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Photo from Farrar, Straus and Giroux
by Alicia Rudnicki, Library Mix

The Totally Made-Up Civil War Diary of Amanda MacLeish, by Claudia Mills, Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2008, ISBN 0-374-37696-4
Available from Powell's Books

I rubbed my eyelids till they were raw today, crying as I finished reading a children’s novel,The Totally Made-up Civil War Diary of Amanda MacLeish, by Claudia Mills.

 Divorce symbolizes secession
I cried for the misery of Amanda, whose forever-arguing parents were seceding from their marriage and tearing their family asunder. I cried for Polly, the 1860s farm girl in the fictional diary that Amanda was writing for her U.S. Civil War class project. Poor Polly! One brother was fighting for the North and the other for the South.

 I cried for the more than 600,000 soldiers who died in that war and for the estimated 100,000 soldiers under the age of 15, many of whom joined up for adventure.

A battalion of fifth graders
 Finally, I cried for the earnest student teacher I once was, leading a battalion of fifth graders through a Civil War unit.

 I involved my school's art, music, and library teachers in the project. The students painted abstract flags, sang the Battle Hymn of the Republic, and listened to the sad, sad story of how little Todd Lincoln heard about his father’s assassination. (He was across the street from the Ford Theatre watching a children’s play in another theatre.)

As part of a math lesson, we simulated the cramped quarters of a slave ship, my students huddling shoulder to shoulder on the floor, with their knees hugged to their chests.

 Using the writings of actual children, everyday people, and historical figures who experienced the Civil War, my students made dramatic presentations during literacy.

Hard tack and Ken Burns
We visited another classroom where a Civil War reenactor demonstrated how soldiers of the time dressed and lived. Nobody liked the hardtack biscuits he shared.

At night, I watched the Ken Burns’ PBS series The Civil War over and over to understand what had happened and to bring life to the lecture portion of my instruction.

But…the teacher whose class I was sharing didn’t like the project. She said that some of the students had complained about spending too much time on the Civil War. She said the history lesson should be the history lesson and that math, literacy, art, and library time should be kept separate.

Our partnership erupted into a civil war of sorts. To avoid enlisting students on either side of our battle, I withdrew to work in another classroom.

Bittersweet fiddling
So today, it all came back to me, and I fell in love with Mills’ fictional character, Amanda MacLeish. She is the kind of student who would likely never say that her teacher was spending too much time on the Civil War; the kind of student who connects past and present and enjoys "you were there" learning.

I also fell in love with James, Amanda’s biracial friend who plays a violin solo of the haunting theme song, Ashokan Farewell,  from the Ken Burns series for their fifth grade Civil War concert.

You can hear the tune that James played. Embedded below is a brother and sister duet of the bittersweet Ashokan Farewell that I found on YouTube.
 
 
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The rose bush in spring. Photo by A. Rudnicki
by Alicia Rudnicki, Library Mix

Life has its thorny problems both in and out of the garden. The other day, I was looking (not kindly I must admit) at a rosebush in my flower bed. It’s tall and should be at the back of the bed. But it is at the very front, like a big kid butting his way into the front of the line.

How the rosebush got there is unknown for it came with the house. Could some bird have dropped a seed? Was it the last vestige of a formerly glorious garden of tall rosebushes? Or did a former owner simply not know that you plant the tall flowers at the back of the bed and each subsequent row in front of the tall ones contain flowers that are shorter and shorter? The concept is the same as that of a class picture. Tall kids stand in the back row.

Ghost of growing seasons past
Some years ago, I dug the rosebush up and transplanted it to a better spot at the back of the bed. But it didn’t take. Instead, some ghost of growing seasons past had its way. Part of the bush must have remained deep in the soil of its original spot and, after biding its time for a year or so, sprang up tall, gangly, and demanding attention.

As I thought about the bush, I also thought about one of my students who often seems to go out of his way to disrupt instruction by talking…loudly…at all the wrong times. He has little self-control and a strong desire to demand everyone’s attention.

 Redirection does little to quiet him. Threats of phone calls home are shrugged off. Actual phone calls home only make him obstreperous. He is unmovable in his behaviors just as the rosebush is unmovable in its location.

Meeting them where they are
 So I’m working on a head adjustment. I’m attempting to meet them where they are and appreciate their finer qualities while trying not to provoke their thornier ones. The rosebush can stay if that is what it wants. When I have some money, I’ll purchase some other tall ones to balance out the back and middle of the bed.

 As to my mouthy student, he just isn’t a hands-up kind of guy when it comes to class discussions. So I’ve decided to acknowledge any good ideas he blurts in an effort to let him know that I appreciate his thinking.  Perhaps this will assuage his need for being the center of attention. Perhaps he will learn how to share discussion time with the entire class as I give up my old-fashioned notion of being head gardener.