My new “place” in the school is a loft above the media center that used to be the computer lab. Whenever I am at my desk checking email or jotting notes, I can hear the media specialist working with classes downstairs.
Last week, while typing away on my laptop, I was dimly aware of a lesson on Cinderella Around the World with second grade, until . . .
“Any questions?—Yes?” asks the media specialist. I can tell by the tone that a hand is in the air.
“Are you a Hufflepuff?”
—Giggles. My own. There’s a whole subculture of Harry Potter mania at our school in which I may have played a small, a very, very small, part . . . .
“Ugghhh, no!” retorts Ms. S., the media specialist. “Ahem, I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with Hufflepuffs . . . .”
Another small voice: “What are you, then?”
Clearly the question of Hogwarts house identity is of vital importance. Cinderella must wait until it’s answered.
Which it is, magnanimously.
“I’m a Ravenclaw,” announces Ms. S. “And so is . . . . ” She proceeds to name several of our teaching colleagues. I get a fleeting sense of actually being at Hogwarts, where everyone belongs to a house. “But Mrs. K. is a Hufflepuff.”
And Mrs. Haley is a Gryffindor, I mentally add, still typing up in my loft, surrounded by Potter memorabilia that kids across grade levels love to peruse.
“What’s Mrs. L.?” one of the kids asks.
“A Slytherin,” says Ms. S.
A collective GASP! from the class.
“Well, there are lots of good Slytherins, you know,” says Ms. S.
I stop typing.
Social psychology with Harry Potter. Breaking stereotypes. That could be a whole unit in itself . . . imagine . . . .
Poor Cinderella. No one seems to mind that her world tour is utterly derailed, at least for the moment.
—I am just waiting for the kids to ask what house SHE’D be in.