We had some Prestigius alumni visit the school today so they could talk to the kids about how Prestigius was back when they went to school there (I didn't go, but I saw a photo of my room from the '70s, and man, the carpets were ugly back then).
Our room was visited by two women, mothers of current Prestigius kids, probably in their mid-thirties. One of the women said that she herself had been a kindergarten student in that very room where we sat now. The kids all oohed and ahhed at the living relic of ancient history, and one asked, "Was Mr. Chance your teacher?"
I said with as much dignity that I could muster that I was probably in first grade at the time.
One of the little girls, Z, a bossy type, accidentally poked L hard in the eye while they were waiting in line. She was probably jabbing her index finger in his face, acting all pushy. He screamed and cried (even though he was totally fine), and when I asked him what was the matter, he yelled, "Z poked me in my eye, and it was my best seeing eye!"
I introduced simple, three line book reports to the kids today (they write the title, one adjective about it, and then a short description of their favorite part). It went pretty well, but I was disappointed with L. This kid, whose mother is always raving about what a genius he is, and who can read way above his grade level, chose an extremely simple A-level reader with a lot of repetitive text and no story. When I later took L aside and said I'd like him to use that big brain of his to read a more challenging book and tell me a bit about it, he rubbed his chin and said, "Maybe I'll read a book in Chinese."
I'd settle for something with more than twenty words. Man, the gap between what L thinks he's capable of and what he actually produces is like the Grand Canyon over here.