Veggie Nugget Day!

First things first: Fords are pieces of shit. Car cost 10,000. 2 years into ownership: 4,000 worth of repairs. So, here I wait as the alternator is replaced. And while I am angry with my car and the Ford Motor Company, I am quite impressed that the service shop offers complimentary wireless(which is more than can be said of Starbucks coffee), so here I sit:

Yesterday was Veggie Nugget Day in Baltimore City schools. In fact, the veggie nugget was given a special icon on the school lunch menu under the heading "A Champion's Choice!" and cheerleader for vegetarianism as I am, I made sure my students took notice. For a full week, since the October lunch menus were handed out, the daily grammar warm ups included sentences such as, "Mr. Sallee might weep tears of joy on Veggie Nugget day."(Underline the verb phrase and identify the helping verb and main verb) Mr. Sallee gobbled the veggie nuggets. His Students gobbled them, too. (Combine into a single sentence using a compound subject) Mr. Sallee licked his fingers after finishing the delicious veggie nuggets. Mr Sallee burped, too. (Combine using a compound verb) High fives were exchanged. A countdown was kept up on the chalk board. The build up for the big day was, to say the least, palpable.

I brought 6 bucks worth of lunch money to school with me (enough for 4 orders). The students seemed to understand the importance of this day, so seemed to cooperate more than usual as I lined them up in the hall way at 12:15. I walked my class briskly down to the cafeteria. Cutting in front of the few 1st graders still waiting for lunch, I stood before the lunch counter and took in what was on offer. Those look like chicken tenders. "Yes, sir?," asks the lunch lady. "Yes, veggie nuggets? The Champions Choice on the menu?" "Yeah, I don't know why they put those on there. They haven't even sent us veggie nuggets." I ordered two Styrofoam bowls of oven fries and grabbed two of the PBJ sandwiches they reserve for students without their lunch money, paid them 3 bucks and walked away in a huff. "Veggie Nuggets, Mr. S?!" "Peanut Butter sandwich? man, Mr. Sallee, what about the veggie nuggets?" Of course. "Mr. Sallee will be annoyed for the rest of the day. He will be short-tempered, too." (Combine using a compound verb)

You see: My job makes me lie to kids all the time. Most of the time, the lies play out inadvertently and the kids do not understand them as such. After all, I was certainly the saddest of the lot when veggie nuggets did not materialize. In truth, the students were pretty happy about it (Chicken nuggets are gooood, Mr. S). Still, it is a form of lying to build up expectations with students and fail to come through. And this happens over and over. I bust my ass, but I know too often my students should not trust my word--And it is my word because as the teacher my job is to mouth the lies these schools tell these students constantly.

Veggie Nugget Day was a small lie. That BCRs (Brief Constructed Responses with their 4" by 6" answer boxes are the preferred form of expression on the Maryland State Assessment) are worth the bulk of their academic and intellectual effort as developing readers and writers is a bigger lie. That us adults are doing everything we can to ensure the education of these kids in Baltimore City is perhaps the biggest lie I am expected to mouth. And the kids may not realize it, but they understand the deception. They have come to expect it and they bring these expectations with them everyday to school even as they might leave their uniforms, books, and homework assignments at home.

My car is just about ready. Suffice it to say,

Education: The Champions Choice.