#my fourth grade teacher genuinely had it out for me

[getaway-green]

I almost started sobbing in class because my teacher asked us to write a rhyming couplet about what we learned in class and said we couldn’t leave until it was done. I fully started having a panic attack and forgot what words rhymed. Lovely to know that I still haven’t processed the trauma of my fourth grade poetry unit

[sillygoblinantics]

Can I trauma dump for a second?

Personal essay by Bri

Can I be vulnerable with you all for a brief post? You don’t have to read what’s under here if you don’t want to hear about dark thoughts and events from my childhood. So take this as a content warning going forward, especially if you are not in a good state of mind I want you to ignore this post and check out my other light hearted stuff in the meantime. 🩵

In the past month spanning the duration of September, Lily Orchard has made several posts answering self asks where she makes various and progressively worse than the last threats on many people who she labels are stalkers.

Each of these posts were said throughout the month that is a very particular awareness month: suicide prevention month. The amount of ways she’s phrased it are just heartless and reckless.

Today, being no different than the others has struck a cord to me personally.

For context:

I was transferred to a school for kids with learning disabilities when I was 9 in the middle fourth grade. At this private school I would receive proper education and resources that would help me excel but in less than four years at this school I would be the target and victim to one boy’s torment and abuse. Let’s call him Pepsi, because he wouldn’t shut up about bragging about how his mom was ceo of the company’s local branch. Pepsi had been a troubled boy who had bullied kids before I arrived and because of his parents the school couldn’t do anything outside of suspension. I being prone to teasing and not understanding tone or jokes due to being born autistic was the perfect target for Pepsi. So he would harass and pick on me: tripping me in hallways, flipping me off, calling me names and messing with something I showed interest in, standard bullying stuff. During this time I was slowly driven into high stress/anxiety and shortly following I would have depression. I would hurt myself by scratching my arms with paperclips which my mom would eventually request the school have a teacher escort me to and from the bathroom just so I wouldn’t self harm. This was between 4th, 5th and 6th grade.

It was around here that I begun having suicidal ideation… I tried asphyxia: belt, infinity scarf and even a cats-in-the-cradle toy. These attempts were always at home and would be stopped by my parents… at one point my old dog came bursting in to check on me when I was crying my eyes out and wouldn’t leave my side until she made sure I was ok.

(I’m tearing up over that specific memory as I type this out… she was a very good dog…)

Seventh grade Pepsi would do something that began my ideations and planning that would go into effect the next grade. During a school dance, I decided to invite my brother and his two friends as I didn’t know any guys or really thought someone liked me. I tried to hangout with my brother on the bleachers in the gym. While sitting on the bleachers one of my peers approached and asked if I’d slow dance with them. No boy ever did this and I thought it was genuine I was so happy until at the other side of the gym, under the basket ball hoop against the wall, surrounded by other boys (who weren’t goons) I saw Pepsi, laughing. Laughing and pointing and I still remember the feeling I had as I could feel my lil heart shatter into pieces in my chest.

I ran to the bathrooms tears running down my face. My brother and his friends saw this and were about to beat Pepsi up but the school chaperones stopped them. I wish they didn’t.

From then to eighth grade I was barely myself and would sit in class staring out the windows down the long uphill half mile long driveway that cut through a small bit of woods and opened to the busy road. I’d watch all kinds of cars pass: big cars, small cars, pickup trucks, suvs, eighteen wheelers, buses and all sorts of vehicles pass by between the tree line. I’d watch and imagine myself being hit, thinking of the day I’d enact this plan.

I was excited for eighth grade, not only would I be graduating and headed for high school but it was the year our grade would get to perform one of two Shakespeare plays! The class before us did Romeo and Juliet and our class would get to perform the Scottish play. I was excited even if I was a narrator. My mom made it clear to the school and teachers to make sure that Pepsi and I were kept apart at all times. At. All. Times.

The one time during rehearsal, when me and Pepsi were in the same room, the one moment that a teacher stepped out for just a few minutes. Pepsi took the opportunity and berated me, said every nasty thing he could at me.

I can’t remember most but what I know is something about my weight and that no one would love me and that I should die.

I felt a switch go off and suddenly I was speed walking towards the door of the gym (the stage was in the gym since the art and music classes were connected to the gym) and as I was walking I could hear my teacher calling my name but I didn’t look back. Once I got out the door I ran, I ran so fast.

I ran down the hill, the sound of my shoes hitting the pavement echoed in my ears still and the only thing in my mind were: the plan but also the hope that I was still being chased by the teacher, I kept running and running and by the third Italian cypress tree that lead to the small forested area and up the driveway of the school I skidded to a halt. I caught my breath and with a glimmer of hope for a hand to grab me I looked behind me:

…

The teacher wasn’t there… they stopped chasing me. Why did they stop chasing me? Weren’t they suppose to care?! Why aren’t they here?! I looked back at the road now crying for a different reason. I flaked out… I couldn’t go through with the plan. ‘No one would care’ I thought… so I turned around and ran back up the hill and past the school buildings and near the back where I waited and cried for the day to be over or for someone to notice me. The advisor or some type of teacher; who would take his class on nature walks behind the school on the old trails where an amphitheater was; found me. I didn’t tell my mom at pick up. I told my first therapist about it and later was sent to a hospital and then five days at a literal hell where it only instilled fear of being vulnerable and honest about my mental health stayed. I had to stay out of school for a few months until I could graduate… I missed my chance to be a narrator for the play, I fumbled my science fair… I would forget about this day until I was a junior in high school with a new counselor and my mom. I only had dreams of running down the hill of my middle school and I never knew why until my mom told me and my counselor… those dreams stopped after the revelation.

I was twelve years old when I tried to kill myself via being hit by a car.

Lily orchard, you have no fucking right to act like the bigger person because you’re trans or native or whatever bullshit you spew.

It’s been two or three years since I’ve had any suicidal thought, a year since I’ve self harmed and I refuse to relapse now.

I don’t wish any horrible thing on you, no one does, no one has or will ever wish harm or ill will on you. And the people who do have something to say about you are validated after putting up with your abuse that has been documented on so many occasions.

I don’t wish what I have gone through on my middle school bully, I wouldn’t wish the worst thing ever on him. I wouldn’t wish the worst fate even on you.

The only thing I wish you get: is help. Actually human help.

And Lily, if I see you talk smack about anyone’s mother or father like this again, there’s nothing I can do in my power to act; because you’ve already done it to yourself.

———————————

Thank you to those who aren’t Lily orchard for reading this, it’s a heavy subject for me that as I share and open up about becomes much lighter and helps me get the strength and confidence to be able to be honest with the people I care most about outside of the internet.

