by Phillip Done
“No. But she e-mailed my mom and said she’d be by tonight.”
I smiled. “Why didn’t she come last night?”
“She had to go to the bank.”
Recently Robbie was in at recess to finish his homework but preferred working on his loose tooth instead.
“Mr. Done,” Robbie said, pulling his finger out of his mouth, “I’m sure I’ll lose this tooth tonight and the Tooth Fairy will give me a dollar. Maybe even five dollars.”
I didn’t look up. “Get to work.”
“I’ll give you five dollars if you let me go out to recess.”
“No deal.”
This week, Stacy came up to me and asked if I believe in the Tooth Fairy.
“Yep,” I answered.
“I don’t,” she said, emphatically. “And I’m going to do a test to find out.”
“What sort of a test?”
“Well, my tooth came out yesterday. See.” She opened her jaw wide, pulled back her lip, and pointed the hole out with her tongue. I examined it. “I didn’t tell my parents. And I’m going to put it under my pillow tonight and see if there is any money under it. If there isn’t, I’ll know that the Tooth Fairy isn’t real.”
I nodded my head. “Sounds like you’ve got a plan.”
The minute school was over, I called Stacy’s mom and told her all about Stacy’s scheme. That night the Tooth Fairy passed the test.
SCHOOLS
Remember writing a report about a foreign country in grade school? After choosing the country, you copied everything out of the encyclopedia onto your mom’s blank recipe cards, then wrote the final copy in your nicest handwriting. The paper was divided into sections: geography, economy, climate, culture, food, history, and population. Well, I’ve come to the conclusion that all schools are just like those reports. Following is the “country report” for any school:
Geography: A set of buildings with rubber balls kicked proudly on their roofs at recess.
Economy: In one year produces 475 book reports, 4,500 spelling tests, 220 science fair projects, and 75,000,000 multiplication flash cards.
Climate: If the principal is away — breezy.
Culture: Major cultural events throughout the year include Talent Show, Pajama Day, Bicycle Rodeo, Hoe Down, Watermelon Eating Contest, School Carnival, and end-of-the-year baseball game where the whole school gets to watch twenty teachers get whipped by the entire fifth-grade class.
Food: For teachers: coffee, microwavable lunches, leftover candy corn, conversation hearts, and birthday cake. For students: anything that turns their tongues a different color and makes slurping noises through the straw when they reach the bottom of the box.
History: In 1950, if it rained outside children played Heads Up 7-up. Today, if it rains outside children play Heads Up 7-up.
Population: Several hundred kids, twice as many parents, and a menagerie of bunnies, guinea pigs, hamsters, snakes, and tarantulas. Staff consists of the following: The Mom Teacher (owns a rocking chair; reminds other teachers to put the lid down on the copier), The Veteran Teacher (has forty-five million book order points; doesn’t think twice about walking into the boys’ bathroom), and The New Teacher (works every weekend, sick all year). Population may include Man Teacher.
The Man Teacher does not eat Lean Cuisines or count Weight Watcher points, does not lick his fingers before turning the page, attends baby showers against his will, does not use chimes to get his students’ attention, and knows all about Britney Spears, Jennifer Aniston, and Angelina Jolie because the only reading material in the staff bathroom is People.
TRICK-OR-TREAT!
There are certain triggers that always wind children up: rain clouds, wind, a close game in PE, and — the week before Halloween. The closer the calendar gets to that day, the more bonkers children become. The last week of October is when teachers start using all sorts of names to describe their students — squirrels, monkeys, livewires, spitfires, rascals, firecrackers, and sparkplugs. Mine are Doan’s Pills.
To be perfectly fair, it’s not completely the kids’ fault that they can’t stay focused. Teachers are partly to blame. We tell ghost stories by candlelight, stuff scarecrows, carve jack-o’-lanterns, and play Pin the Wart on the Witch. We sing “pumpkin carols,” draw haunted houses, and graph candy corn. We serve caramel apples and cupcakes topped with Gummi worms while we walk around wearing our Official Halloween Candy Taste Tester buttons.
