Every generation has their slang...we all said them. Phrases that drive adults nuts. In the 50's it was "cool". In the 60's "Peace". In the 70's "Far Out". The 80's welcomed a slew from Valley Girls like "Grody" or "Totally". The 90's brought "How's it hangin'" (of course, I never understood why boys asked girls this question, but I digress). The mighty OO's sprouted "Whasssuuuup". And now....in 2010....a new generation of annoyances for adults. Wait for it....wait for it... the winner is...."I know...right?"
If you've spent more than 10.5 seconds with a tween or teen lately, this phrase runs out of their mouths more than "like" or "OMG" ever will. And it's ten times more annoying. I actually looked it up online, thinking maybe it was just me. Maybe it's not as widely used as I thought. Maybe it's yet another one of Mrs. Tag's pet peeves. But, no. It's more than that. It's an epidemic of epic proportions. Here's what I found when I looked online for some kind of help with understanding whassup with this phrase. Where did I look? The one place I go to get caught up on what kids mean when they say what they say. It's a scary place to be sometimes. And it can be downright disturbing. But it's always on target. Where do I go? you ask. www.urbandictionary.com:
DEFINITION: An affirmation that you agree with or can relate to the preceding statement. It can be used whether the speaker actually knows or not, but in the latter case it usually means that the speaker can attribute the preceding statement to themselves as well.
And if the definition isn't confusing enough, here is a real-life example that prompted this blog:
ME to STUDENT: Jack, you're failing this class.
JACK: I know, right?
ME (trying to set a good example by NOT rolling my eyes): I don't know, do you know? Cuz you're not seeming to understand that you are FAILING the class.
JACK: Mrs. Tag, I know I'm failing, but writing's hard.
ME: So, writing is hard, I understand, but you still need to turn in assignments, Jack.
JACK: I know, right?
ME: *sigh* Okay, Jack, let's try this another way. What are you going to do to be sure to get your assignments turned in.
JACK: [long pause, puppy dog face in full use now]I dunno.
ME: Okay, so if you did know, what would you say? [an aside here: this is a GREAT tactic to use when trying to stop the "I dunnos" from your kids...I dunno why it works, but it does]
JACK: Well, if I did know, I'd say that I would do them at home and ask for help if I need it.
ME: Exactly! So now you have a plan!
JACK: I know, right?
ME: Well, hopefully.
JACK: [bewildered and confused, Jack is gently turned around and prodded toward his seat]
End scene.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
The light at the end of the tunnel
As every middle school teacher does at this time of the year, I, too, have started counting down to summer. I'm sure the kids have been counting since day 179, but I reserve my pre-summer daydreaming until around T-minus 40 days. Today marks 35 days until the end of the school year. That's right. Just 7 more early morning staff meetings on Thursdays when I have to be ready to either meet with my teaching team or sit and either be read TO or talked AT by our building principal. Just 7 more Mondays where I am jolted into an awakened state by whatever 7th grade drama has peaked the interest of my 1st period class (which, by the way, starts at a rockin' 7:55 a.m.).
Of course, this also means just 35 more days with my 80+ 8th graders. I'm gonna miss those little monkeys, my "sunshines" as I call them. I've known these kids for two years now, having had the opportunity to be their teacher for 100 minutes per day, 5 days a week last year and 55 minutes per day, 145 days so far this year. That's a total of (***please stand by while English teacher tries to do math***) 433 hours I've spent with these kids while they've been turning into high-schoolers before my very eyes.
Oh, they have their moments, that's for sure. My "orange boys" (I call them that becasue they have "orange" personalities from some color personality test they all took at the beginning of the year -- basically telling me what I already knew about 8th grade boys: (1) they can't sit still; (2) they can't sit still; (3) did I mention they can't sit still?) are so comfortable with me as their teacher that they openly fart in class and look at me like, "what?" when I give them "the eye" (more on how "the eye" works in future blogs). I know their buttons -- for example, I know that Carl has to chew gum. Loudly. Like a cow. Darren has to argue. Carlyle has to eat his entire lunch before lunch. Ned is secretly a wonderful writer. Braxton is as good as Thoreau ever was at writing poetry. And Kamden can't take a compliment to save his life...though he deserves them every day.
And they know me. They know that I'm in a bad mood most Thursdays (for obvious reasons derived from afore mentioned experiences at 7 a.m. on Thursdays). They know that my daughter is everything to me. They know that, secretly, I like kids who break the rules. They know my pet peeves -- which can be dangerous.
Mostly I hope they know I love them. And that each of them has a place in my heart. Each of them has made me a better teacher. Each of them has driven me crazy. I have muttered each of their names as I've driven staples into bulletin boards or sharpened pencils into nubs.
They are middle school. And I can't wait for my sevvies to become what my eight-graders are to me: special.
Of course, this also means just 35 more days with my 80+ 8th graders. I'm gonna miss those little monkeys, my "sunshines" as I call them. I've known these kids for two years now, having had the opportunity to be their teacher for 100 minutes per day, 5 days a week last year and 55 minutes per day, 145 days so far this year. That's a total of (***please stand by while English teacher tries to do math***) 433 hours I've spent with these kids while they've been turning into high-schoolers before my very eyes.
Oh, they have their moments, that's for sure. My "orange boys" (I call them that becasue they have "orange" personalities from some color personality test they all took at the beginning of the year -- basically telling me what I already knew about 8th grade boys: (1) they can't sit still; (2) they can't sit still; (3) did I mention they can't sit still?) are so comfortable with me as their teacher that they openly fart in class and look at me like, "what?" when I give them "the eye" (more on how "the eye" works in future blogs). I know their buttons -- for example, I know that Carl has to chew gum. Loudly. Like a cow. Darren has to argue. Carlyle has to eat his entire lunch before lunch. Ned is secretly a wonderful writer. Braxton is as good as Thoreau ever was at writing poetry. And Kamden can't take a compliment to save his life...though he deserves them every day.
And they know me. They know that I'm in a bad mood most Thursdays (for obvious reasons derived from afore mentioned experiences at 7 a.m. on Thursdays). They know that my daughter is everything to me. They know that, secretly, I like kids who break the rules. They know my pet peeves -- which can be dangerous.
Mostly I hope they know I love them. And that each of them has a place in my heart. Each of them has made me a better teacher. Each of them has driven me crazy. I have muttered each of their names as I've driven staples into bulletin boards or sharpened pencils into nubs.
They are middle school. And I can't wait for my sevvies to become what my eight-graders are to me: special.
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