A Rock And The Attention Span

In Virginia Heffernan’s essay “The Attention-Span Myth,” she argues against the “ineffable quality” (115) associated with the attention span. At first she provides both sides of the attention corruption by technology debate, but then questions the definition of the attention span and its very existence. According to Heffernan, the attention span is an inaccurate tool for measurement, as can be seen by looking at the works of past authors who recognize the virtues of “distractibility” (114). While she addresses the value of a short attention span, Heffernan fails to provide direct evidence in support of her “phantom idea of an attention span” (115) theory. She gets lost in the world of “hyperactive” (114) genius and never quite gets around to thoroughly backing up her concluding argument.

At 1:00 p.m. I entered into Evoline C. West Elementary school on Thursday, July 12 2012 for an interview with Mrs. Yolanda Lawrence. As I entered the classroom, I was greeted by Mrs. Lawrence, the head teacher in this classroom. Mrs. Lawrence has no assistant at this present because of it being in the summer. After I entered into the classroom, the entire class welcomed me with “hello Ms. Flournoy”. It made my day to see all of those smiley faces greeting me. This was a 2nd grade classroom which consisted of 17 students of which 8 were girls and 9 were boys. This interview and observation was a total of 2

It was not the voice they were familiar with to greet them. They had almost come to expect Mom’s warm, quipped voice, or perhaps Mrs. Fletcher’s sweet, pitched calls, given how many times it had happened in the third grade. They remembered the hot embarrassment of having her repeatedly yell to them in the middle of class, of having students snicker as their slow, sluggish returned to the present.

The witness swallowed hard. ‘She reached up an’ kissed me ‘side of th’ face. She says she never kissed a grown man before…. She says what her papa do to her don’t count….I didn’t wanta harm her, Mr. Finch, an’ I say lemme pass, but just when I say it Mr. Ewell yonder hollered through th’ window.’

All I had on my mind was that my little brother was falsely accused of vandalism. When I woke up and went to school the following morning, I immediately got called to the office. There I found Branden, Bryson, and Jack. They are football players that cause a lot of trouble . As soon as I walked in, Jack said; “Jake did it and you know it.” Me, knowing this wasn’t true, raised my voice and replied, “You’re a liar and don’t be accusing my brother of something you didn’t know he did! You and your friends probably did it!” At that point, the principal and resource officer pulled the three boys into the office. Soon after, another officer walked in the door. “Emiley, come with me please.” he said. Once we walked into his office, he had the tapes pulled up from that Friday night. “Which one is Jake?” he asked. I replied, “Jake isn’t in it.” While watching the tapes, I saw a blonde haired girl, she reminded me of Anna. I asked the officer, “Who’s that girl?” and he replied “I can’t tell you, is there any reason your brother might’ve done this? Vandalism may be an act of revenge, a way of expressing a political opinion, or a means of intimidation.” At this point, I was so annoyed I got up and walked out. As I left, I walked past the football players as they snickered and laughed. While I was walking back to class, my phone vibrated. My mom texted me saying, Your dad and I are on our way to

I walked up to the red line and positioned my left leg behind my right. I coughed as loudly as I could to get everyone’s attention. Slowly, people started to stop talking and stared at me with curiosity. I paced back and forth trying to decide which teacher I was going to pie in the face.

Cameron’s Class, which was my language arts class. Kaely usually sat right next to me for that class period and hardly ever missed school. In that moment I didn’t really think about it. Another teacher called Mr. Cameron out of class so he stepped out; when he returned he looked extremely pale and didn’t say a word. We were watching the film Animal Farm, after reading the novel. I asked to go use the restroom and he gave me a slight nod. When I entered the hallway I noticed that to my left there were three teachers. Out of the people in the group I could only distinguish Mr. Deutsch, who was my algebra I teacher. They were whispering and he had his hand covering his mouth like he was shocked by whatever one of the other teachers had stated. I didn’t want them to think I was being nosy so I went and relieved myself in the

"Tasnim, can you please stay after class? I need to talk to you." I let go of the door handle and whip my head back to face my third grade teacher Mrs. Russell. She said my name correctly for the first time all year, though her voice was stern. I realize that my jaw has dropped by the expression on her face as she peers over her laptop. As I walk slowly towards her, my classmates whisper, "Ooh she's in trouble" as they sprint out the door for recess. I stand near my teacher's desk waiting for all the students to leave and when the room is silent, Mrs. Russell says,

As I walked inside, all of the students and including the teacher sat in a circle, in the back corner of the classroom. The teacher started an activity by asking “What is the best way to start the day?” and before I knew it the entire classroom began to clap in a specific pattern. The teacher then continued, by facing the student to her right and saying “Good morning __(Students name)__”. Once

When as the clock struck the time to leave, my cranium would fill with anxiety. The scariest thing was to leave class because of what i thought other students were thinking. Nothing had happened to provoke the thoughts they just came about. It got worse and I could barely focus until I got to the reading room. Actually, even in the room, it was a struggle. Therefore I could not focus so I let my time float away.

The first day at my new school was strange. I didn’t know anyone. I went up the creaky staircase to my classroom. My teacher entered the room. The woman’s name was Mrs.son . She was a strange teacher. She almost looked possessed. Her eyes were huge and dark as blood. Her voice was low and mysterious. She gave us a unexplainable item.

All eyes are drawn to the massive figure standing in the middle of the room. Teacher has an intimidating figure that would scare most children who didn’t know her. She is hefty with an angry mop of dirty blond hair wrestling around on her head and her skin is tinted red due to high blood pressure. The bare face that adorns her skull is bare of makeup. She redeems herself

It all started in the classroom. I was in the back, sitting away from Jonathan. Ring, ring. The telephone rang. Mrs. Bargmann, my first-grade teacher, stopped teaching so she could answer the call. When she responded to the phone, the class erupted into chaos. I used my innate ability to block out all the sounds. Mrs. Bargmann announced, “Quiet down children. Steven, can you please go to the office? Your parents are here.” I gave no response as I doodled on the table. “Steven, your parents are here. Please go to the office,” she repeated. Again, Mrs. Bargmann received no response. She came over to me and continued, “Did you hear what I said? Your parents are here. Please go to the office.”

Standing in the doorway, palms sweating, heart pounding, and breathing heavy. It was my first day of fifth grade, as I walked through the doors my vision blurred and the noise was all muffled. I was so nervous. The thoughts going through my head were, “Who is going to be in my class?” “Am I going to make friends?” “Who am I going to sit by at lunch?” These thoughts have been with me throughout middle school and high school.

Suddenly, there was a hush in the room. The teacher had asked someone a question! I tried to seem casual as I glanced up to see if I was the unlucky person who had been called upon. My heart jumped and then I realized that the teacher was looking at the person to my right, waiting expectantly for an answer. I stared at the girl also, as if I was truly interested in whatever ramblings might come out of her mouth about the dead general and his battle. I felt my face grow warm with a slight blush as I became embarrassed for her and her inability to answer the question. She must have been paying as much attention to the lecture as I had been. Finally, she was able to formulate a less than mediocre answer that satisfied the monotone voice at the front of the room and the lecture resumed. Another glance back at the girl and I saw the cell phone palmed in her left hand down by her side. She had been text-messaging someone instead of paying attention!