On the morning of Halloween, I lock my classroom door, pull the blinds shut, and put on my costume (I refuse to drive to work in it). As the kids line up outside, I can hear them chattering and trying to guess what I will be wearing. This year when the bell rang, I did not open up right away. I wanted to make them wait. A couple of them started banging on the window. Finally, I pushed the door open. When the children saw me, they screamed and shouted and pointed and laughed. (You’d think they’d never seen a white sheet before.)
The kids were all dressed in their costumes for our morning Halloween parade. Into the room walked Spider-Man, a clown, an angel, Scooby-Doo, two devils, Pocahontas, an astronaut, one fortune-teller, a pack of Ninjas, Mr. Peanut, a giant whoopie cushion, and three iPhones. Just as I was about to close the door, one of my room moms handed me a Starbucks Grande.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
She smiled. “I figured you’d need it today.”
Smart mom.
Our PTA holds a giant auction the Saturday before Halloween. It’s one of our best fund-raisers. Traditionally, each teacher donates something. This year when Michele, the PTA president, came by my room to ask what I’d like to donate, I had no idea.
“Well,” Michele proposed, “how would you like to offer yourself as a chaperone on Halloween night?”
I laughed.
“I’m serious. Trick-or-treating with Mr. Done. I’ll bet it would bring a lot of money.”
I thought about it for a second. The truth was that I didn’t particularly want to stay at home all night on Halloween and open my door for three hours saying, “Aren’t you getting a little old for this?” and “Hey you, just take one!” Besides, it had been a long time since I had gone trick-or-treating. It might be fun. I agreed.
The night of the auction, the multi was packed with parents and students. Some of the parents came in costume. Michele stood on stage auctioning off the items from the podium. She was dressed as a giant rubber chicken. I was one of the last items up for bid.
“Okay, everyone,” Michele announced, holding a gavel in her hand. “Next on our list is trick-or-treating with Mr. Done.”
The room erupted with laughter. Michele waved for me to come on stage. I walked up the stairs, stood beside her, and felt my face turn red as I tried to look like standing on an auction block is something I do all the time. Michele pounded several times on her gavel.
“Okay, parents,” she began, “here’s your chance to have Halloween night off. Do I hear twenty dollars?”
“Twenty!”
“Thirty!”
“Forty!”
“Fifty!”
“Sixty!”
“A hundred!” someone shouted from the back.
Everyone turned around. It was Trevor’s dad. Trevor was standing by his side. He caught my eye and grinned.
“Do I hear one hundred ten?” Michele announced.
“One hundred ten!”
“One hundred twenty.”
“One hundred fifty.”
It can’t go any higher than this.
“Do I hear one hundred sixty?” Michele coaxed. “Anyone want to bid one hundred sixty?”
“Two hundred!” a voice boomed from the back of the room.
There was a great in-drawing of breath as every head snapped to the opposite corner of the room. It was Christopher’s dad. Christopher stood beside him, beaming.
Michele pointed at him. “We have two hundred. Do I hear two hundred ten?”
“Two hundred ten,” Trevor’s dad called out.
>
Christopher’s dad raised it. “Two hundred twenty!”
“Two hundred thirty,” cried Trevor’s dad.
Christopher’s father cupped his hands over his mouth and bellowed, “Two hundred forty!”
The noise in the hall escalated. Never in the history of our school auction had a teacher gone for so much money.
Michele stared at Trevor’s dad. She looked at Christopher’s. Then back to Trevor’s. “Do I hear two hundred fifty?”
Everyone watched Trevor’s father. He was thinking. Trevor tugged on his dad’s arm.
“Going… ,” Michele said, slowly.
Trevor’s dad scratched his head.
The room grew quiet.
“Going… ,” Michele repeated, stretching out the word even more.
Trevor continued to pull.
Finally, Trevor’s dad shook his head.
