The sheer amount of technology is wonderful and also a bit overwhelming. Every day there is something new and exciting so I have to sort of stop myself at times and just concentrate on a few tech treasures and try to master them before stumbling into app overload.
Aurasma has been an exciting one that I will be using with my classes this year. It is sort of like a QR code on steroids where you can link an object to an Aura. Basically it can make the inanimate object come to life.
Yup, I love to dress up
This past week, I wanted to start out the year by letting the students learn about local history by using Aurasma at Oaklawn Cemetery in downtown Tampa. The previous day I had gone out there myself to create the Auras linking the selected gravestones to archival pictures and information about the person buried there.
After having spent time creating them and also experiencing the nightmare of actually falling into an open grave, the only thing left was to see if it worked with the students. In my gravedigger outfit, I led them out to the cemetery and gave them written clues about who they needed to find. Despite the insane heat, the kids loved it and got very excited when the auras would appear. Admittedly, some of the auras did not work, perhaps due to shading at that time of day, but all in all, it was a successful ghost hunt.
As a class we plan on creating auras to make our class an aura filled interactive classroom linking projects to students explanations and making our bulletin boards alive.
Aurasma has a lot of possibilities and I look forward to hearing what other teachers are using it for.
Those awkward and sometimes distressing days of junior high are never too far from my mind, especially since I am now a middle school teacher and can sometimes see the same struggles I had being played out again in the halls of my school.
Throughout all of this I will always remember the kindness shown to me by my Journalism teacher Ms. Maurer. After a series of highly regarded movie reviews penned by me for our school newspaper, The Bunkhouse News, including a stirring tribute to the beauty and grace of Dirty Dancing, Ms. Maurer promoted me to editor in chief during the fall of 1988.
I remember working like a dog on that issue, sometimes letting my other subjects slip due to my sheer devotion to the press. I was never the popular kid in school and sadly suffered a fair amount of abuse, being constantly referred to as "queer" through the hallways because of my lackluster sports skills. My fawning over Patrick Swayze in my Dirty Dancing review probably didn't help much either. Regardless, I had some major self esteem issues and the promotion at the hands of Ms. Maurer served as a much needed boost.
Soon before going to press, Ms. Maurer came up to me after an assembly smiling and holding a note. I will never forget how she simply walked up the bleachers and handed me the note without saying a word and walked away. This was the first time I had ever been given a note by a teacher and at the time I thought I was being fired from the newspaper. The note was a simple and sincere thank you for having done a great job on the fall edition of the newspaper. I was a little stunned by it and read it multiple times throughout the day, each time swelling with pride that someone had noticed and took the time to acknowledge it.
It has been over 25 years and I still have the note proudly framed and hanging up in my house during the summer and in my classroom during the school year. It reminds me of the power of words, not just spoken words, but also written.
It has been a goal of mine to do the same for my own students through the years. Admittedly, I have not as been consistent as I would like to be but each new school year presents us with a new opportunity. I know that writing an email is simply easier, but I always choose to to go old school and give out a handwritten note sealed with wax. Hey, it's all about presentation too!
I wish I could find Ms. Maurer and tell her what that note still means to me. I have attempted to find her through the years with no luck. Perhaps one day she will stumble across this blog, so Leslie Maurer, if you are out there, thanks for the continued boost and inspiration!
I think we all go through that phase where we are mortified by the thought of being seen with our parents. I remember clearly asking to be let off at the movie theater 3 blocks away from the entrance, so that everyone would never suspect that I had ever been given birth two by those embarrassing creatures.
My mom especially liked to torment me with her music and would grab anything and turn it into a guitar and wail some Elvis song at the top of her lungs. My friends always thought it was hilarious but I always wanted to crawl into the nearest closet and hide.
Music was the one constant in our household. Whenever we had family reunions, my mom's 13, yes 13, brothers and sisters would break out into a beautiful sing along of old gospel hymns, some of which had been written by my grandfather, CC Clements.
My mom passed away after a long illness in 2001 and we were left with the task of cleaning up and clearing out her things. Mom always had a cedar chest at the foot of her bed which my brother and I were banned from ever going through.
A couple weeks after she died, our dad told us to go through the chest and take what we wanted. Upon opening the mysterious trunk, we w pored through all kinds of items Mom had kept from our childhood. Old pajamas, books, assignments both good and bad. It was a virtual time capsule.
At the bottom of the trunk there was a odd mass of crumbled cellophane that was yellowed and flaking. I picked it up and began peeling away the layers like an onion. Much to my surprise it was an old record with my grandmothers writing on it. Mom had never told us, but she had recorded a demo record with my grandfather and I was holding it in my hands decades after it had been recorded.
I excitedly ran over to a record player that had been gathering dust in my dad's den for the last 20 years and attempted to play the record, but the player had long since broken down. Where to go?
I finally got the idea to take it to a recording studio and see if they would be willing to play it. I found one locally and was greeted at the entrance by a giant of a man. I told him that my mom had just died and that I thought this might be a recording of her. He seemed interested enough and agreed to throw it on the turntable. He left me down in the studio and he proceeded up to the booth where he put it on.
After a few very scratchy stops and starts the sounds of my then high school age mother and my grandfather began playing from every speaker in the building. Within just a few seconds I was sobbing; not only was I hearing my recently deceased mother, it was also the first time I had ever heard my grandfathers voice. I looked up toward the booth and saw the owner, all 300 masculine pounds of him, also weeping like a baby.
Although the songs were scratchy and a bit difficult to decipher, one song titled "Don't Tell Me Goodbye" truly resonated with me. Still in the throes of grief, it seemed like Mom was speaking to me from the grave and telling me that all was well.
It was probably the greatest gift I could have ever hoped to receive.
