jumpingfish

“Mr. Hasan”” someone called from the other side of the room holding up their hand.

I wound my way between the clustered desks of testing students.

“What’s up?” I whispered as I knelt beside their desk.

“I don’t know how much a quarter and nickel are.”

I cocked my head (imperceptibly, I hope).

“A quarter is twenty-five cents. A nickel is five.”

“Thank you.”

That’s a new one for me.

The bell rang. The kids began to move to the door. I called them back.

“They’ll call for second floor when they’re ready for you to go to the pep rally.” 

So the students milled about the room. Began to talking loudly. Wormed towards the door. After all, it would only a minute or so.

Then a voice came over the PA, but I couldn’t clearly hear what they said over the hubbub in the room. The kids began to leave.

“Nope,” I said loudly. “They’ll call us.”

There were objections. There were corrections. They looked at me as they do when I trip over myself squeezing between the desks, an “Are you feeling ok?” kind of look. 

“Did they call us?” I asked.

“Yes,” they insisted. 

“Go!” I said, waving them on in a Tracy Ullman way.

They streamed into the hall, turned left, and headed to the gym.

Problem is, other than them, the halls were empty. Ghostly quiet. And five minutes later, a voice came over the PA, “Second floor may go to the pep rally.”

They so scammed me.

The Anole on the bench is comfortable with us. It seems to know that we bring water, that we pose no risk. If we move slowly and predictably, it chooses to remain still while keeping a watchful eye on us.

We’ve never seen and adult Stag Beetle here, although we’ve seen an abandoned black carapace. There is a kindergarten of larvae in our compost pile right now, each easily larger than my thumb. Certainly we’ll see an adult this year?

The two of them walked up after the test. 

“Can we go give Mr. Smith a sticker?” they asked.

These two are crazy about stickers. I’ve seen them shuffling thru sheets of them pointing and laughing. And they’ve gone to Mr. Smith before.

I confess that I don’t understand this. I’ve previously had students who had a similar love of stickers and a student teacher who gave them out to students much to the their everlasting glee. So although I don’t understand it, I recognize that’s on me.

“Yes,” I said. “Come back.”

“We will!” 

Ten minutes later they came back and resumed shuffling and laughing. Then they came up, holding three sheets splayed out.

“Mr. Hasan,” they said. “Pick a sticker. Any sticker.”

I inspected the options.

“It needs to match the STOP sticker you gave me the other day,” I mumbled. 

“How about this one?” one of them asked, pointing to the very one I was about to choose.

I pealed it off the sheet.

“I’ll put it on my coffee bottle all cattywampus. Like this. What do you think?” 

“Very nice,” they said. “It’s got slope!” 

#silentsunday #biggerthanmylittlefinger