A Teacher's Lament, Redux

As Lansing schemes, I ponder:
While others work a full calendar year, I enjoy gobs of vacation. While the Average Joe could lose his employment at whim, it is harder to fire me than it is to sell Amway in Canada. I receive guaranteed pay raises, and I get free donuts each time one of my clients has a birthday. Although I have enough college credit to fulfill a PhD program, I am an expert at zilch. Although the Average Joe would rather have his job than mine, he offers unsolicited advice about how I could do mine better, cheaper, and longer. By virtue of my humble position, I am an underachiever; suspect of laziness, pedophilia, and ignorance. Were I to debate the above, add whining, too.
Here's the rub: I don't care. Sure, it is disheartening when the bashing hits a critical mass; when one cannot open a newspaper, scan the Internet, talk to a friend or relative, or overhear a restaurant conversation without absorbing the mass critique of the job. The zillion irritating, belittling, frustrating things that happen weekly on the job are only bearable because I know I'd miss it. I'd miss the potential of actually teaching something, which has the same odds as a batter hitting a ball - often leaving me feeling like I've struck out. I'd miss children at their most precious stage of life - before they become Average Joes. I'd miss the perverse dichotomy of the huge responsibility I have without the accompanying authority.
Shame on me.

LBJ

"If you can convince the lowest white man he's better than the best colored man, he won't notice you're picking his pocket. Hell, give him somebody to look down on, and he'll empty his pockets for you. "

Lyndon B. Johnson

Flako the Clown*

"I think this country is full of geniuses, guys and gals so bright they make your average card-carrying MENSA member look like F**ko the Clown. And I think that most of them are teachers..."

                                                             - from Insomnia, by Stephen King.


I'll speak for myself; I am no genius. And, as evidenced by a class of 42 sixth graders this week as I tripped over a power cord while I shouted, in Spanish, 'No, the gorilla did not kiss Taylor Swift, the gorilla danced with Taylor Swift!" while holding a stuffed gorilla, I resemble Flako the Clown.

On top of teaching hundreds of kids a week as a transient language teacher, I have been charged  with training new teachers, as well. Over the past couple of years, thanks to a sick economy, our teacher trainees have brought wonderful backgrounds to the job: a former television producer, a Russian polyglot, a classic pianist, a Chinese housewife, a business owner, and a graduate of Quebec's oldest French speaking university.

I have noticed a dramatic shift during their first weeks of teaching. It is a kind of culture clash.

The first days of the school year are filled with comments volunteered to inform me, the humble career teacher. These second-careerists have experience rich and broad, and, coupled with the fact that they were formerly students, their insights are sharper and more refined than those blunted by years of bureaucratic mediocracy. Their observations of student behavior, teacher expectations, and content knowledge, you see, are superior. They were never tainted by the stain of teaching for money. Circumstances have put them in this temporary role, so that they may bless the public schools with their enlightenment. At this stage, the trainees see me as the good-natured, but bumbling, captain of a rusty back-water fish boat.

Within their first 48 hours of instruction, these pedagogical prodigies usually experience a violent shift. They realize that their sevant-like prowess is simply not appreciated by the kids. You see, today's kids aren't like yesterday's kids. American youth are genetically inferior to those from other nations. The school's culture is corrupted. The homeroom teacher doesn't get it. The students don't get it. The rooms are too big. The rooms are too small. The hands on the clock move too fast, then come to a complete halt. At this stage, the trainees see me as the drunken, short-sighted, neglectful, captain of a rusty, back-water fish boat.

Within the next 72 hours, or so, of instruction, after the trainees have been humbled and horrified by student behavior that would make a mosh pit look organized, the trainees start looking at ol' Flako a little differently. They focus less on my boat's rust, barnacles, and smoking engine room. In fact, they seem irritated by the fact that I seem to be having a good old time on my creaky craft. My nets are set, my anchor is properly weighed, and a few kids are actually eating my fish. At this stage I am bloody Captain Stubing from the Love Boat.

I am no genius. I may resemble Flako the Clown.  Regardless, when the bell rings I'll be at the wheel - come hell or high water.

Su pobre payaso,

Profe Suave

*Mr. King's "F**ko has been changed to protect and respect the sensitive ears of myself and the esteemed reader. No disrespect is  intended to a writer who is, truly, a genius.

Lies, Liars, and Education as Usual

The Market Lie: We need to infuse U.S. public schools with competition. We must free up the education market with charters, vouchers, and other innovations.

The Market Truth: Parochial schools, home schooling, and other innovations offered generations of competition to the neighborhood public schools. In fact, it is just those competitors that are most impacted by the corporate charter movements. For-profit companies have little interest in the expensive clientele of public schools: the special needs, learning impaired, foreign, and/or poor. Those kids are hard on The Bottom Line. The parochial schools are shutting down faster than Blockbuster Video, their buildings leased out to charter schools that offer tuition-free programs to otherwise private school families.

The effect: Solid urban neighborhoods held intact with a rich mix of public and parochial schools are abandoned, as most charters are located on the rim of these areas, poised to skim the most profitable student bodies.

***

U.S Students Suck Lie: U.S. is losing ground to other countries. Remember Sputnik?  Well, the Chinese will own our children and our children's children because Asians, obviously, make nutty mathematicians. It's in their genes.

U.S. Students Suck Truth: Anyone of this opinion needs to fortify it with an extended stay in foreign countries - especially those countries that are apparently "beating" the U.S. educationally. There is no country on earth that does more for less with its schools that the United States of America. We educate everyone. I mean everyone. If you cross the threshold of our Public Schools, you get a desk in a classroom (Or mop closet. Note for future entry). It's the law.  "Everyone" includes the poor, the disinterested, the uninvested, the poor. Everyone.

The effect: Repeated time after time, the U.S. Students Suck Lie starts to sound like truth to some folks. They demand changes based on the lie. Because it is easy and manipulatable, the change is usually some sort of test. Thing is, tests don't teach. Redundant testing is expensive and unproductive.

Personal Anecdote: I lived and taught in Mexico for a semester. A Mexican man befriended me on the street one day. He regaled me with stories of the two years he and his family lived in Texas, and his hatred for the U.S., our president, our values, etc. I offered to buy him a coffee if I could ask him some questions. As he sipped his Folgers, I learned that he had first emigrated with his family to Canada. He and his family loved it there. Why did he move to the U.S.? Because his kids could go to school in the U.S., but not in Canada.
Full disclosure: He was deported for child abuse. His children remain in the U.S.

