Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind

by Phillip Done

  “A house or a school,” Trevor concluded.

  “You’re narrowing it down.” I reached for a Styrofoam cup and examined it closely with a furrowed brow. “This looks interesting. What do you think this was used for?”

  “For holding something,” Robbie observed.

  “Seems likely.” I sniffed the inside then handed it over to Jennifer. “What does this smell like to you?”

  She took a whiff. “Coffee.”

  “What does that tell you?” I asked.

  “They drank coffee!” Kevin reasoned.

  I turned to him. “The children drank coffee?”

  “I have!” announced Christopher.

  Laura sneered. “I hate coffee.”

  “Coffee’s disgusting!” shouted Dylan.

  “Whoa,” I said. “Let’s get back to our detective work.” I looked intently at the cup. “If there were kids here, do you think they drank coffee?”

  Everyone answered “No” at the same time.

  “Ah!” I said. “So, perhaps someone else was here besides the children.” I lowered my voice. “But who could that be?”

  “Grown-ups,” said John.

  “Teachers!” suggested Trevor.

  I turned to him. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you can’t teach without your coffee.”

  He got a laugh.

  Finally, I picked up one of the lunch trays. “Now, what could this have been used for?”

  “It definitely held something,” Brian contributed.

  I scanned their faces. “Does everyone agree?”

  “Yeah!” they answered.

  “Some of it is stained,” Laura added.

  “Good observation.” I pointed to its separate sections. “Do you think these held coffee, too?”

  “No!” they chorused.

  “Why?” I asked.

  Kevin touched the tray. “The… the holders…”

  I helped him out. “The compartments…”

  “The compartments aren’t deep enough.”

  “Good point,” I said. “You’re using your brain.” I studied the tray. “So what do you think this tray would have held?”

  “Food!” Angela called out.

  “But why would you need food at a school?” I asked.

  “For lunch!” Melanie chimed in.

  “Maybe it’s a lunch tray,” Dylan proposed. “Maybe the kids put their food in the different compartments.”

  “Or the teachers,” said Laura.

  I set down the tray. “Excellent thinking, everyone. You’re doing exactly what archaeologists do. You’re filling in the missing pieces of the puzzle. Well done! I’m proud of you.”

  I surveyed the artifacts on the table one last time. “Well, we’ve eliminated the possibility that there was once an office or a store on this site. We think there were both children and adults here.” I turned to Laura. “And maybe teachers.” I tapped the tray. “We believe that this could have been used for lunch.” Then I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, and started scratching my chin like Sherlock Holmes. “So… what can we conclude from all of this?”

  Trevor slammed his hands on the table. “I know!” he exclaimed with a grin.

  Everyone looked at him.

  “What?” I asked.

  “The teachers ate the kids for lunch!”

  PE

  Every spring, Mr. Bailey the PE teacher hands out physical fitness awards to the fifth graders — certificates for running and jumping and things like that. We don’t give out physical fitness awards in third grade. But if we did, mine wouldn’t be like Mr. Bailey’s. My PE awards would be like the Oscars. There is nothing like physical education to bring out the thespian in kids. Following are the nominees for this year’s Academy Awards — including clips from their outstanding performances:

  * * *

  NOMINEES FOR BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTRESS IN A SUPPORTING ROLE

  1. Chloe in Field Magic

  (Mr. Done sets up brooms and balls on grass for broomball.)

  CHLOE: (seeing all the equipment, speaks excitedly) Mr. Done, are we playing Quidditch?

  2. Rebecca in Refreshment

  (After walking in from PE, Rebecca pulls out a glue bottle that is half full, puts it up to her neck, and squeezes it until a little puff of air comes out.)

  MR. DONE: (stares with mouth open) What are you doing?

  REBECCA: Cooling myself off. Want to try it?

  MR. DONE: No, thanks.

  3. Gina in The Note

  GINA: (holding note from mom) Mr. Done, I can’t do PE today.

  MR. DONE: Why? What’s wrong?