While I can say I’m in a better place it’s always changing but it’s gotten easier to manage and recenter myself.

Stay safe everyone (ówò)

[goodolreliablejake]

When I was in fourth grade, I had a couple of kids I sat with at lunch. We bonded over Dragon Ball Z. But there came a time when it was enough. I could not stopping about this show, to the point where it alienated these few friends. They started to avoid me. When I wasn't with them, I would wander around at recess alone, walking rounds to avoid the discomfort and alienation that came from being around others without knowing how to connect or be accepted by them.

It escalated to where the kids I considered friends were surrounding me, and they confronted me about my obsession with Dragon Ball Z. They teased me. And I was so hurt, afraid, and angry, and ashamed. I lashed out. I kicked a kid. He wasn't even the one teasing me, but in that moment he felt like he was one of the kids surrounding me, mocking me. Years later, I had class with him in high school, and I wished I could apologize, but I didn't even know if he remembered me.

I was tested, and the doctor said that he didn't want to label me with autism. He thought that giving me that label would make my life harder going forward. But instead I've always been in ambiguity. This almost-diagnosis, this shadow diagnosis. I've been in therapy for years, and I've asked about this uncertainty, and they assured me I wasn't autistic.

I later developed an intense interest in theatre. Improv in particular was so fun and so informative. It was like getting a crash course in how people operate and interact with one another. And it was a language in which I could communicate back. I was praised for my creativity, but there was always a limit.

I'd reach a point in rehearsals and things, multiple times where... A director, a teacher, whatever would get so frustrated because... Something felt false to them. They'd tell me that I was acting as though I were telling a great story but that it didn't feel real or true. I would push myself further and further to try to reach this elusive sense of authenticity.

But now I have think that this was way off base... The problem was never what I was doing. I wasn't guarded. I wasn't refusing to emotionally engage with the material or the audience. No, the problem was.. it came across as false to them, because my authentic and genuine expressions in day to day life come across as inauthentic to people. *I* feel false to neurotypical people. But it's not because I'm inauthentic, it's because I'm different.

I've never had this problem with other autistic friends. And there have been many. They were always my best friends.

[garrettwrites]

About the last post. Genuinely. I think if you've never interacted with kids for prolonged periods of time you should not speak of their cognitive development, and/or "knowledge by age". I think far too many of you either forget how YOU were as a child/pre-teen/young teen, or just had such an out there experience it shouldn't be counted.

Children know what sex is because many of us actually learn about reproduction way before puberty hits. I learned it with the "little seed" analogy in second grade when the teacher had us plant beans in yogurt cups with cotton serving as soil. I've had real sex ed since fifth grade (the best time to learn, since many kids go through puberty around that age). I loved animal documentaries as a young child and guess what - lions have sex in those (in the words of Eminem - "Of course they're gonna know what intercourse is / By the time they hit fourth grade / They've got the Discovery Channel, don't they?"). Some kids just pick up puberty books at eight at the library and read them, or look it up online. Some kids have a younger sibling or cousin be born and their parents explain to them where the baby comes from. Kids make sex jokes too, learn them from their peers or adults. In some cases they might have ended up on the wrong corners of the internet, but that's not the norm (although I do remember all of us on technology class in seventh grade secretly gathering around one of our classmate's computer to look at boobs on google images. Boys and girls alike. It was novelty for us, since up until then we had only seen our mother's or granny's).

Sure. A nine year old won't generally know exactly how intercourse goes, how pregnancy can happen. But many know the bases.

Kids also learn about death early on. I learned it in first grade, and remember being terrified. I spoke about it with my mother in metaphors - I went up to her each night asking about "the pigs going away forever", because that's how I felt comfortable talking about it without directly asking "what happens to ME when I die".

Many kids, such as myself, learn about violence first hand. By abuse. By bullying. Maybe by simply witnessing it instead of being on the receiving end.

The same people who hate children and complain about toddlers existing in a public bus are the ones spreading rethoric of "if a kid knows X they're probably being abused" like be real. Especially nowadays where most kids are in front of a screen before they can even read.

Learn the actual signs of abuse. A child isn't being molested just because they joke about dicks and vaginas. A child isn't going through domestic violence just because they repeat some joke they overheard. A child isn't living in hell just because they play pretend torture with their dolls. Lord.

[archivalofsins]

I'm about to complain about something that's been bugging me more since I started writing theories, and it's gonna be phrased harshly. People hate the art of storytelling. They hate the act of reading words on a screen with no visual stimulus.

They can say I love reading all they want but most of the time, it comes with bells and whistles attached. It always does. I've been writing since I was a kid. Since I was in the fourth grade honestly and the only time my writing has been genuinely enjoyed or appreciated by others was back then writing horror stories for school assignments having classmates pass it around and point out what part they liked and say why.

It wasn't a matter of the stories being good or more fun to write than what I write now. I always enjoy myself writing. No it wad.the fact that I had an audience that took my art for what it was. When they passed it around there weren't comments like oh this would ve so cool to seen drawn our, animated, or dramatically read aloud. It was just taking for the art form it was.

I went to an arts high school the only schools in the city I grew up in while I was a kid were technical high schools. If you wanted to go to a school and you were born in the city and didn't magically spawn into existence at high school age well fuck you- You've now got to lie about your address and go to a charter school a town over and hope they don't find out or the staff was cool about it.

All the high schools were mostly for people who lived outside of the city and wanted a place that looked good on college applications. My first choice wasn't an art school either. I put writing to the side going into high school. I actually went through the entrance exam of a technical high school with a focus on robotics because I had an interest in robotics with a focus on its medical applications. But through multiple things out of my control I ended up in an arts high-school going to three selerate high schools throughout my high school years and graduation from this one.

I majored in graphic design there a subsection of the visual arts department. That consisted of traditional arts, radio and television, and graphic design. I learned later that they had a writing program there was a journalism major but ya know that's nit art anymore so by the tine I got there guess where that was exactly where traditional art is now it was cut. The only remnant of a writing program being the radio and television major, the main focus of the major was mostly on directing and editing but it went over script writing as well.

Where'd traditional art go probably integrated into the graphic design major given how tech heavy making art is now a days. They deemed it too old-fashioned, and by the time my junior graduated, our art teacher (the only one who hadn't quitl was teaching history. The majors were pretty conjoined anyway graphic design majors did have traditional art classes as well. Not many took it seriously to some graphic design majors tradition art was very much beneath them and they didn't want to be lumped into the same department as those weird traditional artists with their comics and manga scripts. The major was underfunded and you were expected to buy your own supplies to build a portfolio and restock on them when needed.

