Yesterday was a big day in grade six, section A. Those 28 students got letters in the mail from their brand-new pen-pals. These Marshallese kids who have never needed to wear anything heavier than a long sleeve tee-shirt were about to meet kids who live in Beaverton, Oregon, where owning a heavy fleece is a prerequisite.
The concept of fleece is not even in the Marshallese frame of reference.
These were definitely two different worlds and I was not sure if my kids would be able to relate or if their new Oregonian pen-pals would even hold their attention.
Anyway, along with the letters from rainy Beaverton came actual photos of their new pen-pals that their teacher Ms. O’Looney had sent along. On the back bulletin-board of my classroom I made a big presentation of the letters. I photo-copied the class letter that Ms. O’Looney had sent and then I hung up all of the photos under the heading “6A Pen Pals.”
The reaction among my group of sixth-graders was akin to what might happen if Brad Pitt walked into a teenage burger joint. The students clambered to get in close to the photos of their new friends. They ringed out three and four deep to get just a tiny glimpse of these kids thousands of miles away.
Word of warning to Ms. O’Looney’s class: be prepared for mobs, cameras and unparalleled attention if you should ever happen to come out Marshall Island way because you have pushed aside Eminem, 50-Cent and Kayne West as the most talked about foreign people in my sixth-grade classrooms.
Suddenly 6A, a group of kids who often have trouble focusing on assignments and paying attention, was a solid group of scholars quietly and intently focused on writing a quality letter in English to their new pen-pals.
This phenomenon didn’t stop in section 6A either. As is often the case with new celebrities, word of mouth spread fast. Soon kids from other sections were poking their heads in and asking to see the photos of the “repelles.”
In section 6D, myresident funny-man, Laijab frantically motioned me back to the photos of the Americans.
“Mr. Tim, you see this girl?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
“She will be my wife.”
“Go back to your seat, Laijab.”
Suddenly other kids in other sections were asking if they could write to section 6A’s pen-pals. I asked them when they were going to find the time to write a letter.
“We will do it after school, Mr. Tim,” they told me.
I felt like calling the hospital and arranging a group check in for my sixth-graders so the doctors could examine their heads.
“What seems to be the problem,” the receptionist would ask.
“Well, my sixth-graders actually want to stay after school so they can work on their English,” I would answer in a concerned tone.
“We are sending an ambulance right away,” he would say. “Just stay calm.”
After school I was reading through the letters that my 6A had drafted. It was the neatest, most thoughtful and carefully written collection of prose I had ever received from them. I sat back in my chair and scratched my head in wonder about the drastic change that had swept over my class.
Then I heard a knock at my door. It was Laijab.
“Can I borrow a book?” he asked. I nodded my head yes and walked back to my desk. When I turned and sat down there was Laijab, down on one knee, proposing to a picture on the wall.
“Go home Laijab,” I said, laughing.
“Sorry, Mr. Tim, sorry,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
Turns out that holding their attention was not an issue— now if I could only get them to talk about something else.
The love you give comes back in the end.
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The concept of fleece is not even in the Marshallese frame of reference.
These were definitely two different worlds and I was not sure if my kids would be able to relate or if their new Oregonian pen-pals would even hold their attention.
Anyway, along with the letters from rainy Beaverton came actual photos of their new pen-pals that their teacher Ms. O’Looney had sent along. On the back bulletin-board of my classroom I made a big presentation of the letters. I photo-copied the class letter that Ms. O’Looney had sent and then I hung up all of the photos under the heading “6A Pen Pals.”
The reaction among my group of sixth-graders was akin to what might happen if Brad Pitt walked into a teenage burger joint. The students clambered to get in close to the photos of their new friends. They ringed out three and four deep to get just a tiny glimpse of these kids thousands of miles away.
Word of warning to Ms. O’Looney’s class: be prepared for mobs, cameras and unparalleled attention if you should ever happen to come out Marshall Island way because you have pushed aside Eminem, 50-Cent and Kayne West as the most talked about foreign people in my sixth-grade classrooms.
Suddenly 6A, a group of kids who often have trouble focusing on assignments and paying attention, was a solid group of scholars quietly and intently focused on writing a quality letter in English to their new pen-pals.
This phenomenon didn’t stop in section 6A either. As is often the case with new celebrities, word of mouth spread fast. Soon kids from other sections were poking their heads in and asking to see the photos of the “repelles.”
In section 6D, myresident funny-man, Laijab frantically motioned me back to the photos of the Americans.
“Mr. Tim, you see this girl?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
“She will be my wife.”
“Go back to your seat, Laijab.”
Suddenly other kids in other sections were asking if they could write to section 6A’s pen-pals. I asked them when they were going to find the time to write a letter.
“We will do it after school, Mr. Tim,” they told me.
I felt like calling the hospital and arranging a group check in for my sixth-graders so the doctors could examine their heads.
“What seems to be the problem,” the receptionist would ask.
“Well, my sixth-graders actually want to stay after school so they can work on their English,” I would answer in a concerned tone.
“We are sending an ambulance right away,” he would say. “Just stay calm.”
After school I was reading through the letters that my 6A had drafted. It was the neatest, most thoughtful and carefully written collection of prose I had ever received from them. I sat back in my chair and scratched my head in wonder about the drastic change that had swept over my class.
Then I heard a knock at my door. It was Laijab.
“Can I borrow a book?” he asked. I nodded my head yes and walked back to my desk. When I turned and sat down there was Laijab, down on one knee, proposing to a picture on the wall.
“Go home Laijab,” I said, laughing.
“Sorry, Mr. Tim, sorry,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
Turns out that holding their attention was not an issue— now if I could only get them to talk about something else.
The love you give comes back in the end.
--------------------------------------------------------
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