Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind

by Phillip Done

  I sat on the corner of a child’s desk, opened the bag, and looked inside. When I saw what was in it, I threw my head back and gave a good loud laugh. His mom smiled with me. Out of the bag I pulled a well-worn video of Grease. On the cover there was a note in Michael’s handwriting:

  Dear Mr. Done,

  Learn these songs! Next time I see you we will sing them together.

  Love, Angel

  I stared at the note for a moment and shook my head. Then I looked up at Michael’s mom with a big grin. “Well, I guess I know what I’ll be singing when I get to heaven.”

  March

  MARY POPPINS: Our first game is called “well begun is half done.”

  MICHAEL: I don’t like the sound of that.

  MARY POPPINS: Otherwise entitled, “let’s tidy up the nursery.”

  MICHAEL: I told you she was tricky.

  — Mary Poppins

  MATH

  I teach math first thing in the morning. Why? Because they say that children are freshest at the start of the day. Well, the kids might be fresh, but when school starts my coffee just hasn’t kicked in yet.

  When I was a kid, math time consisted of copying a page of problems out of the book and making sure that they were a finger space apart on the paper before I solved them. If I was lucky, the teacher said we only had to do the odd problems.

  Math sure has changed. Teddy bear counters have replaced textbooks. Math journals have replaced worksheets. Kids aren’t “good in math” anymore; they’re “numerate.” In the old days teachers said, “Keep your eyes on your own paper.” Today we encourage kids to share with their team. I used to ask: “What’s the answer?” Now: “Explain your thinking.” You know those lists that come out every year saying what’s hot and what’s not? Here’s this year’s list for math:

  Out In

  Drill Explore

  Memorize Understand

  Procedures Concepts

  Skills Problems

  Answers Alternate solutions

  “That’s incorrect.” “You’re close.”

  As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the terms addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division change, too. If they go, I have a good idea what their new names would be:

  Addition would be Bouncy Fists.

  “Gina, what’s 8 + 7?” I asked.

  She held up her fist then started opening it up one finger at a time. Each time she stuck out a new finger she bounced her hand. “9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, FIFTEEN!”

  “Good.”

  Sometimes the kids don’t want the teacher to see them counting on their fingers so they hide their hands under their desks just like they do when they sneak in a squirmy worm, a mud pie, or a fistful of Doritos.

  Subtraction might as well be Samurai Warrior. I don’t know why, but when kids borrow and carry they love killing numbers off.

  One day when we were reviewing big subtraction problems like 2000 – 1899, Danny was making loud exploding noises at his desk.

  “Danny, what are you doing?”

  “I’m crossing out the numbers like you said.”

  “They’re numbers, Danny. Not targets.”

  Multiplication would be Wake Me Up When You Get There.

  “Melanie, what’s 7 × 8?”

  “51?” she answered slowly.

  “No. But you’re close.”

  “52?”

  “You’re getting warmer.”

  “53?”

  I gasped. “You’re super hot.”

  “55?”

  “YOU’RE BURNING UP!”

  “56?”

  “YEAHHHH!”

  Of course, multiplication could also be called Tricky Facts.

  “Mr. Done, what’s 7 × 7 again?” Chloe asked.

  “The 49ers.”

  “Mr. Done, what’s 8 × 8?” Gina called out.

  I started singing. “8 × 8 is 64. Put down the phone and open the door.”

  9 × 7 is always difficult for children to remember. I thought I came up with a good trick for remembering it, but it’s not working so well.

  “Boys and girls,” I explained, “I was born in 1963. So think of me whenever you see 9 × 7. Okay?”

  The following day when Stacy took her multiplication timed test, she wrote 9 × 7 = 36.

  “Stacy, why did you write 36?”

  “You said 9 × 7 is the year you were born.”

  “I wasn’t born in 1936! That would make me over seventy years old! Do I look over seventy years old?” I put up a single hand. “Wait. Don’t answer that.”