  GINA: (looks down at note) I don’t know. I can’t read my mom’s writing.

  * * *

  NOMINEES FOR BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTOR IN A SUPPORTING ROLE

  1. Brian in Prepared

  MR. DONE: (leading class in calisthenics) And why is it important to stretch?

  BRIAN: (in the middle of a toe-touch) So I can reach the mashed potatoes before my brother does.

  2. Trevor in Hanging On

  TREVOR: (struggling desperately to do one more pull-up) I hope… my insurance… covers this.

  3. Kevin in Out of Shape

  MR. DONE: (demonstrating sit-ups) Does anyone know the name of the stomach muscles I’m working right now?

  KEVIN: A six-pack. (lifts up shirt, looks at stomach, and sees no six-pack) Man, I need to get back to the gym!

  4. Christopher in Poor Sport

  (Christopher stomps off after losing kickball game.)

  MR. DONE: Christopher, get over here.

  CHRISTOPHER: (walks back) The teams were unfair!

  MR. DONE: The teams were not unfair. You’re sore because they won. Winning is fun, but it’s not the point. What counts is that you tried and had a good time. Understand?

  CHRISTOPHER: (head down) Yeah. (raises head) They cheated!

  * * *

  NOMINEES FOR BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTRESS IN A LEADING ROLE

  1. Stacy in Excuses

  STACY: Mr. Done, I can’t do PE today.

  MR. DONE: Why?

  STACY: I got asthma.

  MR. DONE: I didn’t know you had asthma.

  STACY: I got it on the weekend.

  2. Angela in What’s in a Name?

  MR. DONE: Does anyone know what PE stands for?

  MELANIE: Play Everyday?

  MR. DONE: Not quite.

  SARAH: Play Everything?

  MR. DONE: Nope. It stands for Physical Education.

  (Cut to later that day.)

  ANGELA: (breathing hard after soccer game) Mr. Done, I know what PE should stand for.

  MR. DONE: What?

  ANGELA: People Exhausted!

  3. Laura in We’re Off!

  MR. DONE: (to Laura) Did you get new shoes?

  LAURA: (smiles) Yeah.

  MR. DONE: They’re nice lookin’.

  LAURA: (looks down and admires them) They’re really fast.

  * * *

  NOMINEES FOR BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTOR IN A LEADING ROLE

  1. Danny in Dying

  DANNY: (sweating after an intense Four Square match) Mr. Done, can I get a drink?

  MR. DONE: In a minute. PE’s almost over.

  DANNY: (feels under armpits) I’m leaking.

  2. Dylan in Relays

  MR. DONE: Okay, everyone, put your toes on the line.

  (Dylan stands an inch over it.)

  MR. DONE: (pointing to Dylan’s feet) Dylan, step back. Your toes are over the line.

  DYLAN: These are new shoes. I haven’t grown into them yet.

  3. David in Tackle

  DAVID: I want to be a backup quarterback for the NFL.

  MR. DONE: Why not a starting quarterback?

  DAVID: They get hurt too much.

  4. John in The Bones

  MR. DONE: (stops in the middle of singing “Dem Bones” with class and points to forearm) Who remembers what this bone is called?
>
  JOHN: (raising hand) The… the… (shakes hand) Wait… I know… the… the hilarious.

  MR. DONE: (smiling) Almost. It’s the humerus. You were close. (points to his forearm) Does anyone remember what these two bones are called? (waits for response; no answer) The first one starts with an R. (kids continue staring at teacher; teacher helps them out) Ra… Ra-di…

  GINA: Radius!

  MR. DONE: Good. (teacher points to his forearm again) Now, who remembers the name of the second bone?

  JOHN: (shoots arm up) UTERUS!

  TELEVISION

  Christopher, is quickly an adjective or an adverb?” I asked.

  He looked up to the ceiling and thought about it. Then he turned to the rest of the class and said, “Can I ask the studio audience?”

