Herman's Hermits Invade Again!

Last night I time traveled to being a young teenager again. Who would want to relive that time? The insecurity? The angst? The pimples?

I thought the same thing when I ordered tickets to see Herman's Hermits at the Mississippi Moon Bar at the Diamond Jo Casino in Dubuque last night. I talked my husband, and myself, into going: "I know, there'll be all these aging old fools like us who are trying to recapture the past, and, well, we know that just doesn't work. It'll be corny and silly. But, what the heck. Let's go and have fun."

He said he'd go. And, we did have fun.

In fact, I'm hoarse today from singing "I'm Henry the Eighth I am--- 'enery the eighth I am--I am/I got married to the widow next door/'n she's been married seven times before/'n every one was an 'enery ('enery!)/she wouldn't have a Willie or a Sam (No Sam!)/I'm 'er eighth ol' man I'm 'enery/'enery the eight I am. Second verse---same as the first---and yelling out H -- E -- N - R - Y at the end.

Sorry. Once a person begins, it's hard to stop.

What made the show fun was Herman's self-effacing humor: "Yes, I'd always dreamed of this. I called my Mum this morning to wish her a happy 86th birthday, and she asked me where I was. I told her, 'You'll never believe it, Mum. You'll be so proud. I'm playing tonight at the Mississippi Moon Bar in Dubuque, Iowa.'"

He said he gets to be seventeen every night, and he and the lads still get underwear thrown at them. "They're just a little bigger than they used to be is all."

In case you don't know this important era of rock, Herman of the Hermits is Peter Noone, originally from Manchester, England, was part of the British Invasion of the early 60s rock bands, along with boy bands like The Monkees, The Young Rascals, The Kinks, The Dave Clark Five, The Rolling Stones and, of course, The Beatles, and a host of other rockers with long hair and rebelious notions, or so my father thought.

"What is it with those long-haired British hoods? Why is everyone so hell-bent on giving them our money?" he'd say, as if threatened by their popularity. They were on our side in both world wars, I thought. I don't get it. He forbade me to buy any of their albums with my allowance, but I snuck a few into the house anyway, and I drew a picture of Herman that I still have in a box somewhere. Over time, Dad mellowed about this subject, but I can imagine his remarks about the autographed, Hermans Hermits t-shirt I'm wearing at this moment.

Young people need to have their own brand of music because it offers a protest to getting old. We all love the music we grew up on, and be assured my tastes have changed over the years. I like good music of all genres. Country is a little iffy, but I even like some of that, too. Still, I can't imagine being married to someone so much older, or younger, that he couldn't recognize and sing along with these tunes. And, yes, my husband sang along, too. We had a blast! (Do they still say that?)

There's nothing like the nostalgia of watching Peter Noone (can he really be 62?) singing live: "I'm Into Something Good," "Listen," "Sillouhettes," and "There's a Kind of Hush." Admittedly, somewhat bubble-gummy, these are some of the anthems of my coming of age. My recaptured youth, if only for a night.

When I was thirteen, I would have given anything to do what I did last night. After watching him sing, I shook Peter Noone's hand. Oh, the unexpected journeys of life!

M&Ms, anyone?

One thing most new teachers don't realize is the breadth of their job. Not only do you get to plan lessons, teach, correct papers, manage discipline, communicate with parents, attend meetings, and coach something, but your most demanding job will be as a supply clerk.

Yes, students will request just about every item needed for any school assignment or project: paper, folders, pens, pencils, sharpener, markers, colored pencils, construction paper, poster board, note cards, paper clips, glue, rubber cement, Scotch tape, masking tape, duct tape, stapler, three-hole punch, scissors, Post-its, erasers, paint brushes, etc. Jump drives and DVDs have become a popular request too, especially when a video project is due. Oh, and hats, wigs and costumes are in demand as well. And, let's not forget the extra books because they lost theirs.

Some students pride themselves in being able to successfully complete a day of school and not carry a thing. They walk from class to class, swinging their arms, no backpack, no nothing. And, sympathetic students and well-meaning teachers enable them to mooch.