***

Poverty Doesn't Matter Lie: Poverty is just an excuse. Good schools should be able to educate everyone, no matter their zip code.

Poverty Doesn't Matter Truth: Put down your tea, hold your "Socialist!" ejaculation for a moment, and hear me out. Poor students do not suck. Teachers of poor students do not suck. Poverty sucks. It puts a good percentage of Public School clientele behind the eight ball from the cradle.  Welfare cheats, lazy folk, schemers, and the like aside, the U.S. has poor people. Poverty is the grubby side of our freedom. Don't argue about it. Deal with it.

The effect: Repeated time after time, the U.S. Poverty Doesn't Matter Lie starts to sound like truth to some folks. They demand changes based on the lie. Because it is easy and manipulatable, the change is usually some sort of test. Thing is, tests don't teach. Redundant testing is expensive and unproductive.

***

U.S. Public Schools Are Failures Lie: Uncle Sid said it, they're all saying it, so it must be true. They're even making movies about it. If the documentary says our schools suck, then they suck.

U.S. Public Schools Are Failures Truth: U.S. Public Schools have a literacy rate that would rival that of any other country in the world, in spite of the many challenges that the competitors do not have. Remember, we are one of only a few public educational systems that is universally available and compulsory in the developed world.

The effect: Repeated time after time, the Most Public Schools Are Failures Lie starts to sound like truth to some folks. They demand changes based on the lie. Because it is easy and manipulatable, the change is usually some sort of test. Thing is, tests don't teach. Redundant testing is expensive and unproductive.

***

In Conclusion: There is money in them there schools. It is the lust for that money that fuels the lies above and many other half-truths, misconceptions, and assorted bull pucky.

Fellow patriots, don't let them take our schools.

God bless America,

Prof. Pepino Suave
Public School Teacher
Public School Parent

Teach to the Eyes

An ancient instructional secret: teach to the eyes.

Once the bell has rung, don't scan the room with your eyes. Don't look furtively at your notes. Don't refer to the curriculum guide, or preoccupy yourself with the teacher's edition, the principal's latest mandate, the temperature of the coffee in the teacher's lounge, or the wheezy whistle from the asthmatic kid's schnoz. Start making eye contact. Address a kid, address her eyes. Take a knee and look at kids. Move around and lock eyes. Sure, the pubescent students will be creeped out at a certain level, but at a more profound level they will be connected - humanly.

Don't fall in love with your gadgets. Brilliant cyber displays, magical white boards, nor dancing special effects have the power that locked human eyes contain.

Once you're comfortable with engaging students more, you might try something else that truly sets the stage for learning: the human touch. YIKES! I know, I've stepped into a goopy pool of liability where no lawyer would tread. But, let's face it, nobody with any sense of personal liability would cross the threshold of a classroom, anyway. Come on, teachers, you are  already a prosecuting attorney's sugar plum dream; why not teach kids? I'm talking the tap on the shoulder, the nudge with an elbow, a high-five (realistically speaking, keep your torso a safe, even awkward, distance from the student. It is scary out there).

 In any other human-to- human vocation, from healing to sales, the stage for success is set by human contact.

The most effective teachers I've met have been far more involved with people than with paraphernalia.


Con el calor humano,

Profesor Suave

El Destino

"Soy un aventurero en busca de un tesoro"

- Paulo Coelho, La Alchemista

Boot Camp for Teachers - The Atlantic

By Amanda Ripley

Before the Air Force technician George Deneault flew combat missions, he had to practice—a lot. “You can’t fool around on combat aircraft.” But when Deneault retired and became a special-ed math teacher, he walked into a Virginia classroom cold. When asked which was easier—being a military commander or being a teacher—he didn’t hesitate. “Commander.”

Now that researchers have quantified the impact that teachers make, we should do more to train them rigorously. And we could learn from the military, where a mantra of readiness is referred to as the “Eight P’s”: “Proper prior planning and preparation prevent piss-poor performance.”

The only way the brain learns to handle unpredictable environments is to practice. Before student teachers enter classes, Boston’s Match Teacher Residency program puts them through 100 hours of drills with students and adults acting like slouching, fiddling, back-talking kids. The brain learns to respond to routine misbehavior, so it can focus on the harder work of teaching. The Institute for Simulation and Training runs a virtual classroom at 12 education colleges nationwide—using artificial intelligence, five child avatars, and a behind-the-scenes actor. Some trainees find the simulation so arduous that they decide not to go into teaching after all.

But these innovations are rare. The average teacher-to-be does about 12 to 15 weeks of student teaching. Once on the job, most teachers get only nominal supervision, and 46 percent quit within five years.

It is time, finally, to start training teachers the way we train doctors and pilots, with intense, realistic practice, using humans, simulations, and master instructors—time to stop saying teaching is hard work and start acting like it.

Tilting at Windmills

"Too much sanity may be madness. And maddest of all, to see life as it is and not as it should be.”-Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote

It has been suggested that I am a pedagogical Don Quixote.

Where the researcher sees trends, I see exceptions. Where the professor sees poor management, I see a shoe that needs to be tied before a nose gets bloodied.  Where a principal sees mediocre instruction, I see a lesson changed in mid-gear because it is a non sequitur in the context of Lauren's discovery last night that her parents are getting a divorce. Where a colleague sees the veteran teacher down the hall as "one foot out of the job", I see a woman wise beyond a novice's understanding. The politico sees American kids falling behind?   I see a mouthpiece who has never left the country. The neighbor complains that kids don't work as hard as those in days past? I see streets and parks empty of free-playing youth, and air conditioned "learning centers"packed with pre-pubescent academic strivers. You see gains caused by new-fangled reading instruction; I see an inheritance in a dad reading to his kids each night at bed time, without fail.

Don Quixote had Rocinante and Sancho Panza.  I have a pair of wrinkled khakis and a stubborn belief that we are overlooking what is  essential for successful learning. We are tireless in finding what is sufficient in education: techniques, strategies, technologies, meetings, plans, and good intentions.  They are  impressive, expensive, and short-lived.  They are sufficient, but not essential. In our hurried labor to do what we have to do, we neglect to do what we should do.

The renown psychologist Berry Schwartz, author of The Paradox of Choice argues that American schools have their ladder on the wrong wall.  He claims that, "The wise are made not born" and that U.S schools are forced to spend an inordinate amount of time and money dispensing knowledge instead of cultivating wisdom. Wisdom, the trait of a truly productive people, is at the crossroad of intelligence and common sense. In its feverish pursuit of measurable gains in facts and numbers, schools gorge our kids with information and starve them of any practical judgement.

