We started off with a bang, as my lesson plans stated that from 7:45-8:45 I was to take attendance. Attendance for an hour. So for the remaining 57 minutes I fielded questions-- what are we doing today? what's wrong with our teacher? do you know Santa? do you have kids? do you have a boyfriend? are you for Alabama or Auburn? are you going to be here tomorrow? do you go to high school? can I go to the bathroom? can I trade snacks with Lucy? can I go put my gloves in my backpack? will you pull my tooth? and so forth-- and tried to keep my 15 students in their seats, an experience much like asking cats to roll over on command.
Conversations with first graders are hard. Their attention spans are much like that of a chipmunk and, feeling the need to explain their every thought, any request comes with a five minute description of why they need what they need, including a break between sentences to see what the rest of the class is doing.
Water is, apparently, a miracle cure. Any ache or ailment can be magically solved by being allowed to get a drink of water:
"Miss Hays, my belly hurts."... "Would you like to get a sip of water?"... "Mmmhmm."
Much better.
"Miss Has, my neck hurts."..."Why don't you have some water?"..."Thank you!"
Problem solved.
"Miss Hazel, my head hurts."..."I bet a sip of water would make you feel better."..."Yes ma'am."
Ta-da!
Swear words are the new chicken pox. One kid whispers the "s-word" to his neighbor, who immediately reports, "So-and-so said &*it!!" He is in turn reported by his neighbor, who is then reported by his neighbor, and down the line until I have fifteen first graders blowing my room up with bad words. I calmly explain to my class that, regardless of who started it, we are not going to say bad words from here on out because you-know-who is making a list of who's naughty and nice, and I would hate for anyone to end up on the naughty list because of tattling or swearing. So there will be no more swearing from here on out because we all now have clean slates. At this point, a sweet child yanks my sleeve and says in his clearest voice, "Brandon said bull shit." Perfect.
Tattling, like swearing, is another epidemic. The majority of the time, the tattling child is in no way involved in the crime they are reporting; they are simply doing the civic duty to their neighbor by informing me that so-and-so stole so-and-so's pencil. These reports can be from the smallest infraction--"Susan put her hand on my desk"-- to the most ridiculous stories--"Dylan said you're his mom"-- to tattling on a tattler-- "Cody's going to tell on me but I didn't do anything wrong!" Halfway through the day I realized that this was not tolerated by any other teachers, and I had to put my foot down and inform the children that I was no longer accepting tattles, and I happen to know a jolly man in a red suit up North who doesn't care for tattlers either. This was a welcome break, as one more kiddie-breath (much like puppy breath, but worse) whispered tattle would have surely driven me over the edge.
As some point during the day, my brain snapped in half. I watched as reality melted around me and fought the urge to curl into fetal position and giggle to myself on the floor. No amount of lecturing, no severity of threat can curb these children. I could no more make a worm stop wiggling than I can make fifteen first graders simultaneously be quiet and still. They must swing their legs and tap their desks like they must breathe, and they must share every unfiltered thought that comes to their mind: "I colored the presents brown" (runs back to desk then returns), "I colored the house red" (runs back to desk then returns), "I colored the snow purple." You know what, why don't you just surprise me?
Let me put it to you this way: these kids are adorable. So freaking cute I can barely stand it. Like really, I'm not sure I can stand it. I want to teach first grade like I want to coach a basketball team of ducks, and I think I would be equally good at both.
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