  Stacy gave a heavy sigh. “I can’t wait till we start division.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because then I won’t have to do multiplication anymore.”

  I scrunched my nose up. “Well, I hate to break it to you, honey, but you have to know your times tables to do division.”

  She collapsed on her desk.

  There is one math skill that third-grade teachers put off till the very end of the year. Long division. In fact, most of us hope the school year runs out before we come to that chapter in the math book. I know that after I introduce long division — no matter how many examples I give — I will have twenty kids lined up at my desk saying, “I don’t get it.” If long division gets a new name, it would definitely be Tearing My Hair Out. (I can think of other names as well, but this is the only one I can put in print.)

  In my district, when a teacher needs to be out for the day, we call in to report it on an automated system. We press the number that corresponds to the reason for our absence: Press one for illness, press two for a personal day, and so on. I keep waiting for the recording to say, “Press three for long division.”

  Take my most recent conversation with Emily. After several sessions together at my desk, she was still having trouble. The problem was 456 divided by 3.

  “Okay, Emily,” I said. “How many times does three go into four?”

  “Once,” she answered.

  “Good. Put the 1 on top.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s where it goes. Remember?”

  “Oh yeah.” She wrote it down.

  “Now multiply the 3 and the 1.”

  She looked up with a confused expression. “I thought this was division.”

  “Well, it is. Now multiply the 3 and the 1. What’s that?”

  “3.”

  “Excellent. Do you know where you put the answer?”

  “On top?”

  “No, this one goes below the 4.” She wrote a 3. “Next, subtract the 3 from 4.”

  “Subtract? What kind of division problem is this?”

  “I know it seems confusing. Let’s keep going. What’s 4 minus 3?”

  “1.”

  “Good. Now bring down the 5.”

  “Where?”

  “Next to the 1.” Emily stared blankly at the paper. “Okay, how many times does 3 go into 15?”

  She paused. “5?”

  “Very good. And where do you put the 5?”

  “On the bottom?”

  “No. It goes on the top.”

  She shook her head. “Can’t I just use a calculator?”

  For a lot of kids, solving word problems is right up there with eating vegetables. Have you seen those new cookbooks that teach moms to hide all the veggies kids hate inside the foods they love? It’s all the rage. Children are eating zucchini in their macaroni and cheese, squash in their pizza, and broccoli in their chicken nuggets — and they don’t even know it. Maybe the word problem maker-uppers can do the same thing. Trick the kids. Write problems about things they absolutely love like Disneyland — and the kids won’t even know they’re doing word problems! I can just imagine it:

  If it takes 45 minutes to stand in line at the Pirates of the Caribbean and 1½ hours to stand in line at Peter Pan’s Flight, what is the total number of minutes that you would stand in line?

  You buy Mickey Mouse ears ($10), a Goofy balloon ($5), Donald Duck sun
glasses ($7), a Toy Story T-shirt ($15), and a Jungle Book backpack ($22). If you have $100, how much change will you get back?

  As you journey through It’s a Small World, you will hear the song 257 times. If you go on the ride 3 times, how many times will you hear the song?

  If you paid $75 to enter the park and half of your day was spent waiting in line, how much did you pay to stand in line?

  If the angle of the steepest drop of Big Thunder Mountain Railroad is 45 degrees and the angle of the steepest drop of Space Mountain is 60 degrees, which roller coaster should you not go on after lunch?

  I don’t know about other teachers, but my math period wears me out. My students think math time is playtime. Pass out plastic coins and they’ll smuggle them out at recess and try to swindle the kindergartners. Pull out compasses and they’ll make shish kebabs with their pink erasers. Distribute thermometers and one will put it under his armpit to make the red line get longer. Hand them calculators and they’ll see how many words they can spell. Give them dice and half the boys will kiss the cubes and shout, “Show me the money, baby. Show me the money!”

