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The back of my classroom is my own private domain.  I have my laptop, my desk, my toys. . . and piles of paper, if I’m being brutally honest.  On the first day of school, I impress upon the children that one does not simply enter my lair.  One must be invited. I understand the appeal—I have a lot of cool stuff.  I wouldn’t leave my lair at all if I didn’t have to, you know, teach my classes.

Today a student, clearly attracted by a shiny object of some sort, wandered into my lair while we were waiting for dismissal.  I could see that she wasn’t hurting anything, so I let her look at whatever she was looking at.  Another student saw her, gasped, and shouted, “GET OUT OF HER DUNGEON!”  

Apparently I am the potions professor at Hogwarts.

Iceberg! Dead Ahead!

This week my classes have been reading an excerpt from Exploring the Titanic by Robert Ballard.  At this point we are far enough removed from the James Cameron movie Titanic that I only have occasional questions about why Jack didn't get on the raft at the end and other historical discrepancies.  Praise be.

We spend some quality time discussing how the ship was constructed, being as that's hugely relevant to why it sank so quickly.  I put my incredible artistic skills to good use by sketching the ship complete with watertight compartments and four funnels.  When the ship grazed the iceberg, it popped off the rivets in five of the front compartments, which basically doomed the ship.  I cleverly indicated where the gash was with my red marker... I'm always thinking.  Once the front compartments filled with water and the bow began to sink, it was only a matter of time before the water overflowed into the next compartment, and so on.  History comes alive in my drawing. 

Because my drawing was so incredible, I didn't erase it before the end of class.  We packed up and headed out to the curb for pick-up.  When I returned to my room, I noticed that someone had added what is perhaps the biggest understatement in all of recorded maritime history:

You're not wrong, kid.