Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind Read online

  Ellen walked into the library at exactly three o’clock and spotted me.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Hiding,” I whispered.

  She looked away quickly and pretended I wasn’t there. Then she started taping the lists on the inside of the windows. The crowd swarmed around. After all the lists were up, Ellen turned around and darted to the back door.

  “You’re not staying?” I asked.

  “Not for a million dollars.”

  I flashed a smile. “If anyone has any questions, I’ll give them your home number.”

  She laughed. “And I’ll make sure you have bus duty for the whole year.”

  As I sat hidden, I watched dozens of children run their fingers down the lists, hunting for their names. The search is always the same. When kids get the teacher they want, they scream. After finding their names they look for their friends’ names. If their friends are in the same class, they scream again. Before leaving campus, they rush to their new classrooms, press their faces against the windows to get a peek inside, and declare, “No one’s there.”

  As the crowd grew, I heard one child shout, “I got Mr. Done!” He was jumping up and down. That felt good. It was John. I knew him well. Last year when I was on cafeteria duty, I opened thirty-seven of his juice boxes.

  A few minutes later, I heard a mom ask, “Who’d you get?”

  “Mr. Done,” a sad voice answered.

  I craned my neck to see who it was. It was Sarah. I knew her, too. In fact, everyone knew Sarah. In second grade she wore leopard leotards, pink cowboy boots, a purple-fringed leather jacket studded with rhinestones, and a plastic purple Barbie watch. On Picture Makeup Day, she got confused and came to school wearing glittery lip gloss and eye shadow.

  “What’s wrong with Mr. Done?” Sarah’s mom asked.

  “He gives homework,” Sarah grumped.

  “They all give homework, honey.”

  Sarah looked horrified.

  Soon I heard another voice. “I got him! I got him!” Since there are only two male teachers on my campus — Mr. Davis, who teaches fifth grade, and myself — there was a good chance that this was one of mine. It was. The voice belonged to Trevor. I’d had Trevor’s brother Stephen two years earlier. In fact, Stephen was with Trevor at the library window. As the boys walked away, I heard Stephen say, “Mr. Done’s nice. Laugh at his jokes. He likes that.”

  Over the next hour, more children came by and ran their fingers down the lists then left to go press their faces against the windows of their new classrooms. When the crowd began to die down, I gathered my things, sneaked out the back door, and returned to my room. I set my lesson plan book on my desk, took one last look around, and headed out. Just as I was locking the door, Stephen and Trevor rode by on their bikes.

  “Well, look who’s here,” I said with a big smile. “How are you boys doing?”

  “Great,” Stephen replied.

  I walked toward them. “Did you have a nice summer?”

  “Yeah,” they answered in unison.

  “All ready for school to start?” I asked.

  “Uh-huh,” said Stephen.

  I looked at Trevor and smiled. “So, do you know who your teacher is?”

  Trevor grinned and nodded.

  “I’m glad you’re in my class,” I said.

  His grin grew.

  Then I looked at Stephen. “Are you excited about fifth grade?”

  “Sort of,” Stephen responded.

  “Who’d you get?” I asked.

  “Mr. Davis.”

  “Ahhhh,” I said. Then I lowered my voice to a playful whisper. “You want to know a secret about Mr. Davis?”

  “Sure,” Stephen answered. He stepped toward me.

  “Well,” I said, “Mr. Davis is nice. Laugh at his jokes. He likes that.”

  Trevor and Stephen snapped surprised looks at each other. I smirked and strolled away.

  “See you two tomorrow,” I sang. “And happy first day of school!”

  WELCOME BACK

  On the first day of school, I sit alone in my classroom and wait for the morning bell to ring. The room is ready. Everything is in its place — like a house just before company comes to visit. My company is coming to stay for 185 days.

  After the bell rings, I take a deep breath, gulp down the rest of my coffee, then push the door open. Twenty third graders are lined up. Twenty moms and dads stand nearby, snapping pictures on their digital cameras and cell phones. Their last words to their children are good luck, pay attention, be good, wear your hair back, you’ll make new friends, and don’t drive your new teacher crazy.

  I look out at their nervous faces. “Good morning, boys and girls.”

  “Good morning,” they answer softly.

  I know these soft voices will last only till the first recess; then I will spend the remaining 184.75 days trying to get them to quiet down.

  I smile. “My name is Mr. Done. It rhymes with phone. Please come inside. You’ll find your name tags on your desks.”

  One by one, the kids parade into their new classroom. In march twenty new backpacks, fifteen new pencil cases, ten new outfits, eighteen new binders, seventy-five new folders, sixteen new lunch sacks, nine pairs of new shoes, seven new haircuts, and 6,395 new markers.

  I greet each child as he or she walks into the room.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Emily.”

  “Nice to meet you, Emily.”

  She hands me a flower. The stem is wrapped in aluminum foil.

  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  The next student pulls her backpack behind her. It’s on wheels. She looks like she is on her way to catch a flight.

  I smile at her. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “Melanie.”

  “I like your backpack.”