  When I give my students a balance scale and ask them to weigh a pencil, one child will always grab the stapler and the dictionary and the stuffed animals and stack them as high as he possibly can on the scale then come to me and report that the scale doesn’t work. When we’re learning volume and the kids are supposed to be making three-dimensional rectangular solids with the little cubes, one will always build the Empire State Building then play earthquake.

  Last week when the kids were teamed up with partners to measure their heights, Brian walked up to me with his yardstick. He looked sad.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “This yardstick doesn’t work. It says Kevin is taller than me, and I know he isn’t.”

  And don’t even get me started on rulers. Rulers and third-grade boys should never be in the same room together. When I hand out the rulers, I know they will twang them on the ends of their chairs, beat them on their desks like drumsticks, and use them as runways for their erasers that have just turned into rockets.

  That doesn’t even account for the rulers with holes in them. I’d like to get my hands on the man who invented rulers with holes. What the heck was he thinking? Every third-grade boy knows that when you put the tip of a pencil into a ruler hole it turns into a helicopter.

  “Mr. Done,” Jennifer reported, “Christopher is shooting at me with his ruler.”

  “Did he kill you?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  I looked at Christopher and put out my hand. He walked to my desk and surrendered the ruler. I didn’t have to say anything to him. Third-grade boys also know that when a grown-up stands in front of you and holds out his hand with the palm up, he wants you to hand over whatever you are holding right now.

  This week as I walked down the aisle, Robbie lowered his ruler in front of me. I stopped.

  “Robbie, what are you doing?”

  He grinned slyly. “You have to pay a toll.”

  This is a first.

  I crossed my arms. “You want to go to recess?”

  He sat up straight. “Oh, look at that. The gate is broken!” He raised the ruler. “You may go.”

  My students also think math time is snack time. It’s no wonder. Teachers ask kids to count M&M’s, divide piles of Reese’s Pieces, sort Lucky Charms, estimate the number of jelly beans in the jar, weigh Hershey’s Kisses, measure the circumference of apples, and graph their favorite potato chips. Just this week when Dylan walked into class, the first thing he asked was when we were having math. I smiled. “You’re looking forward to math time?”

  “No,” he answered. “I’m hungry.”

  THE JAR

  Today’s your lucky day,” the cashier said as I approached the counter at Starbucks on Monday morning. “Your coffee’s been paid for.”

  It took me a second to realize what she had said. “… Huh?”

  “The woman ahead of you paid for your coffee. Actually, she paid for five coffees. You’re number four.”

  I stared at her. “Are you kidding?”

  “Nope.”

  Immediately I spun around to see who it might be. Maybe she’s looking at me right now. Then I turned back. The cashier was smiling. “You said to the top, right?” I nodded, still dazed.

  When she left to get my coffee, I looked at every woman in the shop. What a nice thing to do. Soon the cashier returned, pressed the plastic lid on my cup, and said, “It’s Colombian today.”

  “Thanks.”

  She smiled. “Have a nice day.”

  That morning I gathered my students on the carpet and, with my coffee cup in hand, told them the whole story. They listened closely.

  “Do you think that nice woman wanted me to know who she was?” I asked.

  “No,” several answered.

  “I agree. She wanted to be anonymous.” I repeated the word slowly as I wrote it on the small whiteboard beside my chair. “Can you all say a-non-y-mous?”

  “A-non-y-mous,” they chanted back to me.

  “Good. Does anyone know what it means?”

  Emily raised her hand. “She wanted it to be a secret.”

  “Correct. When someone chooses to be anonymous, he doesn’t want anyone to know that he did it. For example, if someone sends you a valentine card and signs it with a question mark, he wants to remain anonymous.”

  “Ohhhh,” said Rebecca.

  I took a sip of coffee. “So, why do you think she wanted to be anonymous?”

  “She didn’t want anyone to know,” Gina replied.

  “Yes, but why?”

  No one answered.