There wasn't paint or easels or all that good stuff one year an old hot glue gun literally caught the classroom on fire and we had to do art classes from the science room for two months. While also fundraising fir repairs to the art room. You'd think students that at the bottom of the barrel would probably have more respect for overlooked art forms. But not really I wrote rough drafts of novels in high school and when speaking about without fail,

"Huh you think someone's actually going to read all that in this age comics and manga are the onky things that can sell."

This was in 2010. I honestly don't expect anyone to read all this. Because I haven't put in some large words, or pictures or made an obligatory meme like

Art school students be like

Can another person even imagine the hoops I have to jump through to keep writing engaging for an audience- Oh wait you don't have to you can literally see the evolution of it through the posts I made here. Every time I mention writing their are so many people who either draw or don't who will say things like that'd be cool to see drawn or in any other medium than the one you're doing it in. That doesn't seem like a love of storytelling to me. That doesn't seem like an appreciation of writing to me.

I've entered writing competitions the first step explain all this in threw sentences, one, if you had to describe it in three words what would they be, alright give me the elevator pitch. Make it shorter, so I know if it's worth reading, we have a lot of applicants if the description isn't engaging enough I'll just skim it write some feedback and move on, if you can't even do this much are you even a writer. To even get a book selling we writers basically have to be social media influencers or their own marketing team now a days.

The people judging writing don't even seem to enjoy reading. I make the fact that I don't like drawing in any capacity it doesn't fill me with enjoyment very clear. I would shout from the tables rooftop with the largest megaphone,

"I HATE DRAWING I DON'T WANT TO DO IT EVER IT FILLS ME WITH NO JOY I THINK DOING IT SUCKS!"

If could so tell me why someone despite me telling them this upon seeing my ocgram went,

"I know you don't like drawing but minigrams for this would be so cool."

This was someone who actually enjoys drawing by the way. Like, man, I wonder what would make that possible outside of suggesting I pick up a pen and do something you admit to knowing I don't like. You think I haven't heard this before- you think I haven't been told a billion times that my art form would be better if it just wasn't my art form. If I just phrased things a little better or coddled readers more. You think this feedback is unique this is a Tuesday for me. You wouldn't tell a visual artist they should open up word and write a summary on every piece they draw to go alongside it. Hell, most don't even put image description for the visually impaired to make it accessible when they post their art most of the time but others do it for them.

That's the difference in expectation between writers and visual artists that's the gap. If a writer wants to write they're told to draw if an artist wants to dabble in writing, though they're so cool actually and can do no wrong it's just for fun and the arts great as usual. Because writing is just appetizers that people pretend in the entree now. No one even cares to talk about the plot of anything.

It's not like writing matters, and if it goes against viewers' expectations, they're more likely to dismiss it and say it was written wrong. That's how little value it holds to the modern consumer, and I have every right to be pissed about it. Because it's fucking annoying.

[soaringsearingphoenix]

hi i just woke up so this post is gonna be long

Dream Vocab of the Day: criven/ crivening

Real word when awake?: technically "crivvens!" is a Scottish "exclamation of surprise, sometimes used for comedic effect" which I imagine is a definition missing some detail. But i hadnt heard of it until I looked it up just now, i dont think

Obvious influence of a real word?: no

Definition in dream: to ramble, specifically to tell a long story out of its personal importance to the speaker despite it not necessarily being 'on-topic', but where others may be too polite to interrupt (for example, when a parent talks about their kids, or when an adult talks about a moment of nostalgia for their childhood.) It happens when the speaker gets a little bit too emotional about what they're saying for the event setting, or for the level of closeness with present company, especially if they are trying to mask the fact that they're getting a bit emotional by continuing to talk Children cannot criven. Crivening is based on its context in situations with etiquette that doesnt really apply to children, as its more expected of them to chat without a fully developed sense of timing cues, and to openly express how they feel when they do. It's kind of a minor faux pas you make at a gathering, like a business dinner party, by holding the floor for too long, and being very genuine about it, when the situation dictates mostly inconsequential small talk. An important feature also seems to be that the speaker doesn't necessarily realize they're doing it, so an infodump is not the same as a criven because it can occur anywhere rather than exclusively at large social gatherings, and the speaker may be self-aware that they are infodumping.

Encountered in dream?: Yes, a lady was doing it and got accused of doing so by her husband, which she instinctively protested but then changed her mind. In the dream I was intending to go to a cousin's school play, and as i walked i encountered a crowd including a teacher whose name reminded me of my fourth grade teacher's name. The lady had also known a teacher with a similar name and talked for a few minutes about how lovely a teacher the woman had been, at which point her husband said "I think this is the first time I've seen you crivening," to which she said "I am Not crivening!" later, they showed me a dark green felt fedora, and the woman explained it had been her father's - "we called it his Crivening Hat because he used to wear it on formal outings" and apparently he was pretty chatty; he sounded like a nice man, but frequently a very sincere one too

[startingtomorrowblog]

My When, Where, How, Why?

When I was in fourth grade, my teacher called my mother to discuss my progress in class. I remember feeling nervous and afraid that I had done something wrong. I was constantly moving schools and I had just transfered into this school the previous year. From what I remember, I wasn't doing the greatest in my course work. But to my suprise, my teacher boasted about my performance in class. She told my mom that I had a gift, and that I should pursue writing. In that very class is where I learned that when developing any essay, to include your when, where, how, and why. This past year has been one of the most complicated, confusing, and uncomfrotable yet. I just turned 21 last March, and while I look like an adult, am treated like one, and compose myself as one, I still don't feel like one. I'm unsure whether I should blame Covid, my generation, or if this is simply growing pains that every adult faces. What I do know for certain is, I've found myself, lost her, and found her again all within the span of a year. I've transitioned, adapted, overcame, and grieved. While on my journey to face my traumas and finally heal from them, I sought out professional mental health counseling. From there I realized that while we all admit that mental health is the most important thing to care for, I find that there isn't a space to have open and authentic conversations about the topic. I also found myself lost in a sea of influencers and media that had me comparing my journey and lifestyle to those I saw online. 22 year olds who just made their first $100k, micro & macro influencers getting paid to travel, people accomplishing milestones like buying their first home or getting married. To say I felt lost is an understatment. While there are people my age living lavishly, I'm struggling to find where my next meal is coming from. Comprimising my hunger for my cat's meals. While navigating all of this and finding myself stuck in a vast pool of depression and hopelessness, I decided that there needs to be safe space to be authentic and have these conversations that often times people are too afraid to have. There is no shame in seeking out professional mental health counseling, there is no shame in your diagnosis, there is no shame in not having all of your shit together in your twenties. Letters to my Light is my reminder and YOUR reminder to take care of yourself, love yourself deeply, and to always be honest with yourself and others. Be authentic, be genuine, and be true to you.