Cervantes wrote that too much sanity is madness. So, too, are too many rules. Rules, mandates, and policies have been inflated beyond their purpose; in their overblown applications they ruin wisdom. They skuttle the opportunity public schools offer us: to promote and maintain a democratic society. 

There I go tilting at windmills.  

Maybe my humble legacy, after a couple decades in the classroom, is to have survived in spite of my madness.

Con honor,

Peps


P.D. This marks the last in a series of short posts I've drafted as part of a graduate class I am taking this summer.  While trying to satisfy the course requirements, I have also attempted to articulate a way to thrive in the classroom.  In these trying times we wrestle to meet the expectations of the folks calling the shots and address the needs of our students. Often times the two have very little to do with each other.
I imagine any U.S. public servant, be it cop, nurse, or teacher, is struggling with the same issues as society undergoes a rambunctious cultural revolution. 

 

6 x 9 Gregg Ruled Steno Notebook

I save the notes. Each school year teachers receive gift cards, socks, ties, embroidered sweaters, college paraphernalia, sports paraphernalia, coffee mugs, drug store aftershave or perfume,  handmade crafts, homemade treats, pen sets, and other trinkets of gratitude.  Mixed in with these mementos are the occasional notes scrawled in crayon, ink, or pencil. They contain the simple thank you,  the descriptions of memorable moments, and the expressions of affection. These  I save. I have a whole drawer full of them, tossed with pictures and certificates from my years as a teacher. I pull them out from time to time to remind me why I return each fall. They are evidence of the relationships that are carved out of 180 days of schooling.

My daughter pulled out a blank notebook as she rummaged through my memory drawer recently. She held it up and laughed, "Why is this here?" I told her to look behind the cardstock cover where Carlos Paz had printed his name in big block letters some twenty years earlier. Under his name he wrote, "Thank you  Sr. Fournier." It was his gift to me.

Carlos gave me that gift furtively.  It was just before Christmas vacation and my desk was already piled high with teacher gifts. He snuck up to my desk and handed it to me while the other kids were bustling at the door waiting for the recess bell. From a boy who lived most of the school year out of a car or at a distant relative's house, his gift was precious to me. It wasn't just the token of gratitude that touched me, but the fact that it came from  the most heroic student I have taught; from a boy who came to me as an illiterate eight year old, who spent two years in third grade, and who helped so many classmates while he struggled to reach a reading ability that would move him, finally, to the next grade level.

I can't give credit for Carlos' success to my teaching skills, the basel program we used, the phonic instruction, the standardized tests, nor the flash cards.  In spite of all the training I have had since, I know it was the interactions we had as a small community of readers that launched Carlos on his literate way. Our book talks, our guided readings, our dramatic play, our quite reading time, our laughs, our arguments, our recesses all created the stage for Carlos to acquire the inheritance of literacy.

A valued mentor once told me, "You can teach to a test, or to a curriculum, or to a law, or to a policy, or to a program, but you won't get anywhere as a teacher unless you teach to their eyes."  A teacher can be well armed with the things of teaching, but he cannot be effective without the intangible relationships with the students.

Relationships can't be measured. They can't be manufactured. They can't be mandated or bought.

Humilde,

Profesor Suave

Tasty line.

"Musicians stood onstage noodling on their instruments with the languid air of outfielders warming up in the sun." 

 "We Are Alive" by David Remnick (The New Yorker, July 30, 2012)

Study + Practice = Create

“Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist.”

 - Pablo Picasso

Teaching is Architecture

The Prize

"Getting people to do the current thing is fine. Getting people to do the right thing is essential."
 - Todd Whitaker

Flipped classrooms, teaching with Ipads, core curriculum, alternative assessment, global education, and social learning theory are just a handful of the fads bandied about in education today.  Although plenty of time and money are exhausted implementing these innovations, surely they will be gone faster than a donut in a teacher's lounge. Show me a teacher with ten years in the classroom, and I'll show you someone who has seen a concept come and go, then return again repackaged in glitter and bow at least once if not twice in her career.

Dr. Burt Bleke led several districts in West Michigan over the last 30-some years.  His work for the Grand Rapids Public Schools over a brief three year period still impresses. He transformed a rancorous  school board, a beleaguered teacher union,  and an anti-public school political climate into a vibrant, open community whose focus was kids.  I saw before my eyes a defensive union bargaining team and a hostile administration turn in to a round table of like minded co-workers. Dr. Bleke worked tirelessly in darkened hallways, hot sidewalks, church kitchens, and (no kidding) in classrooms* to convey his care for our mission of teaching children.

Dr. Bleke was once asked by a reporter if he was concerned with the poor results of the recent standardized test scores. He responded that our focus was not a test or scores, but the fundamental work of teaching. Creating a caring environment where students are invested in their learning results in  raised test scores, reading levels, graduation rates, etc. He truly believed that if we kept our eye on that prize, everything else would follow. He was right. During his reign several key indicators revealed gains throughout an otherwise challenged inner-city school district.

Todd Whitaker writes, "[Great teachers] do what is right, no matter what else is going on." Great teachers don't ignore change, nor are they insubordinate.  They simply get kids to care - they get them to "buy into" whatever is the challenge of the day. They put the children before the fad, innovation, and re-packaged programs. They touch student's hearts so that they may teach.

Enfocado,

Pepinazo

*During his tenure as Superintendent in Grand Rapids, Dr. Bleke regularly tutored middle school students after school.

The Highest Common Denominator

I've taught in four different countries.  My assignments have been varied: poor urban schools in the U.S, poorer rural schools in the Dominican Republic, an elite private school in the mountains of Colombia, and a city school in northern Mexico packed with kids coming or going from El Norte.

Twenty years breathing chalk dust  leave me with distinct impressions. Most intriguing is that the teaching culture is universal.  No matter how developed the country, or wealthy the community, teaching is pretty much the same.  Generally, there is the same suspicion  of the educator, the same herculean efforts to control the  classroom from beyond, and the same disfunction between teacher and student.

I would say, unscientifically, that hubs of school success occur in rare communities that have faith in the process. If they trust that students make gains when attending school, it tends to come to fruition.
I am not suggesting that there is a magical "feeling" tone that leads to educational success. I do believe that trust  makes us behave differently, and it is that behavior that creates the conditions for extraordinary learning. Too often we focus on the low end of the bell curve. We react to infractions, shortcomings, and deficits - real or perceived.

