array?”

Draco studied the array, he was like Hermione in academics although he was more of a prick about knowing things, though it was a close call. He had pulled a few stunts in his time in Edwards classroom, but he had also soon realized that without his friends here it was pretty useless to pit everyone against him, so he had quickly learned to shut up and he has been even pleasant after. After he’d studied it for a moment he said: “I can’t find a fault.”

“And you would be correct with that. This array is perfect, well done Neville and Draco.” he said, he was proud of Neville, the boy seemed to struggle a bit and he had made a mistake in the array last lesson, which is why he had asked the boy about it now.

Before he could transmute Umbridge cleared her throat, he shot her an unimpressed look, which she completely ignored. She asked: “Aren’t you going to give point to their houses for their job well done?”

He pretended to think about it then he said: “Are you asking me to take part in a house culture you created to pit students against each other and base their initial judgments upon which causes discrimination on yet another factor within this school and prevents friendships, because honestly I don’t feel the need to. They get praise when they do well and they learn, that is the reward in my classroom. I read the contract, nowhere does it state that I am required to give or take housepoints. Now, can I go on with my lesson or are you planning on interrupting even longer?”

Umbridge stayed quiet and Edward took that as a sign that she wouldn’t interrupt for now and went on. He did the transmutation and put the crayons by the board, he had been running low. Then he said: “Hannah, could you draw a basic array.”

They went through two more arrays before Umbridge felt the need to interrupt again. He had needed something from the table in the corner and he had walked over there to grab it. She said: “I’m curious, Mister Elric. Why don’t you use accio?”

“You are not curious, you just want to point out that I am a muggle.” he said with a sigh, “I honestly don’t see the need for you to dance around these things, just ask ‘hey, heard you were a muggle, is that true?’ so much easier and faster.”

She was taken aback by this, but quickly recovered sadly enough. She said: “I don’t see the need for your rudeness, Mister Elric. As a teacher of a magical subject it is quite concerning that you aren’t a wizard yourself. Are you even fit to teach?”

“There are a few things I want to address about that statement. Firstly, I don’t like you, so that will be Colonel Elric to you, secondly, Alchemy is science not magic, I will not be swayed on that point and thirdly, I am capable of doing what I teach, which is more than I can say for you, so I don’t understand the cause for your concern.” Edward told her.

“Colonel Elric, I will not be addressed like that.” she spat.

Edward shrugged: “My classroom, my rules. You don’t want to be addressed like you address me then there is the door. Have a good day.”

“You cannot kick me out, I am the High Inquisitor.” she said offended.

“I know, if it’s any help I call my commanding officer General Bastard, so it’s nothing personal. Or you could think it is, I never really got along with him.” this of course was a lie, he and Roy had become pretty good friends and it was now some kind of friendly nickname, but she didn’t need to know that.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times before she could gather her bearings, then she said: “I will not be kicked out, Colonel, but I do have a few more questions. How did you become a Colonel at, what was your age again?”

Edward rolled his eyes, ugh, this again, he was getting tired and he just wanted to get her out of his clssroom.

“Seventeen.” he replied, “And the whole story is a bit long, so I’ll give you the bullet points. I had to provide for me and my brother, so I became a State Alchemist at twelve. The State can be pretty dumb, they were convinced no child could pass their test and therefore an age restriction wasn’t necessary. I passed, being a State-Alchemist gives you a rank as Major. Are you following me so far? Good. I went on missions and discovered a conspiracy then last year we held a coup and overthrew the corrupt government. The then General Grunman came into power, he was the boss of my boss in the east. Everyone who helped with the coup got a big promotion. So, I am indeed a Colonel at seventeen.”

Everybody was quiet, they had expected a lot, but not this. Umbridge looked quite pale, which honestly, was to be expected, she herself was a government official and she was standing in front of a boy who had helped to overthrow his government at sixteen.

When she had recovered enough she immediately went in for emotional trauma: “Why did you have to provide for you brother at twelve.”

A dark look passed over his face, but he decided what the hell I’m in this hellhole now, might as well make her uncomfortable with my Tragic PastTM. So he said: “Well, it’s not really twelve, bit earlier really. Our dad is out of the picture, my mom died when I was five, but Grandma Pinako took us in. She’s the grandmother of our friend Winry, but her kids are dead too and she has a shop to run, so she didn’t really have the time or money for three kids. After that we lived with our teacher for a while, but she once she was done teaching us we had to leave. You might have had the luxury of a support system, but don’t assume everyone had.”

It was again quiet in the class. Edward wasn’t a private person per say, you could conclude that after the amount of times he had told people, strangers and friends alike, about his human transmutation back home, but he wasn’t someone who shared a lot without reason or prompting, especially not with his classes. He had learned and these people didn’t know him at all, he was a blank slate. He rather fill it with how awesome he was instead of how sad of a life he had lived.

“Well, was that all? Because you just wasted fifteen minutes of my class. In those fifteen minutes my students could have become a little smarter, broadened your tiny magic minds a bit more, but you just prevented that. Congratulations, you fail as a teacher.” he said.

Umbridge didn’t stay quiet, she protested: “‘Magic minds’ ,as you like to call them, aren’t small. You are generalizing.”

