by Phillip Done
“But,” I said, “after we play hoops, go home and put some deodorant on, OK?”
“OK,” they all said.
And we went outside.
I wonder if I still get my lasagna.
New Definitions
Did you know that since 1828, over 60,000 new words have been added to the dictionary? And did you also know that there is a whole team of people working for Webster’s New World College Dictionary who look for new words and write their definitions? They wrote definitions for new words like aw-shucks and roadkill. When I retire, that’s what I want to do. In fact, I have already started collecting new definitions for when I work at Webster’s.
WING (verb) to walk into your classroom on Monday morning with absolutely no plans and then teach for six straight hours
PISTOL (noun) a kid who gets into trouble often and does not follow class rules
FILLER (noun) Simon says, hangman, or any other activity you can do the last period on Friday when you are too tired and have forty-five minutes left in the day
WRINGER (noun) see pistol
PREP (noun) a period in which teachers do everything but prepare for the next class; usually involves meeting with colleagues, picking up backpacks, mediating arguments, reviewing the rules about snowball fights, calling parents, or running to the bathroom
PILL (noun) see wringer
RECESS (noun) a fifteen- to twenty-minute block of time in which teachers stand in line to use the copier
CORKER (noun) see pill
FAST (adverb) the speed at which a teacher can unjam the copier at recess
CARROT (noun) a video, free time, extra PE, a field trip, Cocoa Puffs, or any other thing that you can use to get a child to do what you want
PROP (noun) anything you can hit someone with or drop during the school play
JOKE (noun) evaluations by the principal
BABYSITTING (noun) the act of watching kids and trying to maintain order on Halloween
PERFORMANCE (noun) smiling in front of all the kids and room moms when you open the horseshoe napkin holder that they all chipped in on for your end-of-the-year gift
SAINT (noun) first grade teacher
Class Placements
At every elementary school teachers get together with their principals at the end of May or early June and set up the classes for the following year. At our school we write the kids’ names on index cards and lay them all out on a table and shuffle the cards around until the classes are balanced. We also divide and conquer.
“Where do we put Ronny next year?” Cathy asked.
“Away from Stephen,” I replied.
“And where do we put Stephen?” she asked.
“Away from Brian,” I said.
“And where do we put Brian?” she asked.
“Away from all sharpened pencils, compasses, paper clips, rulers, yardsticks, and fire extinguishers!”
There are a lot of factors that go into setting up a class. Teachers look at the balance of boys and girls, ethnicities, and academic levels. And there is something else we consider.
Now, I am sure that I will be fired for divulging what I am about to tell you. But here goes:
Schools honor parent requests.
Yes, it’s true. In most schools, the principal will say, “It is the school’s policy that we do not honor parent requests for teachers.” This simply is not so. The schools say this because they do not want the hassle, they do not want to deal with pushy moms and dads, and they want the parents to believe that all the teachers in the school are equally good.
Some parents write letters to the principal anyway. I have seen them. It’s amazing how many squeaky wheels get the teacher they want.
But parents aren’t the only ones who make requests. Teachers make requests too. Recently I walked into Marion’s room.
“Hi, Marion. I love your outfit. Would you like me to take your yard duty today?” I asked.
“You’re early,” she said.
“Huh?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“Well, last year you didn’t start buttering me up till the end of May,” she said.
I laughed. “I’m not buttering you up.”
“Then what’s that?” she asked, pointing to the wine bottle in my hands.
I set it on her desk.
“OK, so I am,” I said. “But look what good it did me. You still gave me Stephen.”
She laughed.
“This year I thought I’d better start early,” I said. “What’s the name of that kid who is always in Cathy’s office whenever I go in there?”
“Juan,” she said.
“I think he’d do really well in Dawn’s class,” I said. “I really think he needs a good motherly influence. And what’s the name of that other boy who is always sitting right next to you at all the assemblies?”
“Oscar.”
“I think Oscar needs to be in Dawn’s class too,” I said.
She smiled and said, “I think Oscar needs a positive male role model.”
I took back the wine.
Out of the Mouths of Babes
Why do they call the staff room “the lounge”? As if the place were filled with plush chairs, bowls of peanuts, and a guy named Sam playing the piano in the corner.
No matter what school you’re in, all staff rooms look the same. The cupboards are full of coffee mugs, the refrigerators are full of Tupperware, and the bulletin board is full of job ads for teaching positions in the Bahamas.
The conversations in staff rooms are always the same too. They begin something like this: “Did you hear what so-and-so said today?” or “Guess what happened in my room this morning,” or “I’ve got one for you!”
On the last week of school Kim, Mike, Dawn, Lisa, and I were sitting in the staff room at lunch sharing our latest stories about the kids. The following are my guess-what-so-and-so-saids for the year:
ANTHONY: Mr. Done, if we start learning about weapons, can we watch Mission Impossible?
ME: What’s wrong, Andrew?