  “Thanks. It has wheels.”

  “I see that.”

  Melanie rolls on in. A boy with a buzz cut steps on up.

  “And what’s your name?” I ask.

  “Christopher,” he answers brightly.

  “Welcome to third grade, Christopher.”

  Immediately he leans way back and starts walking inside.

  My eyes get big. “What are you doing?”

  “The limbo!”

  After all the kids are inside, I kick up the doorstop and start closing the door. I look out at the parents and smile reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of them.”

  There are certain things that grade school teachers do on the first day of school. We read our students a story. We give them a tour of the campus. We play Name Bingo. We do all we can to make sure that the kids have a nice day. Why? So they go home and tell their moms that they like the teacher.

  I give my students an All About Me Survey. It is a good way to get to know the children. Here are some of the responses to this year’s questions:

  When is your birthday? Gina: In six and a half days! How many people are in your family? Laura: Six including my dog. What’s your phone number? Angela: Home or cell? Where were you born? Trevor: At Stanford, but I’m a Cal fan. What is your favorite food? David: Maraschino cherries. What’s the most difficult part of school? Stacy: The monkey bars. What is your favorite drink? Christopher: Virgin Margaritas. No salt.

  What are your favorite subjects in school? Sarah: Reading, writing, and imagining. What would you like to study this year? Danny: Taxidermy. What would you like me to know about yourself? Kevin: I eat paper.

  What do you want to be when you grow up? Joshua: Jackie Chan. Do you play any sports? Brian: Soccer. My team is called the Barracuda Pirate Warrior Transformer Secret Agent Cone Heads. But everyone calls us the Cone Heads.

  During the first week, teachers begin assessing their students. Sometimes this can be quite entertaining. One year I was checking Mark’s understanding of geometry and set three blocks out in front of him — a triangle, a rectangle, and a pentagon.

  I tapped the block
s with my pencil. “Could you please name the shapes.”

  Mark scrunched his nose.

  “Just name the shapes,” I repeated.

  Mark looked at me with an are you kidding me sort of look and shrugged. “Okay.” Then pointing to each block he said, “This one’s Joe. This one’s Frank. And this one’s Bob.”

  Another year when I was sitting with Jacob, I drew some stick figures and cookies on a piece of paper.

  “Okay, Jacob,” I started, “if there are three students and six cookies, how many cookies does each child get?”

  He shook his head. “Not enough.”

  Last year when checking Jessica’s number sense, I said, “If I give you three hamsters one day, and four hamsters the next day, and five hamsters the third day — how many hamsters would you have altogether?”

  She thought about it. “Thirteen.”

  “That’s close,” I responded. “Now think about it carefully. If I give you three hamsters the first day, four the next, and five the day after that, how many would you have?”

  This time Jessica used her fingers.

  “Thirteen,” she answered again.

  Hmm, I thought. Let me try another approach.

  I grabbed some paper clips and arranged them on the table. Maybe this will help. “Look,” I explained. “If I give you three paper clips, then four, then five — how many do you have?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Then why did you say thirteen when I gave you hamsters?”

  “Because I have one at home.”

  That same year I worked with Cindy on fractions.

  “Cindy, let’s say you’re really hungry. Which would you rather eat — an eighth of a pizza or a fourth of a pizza?”

  “What kind is it?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know… pepperoni.”

  “With extra sauce?”

  “Sure,” I replied, smiling.

  “And extra cheese?”

  “Why not?”

  “Are there olives?”

  “Olives, too.”

  She shook her head. “I wouldn’t eat it. I hate olives.”

  * * *

  This year I began my reading assessments the second day of school. During silent reading, I called kids up one at a time to listen to them read. Each child read a selection entitled “All About Dogs.”

  Trevor was the first one up. Before he started reading the selection, I asked him some questions.

  “Do you like dogs?” I asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you have a dog?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What kind?”

  “A golden retriever.”

  “What’s its name?”

  “Sparky.”

  “Is Sparky a nice dog?”

  “No. He jumps on the furniture and drinks out of the toilet. He failed doggy school twice.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “He can do tricks!” Trevor added.

  “What kind of tricks?”

  “Well, when we say, ‘Sparky, do you like Paris Hilton?’ he does this.”

  Trevor dived on the floor and played dead.

  Next it was Melanie’s turn.

  “Melanie, do you have a dog?”

  “No, a cat. She just had eight kittens.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot.”

  “She was pregnant a long time.” I held back a laugh. “Last week was her birthday.”

  “Did you celebrate?”

  “No. She can’t eat cake.”

  Christopher followed Melanie.

  “Do you have a dog, Christopher?”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s your dog’s name?”

  “Bitsy.”

  “Is Bitsy a boy dog or a girl dog?”

  “Well, she thinks she’s a boy dog.”

  I look confused. “What do you mean?”

  Christopher jumped off his chair, crouched down on all fours, and lifted his hind leg. “Now you understand?”