He raised one eyebrow and mustered his best unimpressed look as he said: “I find that hard to believe and I could argue that based on how you think I am incapable because of my age and non-magic background or I could generalize even more and ask you, if you look at the entire wizarding world, can you tell me how much it would collapse if magic were to suddenly disappear?”

Then he turned back to the board and wrote down CDR under each other before turning back to the class and asking: “Now, who can tell me what these letters stand for and why they are important?”

They were dismissed and an unhappy Umbridge walked out of the classroom. Hermione was the last one left and she made her way over to Mister Elrics desk. She bit her lip and said: “I know you don’t like to talk after you’ve dismissed us, but aren’t you worried about losing your job?”

He stopped rummaging in his back to give her a smile. “I’m sorry if I worried you there, but Umbridge is an annoying shit who loves power a bit too much. I know her type, but I also know her limitations. She can try to sack me, but I’ve been send over here to make a bridge between our countries, the Ministry doesn’t want to see me go and besides that, I don’t need this job, it might surprise you, but being a Colonel in a military state pays pretty good. I am planning to donate the money I earn here to some kind of charity and to give it some to friends who need it more than me.”

“Oh, now I feel kind of stupid.” Hermione said with a blush.

“Never feel stupid, you probably hear this a lot, but you are very smart. Alchemy is very hard and so far you are picking it up faster than I hoped. You’re going to see me around, but I do want to give you a bit of wisdom. Don’t doubt yourself and never dumb yourself down, you are picking up Alchemy, do not forget it. You are a wizard and from what I see and hear there is a war coming up, use what you learn, because wizards don’t know what to do when they’re faced with muggle solutions.” Mister Elric looked at her intently.

She nodded that she had understood and said: “When you’re giving wisdom like that it’s hard to remember that you’re just seventeen. My friend has two brothers who are your age, but have half the maturity.”

He laughed and thought, thanks it’s the trauma, but he said: “Yeah, I get that pretty often. Hey, you wouldn’t know a good wizard charity, would you?”

“Well, I am the founder of S.P.E.W., it’s for the freedom of house-elves, you should read about them, it’s horrible how wizards treat them.” Hermione said, “but if you think it’s dumb you could donate to St. Mungo’s, it’s the hospital, they could always use some money.”

“S.P.E.W., I’ll keep it in mind, thanks.” and he smiled at her again, then he said: “It’s getting late you’re going to have to run of you want to be in time for you next lesson.”

She paled a bit and cursed as she bid her goodbye and ran out of the classroom. She had so much to tell Ron and Harry at their next DA meeting.

#RR writing #edward elric #bamf edward elric #alchemy teacher edward elric #Professor Elric #colonel Elric #hermoine granger #draco malfoy #neville longbottom #dolores umbridge #dumbledore's army #Harry Potter #fullmetal alchimist brotherhood and harry potter crossover #harry potter au #fma brotherhood #FMA AU #Professor Elric?#Professor Elric? Chapter 6 #SPEW

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megan1902-blog · 5 years ago

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LIFE WITH A BABY DURING A GLOBAL HEALTH PANDEMIC

As I sit on my lounge writing this, I look over at my 11 week old baby boy Oliver kicking around on his play mat. He is the happiest, cheekiest, most beautiful little man ever (yes, I am bias!) and I am so glad that he does not have the slightest clue about the scary chaos that the world is currently experiencing.

Let me start off by saying how truly grateful I am for all the frontline staff who are tackling this virus head on. Doctors, ambulance officers, police officers, all medical and hospital staff, teachers, child care workers, supermarket employees, chemist employees and everyone else who still has to get up each day and head off to work to continue servicing the public and keeping us safe and somewhat sane. All of these people are currently working under extreme pressures, they are putting their lives and their families lives at risk of contracting this virus. They are exhausted and I bet all they want to do is stay home and enjoy the comforts and safety of their own houses. To all the kids still going to school because their parents are frontline staff or still have to go to work. They look around their empty classrooms knowing full well their friends and fellow peers who aren’t at school are safe at home, yet here they are still at school and at risk of contracting this virus too. My heart breaks for all of these people. A lifetime of praise and recognition is what these people truly deserve, even that may not be enough to say thank you!

But my heart is also breaking for us mum’s and the mum’s to be. I hope I don’t sound selfish or ungrateful in what I am about to write. These are my current thoughts and after seeing numerous posts on social media on the same topic, I know these thoughts are currently being reciprocated amongst many other mum’s who are bravely birthing and raising a baby during this global health pandemic that is COVID-19. I know this may make me come across as selfish and ungrateful, however I am not a doctor, I am not a teacher, I am not a supermarket employee, I have not lost my job and yes I am a lucky mother who does get to experience maternity leave regardless of a pandemic so I cannot compare to what they must all be going through but here are my thoughts on how COVID-19 is affecting my life.