XOXO Poetry

[avocado-frog]

15 tags 15 mutuals

@the-stray-storyteller but pretend i did this weeks ago

Are you named after anyone? My friend Ail picked my name off a pinterest baby name board during lunch in eighth grade so I doubt it. Sometimes if someone asks I'll pick a random famous Isaac (I have a list of them that I circle through)

When was the last time you cried? I freaked myself out before I had to do a photography presentation back in January and Literally Shut Down and started crying and my teacher thought I was having a seizure

Do you have kids? God forbid.

Do you use sarcasm? Once when I was seven I got a haircut and my friend asked me if i cut my hair and I told him that No I just dyed the ends invisible and he believed me until FOURTH GRADE So yes

What's the first thing you notice about people? Depends. If someone is wearing a bright pink raincoat in July that's probably the first thing I'd notice. But typically idk just what their face looks like

Eye color? Blue

Scary movies or happy endings? I mean you can have both. I like horror movies but I've only seen one that genuinely spooked me (Hereditary scared me out of looking out of car windows) but if it doesn't have a happy ending then it just feels pointless to me

Any special talents? I have the highest Tetris score out of all of my friends does that count? My real answer is that I'm really good at identifying voice actors. I was watching the last of us the other day and I heard Kathleen's voice and immediately guessed that she played a side character in a show I've only seen once in my life like two years ago

Where were you born? Being unspecific and vague I'm going to say somewhere west united states

What are your hobbies? Writing, pretending like i'm writing, the sims 4, throwing things at my mom's boyfriend

Have you any pets? I have!! I have a dog named Minnie Mouse, a dog named Tinkerbell, a dog named Ellie, a hamster named Betelgeuse, and several cats that follow me home from school (Thumper, Leroy, and Belle) and my brother has a snake named William Snakespeare (i'll give you one guess as to who named it) (it was me)

What sports do you play/have played? Today in gym class I got off the exercise bike and twisted my ankle so I'm not exactly cut out for sports I have never played a sport on purpose in my life but I'd do hockey if I had to

How tall are you? I want to lie but I won't 5'0" *and a quarter of an inch* (If you make fun of me i'll invert your kneecaps)

Favourite subject in school? Child development my teacher let me just cut out circles for an hour for full credit, gives out free candy and water, and today I got to see a fight live action twenty feet away

Dream job? I've been wanting to do something in psychology or neuroscience since I was like eight years old

---

Tagging:

@briannaswords @ralpockenlite @alexxjsyk @litbylightning @mynroli @gracien-system @idreamofhamandcheese @bi-karibe-chick @nelliecomet @master-of-the-pigeon-religion @blind-the-winds @calloumii @late-to-the-fandom

[awinfield1589]

September 18, 2023

Enriching and Assessing Young Children’s Multimodal Storytelling

Christy Wessel-Powell, Tolga Kargin, & Karen E. Wohlwend (2016)

Big Takeaway: Because children approach so much of the world around them from an attitude of play, incorporating multimodality and imaginative elements into literacy instruction helps expand the engagement of young learners, strengthen their depth of knowledge and understanding, and provide an assessment tailored to students’ individual strengths.

Nugget: One thing that stuck out to me from Wessel-Powell et al.’s article is all the ways in which the teachers in the study incorporated imaginative elements into their literacy instruction. As a student, I had experienced small insertions of multimodality in literacy instruction, but not to the point where the students and teachers were “all in,” or fully invested. Anything I had ever done similar to this, the teacher never seemed as excited, and thus students didn’t have much excitement, either. It was fascinating to read about and envision the transformation from writer’s workshop to literacy playhouse and how I might be able to incorporate something similar into my future teaching. 

Why Children Need Play

Leong & Bodrova (2018)

Big Takeaway: Play is a cornerstone of learning and holds place in the classroom because it is a developmental opportunity for children to interact with peers creatively and intentionally while growing both socially and cognitively.

Nugget: One thing that stood out to me in particular from this article was the idea of “unproductive” play and how play at home does not always have the same benefits as play at school. I had never heard the term unproductive play before, but it makes sense in that some play ends up as arguing or becomes redundant and is not as beneficial to children as genuine, thoughtful play. 

Building Language and Literacy Through Play

Scholastic (2018)

Big Takeaway: Play in the classroom provides learners with the opportunity to develop their language and literacy skills in a natural, imaginative environment, and teachers can foster play in the classroom by providing props and opportunities for students to engage in play. 

Nugget: Something that stood out to me in this article was the importance of teachers providing students with the opportunity for dramatic play and equipping them with the tools they need to play well. I had never thought about providing adequate play materials, or props, before, but this article revealed how props are supportive of high level play. 

Readerly Exploration:

I chose to do my Readerly Exploration on the Wessel-Powell et al. article. For this readerly exploration, I FaceTimed my younger sister, Nicole, to get her perspective and insight on the idea of multimodality in literacy instruction and assessment. Although most high school seniors would likely not have extensively meaningful consideration of this topic, Nicole is currently interning at our former elementary school in a fourth grade classroom and aspires to be a reading specialist or literacy instructional coach. She and I are very different learners as well, which is important to note regarding both of our experiences with multimodality in literacy. First, I shared the article with Nicole, and she skimmed through it. I then pointed her to the first and last page to read more deeply, and then I asked what she thought of the article and if she had experienced this kind of instruction as a student, and since she has, I also asked for her perspective as a learner. The first thing she said to me after reading this article was, “This makes so much sense- why doesn’t everyone teach this way?” The concept of multimodality and allowing students to tap into their imagination and natural inclination towards play made so much sense to her. Although not to the same extent as the study, Nicole had a similar learning experience in 5th grade that she remembers quite vividly. Students were tasked with creating a project instead of taking a test- their options included a movie, a commercial, a play, and various others that tapped into different modalities and required creative thinking. She loved this experience, especially since at the time she struggled significantly with test anxiety. When she reminded me of this, my understanding broadened relating to the assessment component of this. Conventional assessments are often stressful for students, something I did not think about the first time I read the article. Changing the mode of assessment not only enhances creativity and allows students to tap into their “play” mindset and strengths, but it also eliminates some of the pressure and stress from traditional testing. My understanding of the importance of multimodality in literacy instruction goes beyond how it allows students to play into their imaginative strengths, but it can also ease assessment anxiety and allow students to demonstrate their knowledge in a way that is engaging for them. 

Multimedia Component:

While FaceTiming, Nicole and I also talked about our overarching elementary school literacy assessment experiences- it was very interesting to compare the vastly different experiences we had. She had much more experiences of multimodal storytelling than I did, and she really enjoyed it, while I did not enjoy my few experiences as much.