I'll never forget "La Pared" ("The Wall)  in a public school in Durango. Folks spoke of "La Pared" with apprehension. I soon learned it was the East wall of the teacher's lounge where a list was posted, four feet high, of various teacher's absence during the school year. As well, "La Pared" contained annotations of other violations (smoking on campus, leaving the premises with school property, fraternization with students, and much more). It was scandalous and very public.
Arriving late to punch in at the time clock resulted in a posting on "La Pared" and a scolding from Sra. Alvarez, the teacher's lounge prefect.

It was meant as an aversion at best, simple justice at least. What it did do for sure, though, was browbeat everyone, even the best teachers. My most professional colleagues were made to feel less than professional even when their names never appeared on "La Pared".

Would it be a "feel good" gimmick to post, instead, a list of the successes of the best teachers on "La Pared"? Or would it transform the school culture, a transformation that would create the behavior that breeds success?

Maybe it is merely social engineering. But  if our community, the media, and the throngs of non-classroom "educators" were to cast their high beams on  our mightiest teachers, even our weakest colleagues might fall in line. Who knows?  Some of our best and brightest might even strive to become teachers....


Atentamente,

Prof. Suave

The Ability to Ignore

Years ago when I lived in the hardscrabble town of Villa Altagracia in the Dominican Republic, I used to eat at Beatriz' house with the other bachelors of the nieghborhood. Beatriz was our paid hostess. Each humid afternoon, we sat, ate, and argued during our meal at a large picnic table that engulfed Beatriz' humble sala  . Old Valtico, one of my table mates, was often impatient with my feeble comprehension of Spanish.  As my Spanish improved, he would reproach me, accusing me of understanding only what was convenient for me to understand.

Although I still deny using that technique during our meal time debates long ago, I must say it comes in handy in the classroom these days.  I select the behaviors I need to address.  Not that I don't have "eyes behind my head" like the proverbial teacher, it is just that I am being economical with my most precious resource: time.

The great teachers have a keen talent for ignoring those things that aren't of great consequence. They don't seek to extinguish every petty behavior that presents itself, but  methodically select the issues that require their immediate attention, while tending to others when a "teachable moment" presents itself.

Like a maestro orchestrating a stage full of musicians, the teacher addresses the rhythm of the classroom delicately, knowing that each instrument and its corresponding musician has unique characteristics that are to be addressed accordingly. If the percussionist in the back row is thumbing a Sports Illustrated during the flute solo, the maestro might wait until the end of the evening to address the situation.

Poor Valtico was just as frustrated as some observers might be when watching a seasoned teacher at work. Why didn't he see that boy leaning back in his chair?  Didn't he notice those two girls chatting? What about that boy staring at the ceiling? The master teacher would always have an explanation.

Es obvio,

Peppy

I am the Bellwether

 Teachers have little control over what happens to them, but they  do control their response. Teachers are stewards of the content and tone of their responses to any situation, be it a hostile parent, a misguided administrator, or a "lively" group of children.

This summer, I am reflecting on three stategies that should be the bedrock of my teaching in the future:

• I am the bellwether.
• Always repair (even if not needed).
• "I am sorry that it happened."

A bellwether is  that which influences trends, such as a key state in a presidential election.  I am the bellwether of my classroom - my mood effects the quality of my student's day. My relationship with my students determines the quality of their school year. I have the potential to make or break a child's experience. I'd better be mindful of my mood; it is powerful

I need to always apologize, even if an apology is not particularly warranted. I avoid hurt feelings by repairing any potential mistakes I've made, even small errors of judgement. This is key to nurturing those relationships that are crucial to student learning. "I'm sorry" used with most of  the same criteria as praise* repairs mistakes that are inevitable upon making dozens of teacher decisions each school day.

I can't please everyone all the time. Somethings simply are not within my control. Still, a mother might choose to give me her "two cents", the principal may misplace blame, or a coworker might not like my teaching style. Instead of engaging in an unproductive (and unhealthy) debate, I can simply apologize that it happened. I can apologize that they feel that way. I am no way insincerely taking the blame, and I am showing empathy.

Lo siento,

Peppy

*The apology should be authentic [heartfelt], specific [I am clear about what I am apologizing for], immediate, and clean [no hidden agenda]. Unlike praise, it does not need to be private.

In Praise of Praise

Carlos is a third grader. His family moved from Guanajuato, Mexico to Detroit when Carlos was in kindergarten. His parents often return to Mexico to sell clothes and other items they collect from garage sales, flea markets, and curbsides. Because of these frequent trips, Carlos has missed an average of 30 days per school year. He reads at a first grade level.
We are in our reading groups. Carlos is huddled with his two reading mates, the Negron brothers. This is the brothers' first year in Detroit, having moved from Mexico the previous summer. Carlos is a natural leader and is guiding the boys through the assignment: completing the blanks of a story with key vocabulary from a word bank. They are struggling, but Carlos urges his group on,  not completing a blank unless he is sure the boys are in agreement.
The teacher approaches their table and quietly observes for a minute. After Carlos fills in a blank with his awkward printing, he meets the teacher's eyes. The teacher stoops to whisper in Carlos' ear:
"Carlos, good job with the boys. You are checking to make sure they understand the words before you fill in the blank."
The teacher taps Carlos' shoulder, winks at the brothers, and moves on to the next group.

Praise has taken a hit lately. Books, articles, and keynotes have treated praise like a recently discovered virus. I beg to differ; praise given in the appropriate context is the key to a positive classroom atmosphere.
According to Todd Whitaker (What Great Teachers Do Differently), the above scenario contains the key elements of "good praise": it is authentic, specific, immediate, clean (no "agenda"), and private.

Hablo elogiando,

Doctor Suave

Response-Ability

"Accountability breeds response-ability" - Stephen Covey

As it is the date of Stephen Covey's death,  it is most appropriate to refer to him when the issue of accountability is discussed.  Mr. Covey wrote of the idea of "response-ability" - the ability to respond adequately at the "moment of choice". No matter what befalls us, we always have the ability to creatively respond, something that sets humankind apart from other animals. We have choice in our response to anything that happens to us. The choice is ours, as is the consequence.
My mentor, Blaine Ray, has an "80 out of 80" criteria for any assessment in his class.  If 80% of his students attain 80% or better on a test or quiz, he has taught the material.  Anything short of that criteria,  he hasn't done his job. No excuses.
Was it student laziness? He needs to work on firmly enforcing his expectations.  Students not familiar with the content? He needs to fine-tune his instruction. Were students confused? Align lesson outcomes with the assessment better.
In the end, Mr. Ray owns the consequences, and responds accordingly.

