big day here at chez francis...

My youngest son starts 6th grade in the fall and today, I get to register him for his classes. He has instructed that I interview every teacher and pick only the nice ones because, and I quote, "I don't do very well with mean teachers."

Um yeah, I'll get right on that.

What I remember about 6th grade:

1. I had a pair of bright green "painter's pants" overalls that I wore all the time.
2. The big thing back then was to carry a large comb in your back pocket that often had a message on it. Mine said "No Tailgaiting." (BTW: I had no idea what that meant at the time.)
3. My smart mouth fully developed that year. It was the first year I smarted off to a teacher. I had to write a report on why I shouldn't get a paddling. (yes, I went to public school. yes we had corporal punishment. no I did NOT want to bend over and grab my ankles) I wrote the report. I did NOT get paddled.
4. I also wrote several other reports that year for my smart mouth for a different teacher. Because I knew Coach Ralph did not read the papers, I added commentary into the reports such as, "Teacher's Name is an ass" and "Teacher's Name is a pig." He either never read the reports or read them and let it pass because I had big balls because I never got into trouble.
5. The cool teacher that year was my homeroom teacher so that made me cool be default, even though I had ugly glasses and was a good 5 inches taller than everyone else. (BTW, I'm exactly the same height now that I was in 6th grade.)
6. I played kickball every day. And I ruled.
   
7. I rode a motorbike (not really big enough to be called a motorcycle) for the first time. It was awesome, until I wrecked it and burned all the flesh off the inside of my calf. This meant I had to wear a skirt everyday to school for at least a week with a tube sock covering the burn. I didn't wear skirts. You can't rule at kickball in a skirt! I was flipping mortified.
8. People started calling me French Fry that year. Thankfully, that nickname was quickly replaced with Mel.

I look at my youngest son and wonder if he'll have similar memories. Do you? I think 6th grade was the biggest year for change. I wouldn't go back but I can tell you, I love the kids at this age. I love watching them develop their personalities, push limits, go through the awkwards, and come out on the other side full of personality.

Zero Tolerance Makes Zero Sense

When I was a student at Marshfield High (my stay there was not chronologically identical to those of my classmates, but I was there) I ended up in in-house suspension on my birthday. In-house was was more or less a cross between jail and silent study. Teachers rotated through the day. You had to be escorted to the bathroom, just outside the classroom, and escorted back inside. It was long and boring.

But this was my birthday and my then-boyfriend (heya Timmy!! 'sup, man?) came to the window on one of the cooler teacher's shifts and asked if he could purleeeeaze give me a gift. (Timmy had traveled all the way from Duxbury, one town over, and was probably skipping school, since he went to Archbishop Williams, several towns north.) Teach relented; Timmy passed me a small box; I opened it to find a Hostess Cupcake with a candle and file in it.

Ok, it was a nail file. But the Jimmy Cagney movie (Google it, kids) reference was cute.

Teacher told us, point blank, that he was not amused and that he had a very low tolerance for nonsense.

Today he would be a paragon of patience, I guess. Because across the country school systems are adopting the ridiculous policy of "No Tolerance." That means, as most of us know, that if you break one of the big rules you're out, no questions, no second chances.

Really? This is a policy schools adopt? Errr... and brag about?

I was a teacher for a while, too. Personally, I think tolerance was among the most important lessons I had to deliver, even though the subjects assigned to me by the administration were English, Psychology, and Journalism. I even had a kid in one of my classes who had been moved from AP English to a lower level with many of the Special Ed and remedial kids. When I asked why, I was told it was punishment for bad behavior.

Yeah. I almost wigged, too. My last act before leaving was making sure he went back where he belonged the following year. Academic punishment for behavioral problems? (By the way, I never had a lick of trouble from him.)

Anyway, back to Zero Tolerance.

I find it fascinating that schools these days want to stick their noses into the private lives of their students-- perusing MySpace pages, alerting police to parties, telling them how to dress and wear their hair-- but have the nerve to institute a policy that completely cripples the ability of young adults to learn the skills they need to make those choices wisely for themselves.

Tolerance and acceptance and understanding work together. Tolerance allows us to bend and change so that we can make it to acceptance and growth. Tolerance is the magic bullet that lets a kid raised by racists learn to deal with people who scare him, then learn to let the fear go, then learn to reject the stupidity ingrained in him or her by others. Tolerance is the mechanism through which a Catholic kid works side by side with a Muslim kid without getting into religious arguments. It's not important that they disagree; they tolerate (and hopefully, after a lot of tolerance, embrace) one another.

Kids need tolerance. All of us do. A school system without it is a system crippled, mangled, and harmful.

And I can promise you there won't be any file-stuffed cupcakes! So what's the point, really?