  “Well,” I continued, “when you do something kind for your mom — like set the table or take out the garbage — she appreciates it, right?”

  “Right,” the children echoed.

  “It feels good to do something nice for your mom, right?”

  “Right,” they repeated.

  I rested my elbows on my knees and clasped my hands together. “I’ll tell you something else. Whenever you do something kind for someone and they don’t know that you did it, you experience a different feeling altogether — a very special, warm, happy, feeling.” I placed my hand on my heart and patted my chest. “Right here.”

  At that moment I looked over at the closet and stood up. “Wait right here.” The students’ eyes followed me as I walked over to the back of the room. I opened the double doors, searched the shelves, then pulled out a large empty glass jar with a red lid. I returned to the carpet, took a seat, and set the jar on the desk beside my chair. The children stared at it. On it two words were written in big red letters: Kindness Jar.

  “I wasn’t going to show you this for a couple of weeks,” I said, “but it feels like the right time to begin.” I took another sip of coffee. “Now, what that woman did for me at Starbucks was what we call an act of kindness. Do you think she wanted anything in return?”

  “No,” they chorused.

  I picked up the jar and set it on my lap. “Starting today, we are going to perform our very own acts of kindness — just like the woman in the coffee shop. Over the next week, I’d like you all to do three kind things for anyone you’d like.” The children started chattering. “Now wait. Wait. Let me explain the rest.” They quieted down. “After you’ve done something kind, you will write down what you did on a slip of paper and drop it into our Kindness Jar.” I held it up and looked inside. “Do you think we can fill this up?”

  Everyone answered at once. “Yeah!”

  Angela sat up on her knees. “Can we do more than three things?”

  “Absolutely,” I replied. “You may do as many kind things as you’d like.”

  “Mr. Done,” Melanie called out, “are you going to do it?”

  I smiled. “Good idea.”

  “Do we write our names on the paper?” asked Joshua.

  “If you’d like, but you don�
��t have to. You may wish to be… ” I pointed to our new word on the whiteboard and waited for them all to say it.

  “Anonymous!” they shouted.

  “Very good. If you wish to be anonymous, just put a question mark on your paper after you’ve described your act of kindness.”

  For the next ten minutes, we brainstormed all sorts of ways to show kindness. I cut up strips of paper and set them on the table. After recess, there were already a couple of slips in the jar. I typed a note for the parents explaining Kindness Week.

  Over the next few days, our Kindness Jar grew fuller and fuller. Each morning, I read the newest slips in the jar out loud. If the kids signed them, I asked them to explain their kind acts. If there was no signature, I just read it and let the child remain unnamed. Most of the kids were eager to share. David collected grocery carts in the parking lot. Laura washed her dad’s car. Kevin watered the lawn. Jennifer brought her mom breakfast in bed: toast with chunky Skippy and raisins on top.

  “My mom just about fainted,” Christopher announced as I was reading the slips of paper.

  “Why?” I laughed.

  “When she told me to go to bed, I just said, ‘Okay’ and walked upstairs.” He got up and acted it out. “I didn’t talk back at all. I brushed my teeth and went straight to bed.”

  I lowered my chin and puckered my lips in a goofy-looking face. “Don’t you usually go straight to bed?”

  “Well… ,” he said, grinning.

  The kids giggled.

  Christopher continued. “She even put her hand on my head to see if I was sick.”

  “Mr. Done,” Melanie piped up, “what did you do?”

  “Well, I’ve done three things so far.” I counted them off with my fingers. “First, I gave an extra-large tip at a restaurant. Second, I left change in a soda machine.”

  “How much?” Trevor interrupted.

  I threw him a look. “Enough for one soda. And third, I dropped some pennies on the ground.”

  Danny jumped up. “At school?”

  “No. Calm down. At a park.”

  “Darn!”

  By Friday, our Kindness Jar was full. I had heard from almost every student. As the kids were leaving at the end of the day, I stopped Brian on his way out.