By Tom
I am a reasonably effective fourth grade teacher. I know how
to plan lessons, deliver instruction and grade papers. I can manage a classroom
and hold the attention of students. I can scold.
I have other talents. I can fly-fish, sail a J 24 single-handed
and ski through moguls. I can grill a steak, fry a burger and toast a cheese
sandwich. I can make meat lasagna, chicken curry and turkey enchiladas. I can
blend a daiquiri, shoot tequila and mix a martini. I have made beer.
I can ride a bike from Seattle to Portland in one day. I have run
a marathon. I have climbed Mount Si, Mount Pilchuk and most of Mount Baker. I
have swum laps.
I can write a five-paragraph essay. About anything. I can
write a business letter, a friendly letter and a resume. I can write a personal
narrative, a trickster tale or a fable. I can write a haiku.
I can paint a house. I can clean a roof, fix a pipe and
unclog a toilet. I can replace rain gutters, start a lawn from seed and build a
fence. I have replaced a garbage disposal.
I can do all of these things and more; yet I cannot, for the
life of me, support, sustain or even fathom the triple-girl friendship.
Like wet snow on a steep slope or a six-point lead at
halftime, the triple-girl friendship is inherently unstable. It’s asking for
trouble, like a fish tank on a golf course or an old man on ice skates. It is caesium.
It is your first bike ride.
The triple-girl friendship has no memory of its own failure.
It ruined last week’s literature circle, yet honestly believes it can
collaborate on a five-slide Oregon Trail PowerPoint. It cannot. It drove last
month’s chaperone crazy, yet pleads to be together on next month’s field trip.
It will not. The triple girl friendship goes out to recess with three smiles
and a long jump rope. It comes back crying.
The triple-girl friendship defies counseling. It can write
in eloquent cursive exactly what it did wrong and what it will do differently
next time, and then do exactly what it did wrong again. It can recite the
anti-bullying pledge with no sense of irony.
It is late January. There are just about 100 more days of
school. Lord help me.
Where’s Harper Lee when I need her! Great advice, Kristin. I’ll hang in there.
Okay. This is hilarious.
You know what they’re doing? They’re mastering the subtle rules, signals, and tangled emotions of human relationships. They mostly get it all wrong – send the wrong signals and misinterpret wrong signals sent – but they’re kids. When you read To Kill a Mockingbird with tenth graders and you ask about Scout’s relationship with Calpurnia, and Scout’s trip to Calpurnia’s church and what’s going on there, girls are more likely to feel it. Boys are more likely to be clueless. That’s sexist too, but it’s what I’ve seen.
Girls say, “They’re polite to the white kids because, well, they are, but really they’re mad that they’re there, and Scout realizes that racism exists.”
Boys say, “Calpurnia made them go.”
So be gentle with your tangled, angst-rashed girls. Keep encouraging them to work it out, to communicate and trust and deal with it themselves. Keep telling them they’re wonderful and it’s okay to give the other pair some space. Somewhere down the line a literature teacher will thank you.
You speak a great truth, Tom. The sad reality is I already see this trio in Kindergarten. Something about 3….tough business and many drama-filled tears.
You’re right, Maren. Cesium plus water equals awesome!
Check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Dwl_amSvDI
And I apologize if I come across as sexist, but for some reason boys seem to be capable of a three-corner friendship. Maybe it has something to do with the lack of depth in our relationships.
Cesium–many of my students claim it’s their favorite element. I have a great video of cesium in water, and that about describes the situation you talk about here!
Tom, this is hilarious. They haven’t outgrown it by the time they hit my classroom, either, and it seems to add players as the game progresses. I don’t even try to keep track of who is “dating” whom in the 9th grade, it’s like tracking a square dance. In all seriousness, though, it’s amazing how easily such relationships derail a lesson, a project, a walk from the classroom to the library… Where was that lesson in teacher school?