“GONE!” Michele shouted, pounding her gavel. “To Christopher’s family!”
The room exploded. As I walked down the stairs, people I didn’t know patted me on the back. Several of my students raced up to the stage, giggling. Christopher ran up to me and jumped up and down. I leaned over the railing. “You know what this means, don’t you?” I paused and grinned. “On Halloween night I get half your candy.”
The day after the auction, I told Christopher that he could bring along a friend. He invited Trevor. I thought that was nice of him. On Halloween night, I picked the boys up at Christopher’s house just before it started to get dark. They were all ready to go. Christopher was dressed up as Darth Vader. Trevor was a pirate. As we walked out of the door, Christopher zapped me with his lightsaber. I turned to Christopher’s father and said, “Three hundred if you reconsider.” He laughed.
With their pillowcases in hand, Christopher and Trevor tore out the door, ran to the first house, and rang the doorbell. I waited on the sidewalk with my flashlight. A woman wearing a witch’s hat answered the door. The boys shouted, “Trick-or-treat,” grabbed their candy, and flew off the porch.
“What did you guys get?” I asked as they raced across the lawn.
They didn’t hear me. They were already halfway to house number two. I walked quickly to keep up. At the second house, a small boy in a Piglet costume was waiting at the door. His mom was standing next to me on the sidewalk. When the door opened, Piglet stepped inside. His mother rushed in the house to fetch him.
After Piglet was out, Christopher and Trevor reached into the bowl and dashed down the steps.
“Did you two say thank you?” I yelled.
“Thank youuuuuu!” they both hollered over their shoulders. And they flew to house number three.
The third house was all decked out. Styrofoam tombstones stood on the lawn, cobwebs covered the bushes, jack-o’-lanterns sat on steps, and yellow caution tape wrapped around the porch. The Addams Family theme song was playing in the window.
“Come on!” Trevor called back to Christopher as he ran up the driveway. “They had Skittles last year!”
My eyebrows went up. “You remember what they had last year?”
“Yeah!” he shouted.
At that moment, I realized that I was out with two trick-or-treating aficionados. Christopher and Trevor had this candy-collecting business down to a science. For the next two hours the boys slid through hedges, flew up walkways, jumped over gutters, dodged strollers, and raced down sidewalks. They hit hundreds of houses. They knew every shortcut. That night I got an education in trick-or-treating. Here are some of the things I learned from the experts:
* * *
TRICK-OR-TREATING LESSONS
Run outside at the first sign of dusk.
Banging on the door and ringing the doorbell at the same time make the people in the house open the door faster.
After saying “Trick-or-treat!” ask “How many can I have?”
Good candy: Tootsie Rolls, Kit Kats, Nerds, Twizzlers, Jolly Ranchers, Starburst, Skittles, Snickers, and Whoppers. Bad candy: toothbrushes.
Third graders do not need flashlights.
Pillowcases hold twice as much as plastic grocery bags and three times as much as plastic orange pumpkins.
After being handed a piece of candy, always look back in the bowl to see what you did not get.
When presented with a bowl of ten different candies, a third grader can decide which candy to take faster than he can answer 18 ÷ 3.
The best candy is often on the bottom of the bowl.
If a group of children gathers at the door, sometimes it is best to be in the front so you do not have to wait and can run immediately to the next house. But sometimes it is better to be the last one because you might get two pieces of candy for being patient.
Do not get stuck behind a little kid at the door. Little kids take forever to decide.
Old people either are very generous or give you one peanut. There is no in between.
Handing out candy is like serving wine at a party. People serve the good stuff first and save the not-so-good stuff for later. The longer you stay out on Halloween night, the worse the candy gets.
Lots of decorations in the front yard means good candy. They spend a lot on Halloween.
Men don’t care what they’re handing out. Women give raisins.
It is always better to choose your candy than to have someone else choose it for you.
When parents chaperone, moms say, “Be careful” and “Remember your manners.” Dads say, “Wha’d ya get?”
