What Three People Said About Using My Humanities Resources in the Classroom with Actual Students

Discover what educators are saying about my engaging, classroom-tested Humanities and ELA resources for middle and high school teachers and students.

I create fun, engaging Middle and High School ELA activities loved by teachers, perfect for philosophy, mythology, and diverse, growth-minded classrooms.

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Sandcastle Moments and Subway Shirts: A Midlife Sabbatical from Queens to the Gulf

On sabbatical and soul-searching, I reflect on family, identity, and what it means to start over—again—from Louisiana to New York.

I woke up this morning from vivid dreams of libraries, petty theft, and people from my past. My mother was telling me to hurry up and get on with it—classic dream logic.

The Sabbatical Life

I’ve taken on a self-imposed sabbatical. That’s the nicest way I can frame it because no one really wants to hear the words “unemployed” or “jobless.” But that’s where I’m at—and it’s a decision I made. I’m a teacher by trade, though I’ve worn many hats (and I’m not even talking about reincarnation).

I plan to be back in a classroom by September. (And if you’re reading this before then, dear reader, don’t jinx it.)

I like to call this a sandcastle moment: one of those times when the tide comes in and sweeps away the intricate structure you’ve built, and all you can do is start again. As a kid, I loved standing in the wet sand, letting the waves rush over my feet, tugging at the earth beneath me. That was the Gulf of Mexico of my childhood—a brown, brackish sea that never made it onto postcards.

Now, as an adult, I avoid beaches. Sand gets everywhere. But childhood made them magical.

Adult Life and the Flotsam of Responsibility

In adulthood, I’ve lost that innocent lens. Bills pile up. Garbage needs to be taken out. Taxes lurk. Cover letters wait to be written. I distract myself by listening to that haunting song from Donnie Darko—you know, the one with the time-traveling rabbit (cue Mad World by Gary Jules).

Still, I know I’m a good teacher because I’m not afraid of mess. I am, however, sensitive—to place, to atmosphere. I left my most recent job after only nine months (a full gestation), right after February break.

Part of that was my gut talking—something I’ve learned to trust, even if I come across as sweet and naïve. And part of it was concern for my mother, who had undergone two major surgeries in as many months. The last time I’d seen her was when we buried my father.

In a dream, a banshee hissed at me: “What if your mom dies, and the last time you saw her was at your father’s funeral?” So, I booked a flight from LGA to New Orleans and went home.

Action Figure Challenge on Chat GPT: A Photorealistic Action Figure of Me Teaching Humanities (Complete with Books, Coffee, and Whiteboard Charm)

A photorealistic action figure tribute to the everyday magic of teaching humanities — complete with books, coffee, and chalkboard charm.

"Greig, Humanities Teacher" Action Figure

I can relate to the "Action Figure Challenge" because it brings back memories of me as a kid ogling the newest He-Man action figures in my local K-Mart toy aisle while my mom gathered supplies from the housekeeping department (if you know, you know). When I noticed people using OpenAI's image-generating capabilities to create bespoke action figures of themselves in their professional roles, I knew I had to participate and share my own creation.

Participating in this challenge also serves as a form of healing from a disappointing experience I had with Hasbro and their G.I. Joe action figure promotion. The deal was simple: fill out a form, mail it in with some money, and receive a personalized action figure crafted to your specifications. However, instead of the custom figure I envisioned, Hasbro sent an obviously generic figure with only a printout listing my specifications. Even as a naïve ten-year-old, I knew something was amiss. So here's to you, Hasbro — you contributed to the end of my childhood innocence.

Now that I'm forty-something, I don't exactly play with action figures anymore, though I still have a few figurines hanging around—a pink capybara and a woolly mammoth from Amherst College. Sadly, all my original G.I. Joe, Star Wars, and He-Man figurines are probably languishing in a trash heap somewhere in Arabi, Louisiana (which, in my imagination, is the universal dumping ground awaiting collection by a garbage boat on the Mississippi River).

There's something reflective and even psychologically compelling about action figures. Ostensibly, they're designed for children — particularly those between school age and pre-adolescence, a time when the human mind is especially attuned to play, mimicry, and exploring inner, yet undeveloped fantasies. As a kid, your agency is limited, and you're often at the mercy of your parents. Toy play becomes a way to compensate for this lack of control, simultaneously shaping your vision of your future self. It makes sense, then, why the action figure challenge is trending now: in uncertain times, we often seek solace by imagining ourselves in a simpler era—even though we know, deep down, such simplicity never truly existed.

Here is the prompt I used and fed to Chat GPT (I also added a photograph for the AI to use as a reference:

A full-figure action figure of a person displayed in its original blister pack packaging. 3D toy style.

The packaging header prominently displays the name 'Greig' using bold, stylish typography appropriate for a modern collectible figure. Below or tastefully integrated nearby, the role 'Humanities Teacher' is shown in a clear, complementary font. The overall text design should feel fashionable, appealing, and thematically aligned with the academic and intellectual world of the humanities.

