classroom notes #6: playground duties and playground joys

Playground duty can be tedious and neverending, the 15 minutes stretching into eternity as swarms of kids holler and whoop around you louder than wild monkeys. But then a little girl with endearing pigtails and sticky fingers will skip along with a sunny smile...

"Miss Hester, Miss Hester!!! How old are you?!!!?" The exclamations audible in the excited speech.

"Hmm. How old are _you_?" Question asked with a quizzical pose.

"I am SEVEN years old!" Shouted jubilantly with a little bounce to accentuate.

"Seven years old!!! Me too! I'm seven years old too!" Paired with an incredulous expression.

"NOOOO! You're not seven years old!" Giggles galore.

"How old is Miss Hester?"

"Uhhh... one hundred years old!" Giggles escalating.

"One hundred? Oh no!"

"Yes! Miss Hester is one hundred!" She takes my hand.

"Miss Hester is old." And a sad little frown.

"You are beautiful! I love you!" Swings our joined hands.

"Thank you." With a little bow.

"You're welcome." And then off she runs after giving me a half eaten gummy.

Sometimes you gotta love your job.

classroom notes #5: little moments

I’m backstage frantically giving last minute reminders before the kids go onstage for the Speech Festival competition. I make my way down the line adjusting hair ribbons, straightening shirts and cardigans and then I reach Holvin, a precocious Grade 1 little boy who’s so cute he breaks your heart and who will probably be breaking young girls’ hearts in another 10 years or so. He has a low raspy voice that's more befitting of a big burly man rather than this smidgen of a boy barely 3’ tall.

“Holvin, remember to speak loudly but don’t shout.” I adjust the cardigan that’s three sizes too large for him, my fingers trembling with anxiety at how they’ll perform and realizing everything is out of my hands now.

“Okay.” In a stage whisper that booms across the hall.

“Loud, but not too loud.” On my knees looking into his eyes.

“Miss Hester, you already say many times.” He looks back at me, eyes so serious.

“I know. Miss Hester is just nervous.” I give his nose a little rub with my fingertip.

He brings his cheek to my cheek, reaches up to pat my other cheek and then whispers into my ear.

“I know.” He gives my nose a little rub with his fingertip and then off he goes with the rest of the kids onto the stage and into the bright lights.


... And they were marvellous.

classroom notes #4: a teacher's patience

"Miss Hester, what's "flied" past tense?"

"'Flied' past tense?"

"Uhhh... 'Fly'?"

"You should know it! You learned it in your verb list. Think first."

"Uhhh... 'Flew'?"

"Yup. How do you spell it?"

"I don't know."

"Did you forget what Miss Hester said before? You can't tell me, 'I don't know'."

"Uhhh... F-L-U?"

"U?"

"Uhhh... F-L-E-U?"

"E-U? There's only one vowel."

"Uhhh... F-L-E-B... F-L-E-C... F-L-E-D... F-L-E-E... F-L-E-F..." (He proceeds to go down the alphabet...)

"And which one do you think is the correct answer?"

"Uhhh... I don't know..."

"Don't say, 'I don't know'!"

"Uhhh... okay. Can you tell me the answer now?"

"F-L-E... Double-u."

*Pencil scratching away* ... F-L-E-U-U...

*blink*

classroom notes #3: putting on a performance

A teacher...

Dances like a clown.
Gestures wildly like a crazed mime.
Pulls more faces than a monkey.
Circles the classroom as on a trapeze.
Balances like an acrobat.
Juggles, sings, and dances, sometimes all simultaneously.
Flaps, quacks, whoops, and hollers.

We are an entire circus...

... sometimes played to a dead crowd.

classroom notes #2: always have a plan B...

... C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y, and Z...

classroom notes #1: a walking zombie

Being a teacher is like being a parent to 35 (or more!) kids. Sometimes, we see the kids more than their own parents do. Aside from the actual teaching, we're also the caretakers, mediators, comforters, discipliner, listener of problems big and small, and all the 'ers' associated with being a parent. The energy output during a lesson is the equivalent of a marathon. I still remember my very first class ever during my practicum. My professor who was observing me noted that I was on a downward energy curve around the halfway mark of the double lesson. And that was only secondary school. Primary school requires twice the energy and twice the patience but perhaps half the disciplining... So, is it any wonder why I live life in a vegetative state whenever I'm off work? Next time you see me yawn at you, kindly remember that I spent the day dealing with kids in full-out tantrums, crying kids, pukey kids, biting kids, hyperactive kids, tattling kids, green kids, blue kids, red kids...