jumpingfish

The test was halfway through. It was time for lunch. The kids had slipped their answer sheets into the test booklets and given them to the teacher who stacked them on a table at the front of the classroom.

She was about to pass out their lunches when I walked in. I was her lunch relief. She was free to go. I passed out the sack lunches from the cafeteria: a sandwich, a baggie of carrots, an apple, and chocolate milk.

When they have lunch during standardized tests, they are absolutely not allowed to talk. Thirty minutes of silence. With lunch distributed, all I had to do was keep them quiet.

There was a girl in the middle of the room who was reading a book. She wasn’t going to be a problem. And there were several whose heads were down and others staring blankly into space. No problem with them, either. But there were four boys in the far corner who were already chatting.

“Guys,” I said in a low voice. “No talking.”

Thirty seconds later, they were whispering.

“Guys.”

After the third time I got up and walked over. I tapped on one of the desks. “Come on guys, that’s enough.” 

And it was. Until they opened the baggies of carrots in their lunches.

Pop! One of them bit a carrot and it made a resonating sound.

About 30 seconds later. Pop! Another carrot. The resonant tone was different, and it came from a different part of the room.

Pop!

Pip! Pep!

Pip! Pep! Pop!

To my knowledge, there are no rules against resonant carrot popping. So I just ignored it all. And after about five minutes, the popping stopped. 

I think they ate all their carrots.

She let me know in advance. She was having her wisdom teeth removed. She was going to miss class. Did she return the next day? I think she did. She’s often the first one in the room, and we get to talk.

“Welcome back!” I said when I saw her. “How’d it go?” 

She explained how her sister told her that as she was coming out from under the anesthetic, she was in tears.

“I wasn’t in pain,” she told me. “But my sister told me that I was distraught and that I kept telling her that I had to do my algebra homework.”

How about that?

1. The Paperclips

It was a door prize of sorts. Four years ago, during a alternative certification night class, I won a door prize. My name was drawn out of a basket, and (presto!) I was the proud possessor of a bin of multicolored jumbo paperclips.

“How nice,” I remember thinking at the time. 

But halfway through my first year of teaching, I began to grow attached to them. I had stacks of student work fastened together by period, and I hung onto them through the end of each semester. The paperclips kept the piles organized.

“Pam,” I emailed our certification instructor during my second year. “I am loving those paperclips!” 

This year, I have begun using the colors to differentiate between assignments and periods and classes. Surviving as a teacher depends on your ability to shave seconds of time here and there, and being able to quickly reach for assignments from the correct period of the correct class has … shaved seconds of time here and there. 

2. Missing Clips

I recently noticed that my supply of multicolored jumbo paperclips was decreasing. Sure, I was using them to hold together graded homework and tests, but not that many. Where are the paperclips going? One day during fifth period I found out.

Daniel came into the room.

“Daniel!”

“Mr. Hassssan.”

He walked past me. He walked to the table behind my desk. And he reached into the bin of multicolored jumbo paperclips.

“Daniel,” I said. “What are you doing?”

He was hooking them together in a chain.

“What do you mean, Mr. Hasan?” 

“What are you doing with my precious paperclips?” 

“Mr. Hassssan. You have plenty.” 

As it happened, when he left class that day, he left his chain of multicolored jumbo paperclips behind, allowing me to rescue those few. 

Then, as I reached for my mouse, ready to shave a few moments off of some other task in the two minutes remaining before the next period, I noticed for the first time that there was a chain of multicolored jumbo paperclips hanging from a hook above the whiteboard. Who knows how long they had been there.

It’s time to put those paperclips behind a locked door.

She posted her homework in the early afternoon. I opened it late in the day. 

Since we are remote, everyone posts to Google Classroom. A few print out the assignment and write on it. Most write on separate sheets of paper. They all submit photos of their work.

She writes on sheets of paper. Meticulously. Copying the questions in green. Writing her work in purple. And she always puts a box around her answers.

It’s a joy to grade work like this. Except…

Except today the pictures of her green and purple showed evidence of struggle. The pages were crumpled. They looked as if they’d been tossed in the garbage — every single one of the four pages.

“Ok, I’ll ask,” I wrote in a comment. “What on earth happened?”

“OMG LOL it’s my little devil sister,” she replied. You could almost hear her laughing. “She grabs my work and crunches it up and runs away with it. I have to chase her around the house to get it back.”

OMG LOL. Can’t you just picture it?

They sit at home in front of their computers in their rooms taking a quiz on Zoom.