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Kids Who Love Lines was written to educate children to the fun and ease of learning the names of lines. Its content assumes that the vocabulary of early geometry must be mastered before higher geometric concepts can be understood. Children in most of our 50 states must know by second grade the names for directional lines: left-to-right, up-and-down, slanted, and lines equidistant apart like the two rails of a railroad track. That's where Horizontal Hanna, Vertical Veebee, Diagonal Doovie/ Oblique Ollie, Parallel Peetie and Circular Cybil come in. There are 33 wacky illustrations of these five…mehr

Produktbeschreibung
Kids Who Love Lines was written to educate children to the fun and ease of learning the names of lines. Its content assumes that the vocabulary of early geometry must be mastered before higher geometric concepts can be understood. Children in most of our 50 states must know by second grade the names for directional lines: left-to-right, up-and-down, slanted, and lines equidistant apart like the two rails of a railroad track. That's where Horizontal Hanna, Vertical Veebee, Diagonal Doovie/ Oblique Ollie, Parallel Peetie and Circular Cybil come in. There are 33 wacky illustrations of these five outlandish characters. Their zany lives are described in easy to read rhyme. By the time you're finished with these kids, you'll discover that their "teaching" is practical and painless. And you will gain a new awareness and appreciation for the thousands of lines and line segments that fill our world and flood our imaginations. Kids Who Love Lines is just the beginning of someone's exploration. It could be a child who doesn't know the concept of diagonal/oblique. However, just one look and laugh at the antics of Diagonal Doovie/ Oblique Ollie and the concept is laid bare. No sweat. And here's the hope: That child too will find a way into the see-saw world of slope.
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Autorenporträt
For 27 years I was a classroom teacher on the South Plains of Texas. I taught in Union, Brownfield, Littlefield and Levelland, instructing every grade level except kindergarten and sixth. For me, "to go up in the world of education" was "to come down." My last decade of teaching was spent with first through fifth graders. Academically, I hold a BS degree in journalism, a master's degree in education, and 33 post-graduate hours in literature. Both degrees were received from West Texas State University in Canyon, and the post graduate hours were gained at Texas Tech University in Lubbock. Prior to teaching I worked for three West Texas newspapers as a sports editor and news editor. Later, darkroom work and photography that I learned in college and on the job led me to studio photography. Before my newspaper days, I was a "roustabout" in area oil fields, a "roughneck" on a drilling rig, and a vagabond. (When I was 25 I set out to hitch-hike around the world, but left home without a work permit and sufficient cash. I was deported by the British Immigration Authorities because I lacked both of those necessary items.) At one time or another in my zig-zag past, I was also a lay minister, a door-to-door salesman, a public speaker, a farmer and a rancher. (The nearest I've come to dying is when I "worked" 18 head of cattle, all with shipping fever, all by myself). My wife reprimanded me later, "That wasn't very smart for an educated person." My intoxication with poetry began when my fourth grade teacher, Miss Gracy had us memorize The Table and the Chair by Edward Lear. From that seemingly unimportant encounter I was a captive forevermore. Still today, I memorize all my poetry, making for a more natural presentation to children. During such a recitation there is no grander picture or reward than looking into the rapt and glowing face of a child who is lost in his own poetic wonderland. My wife, Lavoy, a teacher for 37 years, and I are retired and live in Levelland. Together we share common interests in learning and travel. We've heard the bagpipers in the Highlands of Scotland, kissed the Blarney Stone in Ireland, swam in the Aegean Sea, and climbed the slick granite rocks to the Acropolis in Athens, Greece. There's little that compares to exotic places and to its people unless it's quoting poetry to a roomful of spellbound children.