This is not how I thought my maternity leave as a first-time mum would turn out like. Of course I expected sleepless nights, exhausted days, poo-filled nappies and vomit on my clothes. For the first 6 weeks whilst I recovered from my caesarean birth and learnt the in’s and out’s of becoming a mum, I did not want to even leave my house (I have come to learn that there is a massive difference between not wanting to leave your house and being strictly not aloud to leave your house). Most days breakfast wasn’t until 11am and I was still in my pyjama’s at lunch time. But as the days went on and I grew more confident and comfortable, I started to become excited about finally being able to get out and about, show off my beautiful little man and start enjoying the little things that mums get to enjoy during their maternity leave before they have to return to work. Oliver had his 6-week vaccinations and we had just started our mothers’ group, something I really enjoyed. It was wonderful meeting other new mums and bubs and being able to socialise with people who are on the same wavelength as me. I thought the rest of my maternity leave, especially during the last of the warmer months, would be about going up town for a coffee, having play dates with my friends and sister who also have babies, visiting my parents and in-laws and going for walks whenever I wanted. But then coronavirus decided to take over our world and consume every inch of our daily lives.

I completely agree that all of this in the big scheme of things is completely trivial and materialistic. What really hit home the most once all the social distancing restrictions were forced upon Australia was the fact that “if you don’t live with them, don’t visit them”. In a post I read on Instagram just this morning, the lady said that it felt like her daughters first year of life has been taken away from her and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that I wasn’t the only one having similar thoughts. My husband and I welcomed our perfect, healthy baby boy in January, only a week before the first case of coronavirus was confirmed in Australia. Who would have thought that less than 3 months later we would be having to restrict our own immediate family members from coming around to visit their very first grandson and nephew. We had to politely tell them that if they wanted to come and visit they would have to avoid touching, cuddling and kissing him. This decision was easy enough to make to ensure the safety of our little baby and minimize the risk of potentially spreading the virus from the outside world, but it was also a decision that was absolutely gut wrenching at the same time. Seriously, who can resist the urge to cuddle a little baby, let alone a tiny human being who as a grandmother, grandfather, aunty and uncle you love and adore so much? The fact that the most important people in Oliver’s life (apart from his mother and father) would miss out on seeing him learn and grow really broke my heart. He is just shy of 3 months old and is growing and learning every single day. He is full of smiles, is just starting to giggle and his little personality is starting to shine through. Our families are still witness to this, not in person, but through a camera lens. I shouldn’t complain as technology is wonderful these days but it’s just not the same.

Again, I really should not be complaining. As I have typed away today I started to feel silly and selfish for what I was writing. Maybe it has taken me to read my own words to be a bit more appreciative and grateful during these uncertain and scary times. This may not be what I had planned or envisioned but at least I have the luxury of being able to stay at home, keeping myself and my baby safe and protected from this virus. However, on the contrary, I am human and am aloud to miss socialising, seeing my family and visiting my 3 week old niece who I am also missing out on getting to kiss, cuddle and watch grow and learn.

Mumma’s, take great comfort in knowing that we are not alone. Every single person in this world is somewhat affected by coronavirus, we are literally all in this together. My heart aches for all the people who have lost loved ones, who are currently in ICU fighting for their lives, who have just received a positive diagnosis or who have lost their jobs and income at the hands of this virus. Although my family and I are not directly affected, the harsh reality of this virus and the uncertainty of how long this is going to rule our lives is what scares me the most. It will take time for life for everyone to return to normal. When it does and the chaos has finally ended, I hope everyone appreciates their 6am weekday alarm, the dreaded trip to the supermarket for the weekly grocery shop, the catch-up lunch date with their best friend or a walk up town to enjoy a coffee. Life may be pretty boring and lonely for many people at the moment but if we are all doing our part in stopping the spread of this virus, we may all get to return to normality in weeks instead of months.

But for me in this current phase of my life when I look over and catch my little man smiling at the plastic bird hanging off his play gym, I know home isolation, whether it be for weeks or months, is what needs to happen to keep Oliver safe, happy and healthy. His life depends on me and although I may be bored and going insane, I will do whatever I have to do to protect my little man from the big, scary outside world.

Megan.

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dmitrilyalikov · 6 years ago

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Why do America’s generations keep getting dumber?

America is the global symbol of individual liberty and opportunity. Defined by capitalism and democracy, the very concepts that have made the U.S. the hallmark in innovative thinking and societal development. With arguably the best ‘system’ in the world able to work at great scale, American renegades have been the frontrunners in many aspects of society many countries wish they could compete with. Walt Disney, Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, Mark Zuckerberg, all American icons for creative thinking and execution. Creative, intelligent men that any company would love to have on their team if they could convince them to come. They’ve accomplished things that some would believe to be impossible, and not only that, they all dropped out of college. The education system failed them.

The current American educational system was first introduced in the 1910′s during the industrial era to create a scaled up version of a youth knowledge assembly line. Children are crammed into large classrooms and are taught general knowledge to enter the next level of education. The strict regimen of be quiet, listen, and regurgitate what you have heard onto a standardized exam to get a letter grade has been used for over a century. This practice is nowhere near teaching a child to think and solve problems. Tests do not work. They do not represent any more than words on a paper. Example, the Chinese Box Experiment. In short, a Chinese professor inserts a test of different Mandarin characters that a robot on the other side of the door must answer. The robot identified every character correctly and returned the paper. The Professor says “Wow, this pupil understands Mandarin very well!”. She is unaware the answers came from a machine programmed by humans. The robot does not actually understand what is going on, it is simply responding with what it’s been told to do. Understanding is using memory to create predictions. However, this is exactly how school teaches children in America. They program children to respond to an input with a correct output, and those that compute such information correctly, are deemed the brightest. If we are programming children to act as robots, robots will win every time, bar none. The only way to fundamentally beat a robot is to be more human. Humans have creativity, emotional intelligence, morals, historical and societal awareness. Schools are essentially building kids like robots in an assembly line. They are writing code in our brains on how to think, act, and behave in many situations. The smartest natural child can be nurtured in such an environment to become average.