  Teachers assess more than reading and math in the beginning of the year. We’re also evaluating student behavior, sizing up the kids to see who the pistols are going to be. Over the years, I have developed several pistol assessments:

  The Lunch Test: When the cafeteria serves hamburgers for lunch and she opens her ketchup packet by setting it on the picnic table and smashing one end with her fist.

  The Sharing Test: When it is time for Show and Tell and he pulls out a bag of plastic tanks and Big Time Wrestling action figures.

  The Cursive Test: When you ask everyone to make a cursive in the air and he writes with his foot.

  The Supply Test: When she punches thumbtacks into all the pink erasers to make little eraser men.

  The Playground Test: If she tries to sell the little eraser men to the first graders.

  The Seasons Test: When you ask him to name the order of the seasons and he answers baseball, football, and basketball.

  The Math Test: When you’re setting up a mock store during math time and he puts out a cup for tips.

  The Entrance Test: When you open the classroom door in the morning and she shouts, “Trick-or-treat!” In August.

  The Delivery Test: When you ask him to take a message to the office and he writes “UPS” on a sticky note and smacks it on his chest before dashing out the door.

  The Color Test: When he tells you that his favorite color is camouflage.

  The Clothing Test: When he walks in wearing a T-shirt that says, “Homework kills trees. Stop the madness.”

  The Science Test: When you ask her to tell you something about food chains and she says, “McDonald’s is bigger than Burger King.”

  The Art Test: When drawing his self-portrait, he makes his eyes bloodshot.

  The Interview Test: When you ask the kids to write down one question they have for the teacher and his is, “Do you have back hair?”

  The Second-Grade Teacher Test: When you show the second-grade teachers your new class list and they cringe, gasp, cover their mouths, sit down quickly, shake their heads, cross themselves, grab their hearts, or ask if you’re taking Prozac.

  September

  Well, remember the rules… no playing ball in the house, no fighting, no answering the phone “City Morgue.”

  The Cat in the Hat (the film)

  KIDS

  Pretty soon I will celebrate my twenty-fifth year in the classroom. I can’t believe it’s been that long. It seems like just yesterday I was a new teacher sneaking into the veteran’s room and peeking in her lesson plan book to see what I should be teaching the next day. I calculated that I have spent three months of my life taking roll, five months passing out papers, and two years waiting for kids to finish grinding their pencils in the electric pencil sharpener.

  Recently, someone asked me if kids today are different than the kids I taught when I first started. My answer is no. Kids are the same today as they always were. Yes, they have Xboxes and PlayStations and Game Boys and iPods and cell phones and computers now. But it’s the gadgets that have changed, not the children. Kids are kids are kids.

  Kids still get excited when you bring in a fossil or a magnet. They still get the giggles, and will giggle more when you tell them to stop giggling.

  If a mom sends in milk with birthday cupcakes, one child will show you his milk mustache. Another will lap the milk up just like a kitty cat.

  When throwing something away, they will always shoot a basket. When playing kickball, they will climb on the backstop while they’re waiting for their turn. Someone’s shoe will go flying when he kicks the ball.

  They cannot read The Guinness Book of World Records during silent reading time without tapping the students next to them and pointing to the man with all the muscles.

  When they can’t find a paper, they will claim that they handed it in, then discover it in their desks two weeks later. When the bell rings at the end of recess, one boy will take the tetherball and give it one last whopping spin.

  As soon as they spot th
eir teacher coming to pick them up in line, they will shout, “Here he comes!” When they see him walking across the blacktop during lunch recess, they will wave at him and shout his name like they haven’t seen him in five years.

  If you spray cleaner on the overhead projector while the light is on, they will squeal as the ink spreads out on the glass. If you clean the projector glass with the light off, they will ask you to turn it on.

  They will say “Yuck!” when licking the envelopes for their valentines. They will laugh when they squeeze the detergent bottle and it whistles. They will ask if they can write about Spider-Man for their animal report.

  If you excuse them for lunch one second late, they will let you know. When they deliver something to the library, they will come back panting because they ran the whole way.

  Just before you pass around photos, they will promise to touch only the edges. When you get the photos back, they will be covered with fingerprints.

  If they get a new three-ring binder, they will proudly hold it up for you to see. If you hand them a piece of paper, they will stare at the three rings and ask how to put it in their binder. After you show them, they will open and close the rings until you tell them to stop.

  When you bring in a box of Froot Loops to hand out as treats, they will ask for the prize inside. When you finish handing out the Froot Loops, one will ask if there are seconds.

  If there are three staplers sitting on the counter and one of the staplers is smaller than the other two, they will call that one the baby. The other two will be Mommy and Daddy.

  They will spend a week working on their Mother’s Day cards then forget to take them home. If they have to leave for a dentist appointment at ten forty-five, they will remind you at eight thirty, nine thirty, ten thirty, ten forty, and ten forty-three.

  If you ask them to pick a rhythm instrument out of the box, they will always fight over the drum. They will laugh every time you add a new body part to the poor guy in hangman.

  When doing crosswords, one child will have no problem cramming seven letters into a five-letter word. When you hand out name tags with the sticky backs, somebody will immediately put the name tag over his mouth.