The later you stay out, the better chance the person at the door will give you a handful of candy instead of just one piece because she doesn’t think she will have many more visitors.
Raid the candy bowl at your own house before you go trick-or-treating and again when you get home.
Cute costumes = more candy.
Dads stay out later than moms.
Do not show your teacher what you have in your lunch bag the day after Halloween or he’ll point to the Official Halloween Candy Taste Tester button that he’s wearing and ask for all your Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
November
Judge each day not by the harvest you reap but by the seeds you plant.
— Robert Louis Stevenson
REBECCA
All teachers have their “pillow students” — students we worry about before we fall asleep at night. How can we help them? What will happen to them when they leave our classes? Will they succeed in school? This year one of my pillow students is Rebecca.
Rebecca’s mom is in jail — again. She is expecting her fourth child; each one is from a different father. Rebecca and her siblings are being raised by their grandmother, but unfortunately she doesn’t have a lot of time for Rebecca, either. Oftentimes, Rebecca is late for school. Occasionally, she doesn’t even show up at all. When she does come, she complains that she’s not feeling well. Sometimes she gets into fights at recess with her friends. In class, she cries because she misses her mom.
Rebecca struggles with her schoolwork, too. Math is difficult. So is writing. She reads two years below grade level. When she reads with me, it takes her a long time just to get through the shortest page. I work with Rebecca on her reading as much as I can, but her progress is slow. I doubt that she has ever finished a whole book.
Once in a while when the class is reading together and all the children have copies of the same book, I’ll ask Rebecca if she’d like to take a turn reading aloud, but she always refuses. She knows that she is behind the other children.
One night as I was thinking about how to help her, I had a brainstorm. What about Max? What if Rebecca could read with Max? Max is a golden Lab. He belongs to Ellen, our school secretary. Two or three times a week, Ellen brings Max to school after lunch, and he lies calmly behind her desk with a red bandanna tied around his neck. Max has a wonderful disposition — calm, friendly. Everyone loves Max. He has become our unofficial school mascot.
When a child comes into the office for a Band-Aid or an ice pack, Ellen always lets him come around
the counter and pet the dog. Max pounds his tail on the carpet and soon the child forgets about why he came into the office in the first place. If Rebecca could read to Max, I thought, maybe she would forget how difficult reading is for her. Max wouldn’t correct her. He wouldn’t make fun of her. He’d just listen.
The following day, I discussed my plan with Ellen. She thought it was a great idea. I knew that Max couldn’t come into the classroom. It would be too distracting. So Ellen and I decided that Rebecca would visit Max in the office. Things are pretty quiet there after lunch. Ellen volunteered to keep an eye on Rebecca.
When I first told Rebecca about the idea, I thought she’d be excited, but she wasn’t. Rebecca knew Max, of course, but said that she didn’t want to leave the classroom. I could tell that she was nervous. But I also had a hunch that after one visit with Max, she’d be hooked.
I knelt down beside her desk. “Rebecca, Max likes to be read to, but Ellen is too busy.”
She hesitated.
“You’ll be helping Max. And if you don’t like it, you don’t have to go back. Will you give it a try?”
She nodded.
“That’s a girl.”
The next day, I sent Rebecca to the office with a book. Ellen introduced her to Max. He raised his paw and shook Rebecca’s hand. Then she sat down next to Max, opened her book, and started reading. Max hunkered down beside her. Ellen went about her work, pretending not to listen. After a few minutes Rebecca was petting Max with one hand while she followed the words in her book with the other. Max never moved. He never interrupted. He was the perfect audience.
After about twenty minutes, Ellen said it was time to go. She let Rebecca give Max a treat from her bottom desk drawer then sent her back to the classroom.
“How’d it go?” I asked Rebecca when she returned.
“Great!” she replied, enthusiastically. “Can I go again tomorrow?”
“Well,” I said, smiling, “I was thinking that you could read to Max once or twice a week.”