Cumplido,

Prof. Suave

Teacher Expectations

Our character is basically a composite of our habits. Because they are consistent, often unconcious patterns, they constantly, daily, express our character.  - Stephen Covey

1. Show respect at all times to all students, to their parents and to colleagues

2. Treat students and parents as clients, and my job as if it were "at-will"

3. Project gratitude for the opportunity to teach

4. Show care in instruction and management by way of sufficient planning and preparation.

5. Study, study, study

6. Find a mentor. Follow that mentor.

7. Dress for work (clean, neat, age-appropriate)

8. Own the classroom

9. Play

10. Rest

Today Stephen Covey died. He authored "The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People."

I am most effective when I heed the advice given in his leadership  literature. The expectations above frame Mr. Covey's advice to be empathetic, of service, responsible, and proactive. 

El fin en mente,

P. Suave

The Buck Stops Here

It's a 7:45 a.m. staff meeting on a dark February mid-week morning. A table of danishes and coffee greats us as we enter the school library. The cold darkness fills the windows, making a stark back drop to the well-lit meeting space.  Mr. Pyrek, principal, stands in front of his staff gesturing to data craftily displayed on an overhead powerpoint. In his starched oxford, khakies, and silk tie, he confidently projects the years of teaching experience that preceded his entry into administration years ago.  Mrs. Smith sits next to me, snuggled on the lone rocker, eyes closed as she rocks gently. Three  men sit together in a far corner, the bluish glow of their androids lighting up their faces, as their thumbs do a Russian folk dance on the tiny keyboards. Ms. Babish corrects spelling tests with a scowl, and Mrs. Coltrane stumbles into the room with a Starbucks coffee in one hand and  a Lands End catalogue in the other. Two young teachers dressed smartly in corporate casual like their principal and wielding pens and notebooks, sit in front and  attend eagerly to Mr. Pyrek's lecture.
It has become a pastime of mine to spend staff meetings tallying participation. I write a "check" under names of those who speak during a meeting, and an "x" under those that interrupt others. Often the marks suggest interesting trends in the narrowness of participation, and the frequency in which colleagues neglect to truly listen to the responses of their workmates.
The scenario illustrated in the first paragraph, and the unscientific tally I use,  help me see the irony in the expectations we teachers have for student behavior. When we are "in the shoes" of our students, do we show integrity in our expectations for our own behavior?
Todd Whitaker (What Teachers Do Differently) believes that great teachers have high expectations for themselves. Poor teacher have much higher expectations of their students' behavior than they do of their own. When students are not engaged, the good teacher asks himself what he could do differently. The poor teacher blames the student, today's society, video games, etc.
For the stellar teacher, his classroom is his domain.  For him, the buck stops at the threshold of his classroom.

A master can tell you what he expects of you. 

A teacher, though, awakens your own expectations. 

- Patricia Neal

Atentamente,
Profe. Suave

Fool Me Once

"Laws control the lesser man.... Right conduct controls the greater one." Mark Twain

We all like to be treated with respect.  Everyone appreciates a lawful community, yet abhors  receiving a speeding citation, or having to pass through airport security. There is dignity in being law-abiding, and (for most of us), there is shame in having broken a law.  Certaintly, laws are essential to a well-run society, but are they sufficient?

Todd Whitaker explores the epic challenge of dealing with student behavior. He acknowledges that things go wrong in even the best classrooms staffed by the best teachers. I had my own epiphany when, as a young teacher, my principal sent me to observe several "master" teachers in our district. Over the year of these observations, it was evident that these teachers were fantastic, at the top of their game.  But what was more evident, and certaintly far more helpful to me for years to come, is that all these phenominal teachers were dealing with the same student behaviors as I struggled with - they were just far more effective at addressing the behaviors.
Whitaker opines that the great teacher's goals are to prevent misbehavior, and, in the event that misbehavior inevitably occurs, keep it from happening again. The great teacher is very proactive and methodological in her approach to discipline, whereas the ineffective teacher is caught in a reactive loop, and burdened with the inefficient application of punishment. 
How does the effective teacher maintain positive student relationships during conflict? This is crucial, as I found that  the trust built between me and my students can easily be skuttled by the way I handle student conduct; even the biggest bully in the class becomes a victim, and the teacher the bully, if the issue is not handled with the child's dignity reverently kept intact while the situation is being addressed.
If not, it becomes "me against them", a culture with little trust, and the teacher is  rendered profoundly less effective.
Student dignity, maintaining trust, proaction, as well as keeping the end in mind (extinguishing misbehavior)  are the key elements of handling behavior problems in the classroom.
Returning to the previous entry's theme of upholding high expectations versus policing rules, if I have high expectations for student behavior that are clearly communicated, and if I firmly address student shortcomings keeping their dignity fully intact, I am helping my students become the "greater one" that Mark Twain referred to in the quote above.

Portate bien,
Profe. Suave

Rules Are Made To Be Broken

Todd Whitaker, author of What Great Teachers Do Differently, believes that expectations are more important than rules in a classroom. Clearly established expectations that are consistently enforced are the mark of a great instructor. Coupled with positive relationships with the students, a teacher may spend more time leading and  less time managing. 

Less effective teachers are entangled in the litigation of rules, or the crafting and enforcing of consequences.

Over the last few years I have focused on expectations: Listen, Participate, and Be respectful.  I frequently repeat my expectations, especially when a distraction occurs. For a "repeat offender", I might  

whisper a firm reminder of the expectation that is being ignored, and state that we'll talk later about the disruption. I  make sure to return to the students after class and we work on an appropriate consequence.

In prior years I've brainstormed lists of rules with the class, but found I needed a staff of lawyers to implement these programs with any degree of integrity.

The most precious resource we have as teachers in time. That said, the richest, most impactful period of time is right at the beginning of the school year. It is those first few days that you determine a great deal of the quality of the classroom for the rest of the school year. Students are at their most attentive at that time; they are also at their highest level of concern, using all their faculties to sense what their fate will be for the next 180 days. To take those days lightly, without profound reflection and preparation, is to risk the impact of a whole school year for several young people.

The Who

"Who are you? I really wanna know!"

