The Parable of the Talents

My class are preparing to hold a school assembly next week. We’re sharing what they have learnt about the parable of the talents. Part of it is a drama. Rehearsals aren’t going too well.

“And it came about,” pronounced Don, the narrator, “that a certain rich master was going on a journey. He called his servants and gave them money to look after. To one he gave 5 gold coins, to another 2, and to a third 1 gold coin. Then he left them.”
Jono, the master, shuffled along the line, shoving chocolate money into the eager hands of three of his classmates. “Here ya are,” he said casually. “OK then. See ya!” With a wiggle of the hips, he started to mince off stage, flapping his hand limply with more ‘bye bye’s as he went.
“Not like that!” yelled Don. “You’re supposed to be the MASTER. You’re s’posed to be… to be… well, not like that. You can’t just say ‘bye bye’. You’re the MASTER.”
Meanwhile, the three servants were testing the coins in the time honoured way to see if they were real gold. Biting them. At least they weren’t removing the foil wrapping.
“OK,” agreed Jono, mincing back to his original place, “I’ll do it again.”
Don rolled his eyes.
“I think,” said Steve, who had been standing to one side with a thoughtful frown on his face, “I think we servants should come up to the Master. He should call us.”
“Good idea.”
Jono marched over to the servants, snatching the coins out of their hands before wiping them fastidiously on his sleeve.
And it came about,” pronounced Don, slightly wearily this time, “that a certain rich master was going on a journey. He called his servants and gave them money to look after. To one he gave 5 gold coins… to one he gave 5 gold coins… TO ONE HE GAVE 5 GOLD COINS…”
“Oh, is it me?” asked Phil, as Steve gave a shove in the back to push him forward on stage. “Oh, OK then.” He shuffled forward in his best Uriah Heep fashion, rubbing his hands together and grinning in anticipation. "Thank you, thank you," he said, bowing so low his head almost hit Jono's knees.
"Oy, watch out!" yelled Jono, moving back nimbly. He dropped the other coins in his hand. Petey, the third servant, dived to the floor, grabbing every coin he could.
"Give those 'ere," snarled Jono, prising Petey's fists open and levering the coins out of his hands.
"Come on, come, on, get on with it," growled Don. "To one he gave TWO gold coins. TWO, not three. You're not supposed to give him ALL of them."
Jono scowled, snatching a coin back from Steve.
"OK I know this bit. Come here, servant, I'm giving you a coin. Make sure you look after it and don't lose it. I'll be back in a week - or a month - or maybe next year."
"You're not supposed to say that!" screamed Don, his face an alarming shade of pink, "that's MY bit. You just give him the coin."
"Why can't I say it?" asked Jono. "I wouldn't really just give him a coin without saying anythin', would I? I'm the Master an' all. Anyway, why do YOU get to say everything?"
"Yeah," chimed in Steve and Petey, "we want to say more stuff too. Why should we just stand there and not have anything to say?"
"Oh, OK," sighed Don. "Say what you like. I don't care." He stomped back to his chair and plonked himself down, folding his arms and scowling.
Steve took his coins, strolling off as Petey approached the master. Head down, one leg out at an awkward angle, Petey dragged his foot behind him, shoulders hunched and his body lurching almost drunkenly. He sniffed, then stuck out his hand, lower lip stuck truculently out.
It was too much for Don. Leaping to his feet, he yelled, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?"
Petey took it literally. "I'm a servant an' I'm poor," he said.
"Just because you're a servant doesn't mean that you have to walk like that," shouted Don in exasperation. "Just act normal!"
Normal? Petey, Steve, Phil and Jono exchanged glances. Normal? Of course they were acting normal. Couldn't he tell?

Now is the winter of our illnesses

There have been so many sick bugs floating around this winter. In my class alone boys have been away ill with Headaches, Winter Vomiting Disease, Bronchitis, Asthma and The Common Cold.