ANDREW: (looking worried) Mr. Done, when I go to college, can I take my turtles?
ME: Does anyone know what a vegetarian is?
RYAN: Of course. Someone who doesn’t eat hamsters.
ME: Good-bye, Tomoya.
TOMOYA: Good-bye, Teacher! See you yesterday!
ME: Boys and girls, did you know that Mozart died at the age of thirty-seven and Gershwin died in his thirties too?
MATTHEW: I don’t want to be a composer.
NATALIE: My mom is so gullible! Mr. Done, what does gullible mean?
ME: What’s wrong, Ji Soo?
JI SOO: I’m sick (coughing). I caught a freezing.
MELANIE: My sister is reading Little Women. Do you know how many pages it has? Over a hundred!
ME: Does anyone know who sings “White Christmas”?
PATRICK: Mr. Done, everyone knows that. Bill Cosby.
ME: Melissa, do you know what an adjective is?
MELISSA: Uh-huh. Adjectives are dress-up words.
ME: Emily, what do you want to be when you grow up?
EMILY: When I grow up, I am going to get married and have two girls, then get divorced, then be a limousine driver.
ME: Carlos, where are you supposed to hang your jacket?
CARLOS: On the hooker.
KEVIN: When I grow up, I want to move to China.
ME: Why?
KEVIN: Because it’s the toy capital of the world.
ME: What do you mean?
KEVIN: On all my toys it says, “Made in China.”
ME: Yes, Joey?
JOEY: Mr. Done, if a meteorite is a comet that lands on the earth, what is a meteor-wrong?
ME: Can anyone tell me what the Statue of Liberty is holding?
BRIAN: An ice cream cone.
ME: (walking down the hall) What are you doing, Erika?
ERIKA: I’m mad at my mom, so I’m stepping on all the cracks.
ME: Justin, you have a choice. You can get off that
beanbag right now, or you can go to Miss Carlson’s office.
JUSTIN: Does she have a beanbag?
AARON: Mr. Done, I’m going to turn into a new leaf.
ME: That’s over, Aaron—turn over a new leaf.
ME: What’s the opposite of rough?
KENNY: Meow.
PETER: Mr. Done, what’s algebra?
ME: Hard math. It looks like this … (writing 3x + 2 = 17 on the board)
PETER: My sister is doing the x. She’s in high school now.
ME: Joshua, if you do that again, you will have to copy pages in the math book.
ME: (later on) Joshua, what are you doing?
JOSHUA: Copying pages.
ME: But you’re not in trouble.
JOSHUA: But I probably will be tomorrow. Can I use them for later?
ME: Can anyone tell me why Magellan is famous?
STEPHEN: That’s easy. He circumcised the world.
ME: That’s circumnavigated, Stephen. Circumnavigated.
The Dinner Invitation
At the end of the year I always get a couple of invitations for dinner from some of my students. And usually I go (it beats Top Ramen). In fact, in my early days of teaching I used to announce that I love to be invited over for dinner and my favorite food is lasagna.
It worked. One year I had lasagna for two straight weeks.
But after my first couple of dinners at my students’ houses, I noticed a pattern. It seemed that every dinner was exactly the same. I figured there must be some book out there on what to do when you invite the teacher over, because it was the same routine at each home.
When you arrive at your student’s house for dinner, you are always greeted at the door by the mom and the dog. The mom will invite you in and the dog will sniff you. Your student will not be there. Yes, the child you have just spent the entire day with—in fact, the last year with—will not be there. Why? Because she is hiding from you. Eventually she will appear peeking from around the kitchen door, but she will not speak. Her younger sister will be with her. She will not speak either.
But soon their nerves will go away, and your tour begins. First stop: your student’s bedroom. On your way, you will walk through the hallway. There you will stop and look at every school photo of every child in the family. You will also see the wedding photos of grandma and grandpa, and mom and dad, and every aunt and uncle on both sides of the family.
Then you will reach the bedroom. The bed will be made and the desk will be tidy because your student has been cleaning her room since she invited you two weeks ago. As you enter the bedroom, your student will run to her bed and shout, “Don’t look under there!” The closet door will be covered with artwork from school. As you approach the closet door, she will run to the closet, spread out her arms, and scream, “Don’t look in there!” Then she will run to the hamster, take him out of his cage, and ask you if you want to hold him. After you say “No thanks” five times, she will finally put the hamster back into his cage and show you the ribbons and medals hanging on the bulletin board over her desk. One at a time.
Your next stop on the tour is little sister’s room. She has also been cleaning up her room for you. She will show you all of her medals and ribbons and certificates and stuffed animals too. If you are lucky, she does not have a hamster.
Next you will be escorted to the living room. There you will listen to your student play the piano. She will play “Für Elise.” After the concert she will put on her new black tap shoes and perform five hundred time steps and shuffle ball changes on the entryway tiles. The younger sister will put on her new black tap shoes next and dance for you as well.