[trashedump]

i ran into my old fourth grade teacher while out with my parents today and it was super sweet, my dad mentioned i use a different name and pronouns now and she seemed really happy for me!! i should also mention he didn’t say outright my pronouns changed, just off-handedly used they/them and she understood without us needing to explain. later she used the wrong pronouns once accidentally but immediately corrected herself, and was overall really nice about it

i know this might not sound like much but it was weirdly reassuring for me, especially after dealing with a lot of misgendering this summer :’) it’s nice to see someone actually be aware of their mistakes without needing to be reminded, not to mention being genuinely happy to find out i’m nb?? like there’s Accepting it and there’s being actually excited for someone when they come out yknow?? anyway just thought i’d share this one positive Trans Moment i had, goodnight

[thenegativitypit]

Look though - and before I start I'm going to be clear that I recognize that not every person in this thread is advocating for this - but abusers and fundamentalists shouldn't be allowed to take a genuine tool and safety measure from us. Homeschooling is not the enemy, people who try to turn their family units into little cults are.

When my brother and I were in school, I was bullied - by other children and adults alike - into complete submission. My second-grade teacher didn't teach us shit, my third-grade teacher tried to pick up the slack, but let's be real - I entered fourth grade nowhere near prepared. (Gee, I wonder if that's why I suddenly became "bad at math" that year?!) Then we had the same teacher as second grade for fifth grade! Great! Almost two whole grade levels behind my peers by the time I transferred schools in sixth grade, and believe me - it showed. I burnt myself to a crisp trying to keep up with the schoolwork that was assigned, to the point that I basically hallucinated my way through eighth and ninth grades. No one caught this. No one noticed.

Correction, my Mom noticed, but the only thing she could think of was to take me out of school, and she'd only heard Very Bad Things about that. So, she didn't.

My brother, on the other hand, didn't enjoy school but it wasn't that horrible. The kids weren't nice, but he had some friends. The teachers assigned way too much homework, but she helped him through it. But as he got older (like third/fourth grade) he started coming home more and more dehydrated. Headaches every single day from dehydration, then because he was, like, nine, he'd come home and guzzle water and then puke and then be ill the rest of the night. My Mom tried to go through the school to allow the children to have water, please, but to no avail.

And eventually this was every single school day, and my Mom - a stay-at-home mom because she was just old enough for that to still be quite common - had had enough and pulled us both out of school.

And just like transferring schools, or being put into a school can save a person's life, my Mom pulling us out of school saved at the very least mine.

She has a microbiology degree, loves history, and has read between one and seven novels a week literally for as long as I can remember, so she dove into teaching my brother. Did they struggle at times? Of course they did. Teaching is a skill, and even if you're great at it teaching is difficult. But he stopped being ill every day, and he learned science, and history, and reading, and (with great effort) math.

Me on the other hand she left to my own devices, mostly. I was brought along on museum trips, but for the most part she left me to my computer and my books. I was sixteen at this point, and I drowned myself in writing projects. You might be surprised to find out that - yeah, as long as there's a basis of knowledge to build off of and resources available, the basic premise of unschooling can actually work.* I used books and the internet and interest generated from wanting my worldbuilding to be better to teach myself about cultures, history, science, art, language, and even that math that I hated and was so desperately behind on.

Perhaps even more importantly, I was allowed to rest for the first time since I'd entered school. I was allowed to attempt to recover. I got enough sleep. I stopped hallucinating. I stopped losing time. I was allowed to have whole weeks pass without being hammered with stress and shame for nine hours a day (eleven to fourteen with homework). Maybe if she'd pulled me out a few years earlier, burnout recovery would have actually been possible. Or maybe not. That's not what happened, so there's no way to tell. What I do know is that I'm still here, walking this bitch of an Earth. I'm not resting in the cold ground, and my parents aren't left wishing there was something they could have done.

Do I want to homeschool any kids I may have? No, not really. I live in a different country now (yes, "home education" is a thing here), and my husband has attested to the school system being significantly better here. But I'll be ready to, if it's necessary. If my child is coming home ill every day and the teachers and school administrators just shrug their shoulders. If they can't keep up and there's no other recourse. If they're so afraid to go to school each day they can't fall asleep at night. If I find bloody razorblades in the bottom of their sock drawer.

So before we jump in and say "homeschooling should be illegal", please consider that maybe the problem isn't homeschooling, maybe the problem is that the system doesn't care about kids - in school or not. It's important to remember that homeschooling is a powerful tool. Yes, it's one that's frequently misused and needs greater oversight. But it's not one that should be taken out of parents' hands outright. If it had been more than twenty years back, I almost certainly wouldn't be here to write this to you. Thank you for reading.

*This is not saying that the people who go "I won't teach my kid how to read or what math is because ✨unschooling✨" are right, they've taken the concept to its absolute extreme and are misusing it entirely. But the basic idea of "provide resources to a child and be open to teaching them when they ask to be taught" has some merit and can work, depending on the personality of the child and, crucially, the willingness of the adult to participate.

Anyway enough lame gifted kid discourse we are in our 20s. Let's talk about how homeschooling in america should be fucking illegal it's insane lol

[perpetual-fool]

-

I'm trying to pivot from the "piece of shit" thoughts to "what does 'right' entail?" Following the analogy, trying to make sense of what happened and how people have responded is the barren asteroid. (And maybe they're pointing me here, responding that way, because they're responding to "how I'm trying to make them feel" which literally just isn't happening.) And I want to look elsewhere for understanding. Not sure how to respond to get there. Like "..POS", "yes and.. what should I be doing instead?"

After that, I still have nothing to work with socially. Best I have is making an analogy to setting up string instruments. You're supposed to be able to just put the strings on, tune it up, done. The lie is, if you spend enough money to get a 'good' one, it'll be perfect. But I've had a number of genuine experiences; setting the viola bridge on a rocker instead of a foot, finding guitar intonates substantially better with a capo, waxing the pegs on my lyre. How did that work? I had a problem, formed a model about what was happening, and the model worked. Had I been pursuing that from the start, the process would've been like.. a series of jr. high-esque science experiments?