The figure represents Greig and is wearing a dark navy polo shirt tucked into black slacks, reflecting a relaxed yet professional teacher style. His stance is slightly casual with one hand on his hip, conveying an approachable, conversational classroom demeanor. The figure's face should closely resemble the provided image reference.

Inside the blister pack, next to the figure, are the following accessories: a whiteboard with marker, a stack of classic literature books, a reusable coffee mug, a "grading" clipboard, a small desk nameplate that reads “Mr. Greig,” and a laminated class syllabus.

The packaging card design features a chalkboard green background with faint classical architecture sketches and literature quotes, creating an overall attractive and professional backdrop. Add realistic lighting effects that simulate glossy plastic — including soft reflections, subtle highlights, and shadow gradients on the blister surface — to enhance the sense of depth, transparency, and three-dimensionality, making the toy packaging appear lifelike and premium.

Photorealistic rendering, studio lighting, clear focus on the packaging and figure. --ar 2:3

Have you completed the "Action Figure" challenge? Share a link to your creations. I'd love to see 'em.

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Interpreting William Blake’s ‘London’: A Deep Dive into 18th Century British Society

In this post, we’re delving into the depths of the London scene portrayed by William Blake, the renowned 18th-century British romantic poet. His evocative poem, “London”, paints a stark picture of urban life at the onset of the Industrial Revolution, a time when the agrarian society was fading into history, making way for the hustle and bustle of city life.

Original Print of Blake's "London"

Blake’s poem is a potent social critique, where the language is economical, yet the power of his word choice is profound. He makes use of repeated phrases and words, drawing attention to the dichotomy of city life and nature, the man-made versus the natural, the stark reality versus the fairy tale expectation.

“London” is not a mere depiction of city life. Rather, it presents a narrator wandering through its streets, observing and internalizing the miseries of humanity he encounters. There’s an aura of loneliness and unhappiness, a sense of disconnect despite being surrounded by others, which resonates with anyone who has ever experienced the anonymity of urban life.

Blake’s narrator points to the marks of weakness and exhaustion on the faces of those coming from factories, critiquing the exploitative labor conditions of the time. The poet also highlights societal apathy towards the suffering of young chimney sweepers, a tragic reminder of the city’s dark secrets. The chimney sweepers, who were often children, worked in deplorable conditions, their plight remaining unnoticed or ignored by the very society that benefitted from their labor.

Blake doesn’t hold back in his critique of institutional indifference. The Church and the State, he argues, are indifferent to human suffering and injustice. The poem illustrates the plight of soldiers shedding blood for the interests of the state and the harlots who were often inflicted with diseases, only to pass them onto their customers who would unknowingly bring them back home.

The poem doesn’t offer a solution. Instead, it acts as a protest, crying out against societal ills and apathy. Blake presents a vivid picture of a society manacled by its own despair, bound by the chains of its inaction. By voicing out these atrocities, the poet forces us to confront our own complacency and challenges us to question what we would do in the face of such human misery.

Blake, who was also a skilled printmaker, often supplemented his poems with visual imagery. For “London”, he illustrates a young boy leading an old man and a child warming up by a fire, which further highlights the pervasiveness of suffering in the city.

In essence, Blake’s “London” is not just a depiction of city life, but a thought-provoking critique of society and a plea for empathy and action. Although it doesn’t end on a note of hope, it prompts us to reflect on our role in society and to consider how we can alleviate the suffering around us.

Hey, Teachers!

Teach the poem "London" to students in middle and high school with a jam-packed teacher resource on William Blake's London and the Industrial Revolution.

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Poem: The Bars Closed / So Are We

Most mornings, I rouse myself—

today, the clock glares at 4:22,

propped up in my temple-bed.

Mornings always feel so hard,

but I’m determined—

I fish for clothes in the hamper

and push myself out into bleak, wet Queens.

You know, after 4 AM is a switch point:

New York City’s bars have closed,

spilling a puddle of people

onto the damp streets—

Megan, all curves on Roosevelt Avenue,

and denizens of the club,

shouting loudly and hugging each other

in their glaring halter tops

and early spring jerseys—

like completing a ritual, inebriated but satisfied,

reluctant to return

to whatever fragile domesticity waits.

I’m with them—

just trying to catch a train.

And in that crowd,

something inside me steadies,

as though I’ve found a handle

on the world for a moment,

glad not to be alone

in my own head.

By the time I meet Joshua at Penn Station,

I’m more myself,

a quiet song building in my mind.

He’s already awake,

his T-shirt too tight but somehow easy on him.

I grin at how polite he is

to the train attendant,

asking where coach class is—

I could have told him,

but I’m busy weaving stories

in my head, barely hearing him say,

“I’m glad you’re with me.”

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Unlocking Greek Mythology: Fresh Vocabulary Lessons Your Students Will Love Before Spring Break!

