Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind (20 page)

As we continued reading
Charlie,
I looked out at my students. Melanie was twiddling her earring. John was swinging his legs back and forth under the desk.
Laura was tightening her ponytail. Sarah was straightening her curls. Conner was sucking on his bookmark. This made sense,
of course. These things make reading more enjoyable to kids. It’s instinctive — like eating the frosting in Oreos first. In
fact, I have learned that children have their
own
set of reading strategies:

As soon as you hand an eight-year-old boy a book, his free hand will immediately reach into his desk and grab the nearest
small object — a marble, a ruler, a coin, a paper clip. Because children know that holding things helps you read better. If
you don’t believe me, watch what happens when they drop the marble or ruler or coin or paper clip. Their reading will come
to a screeching halt until they find it.

With the book in one hand and the paper clip securely in the other, he will lean on the back two legs of his chair and stay
there as long as he possibly can until the teacher comes over and pushes the chair back to the floor or the student falls
over. When falling, he may let go of the book — but
never
will he let go of the paper clip.

When an eight-year-old girl starts reading, she will immediately begin twisting her hair around her fingers or twirling her
bangs around her pencil. If her hair is already curly, she will pull on it like a Crissy Doll with hair that grows and grows.

The longer a child reads at his desk, the closer he will sink to the floor. If he is sitting on the reading couch, he will
take the sofa cushion down to the floor with him.

When it is time for children to break into pairs and read together, you will see them run to the corners of the room, hide
behind the piano, crawl under the desks, disappear under tables, and squeeze into their cubbies. Reading is more fun for kids
when the teacher can’t see them.

Have you ever observed a classroom full of third graders sitting at their desks with books in their hands while you are reading
aloud? It’s a regular all-you-can-eat buffet out there. They’re chewing on collars, pigtails, marker caps, pink erasers —
you name it. One day during reading time, John was eating his pencil as if it were a dog bone. I stopped reading.

“John, you’re going to get lead poisoning if you do that.”

He just snickered and kept on chewing.

Look at my pencil box if you don’t believe me. Right now I only have one pencil in there that still has any yellow paint on
it. All the pencils are covered with baby teeth marks. Some have been chewed in half. By the looks of those things you’d think
I teach a bunch of beavers.

I stood up and walked over to John. “Okay, hand it over.” John took the pencil out of his mouth and gave it to me. It was
all slimy. “YUCK!”

Laughter sped around the room as I wiped my hands on my shirt and took a seat. Then I picked up my book and resumed reading.
Pretty soon John was nibbling on his eraser. Trevor was gnawing his fingernails. Conner was sucking his watch. Chloe was braiding
her bangs. Dylan was sucking the string on his hoodie. And Gina was teething on her headband. Just as I was turning the page
John yelled out, “When’s lunch? I’m hungry.” I reached over to my desk and threw him another pencil.

T
he first week back from winter break, I have my students write their New Year’s resolutions. Kids’ resolutions don’t change
much from year to year: “I want to improve in my times tables.” “I would like to get better at cursive.” “I’m going to make
my bed every day.” “I won’t fight with my brother.” This year Angela wrote, “I want a new puppy.”

“Uh… Angela, this isn’t really a resolution.” I explained, “A resolution is something you want to improve in or a change you’d
like to make.”

She rewrote it: “I want to change the way my mom feels about having a new puppy.”

My own resolutions are the same every year, too: I want to exercise more. I want to learn how to play the piano with more
than one hand. I want to lose a few pounds. Actually, hoping to lose weight is my room moms’ fault. They don’t know what to
buy Man Teachers for Christmas so they send in platters of homemade fudge.

This week as I was looking around Barnes & Noble, I checked out the diet section. I was shocked at how many different books
there were. On the covers were photos of low-cal appetizers, light salads, lean entrées, and guiltless desserts. After a couple
of minutes I had to get out of there. All that food was making me hungry.

I went online and found a site called The Calorie Calculator. It gives calorie expenditures for hundreds of different activities.
I typed in my weight and started scanning the list:

Hmm,
I thought.
I wonder how many calories I burn up in a day at work.
I grabbed paper and pencil and started making a list:

Today I led my kids to the cafeteria, followed my class to the library, and marched five third graders straight into the principal’s
office (walking on the job). I lifted three fifth-grade boys off a pileup on the field when they were supposed to be playing
touch football (moving heavy objects). I sharpened two packs of pencils in the electric pencil sharpener (using heavy power
tools).

I wrestled the class bunny out of the cage so I could clean it (caring for animals). I scrubbed the hairs on the paintbrushes
that had morphed into rocks because I forgot to wash them yesterday (heavy cleaning). I turned the jump rope at recess (outdoor
games). Actually, I can count that one twice. We played Double Dutch.

But that was just the beginning. According to the Web site, I burn up calories whenever I pass out a worksheet, push the paper
cutter, pull down the white screen, pin on a name tag, pick up a backpack, press a thumbtack, pump up a rubber ball, or even
unpeel an orange.

At the end of the day, I added everything up. “Oh my gosh!” I screamed, hitting the final equals sign on my calculator. I
burn more than three thousand calories in just one day at work! I’ll work this fudge off in no time. Heck — I don’t need to
go on a diet. I’ve already got one! I teach.

W
henever Bob my principal is going to be away at a conference or a seminar, he asks me to be the teacher in charge. It’s fun.
A substitute takes my class, and I get to do the things that principals do. In the morning, I greet children as they step
off the bus and get dozens of leg hugs from the kindergartners. At recess, I make sure kids are not sitting on the tetherballs
hanging on the poles. During the day, I walk around the classes and snatch candy from their estimating jars. At lunch, I open
stubborn mustard packets with my teeth. After school, I stand at the bus stop and get dozens more leg hugs good-bye.