(Tangent, there were a couple school assignments to make things that kids of that age would have no fucking idea how to do and it still irritates me a bit. In fourth(?) grade we were told to create a musical instrument that could play at least three notes. The fuck would nine-year-olds even do? pull some rubber bands over a tissue box? We didn't even have a music class at that point. Then in seventh (maybe eighth) we had to build a simple machine with a 2:1 advantage. I think it was like, teacher put a rock down on it, and it had to move another rock double the weight half the distance. And we weren't in any better of a position than before, we still had no ability to make anything. Anyway,)

It would be building up from basic principles. It'd be like, buy some parts from the hardware store and have one string and a tuning peg mounted on a 2x4. Then start adding to that and seeing what happens. What if it's attached to a box? (dulcimer) what if it is the box? (lyre/psaltery) What if it's attached to the box at a different angle? (harp) And that would come with all the little secondary things along the way, like how to mount tuning pegs. And I would have a sense of how everything worked together as a whole, and I'd feel very secure about it, and maybe I'd be happy with it. Although that would have to be in the context of.. something. Say, we're working towards a lyre, and we're going over all the little steps it takes to get there. Contrast will the entire educational system, in which concepts only exist in abstract and never interact with the physical world. Or with every programming tutorial I have ever seen, in which they will happily tell you a hundred different ways the program can interact with itself but never share any ways in which it can create output or accept input. (aside from print/say, obviously)

Applied socially, that would look like what? What are the basic principles of a person? Their concepts, experiences, preferences? Mainly, the world I have for it, 'functions'. Like, given certain circumstances, what effects will certain 'input' have? Say, if I cook a certain food for them, how will they feel about that? That would entail finding out how they feel about all the component flavors and textures (and combinations thereof). I'd have to isolate those variables, like if they don't like mushrooms, try making mushroom broth and see if they dislike the flavor if separate from the texture. Other things would break down similarly. Say they have an experience, I'd need to know what happened, I'd need to know what actually happened, I need to know how they're interpreting what they think happened, then how they feel in response to those interpretations. Maybe, they saw that the fridge is empty, they think that means there's no food in the house, they interpret that to mean we might not be able to eat, and they feel insecure and afraid. Something like that. And I need them to directly tell me most of that. So I'd have to be asking about all these things.

So I have been doing exactly the right thing. And the crooked answers are directly subverting exactly the right thing. And what of that world where no one will admit anything? Having heard some things second-hand, people generally are wildly misunderstanding each other all the time. Real understanding, acceptance, belonging, requires what I just described. I've heard stories, but I can't trust any are true. So a concept I heard of, "emotional cheating", which is forming an emotional connection with someone who isn't your partner. I don't think it's worth my energy to explain why I think the concept is disgusting here. But it's at least mandating that someone isn't allowed to feel a certain way, which means a core part of that person is not acceptable, which just isn't acceptance. It's like it's a bad imitation of the real thing. And it doesn't get better when it's not relationships. Bit of a tangent but I feel like sharing. It makes me think of V's music. And I was sad about it, because it was like she was just imitating the music she's heard and I couldn't make out her 'voice' in it. I thought she could be so much more than that. Now I'm not so sure. Bah, it's just "I don't want to believe that sweet little angel was actually a shitbag" again. Maybe it's a bit more. Like, really what should be most condemning is that I don't know what it was she had a problem with. The least she could have done is tell me what was wrong. But nobody does that. So it's more like: how could someone who superficially appears kind, and acts so beyond the possibility of having ulterior motives, still be fundamentally evil? (And I've concluded before that this must be a deliberate paradox created by the mind goblin to keep me trapped in his illusion.)

But that wasn't the point.

"You're a piece of shit", "Yes, and I should be asking more questions"? A bit of a strange conclusion, since asking questions is primarily what people hate so much. But that doesn't change what's right. It's some solace to know I'm not really missing out. I didn't lose a beloved friend, I slipped off the line after an incompetent manipulator failed to reel me in. I didn't fail to connect or to explain. There's not some secret code that allows everyone else to understand each other that I'm just not privy to. There isn't another way of looking at things that will make everything suddenly make sense. Everything is as fucked as it appears. That's not great, obviously, but erroneously believing I'm wrong puts me in a self-defeating cycle.

M'kay, I'm gonna see if I can scrounge up some dopamine by imagining a nice person or designing game mechanics or something.

[adacide]

on falling in love during childhood, and never recovering

sitting underneath the californian sun, i realize that i've wanted to kiss you since we were seven and playing on the playground. i scraped my hands and knees that day, tripping on the turf and you looked so worried for me. you helped me pick the little plastic beads off of my skin while i cried for the teacher. you didn't leave even when the snot was dripping down my face and i felt so cared for, so loved, so cherished.

i wanted to kiss you again, in fourth grade. by then the class had divided the cliques into boys and girls, but we still played together. you, me, and our friend named from the constellations. we would pretend to be heroes and villains, cops and robbers. our favorite game was the elements, where i would control wind, he would control fire, and you would control water. we would play on the big kid playground, the one next to the parking lot.

i remember us in class too, a few months before my eleventh birthday. we'd both scored perfectly on the practice spelling quiz, so we didn't have to take the main one. it was just us two that passed, so we spent the twenty minutes the spelling quiz took just sitting on the floor together, reading. i don't know if you remember, but i was being bullied then. but you still looked at me like i was worth something, like i was something to be cared for, cherished, loved, and all that.

i wanted to kiss you again and again, with more and more frequency all through middle school. the day you announced that you were dating one of the older girls from the grade above us, i was destroyed. i made up a fake boyfriend on the spot just so i wouldn't have to hear you talk about her and pretend it didn't hurt. you gave her your first kiss in one of our friend's backyards at night, when the energy of a years-end party started to decline.

you broke up a month later, when she started cheating on you. i didn't tell you then, but i was glad she was a terrible person, because it meant that you were single again. free from her.

i wanted to kiss you again, when our friend invited a small group of us to stay with her and her mom in their cabin on the lake, the one in the mountains. you bought a wooden sword at this variety shop in the village. you still have it, i think, stored away in a closet somewhere. i remember we bothered our friend (the one you considered a cousin) and sat on the arms of her armchair to look at memes she showed us on her phone.

i came out to you on the trip for the first time, afraid of your reaction. i was bisexual, but you didn't really care.

i think i loved you more, then.

in high school we both moved schools. you started to attend high school in another city, an hour away, and i went to the public school by my house. i missed talking to you, seeing you, but we still met up once a month or so. i stopped falling for you -- well, i stopped noticing it at least. i got my first girlfriend the winter of freshman year and i was happy, for a while. then we broke up, got back together, then broke up again. through it all, you were oblivious to the real reason i couldn't love her in the way i should.

i got another girlfriend, then a partner, then a boyfriend, then another girlfriend, then another partner, then another girlfriend, all to distract myself from thoughts of you.

in our final year of high school, you moved back to our city and lied about what district you lived in so you could go to my school. i felt to cared for then, as a friend.

i introduced you to my friends, to my life, to the person i'd become when you were gone. i showed up all my flaws and you'd smiled in the face of them, a sweet and genuine smile. and then you told me that you thought you loved my best friend.