Now I have identified two new and potentially education-threatening diseases.

Giggleitis: uncontrolled and continuous giggling, resulting in physical collapse - usually onto a desk or chair. It can be cured only by the threat of large doses of undesirable consequences. Such as losing one's diablo toy for a few minutes, or being given extra homework.

And CBA Syndrome. This affects children by causing lethargy, boredom, disinterest and unwillingness to learn. Also known as CBB (Can't Be Bothered) Syndrome.

Both illnesses are highly contagious and potentially education threatening. Eradication is near impossible. Health warnings have now been put in place.

last days

The last days of term have been and gone. Filled with carols and cards, laughter and lilting songs... The children contained their excitement as they dutifully performed in the carol service before the blessed relief of the last morning when they were allowed to just play games.

My class sang outstandingly well, behaved beautifully and made it a fun time for me as well. Then there were the little presents and cards, so thoughtfully done.
You can see the effort that has gone into a card and that means more than anything. This class give me so much, they are a delight.

The school is closed, but I am still working: preparing for next term already. We have inspectors coming in, but that is another story...

Just over a week to go

We have just over a week to go before the end of term. There is a great deal to get done, but it's all good fun. Next week we will be making books, placemats, Christmas hats, Christmas cards...

It all takes some managing. The children get very excited.
Very excited = rather silly.
Rather silly = overexcited.
Overexcited = sometimes unable to manage behaviour and emotions.

This happened on Friday break. A dispute on the football pitch.
Remedy: all the boys involved had to meet up at lunchtime and decide on how they were going to play with each other.
Result: a list of all the boys who had attended the meeting with an accompanying list of rules.
Eminently sensible, and all done without a teacher's presence.

I am so proud of them.

Laughter

I'm not sure quite how to explain this. Let me start at the beginning.

The children had read the story of the birth of Jesus and were now in the process of rewriting it as a story of their own. Most had only just begun relating the events leading up to the birth when Sam put his hand up and asked a question.
"What does accomplice mean?"
"Um... partner in crime would be the nearest," I replied.
"That won't do, then," he said, chuckling.
I looked down at his book. He had written: A long time ago, in Bethlehem, Joseph and his accomplice...

We chuckled over that one for some time.

The ultimate compliment - for a teacher

'Mummy..' said Alex, absorbed in his work but needing just a little bit of help.
The only problem was that he wasn't at home. He was at school. In class.
'Mummy' was me. His teacher.

A tremendous compliment for me.
Not so much for his mum. She's maybe a couple of decades younger. Dark and pretty.

Great fun, though. Lots of giggling - from Alex, from me, from his friends.

Sorrow and laughter

Small boy arrives this morning, looking rather upset.
"Did you have a good weekend?" I ask.
"No, my gerbil died." With the reply, the floodgates open.
Streaming eyes, running nose, heaving chest.
Eventually I am able to ask questions and commiserate.
I learn that Pop, the world's best gerbil ever, (siblings named Snap and Crackle) was three years old. He would come rushing up when the cage was opened, nose sniffling in greeting. His coat was silky and beautiful. He could count up to ten and had a vocuabulary of twenty words.
The last sentence isn't true: anything is possible, such is the allure of a lost pet.
"Did you have a funeral for him?" I ask, finally.
"No. We only found the tail."
By some miracle, I manage not to splutter with laughter.
I provide a piece of card on which to design a memorial plaque for the cage.
It reads:
Here lies Pop, my best gerbil ever.
The tears dry up, at last.
An easy solution for a complex problem.

Rant about a boys - or several

I have a lovely system in my classroom for maintaining a suitable noise level.
It's a Noisometer. Or Noise Monitor.
Permitted noise levels vary from silence to group discussion.
Unfortunately, it doesn't work. The noise is usually off the scale.
Boys don't 'do' whispering or talking quietly.
It doesn't matter too much, but I just wish I could find the volume button sometimes.
Or even turn them off.
Hmm.