The most beautiful aspect of a child is its sense of curiosity and creativity. Left to its own, many will fantasize about spaceships and rockets and trains. They will dance on couches, spill their parent’s coffee on the rug, They ask naive questions about complex issues. I was lucky enough as a child as my father would make me understand how any toy or tool worked when I used it. I was made to inquire about the world around me. How does a car engine work? What could make it better? Why do planes not fall from the sky? I was then sent to day school and would be told to shut up and listen to the teacher, because he is smarter than you. What does it mean to be smart then? To know more information and algorithms downloaded into the hippocampus? Memory is not intelligence. Intelligence and consciousness are manifested in the neocortex. The part of the brain that operates high level thought. Children in American society are suppressed and told to remember things to graduate. After a certain point of indoctrinated thinking, children lose their sense of curiosity and are more focused on execution then the process of learning and solving the problem itself. The most commonly asked question in American schools is “Will this be on the test next week?”.

So how can we make this better? This epidemic starts on the very system of education itself. The end goal of school is to obtain a degree, a rough representation of what college taught you, or maybe you were just wily enough to cheat (which is highly incentivized in the ends justify the means environment.). School’s are not obligated to innovate. Colleges are businesses. They force 18 year old children to take on 200 thousand dollar debt decisions. They don't need all that money. The books that cost hundreds of dollars for students, cost 6$ to make. NO INDUSTRY IN THE WORLD HAS A MONOPOLY THAT BOASTS SUCH GREAT PROFIT MARGINS. Colleges have young generations on a string with the rhetoric that a degree is worth such money. Millions of kids cry joyfully over getting into a school, just to give them money that is taken from loans to enslave them once they get out with a degree. College is enslavement. It is a monopolistic business. It is a shame to see such an important factor to human development being exploited for profit. They pay zero taxes on the profits they make. They teach general knowledge in a lecture style. Is that worth it? Why do kids want this? Why do parents make them do this? Because they did it when they were kids? We are in a new age.

Fast forward over a century later, the digital age. Children have smartphones, smartphones with all the information they need. Why sit in a room listening to someone lecture when you can just look something up? Children are put in classrooms that are part of a school, that are part of a district, that is part of a school board. These scaled up versions of education pump out millions of children with a broad range of general knowledge, or at least that is the intent. Now most of these kids go to college, work a 9-5 job, and start a family and the cycle goes on with their children. That is not fulfillment, that is not happiness for most. The average school tuition has increased by more than 200% while the average salary of college graduates has plateaued since the start of mass schooling. We live in an era of economies of “unscale”. With artificial intelligence and cloud computing, vertically integrated corporations with huge factories and inventory cannot compete with lean, agile startups that rent cloud storage on Amazon Web Services, outsource manufacturing to Chinese factories, and utilize open source Machine Learning algorithms instead of spending great capital to build it all individually. This gives power to creative, niche startups that can effectively run a business from their basement. Think back to the 1990′s. The internet had just gone mainstream, thousands of employees quit their jobs to create internet companies during the Dot-Com Boom before it crashed. They would plan their IPO before even incorporating, this new technology was a home run in their eyes. How does this relate to education? The rapid evolution of technology can be attributed to new platforms. Telecommunications created a global platform for information to be spread from Boston to Australia in an instant, the internet has revolutionized virtually every industry. My generation is growing up in the advent of the AI and cloud computing platform. Essentially, the innovation of big tech platforms should equate to radically different education. However, because school systems have no incentive to change and make less profit, they are still preparing kids for an industrial era to be interchangeable pieces working for large corporations rather than agile startups and small to medium companies.

Artificial Intelligence will radically change education. Harvard, Stanford, and a few other large brand schools have noticed this trend and created online courses already that use machine learning engines to tailor a course to a students understanding. AI can use big data to understand how a pupil learns, what he/she is struggling in, and create a report on their level of thought that is a perfect representation on what they can do, rather than a vague degree. Many companies such as Microsoft and Google are receptive to this and an increasing number of developers enter the software field with no degrees. Because there is no system that could exemplify a student’s intelligence in the past, an expensive degree was the next best thing and college became a booming business but quite an enslaving process for the children utilizing it. AI can guide a student while virtual classrooms and teachers can connect to children across the globe for real organic conversation. Now, the physical classroom is very important for social development and should still be used to an extent. Perhaps we Americans should look towards Finland, the country with the best ranked educational system in the world. Their primary and secondary schools are incredibly different. School days are 3 hours long, there is no homework, and there are no private schools. The philosophy is that kids should be emancipated from the institutions and be left to be kids and develop intuitiveness organically through real world social experiences. There are no private schools so that rich families send their kids to public schools and those parents make sure the school is up to par with what they can afford.This forces schools nationwide to keep a standard that is universal, much unlike the U.S. with many inner city public schools without internet while capitalistic private and public district schools spend money on football field renovations.