Finally it is time for dinner. You will be escorted to the dining room, where you will sit next to your student. The children will have set the table. There will be a tablecloth. Of course supper will be lasagna. You will also have French bread and salad. Your student will have made the salad, which you will say how much you like over and over again throughout the meal. The dessert will be bundt cake.
After dinner you will walk back to the living room to look at photo albums. There will be thirty-seven of them. You will flip through them all. They will show you photos of their birthday parties, first days of school, Halloween costumes, visits to Santa Claus in the mall, and shots of the dog being washed. You will also see three hundred photos of the Grand Canyon and just as many with Mickey Mouse.
Finally you will look at your watch and say it is getting late and you must be going home soon. The mom will wrap some lasagna up for you in aluminum foil to take with you.
This year, I was invited over to Emily’s house for dinner. It was exactly the same routine—tour of the bedroom, recital in the living room, dinner, photos, and lasagna for home. The only difference was that Emily had a guinea pig, not a hamster. Just before I left, I asked Emily if she had done any of her homework.
“Not yet,” she answered.
I leaned over and winked.
“You don’t have to do it,” I said. “Thanks again for having me over.”
The next day at school, I thanked Emily again in front of the class. Then she announced to everyone that I ate three pieces of lasagna and two huge pieces of cake, that I was afraid to hold her guinea pig, and that her mom says I’m a big eater.
“And,” she said, “Mr. Done said I didn’t have to do my homework because I invited him over.”
By first recess there were seven invitations on my desk. Five were from Ronny.
“Hey, Ronny,” I said.
He looked up at me.
“These are all from you.”
He grinned and said, “If you come over all five times, I won’t have homework for a week.”
I Know
When someone asks me if I have any kids, I say I have thirty-two. I mean it too. Teachers are the third parent. Once I read an article by Erma Bombeck that I will never forget. It was entitled “I Know.” It was about the wisdom of parents. Here are some things that teachers know:
I know you hated it when I called on you in class and your hand was not raised. I wanted to hear your thoughts.
I know you were nervous standing up in front of the whole class to recite your poem. I wanted you to speak in front of others.
I know you did not like reading Mat the Rat with me when the others were reading harder books. Remember, you have just started learning English. You will read harder books someday. I promise.
I know you do not want to repeat the same sentence for me and this time stop at the period. I want you to learn to read.
I know you were upset when I did not help you draw the cat. I wanted it to be your cat—not mine.
I know you were frustrated when I did not tell you how to solve thirty-six divided by seven. I knew you could do it.
I know you were waiting a long time while I stood and talked to Miss Kimmy. I wanted you to be patient.
I know you were frustrated when I didn’t call on you and I called on Joshua instead. I know you know what six times nine is, and I was not sure if Joshua did.
I know you were mad at me when I called your mom. You need to eat more than a Snickers for lunch.
I know it is frustrating to read slower than your classmates. I read slowly too.
I know you were upset when I wouldn’t let you get a drink of water when you said, “Can I get a drink?” Next time you will say “may.”
I know it is not your preference to listen to Mozart and Vivaldi and Beethoven and Tchaikovsky. It is good for your soul.
I know you were not happy that I did not tell you how to spell impossible. I wanted you to try.
I know you hated staying in at recess with me today. I wanted to give you time to finish your work.
I know Anthony had his birthday party last night and you had to finish building your Pinewood Derby car for Scouts and you couldn’t finish your homework and you hated staying after school. I was following through.
I know you didn’t like rewriting your paragraph. I wanted you to do your b
est.
I know you already wrote threw and said and school for me yesterday and the day before that too. I wanted you to learn how to spell.
I know you did not like it when I asked you what you would write in your web if you were Charlotte. I wanted you to imagine.
I know you couldn’t concentrate today and I let you go out and play at recess even though you only did five math problems. I had a dog that died once too.
Have I Taught Them?
I know they will forget how to multiply over the summer, and next year’s teacher will show them how to do it all over again. I know they will forget the difference between an adverb and an adjective, how to spell spaghetti, and when the Pilgrims sailed to the New World.
But have I taught them that it is better to tell me that they did not do their homework last night than to lie?
Have I taught them that it is better to include someone in a four square game than to tell him he cannot play?
Have I taught them how to work in groups of four when there are only two red markers and everyone wants the red one?
Have I taught them how to say “Good morning” when they pass someone in the hall and “Good-bye” when they leave the room?
Have I taught them that Jefferson could not live without books, and neither can I?
Have I taught them how to think when the answer is not right there in the text?
Have I taught them that imagination really is more important than knowledge?
Have I taught them that most of Thomas Edison’s experiments did not work the first time either?
Have I taught them the joy of singing every day?
Have I taught them the satisfaction you feel when you do your best?
Have I taught them to laugh, but not at others’ mistakes or when someone’s name is different from your own?
Have I taught them that learning is lifelong and shown them my French homework?
Have I taught them that it is OK to make mistakes and shown them my French homework?