  Teachers and television share a common goal — keep the kids tuned in. But teachers have a more difficult time of it. We don’t get to use special effects and background scores to keep our audiences listening. I do not look like Zac Efron.

  “Why are you so tired?” I asked Trevor one morning as he plopped his head down on the desk.

  “I was watching American Idol,” he mumbled, his head lodged in his elbow.

  “American Idol?” I exclaimed. “That’s over at eleven o’clock! Does your mom know you were up that late? You should be in bed!”

  I can’t really blame the kids though. When I was Trevor’s age, I was just as bad. At nine years old I could identify the characters on every kid’s lunchbox at school. I knew the television theme songs better than my times tables. I could recite the lineup of every show on the three big networks: Gilligan’s Island followed I Dream of Jeannie. Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom preceded The Wonderful World of Disney. The Partridge Family came after The Brady Bunch. We ate dinner with Mary Tyler Moore and dessert with Bob Newhart. After Carol Burnett — time for bed.

  One day I asked my students, “So, how many hours of TV do you watch a day?”

  “One,” Jennifer answered.

  “Two,” said Gina.

  “Three!” Trevor announced, proudly.

  I shot him a look. “You watch three hours a day?”

  He smirked. “More on the weekends.”

  I sat on the corner of my desk. “Boys and girls, how would you like to have no homework for a week?”

  The room exploded. One night without homework is a big treat, two is super. A whole week off — unimaginable!

  “You’re the best!” Danny declared.

  I tapped the desk till they quieted down. “Now wait. Wait. I’m not just going to cancel homework for nothing. We’re going to have a little contest.”

  They all sat up.

  “What do we have to do?” Angela called out.

  “Well,” I began, “I challenge you to not watch TV for two solid weeks.”

  Everyone started talking at once. Trevor grabbed his neck and fell on the floor.

  “Okay. Okay,” I said over the noise. “Quiet down, everybody. Trevor, get up.” I sat up in my chair and waited until it was silent. “Raise your hand if you have a question.”

  Twenty hands shot up.

  “Is this just for school nights?” Sarah shouted out.

  “No,” I replied. “Weekends, too.”

  More grabbing of throats.

  “You don’t have to do it,” I explained. “It’s optional.”

  “Can we watch movies?” David asked.

  “Not on your TV. You may go to the movies. But you may not do anything using your TV.”

  Kevin dropped his head on his desk.

  “Can we use the computer?” Trevor asked.

  “May you use the computer?” I repeated correctly. “Yes.”

  Kevin lifted his head. There was hope.

  “You may play games on the computer, but you may not watch shows. And no DVDs.”

  Kevin plopped his head back on the desk.

  “Can we TiVo?” asked Robbie.

  “If you want to TiVo the shows and watch them later, you may.”

  “Yes!” Robbie cheered.

  “How many days do we get without homework?” Joshua asked.

  “Five,” I answered.

  The room grew animated.

  Christopher spoke up over the noise. “If we can’t watch TV for two weeks, then we should get two weeks off without homework.”

  “Yeah!” everyone agreed.

  “Nope,” I said. “One week off.”

  “WHY?” John challenged.

  “Because I’m the boss. And I make the rules.”

  “Please!” Dylan pleaded.

  “Nope. Remember, you don’t have to participate.”

  “How will you know we did it?” Melanie asked.

  “Aha,” I said, holding up my index finger. I reached for a stack of red papers on my desk and held one up. “Every night that you don’t watch television your parents will have to sign this piece of paper.” I ran my finger down it. “There are fourteen lines here. In order to have no homework for a week, you need fourteen signatures.”

  A sly grin spread across Trevor’s face. “I’m going to forge my mom’s signature.”

  “You are, huh?”

  He nodded slowly.