                                                                   -as sung by Roger Daltery of The Who

It's not what, it's who.
Teaching is no different than many other professions:
 We spend huge efforts to refine our work by creating and implementing programs, methods, theories, policies, and other instruments of good intentions.
 We work on our appearance, be it is our dress code, body language, advertising, or office decor.
We discuss and debate issues, best practices, and our markets.
We devote hours to training and study.
There are those in teaching and many other professions that excel, that perform far above the norm, as well as others that fall short of competence.
The professionals that perform at a high level have a "who" factor that sets them above their peers. They do the "what" with everyone else; it is who they are, their core beliefs, motivations, and values that   consistently separate them from the pack. It is who they are that causes them to do the "what" so well.
I feel a lot of the criticism of education, and, dangerously, a lot of the change implemented in education recently, is generated from a focus on the "what". There is traditionally a misdiagnoses of a profession's ills based on perceived weaknesses in things.
An institutional gut check about who we are as a community (students, teachers, administrators,  politicians, etc.), might result in a better idea of  who we need working with the "what" of the classroom.

¿Quienes somos? -
P. Suave

McTeaching

*A recent job posting for a fully certified, bilingual teacher:


3^rd Grade Interventionist
Preferred Qualifications:
• Valid Michigan elementary teaching certificate
• Spanish language ability
• Experience working with students with social, emotional, academic, and/or behavioral issues.
Qualifications:
• Demonstrated success in promoting positive behavior and academic success in students
• Demonstrated success in the use of assessment data for improving student achievement and behavior
• Ability to communicate, interact and work effectively and cooperatively with all people including teachers, principals, students, and parents
• Demonstrated strong interpersonal relations, a willingness to listen and accept viewpoints of others
• Ability to promote and follow Board of Education policies
Responsibilities:
• Communicate with parents regularly
• Evaluate students’ growth, prepare records, monitor progress in all areas of students’ school life
• Identify students’ needs and make appropriate referrals
• Develop strategies for education plan for individual students
• Access community resources to benefit individual students
• Reinforce content and behavioral expectations of students’ classroom teacher
• Work closely with the Elementary Dean of Students and Principal
• Attend student support meetings and other relevant committee meetings
This position is for the 2012/2013 school year starting on September 4^th, 2012. This position will be for 149 days per year 7:45 – 3:30 each day at $75.00/day. Please note, because the paraprofessional works with students, work days are limited to only those days when students are scheduled in the District (i.e. no paid PD days, record days, holidays, etc).



*According to PayScale.com, the average national pay rate for an assistant manager at McDonalds is roughly the same ($10.82/hour) as an "Interventionist".


Depremido,
Profesor Suave

A letter to the Editor, Grand Rapids Press, May 23, 2012:

A Teacher's Ode to SB 1040
While others work a full calendar year, I enjoy gobs of vacation. While the Average Joe could lose his employment at whim, it is harder to fire me than it is to sell Amway in Canada. I receive guaranteed pay raises, and I get free donuts each time one of my clients has a birthday. Although I have enough college credit to fulfill a PhD program, I am an expert at zilch. Although the Average Joe would rather have his job than mine, he offers unsolicited advice about how I could do mine better, cheaper, and longer. By virtue of my humble position, I am an underachiever; suspect of laziness, pedophilia, and ignorance. Were I to debate the above, add whining, too.
Here's the rub: I don't care. Sure, it is disheartening when the bashing hits a critical mass; when one cannot open a newspaper, scan the Internet, talk to a friend or relative, or overhear a restaurant conversation without absorbing the mass critique of the job. The zillion irritating, belittling, frustrating things that happen weekly on the job are only bearable because I know I'd miss it. I'd miss the potential of actually teaching something, which has the same odds as a batter hitting a ball - often leaving me feeling like I've struck out. I'd miss children at their most precious stage of life - before they become Average Joes. I'd miss the perverse dichotomy of the huge responsibility I have without the accompanying authority.
Shame on me.

Tim Fournier
Teacher
Grand Rapids

Season Finale

La Espalda Peluda

Escrito por Sr. Suave

Pepino Suave sits on a Durango park bench, his back to the adobe-walled Church of the Most Padrisimo. He shares the bench with Christina "La Espalda Peluda" Angelerez, an adopted member of the local Mennonite tribe, taken in years ago because her boyish frame and bristly back were considered a sign of good fortune. She fled the tribe days ago, as she found the Mennonites, "too sarcastic". Having squatted on the park bench for days, Mr. Suave finally hired her as trainer and groomer of Pepino's loyal ass, Newt. It was more an effort to re-claim his favorite park bench from the stinking, pitiful, wench, than an act of altruism. 
Newt lies in front of the park bench, grazing lazily in the grass and serving as an ottoman for Mr. Suave's gangly, outstreched legs.
La Espalda Peluda slouches next to our protagonist, sipping on a bottle, soaking in tequila and regret. She waves off clouds of flies, and quietly simmers over her lost promise as the hairy-backed,  boyish, token of prosperity for the "Yokels", the inbred Mennonite clan of the Durango high desert. She smells of urine, fermented agave nectar, with hints of  Love's Baby Soft, and plums.
Lost in her loss, she is deaf to Mr. Suave's chatty monologue:

I am Pepino Suave. Some years ago, after my mariachi career was scuttled by the greedy promoter "Papa D", I took my donkey Newt and his burden of a half ton of uncorrected spelling quizzes and standardized tests (I moonlighted as substitute elementary school teacher at a Durango public school), and set out to seek vengeance on my rivals: the bastard Papa D, scheming headmaster of a corrupt Chilean orphanage, and the idiotic Will Ferrel, a Gringo actor and thief. Yes, Papa D. stole my good name, and Ferrel my movie concept. Alas, my efforts to redeem my good name were in vain, as fate took care of that for me.

Sr. Suave pulls a newspaper off of his bench mate (E. Peluda used the periodical as a bedspread throughout the previous night. "Rent's cheap" she reasoned in a 7-Marlboro-packs-a-day-voice. Stevie Nicks-esque). He shows the  front page  to the camera,. The headline screams:

"Papa D Indicted"

 The lead explains Papa D's claim that he'd never imagined an orphanage run by Catholic priests and financed by teamsters could be corrupt. "Oh me, oh my", he is quoted as saying.