i supported you through it, like i had with every other girl. when you started dating, kissing, loving each other, i was there for you through it all. when she dumped you i was there, holding you hand and rubbing your back through it all. i gave you advice on what to do to win her back, how to show her all the care in the world.

i moved away the next fall, off to a big city across the country so i could get as far away from you as possible. it didn't work. we talked when we could and you crept your way back into my heart without me even realizing it. you asked me to pick sometihng up for you and even though it was a two hour commute from my place, i picked it up for you, just because you asked.

and then i came back for the holiday season. we made plans to meet before i left and we spent the whole day together. we got coffee in the morning and just talked for hours, about anything and everything we could think of. you invited me to the bowling alley to see your brother and your dad and i accepted, so we went. after, i had to pick something up at the grocery store for my dad. you asked to come with me, not wanting to leave just yet. we shopped, talked, and drove around for the better part of three hours, just basking in each other's presence. then you invited me into your house when i went to drop you off at home, and i said yes.

i stayed to meet your dog, stayed to catch up with your mom, and stayed for dinner. you got me a salad, just because you'd remembered that i was a vegetarian

it was all these little things, you remembering my favorite color, my affinity for art and reading, you recalling my love for dogs, that made me fall for you all those years ago.

i tell my friends that i loved you for ten years, from ages four to fourteen, but i never tell that how i got over you. i don't think i ever will

when we talked about my friend, the one you were in love with, you told me that you don't think you'll ever love again. you quoted something you read, about how "guys only ever really fall in love once in their lives, they'll never fall in love with another person" and i understood how you felt then.

i've only ever really fallen in love with someone once in my entire life, and i don't think i'll ever stop loving him. i don't think i'll ever stop loving you.

it's been years since then. we met in 2009, although i don't really remember it. i was visiting my cousin at kindergarten, before i moved into this prison of a small town. you were there, at the back of the line to head to recess. by the fall, i will have loved you for fourteen years.

i don't think i'll ever stop.

notes: um so this is a big word-vomity and for that i am apologetic! usually the stuff i write is so much more polished, but this just kind of sprawled out of my chest in a gas station parking lot. i typed this directly into my notes app and then when i got home, i copy-pasted it into tumblr and hit post haha...

this really is more of an open letter to someone whose attention i crave. it definitely isn't a healthy relationship, i know, but i can't just... abandon 14 years (14!) of care like that. this turned out a lot more rambly and venty than i thought it would so,,, enjoy i guess?

if you read this far, i appreciate it! i love you, and i hope the rest of your life is everything you want it to be. i hope you are loved and you love others with your whole chest. i hope you find the beauty in everything around you. i hope you found the beauty in this grotesque expression of love. i hope you find beauty in love. thank you for reading <3

[niharikaslernings]

Today's learning,15/04/23

I am back with another learning of today. Today, I felt something which at the end of the day, I genuinely want to share with you. I am eagerly waiting the day to end. So, let me describe the moment:-

I was just sitting as usual in my free time. I dignosed that In school life, a child take study as burden during 4 times. First, when the child is promoted to 1st grade because on that time Questions/answers came into play. Now, child had to form sentences which is hard for him/her. As In, kg sections we learn to learn words only. Vegetables name, flowers name, fruits name, musical instruments name. We had learnt to learn words only. We don't know how to learn sentences that's we feel study is very complicated on that time. Second we face, when we are promoted to 6th grade. Because on that time(if you are from CBSE board) social science is divided in three equal parts. Divisions and increased number of chapters increases load on the student. That's why they face toughness. Second reason is, subject teacher changes when you are promoted to 6th standard. You had to form a new image in their eyes. You had to make a new reputation in their eyes. So, you feel it hard. Third you face, when you are promoted to 9th standard. First reason is subject teacher changes and their way of teaching is totally different from 8th grade. Your books becomes wider a little bit. And for understanding your books, you had to apply your mind fully especially in maths. You are afraid of failing because you can fail in 9th and it is really not like other's classes. You had tension of board, whatever you are studying in 9th will come in 10th. You newly learn in this grade that how to make notes. In this class you also score less marks in overconfidence. Actually In 9th, exams will be taken on different patterns according to cbse. This class is totally different from 8th that's why you feel pressure. Fourth and the last you feel when you are promoted to 11th grade. You feel it because a lot of new terms came in every subject which was not there in 10th class. So, the Student who are in 11th face 'understanding' issues at the beginning. Because 11th tells you new rules and regulation. It totally neglect almost every formula of 10th. 11th punches 'basics' of 10th and create new basics for 12th.But after sometime,  understanding issues are solved and new problems came into play. Students start understanding the rules but at the same point they cannot able to solve questions based on theory part. In simple words, they understand theory part but face challenges in solving questions based on that theory part, rules, regulation. So, these are the four harsh classes. I am facing one of them right now, that's why I am thinking all this. I realised a very important thing here which is a learning. And you know the place of learning.

Learning:- I learnt that every arduous standard is giving you better shape. It is preparing you for next grades. In this classes, you face changes. And change always helps you in improving yourself. You learn how to work hard in this classes. So, if you are facing any of these. Kindly, don't allow any negativity to come inside your mind. Else, work hard happily. The solution for all your confusions is only one word. Do practice, the much you will, the much you get clarity. And one more thing, Don't try to scoot from hard questions. Because they clear your concepts. When you start anything new, you had to face challenges but after sometimes, that new thing becomes part of your life. Because your mind had found out another hard thing. I wrote this blog for students who are facing same kind of challenges. I just want them to be positive and to know the actual cause of their issues. So, that they can deal with it positively.At last, nothing is hard, nothing is easy. We make this in our mind by comparing from our current situation. Thank you!

[xulachics-theblackgirltake]

Let's Talk About It: My unique perspective of blackness. Growing up, I never really thought about the fact that I was black. I went to a million different schools and saw people of all colors. However, in fourth grade, I was asked the question: "what are you?" It was an interesting question; I wasn't sure what they meant by that. My friend at the time answered, "she's mixed." I was genuinely puzzled at her response. So, in an attempt to correct her, I said, "I'm black." Now we were all confused. If you don't know me, I'll explain how I look: I have a light brown complexion, brown eyes, loose curly hair, and relatively big lips. My parents, on the other hand, are both chocolate brown and have a much tighter curl pattern. From the outside looking in, I probably look like a stepchild. But in reality, I am just a product of IVF. I didn't know that at the time, though. I had to go home and ask my parents why I looked so different. That came with a brief explanation and a hug. Knew knowledge was shared with me in my high school biology class. There I learned that I didn't have any of my mother's genes. That really took me by surprise. In turn, it led to another brief discussion and a "but I am still your mom."