To create a more productive generation of students, we must “unscale” education, remove private schools, reduce length of school hours, ban or at least regulate student loan firms, set a price ceiling on all college tuitions and utilize the platform of Artificial Intelligence to create a market of one for all students starting from Kindergarten to beyond college. Hiring more teachers and building would effectively make the problem worse. Teachers can be the greatest minds on the planet, but under such a restrictive there is little hope to save a whole generation. Khan Academy has implemented an unscaled online system, leading the way for more personalized education programs. There is little chance this can happen unless this is derived from the Federal Government, which is famously bureaucratic and slow to act especially with education. Changes are needed. This will make children more excited to learn, ask questions and solve the great global issues that are long overdue to be solved. Kids will strengthen critical thinking skills and experience freedom of thought that will create a wave of further technological development and accelerate American education to new heights.

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luckyfaeth · 7 years ago

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hello welcome to my new favorite junksen au !

Aubrey is a corporate accountant at a large company, and she’s put so much time and investment into becoming the best at her job that she never really found anyone to date

But she desperately wanted a child, and she’s finally super secure financially and in a good place in her career. So she adopted a son.

Michael Reese Posen is the light of Aubrey’s life. He’s 8 years old and has the biggest green eyes and scruffy unruly brown hair and his favorite color is yellow and he loves dinosaurs and wants to be an astronaut.

He’s always been a little shy though, and Aubrey tries her best to get him to open up. The only one he’ll really talk to other than Aubrey is Bella, Stacie’s daughter (Stacie and Aubrey are coworkers and close friends)

Michael also generally doesn’t like school, but that changes when he starts 3rd grade.

He comes home after the first day and he’s absolutely raving about his teacher.

“Mama, my teacher’s name is Ms. Emily and she’s super nice and she has pretty flowers in her room they’re sunflowers so they’re my favorite color and there are fun decorations everywhere and she brought us cupcakes!”

Aubrey listens to Michael ramble on about school for another 20 minutes, and it warms her heart because he’s so happy and excited.

Michael comes home and talks about school and his awesome teacher almost every day

“Mama, Ms. Emily bakes us cupcakes when we have tests!” “Mama, Ms. Emily lets us listen to Disney songs and singalong and she said I have a good voice!” “Mama, Ms. Emily helped me learn how to spell a big word today!” “Mama, Ms. Emily sings and plays guitar!”

Aubrey is so amazed at how excited Michael is about school. Like, every morning he’s so excited to go see what Ms. Emily has planned for them

A couple months in, parent/teacher conferences roll around, and Aubrey finally gets to meet the famous Ms. Emily

She walks in the classroom (Which is like walking into a rainbow. Seriously, it’s so fucking bright) and sees who she assumes to be Michael’s teacher looking down at her desk writing something so she knocks on the door to get her attention and is like “Hello? I’m here for the parent teacher conference. I’m Michael’s mom?”

And Emily’s head pops up and she gives Aubrey a huge smile and oh no Aubrey is too gay

Ideally teacher!Emily always wears like, cute flowery dresses or fun sweaters in the winter or sometimes she'll have fun and wear like denim overalls that have cute patches on them (her students helped her pick them out!!)

Also the first outfit Emily wears in pp2 and the pink checkered button up under the sweater vest fit the teacher!Emily aesthetic anyway back to plot

“Ms. Posen! It’s so great to meet you. Michael’s told me all about you. I’m Emily Junk. You can call me Emily though. Guess you see why I go by Ms. Emily, huh?”

Aubrey laughs and is like “Oh, Michael absolutely adores you. Every day it’s Ms. Emily this, Ms. Emily that. I honestly have never seen him more excited than when you showed them that movie about dinosaurs”

Aubrey cannot believe how undeniably kind Emily is and also understands why Michael likes her so much

Calm down Aubrey.

Aubrey thanks Emily because Michael’s always been a little closed off but Emily has really helped that and Emily is like “Aw, it’s really nothing. He’s still a little shy with the rest of the class, besides Bella. But he loves talking to me about what he’s reading during quiet time.”

“Well, that’s huge for him. He barely talks to my parents even. Whatever it is you’re doing, it’s amazing.”

Emily totally blushes.

Emily highkey thinks Aubrey is so freakin' attractive like .... she showed up to the conference looking all professional bc she just came from work and oh wow ok emily don't have a crush on one of your student's moms!! omg.... but she's just so pretty and poised and !!!

As they’re finishing up, Emily leads Aubrey out and Aubrey sees that she’s wearing bright yellow converse that match her cute sundress and it’s adorable

“It was so nice to meet you Ms. Posen.”

“Please, Emily. I told you to call me Aubrey.”

“It was so nice to meet you Aubrey,” Emily smiles. “Sorry I was checking my phone while we were talking. Just a little bit of stress to start the day with.”

“Oh it’s no problem, I understand. What’s got you stressed?” Aubrey doesn’t know why she asks but she does

“I had a bunch of parents gathered to help volunteer at this Halloween party I’m doing for the kids, but one of them dropped out and it’s right around the corner...But it’s no big deal. I can totally handle it.”

Aubrey says what she’s thinking before she can think too hard about it

“I could volunteer. If you need the extra set of hands.”

“No no no I couldn’t ask you do to that…”

“I’d love to help, Emily.”