Mind you, supplies do not only relate to school needs. I have been asked for money,finger nail clippers, nail files, lint rollers, dental floss, tampons, safety pins, band aids, rubbing alcohol, spot remover/ laundry stick, air freshener, cough drops, breath mints, gum, needle and thread, hand sanitizer, hair spray, mirror, tissues, paper towels, and the ever popular: hand lotion. (Note: free hand lotion samples from hotels work perfectly, as they can choose their favorite scent.)

What do they think we are, Wal Marts?

One student wondered if I had a phone charger so he could charge his phone in my room. Yeah, right.

And food. OMG! Whatever you do, don't feed them. Once they find out about your stash of Ritz Crackers, Tootsie Pops, M&Ms or whatever in your desk drawer or filing cabinet, they will stare you down and whine daily like shameless puppies, until you toss them a scrap.

And the best request, yet, though it wasn't for a supply, persay: "Mrs. Kies, can you give me your password so I can get into YouTube and show you and the class a funny video?"

Yes, they will ask for just about anything. So, new teacher, it's up to you to immediately set up the boundaries and decide how willing you are to supply them with things other than knowledge.

Hazy, Crazy, Lazy---at last!

Summer feels like waking up to a new day. Lots of them. Anything is possible! But, one has to complete a year of teaching to feel that utterly joyous exhileration of accomplishment and freedom.

I liken the school year to the nine months it takes to have a baby. Fall begins with limitless potential and antsy anticipation of great things to come, and I'm happy and priveleged to have signed the contract that allows me this opportunity to teach teenagers: the writing lesson I've been perfecting for 15 years, the sure-to-inspire reading technique I read about in The English Journal, and the organized computer files last year's student teacher created. (No more of my precious time spent looking for misplaced folders.)

Even the 1st quarter parent/teacher conferences cause my heart to beat faster, as parents and I conspire to turn their children on to the miraculous world of writing and reading. Pink or blue? Makes no difference.

In the second trimester, sticking to those organizational routines becomes a little troublesome, and I notice the piles have appeared on my window ledge and a stack of papers next to my computer. I'm feeling a little bogged down with the extra weight of morning meetings and Literary Magazine deadlines. At this stage, though I HATE cold weather, I consider myself fortunate to live in the magical Midwest where a zealous weather forecaster and reluctant school superindendent can work together and bless us with a SNOW DAY due to blizzard conditions. Instead of tackling tasks to get me ahead, though, I loll at home and catch up on rest, watching movies, and baking chocolate chip cookies. (One's appetite increases midway through a pregnancy.)

And, then there's the third trimester.

The downward---which feels like upward---slope to the end. After spring break, time slows to counting the weeks and days; and, if the weather turns nice early, like it did this year, look out, for summer fever sets in. Eighty degree temperatures tell the brain it's quitting time, and convincing it to continue to think and complete school tasks is a ponderous propostition.

And, after Memorial Day, each hour of labor is documented. It's time to get this baby outta here, and that's all there is to it!

Then, the overwhelming sensation of accomplishment and the jubilation of being done rejuvenates the exhausted body and mind. No papers to correct. No lessons to plan. No classroom to organize. Sheer and utter joy.

Until---the baby blues set in for a brief stay while adjusting to the weight loss. I miss the students, mourn their parting.

But, not for long.

My list of projects becomes feasible because I have TIME. Let's see---there's the picture for the living room I've been wanting to paint, the upstairs closet to clean, my mother's stuff in the garage to sort, the gardening, the endless list of books to read, and, of course, the writing to do and blog to write, just to name a few. Oh, and my teacher's license needs renewing by next summer, so I need to either take classes or finish my PDP, Professional Development Plan. Whew!

I'm sure I'll be glad when fall comes around again and I won't be faced with any more summer projects and vacations to plan, just another nine months of hatching.

Until then, a little deck sitting and tree watching seems in order.