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I�m sending home a sample of the type of paper we use in the class room. I have written your child�s name on it so you can see how we use the lines and spaces. They can practice tonight on this paper. If you wish, you can make similar practice pages for this year�s work at home by using ordinary loose leaf and marking it with a ruler and red (or pink) pen or pencil crayon. Hope this helps.

Thanks, D.L.

Oh Mann. Heute ist Meet the teacher night. In einer idealen Welt wuerde ich ja dort hingehen und dieser unglueckseligen besessenen Ms. L mehrmals mit meiner Handtasche ueber den Schaedel hauen (ich habe keine Handtasche, aber in einer idealen Welt haette ich vielleicht eine, oder ich wuerde eben eine Art Beutel fuer den Zweck mitbringen) und dazu rufen: Here, Ms. L., this is what I think about your miserable lined paper, this is what I think about putting little kids to tests the second week of their school life, this is what I think about making them practice writing their stupid name with uppercase and lowercase letters and remember to stick to the lines!, at home after six hours of school!, this is what I think about you making our life miserable, you miserable old bitch, you.

So wird aber natuerlich alles ganz zivilisiert zugehen und ich werde Tonnen von Verstaendnis fuer die bloede alte Schlampe haben, die natuerlich in ihrer Hilfslehrerausbildung vor 48 Jahren unmoeglich etwas von den Ideen des letzten halben Jahrhunderts mitgekriegt haben kann. Was fuer eine Scheisse.
Ich dachte ja, warum muessen wir so scheiss elitaer sein. Warum soll Karla nicht in eine Schule mit den ganzen Prollkindern und den anderen Asylbewerbern gehen. Aber mein Gott, what was I thinking?

Mit dem Kursivjaeten fange ich morgen an. Vielleicht.

P.S. The Six-Lesson Schoolteacher, von dem Gatto mit dem Harpers-Artikel. Guter, zorniger Mann.

"The second lesson I teach kids is to turn on and off like a light switch. I demand that they become totally involved in my lessons, jumping up and down in their seats with anticipation, competing vigorously with each other for my favor. But when the bell rings I insist that they drop the work at once and proceed quickly to the next work station. Nothing important is ever finished in my class, nor in any other class I know of.

The lesson of bells is that no work is worth finishing, so why care too deeply about anything? Bells are the secret logic of schooltime; their argument is inexorable; bells destroy past and future, converting every interval into a sameness, as an abstract map makes every living mountain and river the same even though they are not. Bells inoculate each undertaking with indifference."

"The fourth lesson I teach is that only I determine what curriculum you will study. (Rather, I enforce decisions transmitted by the people who pay me). This power lets me separate good kids from bad kids instantly. Good kids do the tasks I appoint with a minimum of conflict and a decent show of enthusiasm. Of the millions of things of value to learn, I decide what few we have time for. The choices are mine. Curiosity has no important place in my work, only conformity."

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