So Aubrey ends up helping out and she decorates Emily’s classroom with her and Emily finds it amusing that Aubrey needs to stand on her toes to reach the top of the chalkboard but Emily doesn’t

For Halloween Emily dresses up as Minnie Mouse with the Minnie ears and the polka dot dress and it’s so adorable

Chloe being Emily's teacher friend and she saw Aubrey and Emily decorating together yesterday and then taking down all of the decorations today and she sees Aubrey laughing and Emily grinning like a dork and is like “hhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmMMMMM”

Aubrey and Michael leave and Chloe rushes over and Emily squeals because "dont scare me like that!!" but Chloe ignores her and she's like "you like her! you like her! emily you totes like her!!!!"

“No I don’t Chloe. Shut up”

Stacie and Aubrey talk about how the party went and Stacie is like “Aubrey, you think Emily is cute.”

“What? I mean, sure, she’s like a real-life Miss Honey. But I don’t-”

“Just admit you’re hot for teacher!”

“Stacie don’t say it like that.”

“Whatever, it’s true.”

Aubrey ends up volunteering to help at all of the other little events that Emily does for her class (Stacie says she’s whipped and Aubrey just says she wants to be more involved at the school. Stacie calls BS)

Emily offering Aubrey tea when she visits the classroom one day and Aubrey’s like “Sure thank you”

Emily pours her the tea and asks, “Honey?”

Aubrey’s really glad she wasn’t drinking yet because she would’ve spit it out “I-I’m sorry what???”

“Honey. With your tea??”

“OH”

Aubrey’s a blushing mess for once and Emily thinks it’s adorable

Michael totally catches onto Aubrey’s crush (as much as an 8 year old can) and asks “Mama do you like Ms. Emily?”

“Of course I do, sweetheart.”

“I thought so cuz you look at her like Flynn Ryder looks at Rapunzel” (Tangled is Michael’s favorite movie)

Aubrey’s like “Michael stay out of it this is adult business”

“Ok mama but if you wanted to marry Ms. Emily I’d be okay with it”

“Alright time for bed goodnight”

At the Christmas party Aubrey notices again how amazing Emily is with the kids (duh) and is like “you know I think if this was my job I’d never want kids” and Emily laughs but is like “nah I love them..I really do want kids someday still”

“How does your boyfriend feel about kids?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend..or girlfriend. Haha what a weird thing for you to assume. Oh no no Carter don’t poke Hannah with the candy cane!”

Aubrey screams a little internally because that was going so well goddamnit Carter what a little shit

Teacher appreciation week and Michael’s like “Mama we GOTTA get something for Ms. Emily”

“Ok so like what...a ... gift card? ...... maybe a....apple??? What do teachers like Michael”

Michael’s like “well ms emily really likes lots of things like animals and space and flowers and cupcakes and candy and -“

“Can you speed this up honey”

“Oh she likes mugs!! She has a different one everyday!!!”

Michael helping Aubrey pick out the Best Mugs for emily and they give her one for every day of the week because Aubrey is EXTRA!!!!

Emily’s like “oh my stars you didn’t have to do all this you know most people just give me a Starbucks gift card and are done with it...”

“Well I...we. We wanted to do something special for you.”

The last day Michael doesn’t show up with a mug and Emily is a little disappointed but she doesn’t question it

But then Aubrey comes to pick Michael up which is weird because usually Michael carpools with the Conrads but Emily gladly welcomes the visit

And Aubrey’s like “Michael could you give Ms. Emily and I one second to talk?”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No sweetheart”

Emily’s like “How can I help you Aubrey?”

“In the spirit of Teacher Appreciation week, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight. If you’d like.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet! I’d love to. Is Michael coming?”

Aubrey blinks. “No, I thought this could be just the two of us.”

“Oh. Well that’s kind of weird considering I’m his teacher and it’s for teacher appreciation week”

“It’s a date! A date. I’m asking you on a date”

“Oh. Ohhhh. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”

“Nevermind I shouldn’t have asked I just thought -”

“Aubrey, I’d love to go on a date with you tonight.”

#junksen #junksen parent/teacher au #i guess thats the tag now #im absolutely obsessed with it thanks!!!!#text #~#this ended up being really long im sorry sdjfadsoifndf i just....i love it so much but im probably not gonna write a full fic for it #so here you go #headcanons #michael posen

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marykayiscurrentlywriting · 4 years ago

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Final Feature: Kids and the Zoomed Disaster

Before shelter-in-place, Guurtaj Buttar, a second grader at Guy Emanuele Elementary School, used to be proficient in both reading and writing. He is now below the first grade reading and writing level.

At Guy Emanuele Elementary, children are on Zoom for about three hours a day including breaks and a lunch.

There are roughly 30 children in each classroom. The average seven year old’s attention span is no longer than 20 minutes, so it’s no surprise that it makes parents worry about whether or not online learning is effective for young children.

“It takes up way too much of my time that I had to hire [a tutor],” said Simrat Buttar, Gurtaaj’s mother. “I can no longer do homework with him just by myself.”

Like Gurtaaj’s situation, it isn’t uncommon for children to fall behind during the pandemic. Students all over the world are struggling to pay attention during online classes, ultimately affecting their academic performance.

Gurtaaj has a tutor he sees three times a week, is brought to school for extra help during his online classes, and at one point, has even been seen by a therapist to evaluate if there’s a more serious issue than just being behind in reading and writing comprehension.