I bet you are ready for Spring Break (or maybe it has already started)—especially if you teach middle and high school. I know I am. Whether you are teaching mythology to middle school students in an ELA class, or you are diving into Homer's epics with high school students—the weeks before spring break are an effective time to do something different with all those myths you are reading. Bernard Evslin, in his fantastic book of Greek myth, has a chapter on vocabulary called "When Myth Becomes Language". I have created a slew of resources to connect the murky, enigmatic myths we read with kids to how these stories are part of our everyday life and language. Check it out, and I guarantee your students will appreciate the fresh look (while helping them build academic vocabulary).

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Bring Greek Mythology into Everyday Life: Engaging Lessons on How Myth Becomes Language!

Are your students fascinated by Greek myths but wondering how these ancient stories relate to their lives today? Inspired by Bernard Evslin's insightful exploration of myth and language, these classroom-ready resources vividly demonstrate how mythology permeates our everyday vocabulary and expressions.

Perfectly suited for middle school ELA classes or high school students diving into Homer’s epics, this collection offers an exciting shift from traditional teaching—especially ideal for the energizing weeks leading up to Spring Break!

Your students will:

✓ Explore engaging vocabulary activities that directly link mythical stories to modern language.

✓ Discover how common words and expressions originated from the rich tapestry of Greek mythology.

✓ Participate in interactive exercises that build essential academic vocabulary skills aligned with Common Core Standards.

✓ Make meaningful connections between ancient texts and contemporary life, deepening their appreciation and understanding of literature.

Students love working with these myth-related vocabulary cards.
Buy them on the Stones of Erasmus TpT store.

Classroom-tested and designed for active engagement, these lessons turn mythology into accessible, intriguing, and highly relevant content your students will love. Boost student enthusiasm and vocabulary retention with this dynamic, practical resource set.

Digital Download: Comprehensive, easy-to-use materials guaranteed to add depth and excitement to your ELA and Humanities curriculum.

Free Mythology Resource

Not sure what to teach next? Here's a freebie to get you started. I compiled some of my most popular reading cards from units I have assembled for Stones of Erasmus.

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Flash Fiction: Hashtag Smart (A Story Out of School)

I wrote a flash fiction piece—called 'Hashtag smart'—about a teacher, Mr. Stanley, in an 11th grade English class overrun every morning by a group of 10th grade boys. Discover quirky student banter, T.S. Eliot echoes, and a nostalgic, witty classroom vibe.

Mr. Stanley and His Second Period English Language Arts Class

Hashtag Smart

Tuesday morning, 8:56 AM. My second-period English Language Arts class. My class is 11th graders—some already seated, a copy of T.S. Eliot’s “Journey of the Magi” scattered neatly on every particleboard desk. Adolescents shuffle in, earbuds firmly planted, eyes downcast, looking like they just tumbled in from sleep. It’s an unusually tepid March day, and the AC in my room is blasting like it’s the middle of July. Why? My classroom still has these ancient 1950s grill heaters that think it’s their job to keep us all toasty—even in March.

“It’s a sauna in here,” I say out loud, but to no one in particular. Allan, a mobile gamer aficionado, who’s always a beat behind—like he’s buffering—enters the room. 

“Hi, Allan,” I offer.

He responds, “Huh?”

“Hi,” I say. I wait a beat. And then—“Oh, hey, Mr. Stanley.” Robbie, the athlete, is already dribbling an imaginary basketball. A mess of them. But these boys are not in my class. “Feral golden retrievers,” I dub them—left teacherless for a few minutes because their real teacher is perennially late, trekking from her homeroom on the top floor. So, these 10th-grade boys have taken to nesting in my room until she arrives. It’s become a bit of a ritual, and who am I to ruin their squatter status?

 

There are ditches I no longer die in.

Enrique, stabbing Quentin with the blunt end of a ball-point pen, tells me, “Mr. Stanley, did you know the teacher who’s going to replace you did like a lesson in Ms. Patil’s class yesterday?” I was quitting after teaching in the same school for sixteen years. I had broken the news to the kids just a few days prior. But it still felt raw. Premature. But I offered demurely, “Oh, really? How’d it go?” Enrique grins, “He kept saying ‘hashtag smart’ every time someone answered a question.” Marsha, one of my quirkier students, and actually on my second-period roster, chimes in, “Hashtag smart? That’s so stupid.” 

I secretly relished her response. A kind of commiseration. 

A tinny voice from the hallway—“Don’t be tardy, y’all,” and the stragglers, reluctant, evacuate.

Flash forward. June.

I’m packing up books, and those loitering-sophomore boys from second period show up in my room. They’d just finished their finals, and here they were as if it were two minutes before second period. We chat about summer plans—Anton’s off to summer camp, Robbie might visit family in Belize, and Yuvraj, the one I call “The Prince,” is still insisting he’s a better writer than I am.

Then silence. I take the initiative. And walk towards the door. And like a dismissal, the boys depart. And I stood there in my vacant room. But one of the boys—Yuvraj, the Prince, pokes his head back in—“Hey, Mr. Stanley. Hashtag smart!” And before I can rejoinder—he’s gone. I cross my arms across my chest. A wan smile settles there. And, as T.S. Eliot might say, it was satisfactory.

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