That brings me to the real issue that I struggled with: am I mixed or just black? I never understood it fully; even now, I still question it. Standardized testing is what really tripped me up. They'd give you the option to choose what race you are before starting the test; I often stared at it blankly for a couple seconds before just choosing "Black or African American." So genetically, I am both black and white, but culturally I am black. It's a very unique experience that I have gone through. Luckily I was not alone in figuring out my identity. I am a triplet, so I was able to have these discussions with my siblings as well. I remember walking out of testing and asking each other what race we chose on our scantron. It kind of became a game. Sometimes we'd put "black," and other times, we'd switch it up to confuse them. Two years into my relationship with my current boyfriend, we were on the topic of my race, and he was shocked that I am genetically mixed. He was fully unaware of what IVF truly was. I found it kind of amusing because it reminded me of my reaction in biology class. As soon as my teacher said that I didn't have my mother's genetics, I laughed and texted my siblings. It was the plot twist of the century. With my mom being a nurse, I was confused about why she would leave out that piece of vital information. Not that it really made any difference; it was just a weird thing to hear.

-Olivia Simpson

[angeldcgs]

maybe he wasn't the most mentally stimulating companion, but mac could handle that. she provided more than enough stimulation for the both of them all on her own, could fill the silence for hours on end— she didn't need to be competing with anyone for attention. growing up in her family was a constant fight for scraps, and now she reveled in being the loudest, toughest, meanest, nastiest sucker in the room wherever she went. the opinions of others were inconsequential when she didn't value anyone else as a real human being, anyway; any disdain for her was likely just misplaced envy, all these poor sheep trapped in their pen with nowhere to go, always at the mercy of their shepherd, looking to the fox as she snuck in to cull the herd with a longing to experience the same freedom she'd brought about for herself. any one of these people in the diner could do what she did— at any second, rabbit could exercise his free will and stand up to his callous coworkers, demanding they show him some respect and call him by his government name, or even simply tell them to fuck themselves, drive past city limits, and never look back. but he wouldn't. not on his own, not ever. when one was raised their whole life to see themselves as a lowly rodent hopping around trying to avoid being stepped on by those who were raised wearing big old boots, there would be no rewiring their brain chemistry. which wasn't a problem for mac. it was his very meek nature that had drawn her in, and his belief of his own inadequacy would be what kept him her obedient little pet until she was ready to discard him in favor of something shinier. for now, though, she was plenty entertained by his reactions to her brazen persona, enough to want to at least spend the day getting to learn how he operated. "ya' think so? my, uh..." her nose wrinkled as a chuckle escaped its way past her lips before she could finish her story, seemingly tickled by her own past. "my teacher used to have a special roll 'a duct tape just for me. think that was... third grade? fourth grade? just wouldn't shut the fuck up, i guess..." the way she reminisced about her childhood, a grin on her face and a fondness in her tone, you'd think she was regaling him with tales of the best birthday party she'd ever been thrown and not about being abused an adult in her life who was meant to guide her. that really was one of the more pleasant memories from her childhood— at least it hadn't left her with any bodily injuries or lasting scars. she hadn't lasted very long in school after that. hadn't ever learned to read or write properly, but she could talk her way out of or into pretty much any situation, and wasn't that so much more valuable in the long run? it was sweet, seeing how easily flustered rabbit became at the slightest provocation— if he was squirming in his seat this bad without her even trying, how would he respond to a genuine attempt at seduction? "just try it! you'll love it, swear on my mama." who was god knows where doing god knows what, but she could save such nitty gritty details for at least the second date. she continued looking to him expectantly, attention not letting up until he finally took the mug and took a tentative sip. "see? told ya'. they should gimme a show on the food network, or somethin'." after taking a more drawn out gulp of the syrupy concoction, mac sat back and settled further into the booth, satisfied that she'd at least consumed some sort of calories. "'bama," she answered him simply. "'bout an hour from mobile. could ya' tell?" folks from their region were usually adept at distinguishing different southern dialects, so she could never hide where she was from. not that she thought he'd ever put two and two together, somehow coming to the conclusion that she was related to the family of backwoods circus freaks from mentone, alabama who cut people up for fun. "you live here your whole life?"

mac was like a shotgun filled with fireworks pointed directly at rabbit's head. she didn't seem to know anything about subtlety or silence, she was fully committed to whatever bit she was performing and all rabbit could do was sit there in awe, staring at her with his mouth wide open and his hands fidgeting nervously in his lap. half the thing she said he didn't have an answer for, it was like she spoke an entirely different language and he was forced to simply go along with everything and hope he didn't make too much of a fool of himself in his attempts to keep up. nothing she did was careful, all loud and hectic movements that somehow resulted in no spillage, it made him strangely envious when he thought about how much effort he had to put into things he'd still make a mess of. before he could get lost in his momentary melancholy, mac was howling in mock pleasure and rabbit shot upright from where he'd begun to slump in embarrassment. he supposed that it was a lot easier to be so rambunctious when you were surrounded by strangers, no one had a right to judge when they barely knew your name but most of the people had either witnessed rabbit grow up or did so alongside him, he didn't have the privilege of authenticity without the threat of being ridiculed. he wasn't brave enough to stand up for himself or to even think about leaving, so he'd learned to accommodate for the judgement of those around him. it was refreshing to see someone free from that, it took him off guard but he found himself laughing alongside mac's manic giggles, if not out of surprise more than genuine entertainment. "gosh, you, uh, you really have a way with words." his attention was drawn down to her pale cup of coffee with probably enough sugar in it to warrant the diner purchasing a new shipment, but he couldn't judge when he was the kind of adult who couldn't drink water unless it was diluted with some stupidly sugary concentrate. a familiar but condemned feeling twitched within him and rabbit shuffled awkwardly in his seat, his attempt to act normal in the face of her downright pornographic exclamation clearly a failure, but an attempt nonetheless. his face felt like it'd never been hotter before in his entire life, probably burning a steady red yet he made no attempt to try and hide his blush, not when it only continued to grow with each flirtatious comment thrown in his direction. "i'm not really a coffee fan..." he murmured shyly alongside a half-assed shrug. then again, he didn't want to look ungrateful for the offer, so after a brief moment of hesitation, rabbit reached out and slid the mug in his direction. with all the additives, plus the fact their coffee wasn't all that strong to begin with, it wasn't anything to complain about. "that ain't half bad." after a small sip, he handed the coffee back over and slipped his hands down beneath his legs, sitting on them so he could try and quell his temptation to keep fidgeting. "so, uh, where'd you come from? we don't get many new faces around here all that often, you're a- a real nice change of pace."