“This pandemic has seriously gotten me paranoid,” said Simrat. “Before the evaluation, I was convinced that Gurtaaj may have a learning disability. He cannot pay attention on Zoom at all!”

It turns out, the environment in which Gurtaaj is currently learning in is uncontrolled which makes the seven-year-old feel like school is optional. Gurtaaj often leaves in the middle of Zoom meetings to play with toys, eat a meal, or play with his dogs.

Even his teacher, Cynthia Gilmete, has noticed the issue with her other students. She noticed that almost all her students at some point get up to do something at least once each class period!

“I couldn’t do anything about it which frustrated me… so I came up with an effective tactic,” said Mrs. Gilmete.

Mrs.Gilmete found that implementing more breaks during her Zoom meets helps a lot with children who break off during class time. For every 20 minutes the children spend learning, a five minute break will be given after.

Doing the math, that would mean Gurtaaj would be learning for an hour and 40 minutes a day, or roughly eight hours a week, which is the time he would normally spend on a regular pre-COVID school day.

Simrat is not happy with that idea, and we can imagine that she isn’t the only parent that feels this way.

“I highly doubt they learn anything,” said Zhen Rong, a parent of two children at San Junipero Elementary School.

Like Gurtaaj, Zhen's two girls, Evie a fourth grader, and Savannah, a first grader, are in school for about two hours a day or less.

Savannah and Evie both tend to leave their Classroom meetings whenever they please. Zhen has seen Savannah make a bowl of cereal for herself while her class was being taught a lesson on numerous occasions.

When asked why Savannah thought it was okay to do that if she wouldn’t do it in in-person schooling, she replied “my teacher can’t stop me here!” And she has a point.

The feeling of an uncontrolled environment is a universal issue. Children simply know that they cannot get in trouble for leaving the frame of their laptop nor can the school necessarily enforce rules within the childrens’ homes.

There has also been research beyond being in an uncontrolled environment where young students lose their attention cycle.

In the scholarly article, “Internet Use and Child Development: The Techno-Microsystem,” curated by student Genevieve Marie Johnson at Grant MacEwan University, they conducted a study and discussed how the presence of technology can affect children’s development.

The study found that children that spent their time on the internet were less social, engaged in less physical activities, and weren't able to contain their emotions compared to those who didn’t spend time on the internet.

The article also comes up with a phenomenon in which they call the “technological ecosystem” in which they discovered that the internet creates consequences within the children’s environment.

The most interesting find was that children who spent time on their devices had a significantly lower ability to problem solve compared to the non-technological children.

“Something I’ve noticed is that this year, nearly half of my students are below their reading level,” said Tiene Hauck, a Chino Hills Elementary school teacher. “It’s a new record! And I’m very scared.”

Her main concern is how students, especially kindergarteners, will adapt once school is back to normal. Even parents feel this way.

COVID-19 has globally impacted the academic world. Consequences include a major setback in academic performance, stress on the teachers’ part for having to find methods for their students to be where they need to, and parents anxious that their child is behind.

"Pandemic politics, pedagogies and practices: digital technologies and distance education during the coronavirus emergency" is an article written by three authors, Ben Williamson, Rebecca Eynon & John Potter from Vol.45 of the Learning, Media, and Technology news journal. It discusses digital inequality, businesses seeing online learning as a sales opportunity, and the decentralization of education systems.

Focusing on the topic of digital inequality and students falling behind go hand-in-hand.

The world assumes that all young people are tech savvies or digital natives. This assumption isn't necessarily entirely true.

Education policy makers are beginning to realize that the assumption that young people understand the world of technology is wrong.

One student may know how to connect to the internet, but that doesn't mean that they are easily able to navigate their assignments. It gives a bigger chance for the student to have an excuse and give up on their work. Afterall, they're in an uncontrolled environment and the parents are probably just as confused if not more.

“Sometimes I’m late to class because of my Wi-Fi but my teacher marks me as tardy,” explained Savannah. “It’s not even my fault!”

These policy makers found that students are being excluded from their education because a few of them didn't have the luxury of technology in the first place.

Granted, many school districts are implementing technology regularly, such as loaning laptops to students, but that still isn't enough.

Low income families cannot afford Wi-Fi, and even after their loan is up for Wi-Fi or a laptop, the family will struggle to keep up with the technological world. The distance learning era is a push and struggle for low income families.

An academic setback isn’t the only concern for teachers, parents, and students.

Mrs. Hauck has been teaching for the last eight years and has seen an enormous difference with how her students behave and function, including social skills.

Social development in children is a big concern for those who have little ones who are currently enrolled in online school. In the research study, children who were exposed to technology much more than their other peers scored much lower on the social aspect, a score given by both the parent and teacher.

“I’m sure my 10-year-old [daughter] has social anxiety and this distance learning stuff is probably making it worse,” said Rong.

Rong isn’t the only parent that feels this way.

Students, no matter what age, feel the same way that their parents do.

Students may even feel that being at home away from others is their comfort zone, so much that they fear going back to in-person classes.

Of the three elementary school students that chose to speak about their classroom learning experience, two of them admitted that they’d rather stay on Zoom.

“Zoom is better because I’d rather go on Youtube than talk,” said Evie.

“No, I don’t want to go back [to school],” said Gurtaaj. “I like being at home because I’m scared my teacher will call on me in real class.”