  I reached into my pocket, pulled out my imaginary cell phone, and dialed. “Hello, Trevor’s mom. This is Mr. Done.” The kids stared at me. Wide grins brightened their faces. “I have this red paper in front of me with fourteen of your signatures.” I paused. “You don’t know what I’m talking about? Well, according to this, you’ve confirmed that Trevor didn’t watch TV for two weeks.” I held the phone away from my ear and whispered to my kids. “She’s screaming.” They laughed. I put the receiver back to my ear. “What’s that?… Trevor doesn’t get to watch TV for the rest of his life?” Giggles. “Oh my!” I listened some more. “And he’s grounded for a month?” More giggles. “Okay, I’ll tell him. Good-bye.” I closed my imaginary cell, looked at Trevor, and shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

  After the snickering died down, I sat on the corner of my desk and leaned forward. “Imagine,” I said, drawing them in with my voice. “One whooooole week without homework. Just think of how nice it will feel when your older brothers and sisters have homework and you don’t.”

  Brian started bouncing.

  “Wait!” I shouted, popping up. “I just realized something. If you have no homework for a whole week, that means you can’t do your spelling homework. And if you can’t do your spelling homework, then you can’t have a spelling test on Friday.”

  Everyone cheered.

  I acted upset. “Let’s not do this,” I said, shaking my head. “Forget the whole thing.”

  “NO!” they boomed.

  “No. No,” I continued. “I’ve changed my mind. We can’t go a week without a spelling test.”

  “Yes we can!” they screamed collectively.

  I flopped down in my chair, covered my face with my hands, and heaved a loud sigh of defeat. “Okay, you win.”

  More cheering.

  “So, how many of you are going to participate?” I asked. Everyone but Robbie raised his hand. I looked at him. “Robbie, you’re not going to try?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “I won’t survive.”

  I looked back at the class. “Now, there’s a man who knows himself.”

  Next I reached for the stack of red papers and started passing them out.

  “When do we start?” Rebecca asked.

  “Tonight.”

  Melanie slammed her hands on her desk. She looked panicked. “What day is this?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “No!” she moaned.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “Hannah Montana is on tonight.”

  “Sorry, honey. No Hannah Montana.”

  She put her hands on her cheeks and gave a Home Alone yell.

  Stacy raised her hand.

  “Yes, Stacy?”

  “Mr. Done, are you going to
do it?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah!” Brian shouted. “If we have to do it, then you have to do it.”

  “Yeah,” Dylan chimed in. “You have to do it, too.”

  I shook my head.

  “Come on,” Brian urged.

  Laura joined him. “You have to.”

  I looked around the room then shrugged. “Well, why not?”

  Everyone clapped.

  Trevor smirked. “And your mom has to sign it.”

  For the next two weeks, my class ate dinner with their backs to their TV sets, listened to their favorite shows through the walls, and were tortured by siblings who took full advantage of this competition and made sure the TV was on 24/7. And loud.

  Each morning I asked who was still in the competition. Each day fewer and fewer hands went up. When someone dropped out, I always asked, “So, what show did you in?”

  “Survivor,” Chloe replied.

  “Wizards of Waverly Place,” said Gina.

  “Tom and Jerry,” John answered.

  “Suite Life of Zach and Cody” was Emily’s response.

  “What about you, David?” I asked. “Which show did you in?”

  He sighed. “Dancing with the Stars.”

  Finally the contest was over. Five kids handed me their red papers with fourteen signatures. I felt like Willie Wonka collecting the five golden tickets.

  “Congratulations,” I said. “Well done.” Christopher was one of the winners. “Christopher, I’m impressed. I didn’t think you’d make it.”

  “My mom put the TV in the closet,” he grumbled.

  “Mr. Done, did you make it?” Laura asked.

  I flinched. “Uh… well… Okay, everyone, get your math books out.”

  “Did you watch TV?” John interrogated, pointing at me.

  “Don’t point.”

  “You watched TV!” Stacy screamed, jumping out of her seat. “You watched TV!”

  “Stacy, sit down.”

  Dylan joined her. “You watched TV!”

  “Dylan, sit down right now!”

  I was trapped. (And I was running out of Teacher Dodges.) I drew in a deep breath. “Okay. I watched TV.”