Once when I was the teacher in charge, a kindergartner walked into the office after the bell rang.

“Are you tardy?” I asked.

“No,” he answered. “I’m Tommy.”

Another year when I was supervising kids in the cafeteria, one rascal read the menu on the wall, put his hand on his forehead,
and proclaimed, “What? No wine list?” Last year I was standing out at the bus stop with a colleague when she spotted one of
her first graders walking away from school.

“Mindy,” the teacher called out, “aren’t you a bus rider?”

“No,” she shouted back, “I’m a street walker.”

This week the day after Bob left for a training session, our school’s furnace broke down. I work in an old building. This
wasn’t the first time it had broken. The heater seems to break down every winter. I had spent most of the morning with maintenance
trying to get the heater fixed. At lunchtime, Kim poked her head in the boiler room. I was talking with the mechanic.

“Uh… excuse me, Mr. Done,” Kim said, “I think you need to talk with a few of my cherubs.”

“Why?” I asked.

She breathed in. “We had a bit of a problem in the boys’ bathroom.”

“What happened?”

“Well… four of my boys decided to put their willies onto the heating grate.”

The whites of my eyes doubled in size. The mechanic started laughing.

“What?”
I asked.

“You heard me.”

“Why?”
I said, rubbing my forehead.

Kim smirked. “They said they were trying to heat ’em up.”

I looked at the mechanic. “See why we need to get this thing fixed.” I turned back to Kim. “Can’t this wait till Bob gets
back?”

She shook her head.

I took in a big breath and let it out. “Okay, send them to me.”

A couple of minutes later, four second graders marched into the principal’s office with their heads down. I sat on the corner
of the desk. They sat two to a chair. Among their eight shoes, only three were tied. After learning their names, I gave them
the Keep Your Zippers Up Speech in my best Judge Wapner voice.

“So, do you boys understand?”

They nodded vigorously.

“And is this going to happen again?”

They shook their heads.

Then I handed each one a piece of paper and a pencil. “Now, you boys are going to write letters to your parents.” (I sure
wasn’t going to call home and explain.) The boys looked surprised and stared at the papers. “Come on now. Get going.”

“What do we write?” Matthew whined.

I pursed my lips. “Well… explain what happened and that you won’t do it again.”

The boys started writing.

After a few moments, Tyler raised his hand.

“What is it?” I said.

“How do you spell
wee-wee
?” he asked, matter-of-factly.

I gaped at him.

“I know,” declared Alex.
“W-E. W-E.”

“Uh… that’s close,” I said, “but not quite.” I looked over at Tyler. “It’s
W-E-E. W-E-E.
”

Tyler raised both palms. “Wait. Slow down.”

I repeated it slowly. “
W-E-E
space
W-E-E.
” (I know there is a hyphen in between those two
wee
s, but I did not want to confuse the little guy.)

“I’m done,” Matthew announced, sliding out of his chair.

“Already?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Let me see it.”

Matthew handed me his paper. It read: “I poot my pee pee in the hetr.”

Well, at least he got “pee pee” right.

“That’s a good start,” I said. “But I think you can write a little bit more.” I gave Matthew his letter, and he took a seat.

Nicholas made a loud sigh while erasing his paper.

“Nicholas, you need help?”

He looked up. “How do you spell
jigger
?”

My eyeballs froze in their sockets.
“JIGGER?”

“Yeah.”

I scratched behind my ear.
How many words are there for this thing?

“I know,” Alex piped in.

“Thanks, Alex. I got it covered.” I turned to Nicholas and started spelling the word.
“J-I-G…”
And then it hit me. Here I was giving an unforgettable spelling lesson to three boys who had just had a wienie roast in the
bathroom.
No wonder my boss goes to conferences.
I covered my mouth to hide my smile.

Suddenly the bell rang. The boys looked up at me. I finished helping Nicholas as I got up and opened the door.

“Okay, you kids may go back to class now.”

They jumped off their chairs and headed out of the room.

“Hey,” I said, stopping them with my voice. “No more jiggers in the heater. You hear?”

“Okay!”

O
ne of my favorite stories is Peter Seymour’s
The Magic Toyshop.
In this book, all the toys come to life late at night after the shop has closed. At the first glint of dawn, they return
to their shelves and freeze. When the shop reopens, the toys sit perfectly still and watch the customers. When I read
The Magic Toyshop
to my students, I often think of a small children’s bookstore right here in my hometown. Because it is magic, too.

The shop sits nestled on the corner of a quiet downtown street two blocks off the main road. It has been there since the giant
magnolia trees that line the sidewalk were planted over fifty years ago. Outside the store, green-and-white-striped awnings
shade two large bay windows. Sunlight and shadows of magnolia leaves dance on the oft-cleaned glass. Behind the windows, books
stand up in plastic snow or Easter grass or mounds of sand — depending on the season.

The front door has two sections, a top half and a bottom. When the weather is nice, the top is usually open. A bell on the
door tinkles when customers step inside. In summertime, an arbor of untamed morning glories frames the entrance. When you
push the door, it feels as though you are opening a garden gate.

Inside the store, narrow aisles weave around tables and cases and cardboard displays stacked with books. The shop smells of
new paper. Posters of Clifford and The Magic School Bus and Eloise hang from the ceiling. And like the toys in
The Magic Toyshop,
stuffed animals and dolls sit on the shelves and watch the customers. Last summer, a morning glory vine sneaked into a crack
above the door and started climbing inside the shop. Wisely, the owners let it grow. They called it Jack’s beanstalk.