The question now is how are schools going to transition back to in-person learning?

The New Haven Unified School District in Union City, C.A., sent out a survey to parents asking if they’d like hybrid, fully online, or fully in-person classes for the remainder of the school year and so forth.

According to the NHUSD superintendent’s newsletter, it has been reported that almost half of the parents who took the survey voted for hybrid learning which makes sense. These parents want balance between staying safe but also going back to how things originally were pre-COVID.

In early May, the district will go over social distancing protocols, train teachers in this new environment, and perform a test run. If hybrid learning does not go as planned, NHUSD will continue to be fully online until the next school year. Their school year ends in the last week of May when it normally ends in the last week of June.

Although this is the current learning environment California students are facing, there are other parts of the country where school is back to normal despite the mask fiasco.

States such as Florida, Arkansas, and New Hampshire have full in-person classes with no measures for safety protocol. Californians, however, don’t like the idea of fully opened schools.

“That’s a disaster. Those states have one of the lowest vaccination percentages. It’s irresponsible,” said Mrs. Gilmete.

So far the attitude of Californians is to be safe than sorry.

74% of elementary schools in California are still fully online, and although California holds the highest percentage of vaccinated individuals, it doesn’t mean much knowing children under the age of 12 are not able to be vaccinated yet.

The fate of new world education drives anxiety to students, teachers, and parents.

From Zoom meetings to hours of tutoring to Wi-Fi frustrations, nothing has prepared this world for e-learning.

Interview Source List

Gurtaaj and Simrat Buttar:

(510)557-91**

Savannah, Evie, and Zhen Rong:

(415)722-5800

Tiene Hauck:

(408)455-2050

Cynthia Gilmete:

[email protected]

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missjsteachingjumble · 4 years ago

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When The Adults Change Everything Changes

Paul Dix

Seismic Shifts in School Behaviour

Key Notes & Quotes

A book that upends the debate on behaviour management in schools and offers effective strategies that serve to end the search for change in children and turn the focus back onto the adults.

Introduction

The support available to teachers who struggle with behaviour is woeful.

The unrelenting drive for exam results has blunted pastoral care in many schools.

The tide is turning on the behaviour debate. The ‘punishment brigade’ are losing. The appalling lack of respect for teachers is stirred by greedy politicians, ignorant inspectors and the ugly opinions of those who would sell out teachers before breakfast. for a slither of dirty self promotion.

in behaviour management, culture eats strategy for breakfast. Getting the culture right is pivotal. With the right culture the strategies that are used become less important. The culture is set by the way that the adults behave.

Chapter 1: Visible Consistency, Visible Kindness

Behaviour policy and practice should be simple, highly effective and utterly consistent.

Consistency is needed, however this should not be a restrictive consistency that limits flair and patronises poor communities, but a solid base on which to build authentic, exciting behaviour practice. It is a consistency routed in kindness, not, in the machismo of zero tolerance.

What works is consistency, not trying to tackle all behaviour at once but deciding which behaviours are to be taught. it is not relying on the parents to teach it, but by saying ‘You need these behaviours to be a successful learner in this school. We are not going to hide them. We are going to teach you them. We will teach the staff how to do it.’

The foundations of every school must be excellent behaviour. We should be keeping the focus on a visible culture of impeccable conduct, and making the consistency palable, audible and highly visible. Every single day. Smal, persistent and visible shifts in adult nehaviour have an incredible effect on children’s behaviour. The message is: don’t be distracted by temporary distractions; get behaviour right first. Innovative teaching and learning cannot be built on inconsistentA brilliant example of creating and maintaining behaviour practice.

The rule of three: three rules are easily remembered by all so that everyone uses them all the time.

The best schools have a behaviour plan that is based on tight agreements, simply framed and relentlessly pursued.

Example: Fantastic Walking

What are the visible consistencies in your setting?What could they be? Are they embedded with love or punishment?

Why crush behaviours with punishment when you can grow them with love? Visible consistency with visible kindness allows exceptional behaviour to flourish.

Haim Ginott quotation about the conduct of the individual teacher is startling accurate - ‘I have come to a frightening conclusion. I am the decisive element in the classroom.

Meeting and Greeting

A great example, that instantly highlights the lack of consistency in some, if not most, schools is the meet and greet. Dix points out that even this most basic routine is inconsistent - some teachers want pupils lined up at the door, some want learners standing behind chairs, some want equipment out, some want them in and working immediately.

Meet and greet all your learners with a handshake and a smile (a proper handshake, not a high five or fist pump). Mark the formal start to the lesson at the door.

Behaviour management is a team sport. It needs a team discipline, ehos and look.

The rush in intitial teacher training to collect strategies and comile uniquely individual set of tricks removes the focus from where it need to be: the team, agreed adult behaviour and common values.

Some Key Summaries...

The simpler the agreements, the tighter the consistency. Consistent agreements that are not written down are just wishes.

Don’t overcomplicate things by making an unworkable list of 15 odd daily consistencies - keep it simple. consise and easily memorable.

Make sure your class, department faculty, school or college has a set of three agreed visible consistencies. Challenge those who step away fromt he challenge immediately.

Don’t take your eye off the ball after you’ve successfully made a consistent shift and everyones focus shifts on to something else to the detrimet of the thing you have just changed.