Mr. Suave continues:

Yes, this Papa D., he steals the identity of an innocent man, Tim Fournier, to try to ruin me. Who could believe that I have another life, a life as common and dull as this Mr. Fournier? And this wife of his, is it she that wears the pants?  Give me one day with that fellow, and I'll make a macho out of him. A few hours with a tequila bottle, a couple of girls, and a cock fight, and we'd put some hair on his back, no? (he nudges the miserable mennonite, she responds with a fragrant burp).
I digress. This Papa D cabron, is only half of  it.  I was also  searching for el idiota Ferrell.  I nearly wore out Newt on the hot streets of L.A. looking for the goofball. Again, luck beat me to it.

Mr. Suave pulls another newspaper off of the unshaven park troll and shows it to the camera. This headline shouts: 

"Will Ferrel Indicted"

The lead explains Mr. Ferrel's claim that he never imagined that a guy from Boise could dupe him into investing in a corrupt orphanage run by Catholic priests and financed by teamsters. "I must have been stoned out of my mind!"  said the actor.

The camera pans back from the headline to  a full view of the entire  park and church facade. Among the people under the steeple appear the forms of Small Breasted Raquelita, the Big Busted Former Linoleum Queen/Secretary, Raul the Handsomest Cowboy, A Few Lonely Cowboys, Madonna, President Obama,  a Dozen Reporters, Fournier, 17 Secret Service Agents, an Average Breasted Woman,  Los Tres Primos: Tiger, Nicky, and  Talea,  Luna the Dumbest Dog of the Desert, El Pelo, an Old Man and his Wife (flanked by sturdy aluminum lawn chairs), a Cranky Judge, a Sleepy Jury, a Medium Breasted Government Prosecutor with Big Hair,  A Lawn Gnome, President George H.W. Bush, Two Senior US Air Force Officials and a Limo Driver, Mr. Ferrell and Two Young Chicks,  Tinta and Tim, Papa D and Mama D (dripping with bling and  followed by a line of 1, 472 Chilean orphans). Ferrell turns on the boom box perched atop his shoulder, and kicks up the volume. The crowd breaks out into a flash mob of dancing to "La Macarena".
Pepino Suave joins the merry fray, lifting La Espalda Peluda over the mob, where she crowd-serfs from one end of the plaza to another, smothered in her own vomit and shame. As the forlorn wench is passed back to Pepino's side of the park,  her slimy cloak causes him to lose his grip and she falls to the pavement head-first. A loud "crack" of her spinal cord rings through the plaza,  followed by a matching loud"crack" of The Linoleum Queen's strong right hand slapped ferociously against Mr. Suave's  bestubbled left cheek.  Suave stares, stunned, into the camera for a few silent moments. Ferrell cuts the music, and all surround the hairy little creature. Pepino Suave cries:

She's dead!

The plaza falls silent for a five-apple count. The crowd then shrugs in unison, Ferrell hits the power button, and dancing resumes. 

Credits roll while camera pans the plaza and the entire third chorus of La Macarena is played.

Cut to black

Cue Commercial:  MANGROOMER Do-It-Yourself Electric Back Hair Shaver

Escenario 15

Escenario 15

"La Foto"

Escrito por Mama D.

Place:  Rapidos Grande, Michigan

Time:  Saturday night

Scene:  The driveway of Tim’s house where Tim sits alone in the car, the box of props from El Jefe’s office next to him on the passenger seat.  We can see the silhouette of Tim’s wife, Tinta, cleaning the kitchen.  As we follow Tim’s wandering eyes in the the twilight of the evening it is clear that while Tim has been gone Tinta has painted the house, chopped two cords of wood, installed a satellite dish, mowed the lawn and planted her beloved Tulips.   Across the street, an unmarked van sits with two videographers filming away.  Tim meanwhile gets back to rehearsing his “coming out” speech.  He was very much regretting not telling his beloved Tinta sooner...

“…and so Tinta, mi amor, every time I said I was going out to buy a Grand Rapids Press on Saturday mornings I was actually catching a private plane for Florida.  So while it looked like I was just trying to get out of trimming the hedges, I actually was working at my other job…”

Tinta moved toward the front window and looked to the sky.  Even through poor lighting and glass her Northern European radiance shown through.  Comfortable in her wooden shoes, she munched on her sixth apple of the day.  Sunday, the Lutheran Sabbath, would come early so she closed the blinds, shut off the lights and moved toward the bedroom.

Tim knew it was now or never.  He left the car and pulled out his keys to unlock the front door.  The camera men were immediately right behind him.  As he fumbled getting the keys in the lock, Tinta opened the door.

“Tim, there you are” she said lovingly.  “Did you ever find a copy of the Saturday Press?”

“Er...no.  Tinta, we need to talk.  I have things to tell you and I hope you will still love me after I tell you them.”

“Tim, I married you for better or for worse.  I am assuming that whatever you have to tell me will only make things better.”

They enter the house with the camera crew in tow.  They sit on the couch and Tim begins to blather his whole story.  The camera crew diligently stays with the scene but as Tim starts to go into great detail of what makes a great telenovela, they eventually start filming all the awards that Tinta has won over the years; first as an All-American field hockey player, then as an academic standout at a prestigious “presidential” university, then as a public servant as multi-time teacher of the year.  All this was interspersed with awards from the Michigan State Fair for her tulips and strufwafel cookies.  A single gold record from Tinta’s album from her singing and songwriting career completed the set.

Mercifully, Tim got around to the events of early today and the camera team rejoined the story just as Tim pulled the picture from his pocket.
(Show prop picture again)

“ …and here is the picture I found in the box.  The man in the cowboy hat is my boss, El Jefe.  The other guy I am assuming is that trouble maker Pepino Suave himself.  This explains everything.  The only thing that is nagging at me is one time when I asked El Jefe’s secretary to describe this Pepino Suave guy, she described him as a ‘hideously ugly duende, or troll like character.’ Frankly, I think the dude in this picture is a pretty handsome guy.”

Tinta looked that the picture, then at Tim.  She then said in her best diplomatic voice “Thank you for translating “duende” for me, I just don’t know what I would do without your translating skills (knowing full well that she spoke Spanish significantly better than Tim did).  I think this Pepino Suave guy is kind of cute in his own creepy little way” as she pulled Tim’s trucker cap off his head and gave the seven or eight strands of hair a playful tussle.  “Why don’t we get a good night rest and tackle this bright and early in the morning?”  Tim hustled to the fridge cracked an Amstel light beer and went off to bed while Tinta did her nightly ritual of 100 push ups and 100 sit ups.

