Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind (35 page)

Teaching is like cutting open a pumpkin. It can be a messy job. Pumpkin seeds, like kids, are not always easy to keep under
your thumb.

After children find their desks on the first day of school, they will look to see where their friends are sitting. Then they
will see how close they are to the ball box. The kid by the door is happy because he is the one who gets to turn off the lights.

Red rubber erasers can get stuck in plaster arm casts. Scissors are not good at getting erasers out of casts.

It takes a third grader half a glue stick to mount one paper doily onto a valentine. Pounding the doily with your fist makes
it stick better.

By April there will be more balls on your classroom roof than in the ball box.

Stink bombs are made from spraying deodorant on snowballs. Snowballs always hit the nearest head.

There is a hierarchy of classroom jobs.
Line Leader, Paper Passer,
and
Messenger
are much more sought after than
Floor Cleaner.

When dropped, cupcakes covered with frosting always land upside down.

Parent–teacher conferences are like the first Thanksgiving: two groups coming together at a table in November to celebrate
after months of hard work.

Dogs like to dig up time capsules. Hamsters like to chew computer cords. Guinea pigs do not like to be decorated for Christmas.
Bunnies do not like Pringles.

An inflatable globe can take out a fluorescent light cover. One little tea candle in a jack-o’-lantern can set off the fire
alarm.

When playing Bingo with your students, they will always announce what number they need before you pull the next piece of paper
out of the basket.

If the sign on a railing says “Wet Paint,” one child will touch it to make sure.

If you color your watch crystal with yellow Magic Marker, you can still see what time it is. Red Magic Marker doubles as lipstick.
Black Magic Marker does not taste like licorice.

If you turn your shirt into a kangaroo pouch, you can carry more markers back to the supply table than if you hold the markers
in your hands.

A beanbag chair is not really filled with beans. The custodian does not like beanbag chairs.

If you take a piece of bologna, fold it over and bite the center, you have a bologna monocle.

There is a difference between a drizzle, a sprinkle, a shower, and a downpour. If it starts raining in the middle of lunch
recess — leave the kids outside if it’s anything less than a downpour.

When a child has his cheeks puffed out, either he is holding his breath or he just stuffed two packs of Tic Tacs into his
mouth.

A table of eight-year-old boys waiting to be excused from the cafeteria can come up with eight different ways to make farting
noises.

When a child gives you a pink Easter Bunny, always check before you bite into it. Crayola should not make sidewalk chalk that
looks like Easter candy.

Principals are like grandparents. They get to have fun with the kids then leave.

When you are waiting for a tadpole to turn into a frog and spot what looks like a leg — it might just be a poop.

Kids are like punctuation marks. The loud ones are exclamation points. The boys who cannot pass a basketball net without jumping
up to touch it are apostrophes (apostrophes are always in the air). The children who are always asking for help are question
marks. And the quotation marks never stop talking.

Your students will not believe you when you say the crust has all the nutrients, or that a watermelon will grow in their stomach
if they eat too many seeds. They will not believe you when you tell them that April 1 is really March 32, either.

Ketchup packets can be squirted, dotted, smeared, or smashed.

When a child gets the hiccups during class and you tell her to go get a drink of water, she will hope that the water does
not
do the trick.

TV carts pick up speed when pushed down the hall.

Pencils make excellent paint-stirrers. Cafeteria trays make excellent bases in kickball. So do library books.

When mud dries on the knees of your jeans, you can scrape your initials in it with scissors.

Goldfish crackers do not look like goldfish after being dropped in water. Gummi bears melt when plunked into coffee.

There are two ways to fold a piece of paper in half — the long way and the short way — or the hot dog way and the hamburger
way (or the shower way and the bathtub way).

If you jab a pencil into a globe and push it all the way in, the globe will rattle when you spin it.

The morning after Halloween, kids will tell you how long they were out trick-or-treating and exactly how many pieces of candy
they got.

The occupational hazards of teaching include: bad back, sore neck, tired eyes, and piano recitals.

The most coveted crayon in the room is the one that you only have one of.

Oklahoma looks like a gun. Michigan looks like a mitt. Kentucky looks like a piece of fried chicken. And Tennessee looks like
someone stepped on it.

It takes twenty-seven seconds for a child to find
z
on the keyboard, thirty twists of a glue stick for the inside part to fall out, five spins of a tetherball for it to wrap
completely around the pole, and one roll of toilet paper to cover the teacher up like a mummy at the Halloween party.

Always believe a child when he says that he has to throw up.

There are two remedies for almost everything: a Band-Aid and an ice pack. Wrapping wet paper towels around your arm with masking
tape is just as good as an ice pack.

Pencils do not sharpen in electric fans.

It is impossible for a third-grade boy to hold a ball in line without dribbling, throwing, bouncing, dropping, or sitting
on it.

After explaining to your students that if they make a valentine for one friend they have to make them for the whole class,
one child will raise his hand and ask if he can make a valentine for himself.

The kids who give you the toughest time are the ones you love most. The students who receive the perfect attendance awards
at the end of the year are the ones you wish would stay home once in a while.

On rainy days the classroom will smell like a room full of wet puppies. The carpet will have more footprints on it than the
cement squares in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre in Hollywood.

If you twirl a pencil in a handheld pencil sharpener very slowly, you can make a pencil sharpener flower. If you tell the
child who has just given you three pencil sharpener flowers that they are beautiful, you will receive more.