Xxxxx

Scene II:  Sunday morning.  We see Tim alone in bed, snoring like a badly calibrated chainsaw.  We see Tinta coming in from Lutheran sunrise service and taking her Dutch Apple pies out of the oven and placing them in the window sill to cool. 

As Tinta lay awake all night formulating a plan it was clear to her that two things needed to be done.  First, make amends with Will Ferrell and second, force a confrontation with Pepino Suave to bring this telenovela/TV realidad ordeal to a close. She had only Sunday in which to get this done.  As reigning teacher of the year she had no intention of being even one minute tardy for opening bell on Monday.  She offered the camera men a slice of pie and some hand pressed Dutch coffee.  The cameramen were much obliged.  

After finally rousing slumbering Tim, she got him in the car and they off to the Grand Rapids International airport.  They boarded a private plane which Tim assumed to be owned by his production company (DUMP).  Upon entering the plane he found he was completely mistaken.

Two Senior US Air Force officers stood at attention and snapped a salute that Tinta returned.  “At your service Senorita Tinta” one of them said.  Tinta responded with a sigh, “It’s Senora Tinta now.  Thank you for coming on such short notice.  We need to fly to Burbank, California.  Once there I will need a limo and a driver to take us to the following address” as she handed over a computer generated dossier to the other officer.  He took it and nodded his head.  Tinta continued, “Please treat these videographers as our guests.”

Within seconds of strapping in, the plane ascended as quickly as any plane Tim and the cameramen had ever been on.   This was old hat for Tinta, in fact the pokiness of this plane reminded her of boat ride to Tunisia with her college buddies while studying, and moonlighting for the CIA, in Italy.  “All those romances for the sake of her country,” she reminisced. 

Xxxxx

Scene III:  The limo arrives at the house of one Will Ferrell.  In the limo are Tinta, Tim, the two cameramen, and a distinguished looking gentlemen who had joined them at the airport and the box of props from El Jefe’s office.  The gentleman held a notary stamp in one hand and a plaque in the other. Tinta rings the intercom on the iron gate as Tim looks on.

Intercom:  “yes?”

Tinta:  “Mr. Ferrell please.”

Intercom:  “Mr. Ferrell is not in, I will take a message if you like.”

Tinta looked at her watch.  She really wanted to get this finished because she thought there might be half a chance to decorate her garden windmills (which were not only a mini-tourist attraction but generated power for her entire house) if she could get home soon enough.  She had not anticipated that Will Ferrell would not be home.

Just then a tall man with curly hair wearing a Kenny Powers sweatshirt and shorts that, well, were frankly way, way too short jogged to the gate.  The man was accompanied by two young ladies that would have been right at home on South Beach and were dressed like it.  The man was Mr. Ferrell in the flesh.  Tinta let her eyes take a quick trip over “Tierra Ferrell.”  She felt like a school girl.

Mr. Ferrell jogged in place, “Can I help you?”

Tim stepped up and  said, “Mr. Ferrell, I am the Executive Producer of Amor Asqueros…”

The words didn’t leave Tim’s mouth before Ferrell unleashed a wicked right hand cross that caught Tim flush on the cheekbone.  Tim, who as a TV executive was living in a second dimension, was currently now living in a third dimension,  and living peacefully.

Tinta immediately was half filled with rage, half filled with desire and half filled with concern that she would not be back in time to catch up with her daughter after her weekend near the epicenter of Apple growing, Fleetwood, Pennsylvania (State of Washington be damned) with the Future Apple Growers of America.

Tinta stepped over Tim and said, “Will, I have a proposition for you.”  

Will arched his eye brow.  “You do?”  

“Not that type…unfortunately,” Tinta sighed as she looked at her sleeping Tim sprawled out on the asphalt.  

In hushed terms, Tinta laid out the proposition to Mr. Ferrell.  Ferrell listened, asked a couple of questions, shrugged and  gave her the affirmative shake of the head.  Out of the limo came the gentlemen with his notary stamp and plaque.   Tinta retrieved some legal documents and they were placed on the hood of the car.  Ferrell signed away and pulled his identification out of his shorts.   The older gentleman then proceeded to notarize all the documents.  Once the task was completed, Tinta put the documents in a brief case and into the car. 

After putting away his notary stamp, the older gentlemen straightened his tie and presented the plaque to Ferrell.  Clutching a proclamation, the older gentleman read out loud:  “I, George Herbert Walker Bush, the 41^st President of the United States do hereby proclaim you the one thousand and FIRST recipient of the Thousand Points of Light award program.  Why you are receiving this award and why am I going over my quota is not important.  What is important is that my trusted aid and confidante, Tinta my favorite intern, has asked that I give it to you.”

Ferrell and Bush Forty-one posed for a quick picture by one of the camera men and for another one taken by Ferrell’s gate security camera.  Ferrell and Bush Forty-one shook hands and gave each other a “bro-hug.” 

As Bush 41 stepped back, Ferrell and Tinta stood looking in each other’s eyes.  “You know my lawsuit was ironclad” said Ferrell.   “But between your sweet mouth and your unfortunate husband being forced to catch the matinee version of the ‘Ferrell gun show’, I figured dropping the suit was the least I could do.”

Tinta reached into her bra she pulled a DVD copy of “Casa mi Padre” and Ferrell shook his head with a smile and pulled out a sharpie out of his running shorts. He signed the DVD cover, “To Inky, ‘Mi Amor Asqueroso’ Will XOXO”

With that the limo driver opened the trunk and Will, Tinta and Bush 41 picked Tim up and threw him in the back.  Before closing the trunk Tinta reached into the prop box and presented the jogging girls with the small cup bra and the dog collar and told them “share.”  She then gave the unread copy of “Applebee’s America” to a perplexed President Bush.  Finally to Will Ferrell she handed the big busted garden gnome.  “A memento of my visit,” she said, accompanied with a soft kiss on Ferrell’s cheek.

Videographers, ex-Presidents and Tinta hopped back in the limo.  As the limo speeds away, we can see Ferrell mimicking something with the garden gnome that is sexually inappropriate for network television viewing (but OK for cable viewers after a certain time in the evening) as the jogging girls look on laughing.  

Tinta turns around and faced forward.  She pulls an apple from her bag and starts to eat it.  “OK, Pepino Suave, you’re next!” she says to no one in particular.  She throws “Casa Mi Padre” into the the limo’s DVD player and they all start to watch.

Scene closes with the muffled sound of a snoring miscalibrated chain saw coming from the trunk.

(See back end of limo departing down the road)

El Fin