The water cycle is not evaporation, condensation, and precipitation. It is evaporation, condensation, precipitation, and play
Heads Up 7-up.

Parents are more nervous than their children at the school play.

When a mom hands you a tie box for Christmas and says, “I’m sorry” — her child picked it out himself. When a child gives a
tie to her teacher, she will wait for him to wear it.

If you bend a paper clip around your teeth, it looks just like a retainer. If you wrap a piece of white construction paper
around your arm and slide a rubber band over it, you can make a cast.

When there are treats in the staff room, women teachers will break a brownie in half before taking a piece. Men teachers eat
the whole brownie.

You will run into your student at Safeway when your shopping cart contains three packs of beer.

The length of one school year is approximately 180 days — or nine months. Same as a pregnancy.

If a child cannot think of what to write, he will shake, twirl, tap, drum, and poke his pencil. The longer it takes to think
of an idea, the more shaking, twirling, tapping, drumming, and poking there will be.

Students are like dogs. They make lots of noise when their master is away, display frantic greeting behavior when he returns,
and follow him around the classroom when he’s back home.

At some time in a teacher’s career he will have said the following: “Don’t write on your arm,” “Do not karate chop your sandwich,”
“Please get out of the trash can,” and “We do not eat our glue sticks.”

No matter how many students you have in your classroom, there are only eight types.
Speedy
finishes everything lickety-split.
Chatty
is always turned around.
Sporty
is not always a good sport.
Dreamy
is often thinking about what he can build with his LEGOs.
Sloppy
can’t find anything.
Smarty
corrects the teacher’s math mistakes.
Silly
loses it when you’re pouring paint and the container sounds like a fart. And
Pokey
is always the last to finish cleaning up. If you tell him he’s as slow as molasses, he will ask, “Who’s molasses?”

I
would know it’s the last week of school — even if you didn’t tell me. There are signs: The ball box is empty. The Lost and
Found is full. There’s a number in the corner of the whiteboard counting down the days left of school. All the backpacks —
once crisp and perky — have lost their shape. Most of their zippers are broken. Pants that used to be long on the children
are too short now. The caps on my glue bottles are so crusty they won’t turn. The bulletin board paper around the sink is
splattered. Half the markers don’t color anymore. The pencils have no erasers. The supply room is low on paper. The copier
repairman comes by more regularly. Flip-flops have replaced sneakers — I see more toes. When we clean our desks out, I find
three thousand pencils.

This year on the last day of school, I try to make it like any other day. We sing. I read my students a story. Thirty minutes
before the last bell rings, I bring my kiddos close to me on the carpet one final time. We reflect on the year and talk about
our favorite activities. Stacy promises to visit me every single day next year. Danny asks me to be his teacher in fourth
grade. I laugh. “Aren’t you tired of me yet?” I ask. “NO!” they shout. Finally, the last bell rings. The year is over. Just
like that.

After I hug my last child good-bye and close the door, I begin cleaning the room. It is time to put the classroom to bed.
I pick papers up off the floor, pack presents that the kids brought me into a box, and move the furniture so the custodian
can clean the carpets over the summer. As I’m moving chairs, I notice a yellow sticky note in Laura’s desk. I pull it out
and read it. “Welcome to your new classroom. This desk that you are sitting in belongs to Laura. You are only renting it!”
I chuckle and stick it in my pocket.

As I reach for the next chair, I spot another sticky note in Dylan’s desk. “Dear new student, I’ll give you some advice. Don’t
touch Mr. Done’s coffee mug.” I smile and slide it into my pocket, too. As I move down the row, I discover sticky notes in
all of the desks.
Why those little sneaks.
I read each one.

Melanie gave homework tips. Gina drew a cursive chart. David wrote, “If you have to go to the bathroom say
May I go
not
Can I.
” Angela made a map of the room with arrows pointing to the reading rug, the piano, and the goody jar. Jennifer advised, “Don’t
say anything about Mr. Done’s messy desk.” Danny wrote, “Mr. Done is forty-five years old and drives a white Toyota.” The
last desk I open is Christopher’s. I smile when I look inside. Eleven stickies are lined up in a row, a single word written
on each one:
Dear future third grader, you are going to love it here!

E
ndless thanks to my agent, Janis Donnaud, and my editor at Center Street, Christina Boys. I am deeply indebted to you both.
I also wish to express my graditude to the following for their support, encouragement, and assistance: Jill Asher, Marion
Beach, Doug Connell, Phillip Irwin Cooper, Judi Cotant, Erin Dare, Mary Done, Elisabeth Doxsee, Shelley Ganschow, Caryn Garia,
Vicki Garson, Colin Geiger, Robyn Gimbel, Jennie Grimes, Doug Grude, Richey Grude, Kim Guillet, Dorothea Halliday, Grace Hernandez,
Caitlin Hoffman, Pia Jensen, Laura Jorstad, Marilyn Kanes, Mary Jo King, Piotr Konieczka, Troy Lapham, Monica Lehner, John
Lents, Whitney Luken, Peter Ohm, Elisa Camahort Page, Sarrie Paguirigan, Barbara Parks, Elaine Saussotte, Dawn Scheidt, Eva
Schinn, Tommy Kay Smith, Sarah Sper, Patsy Timothy, Carol Velazquez, Beth Wang, Lisa Wilson, and Laura Wright. Last, the hugest
thanks to my dear friend and right arm, Heidi Fisher. As E. B. White wrote in
Charlotte’s Web,
“It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer.” Heidi is both.