There are diplomatic people in this world. People who think
about the feelings and reactions of everyone around them. People who weigh
their words wisely, who weigh their tone of voice carefully, people who care
about how their words are perceived and who are careful to convey a positive,
yet accurate message. People like Dale and Shannon, two fellow 5th
grade teachers.
Then, there’s Matt, another 5th grade teacher.
He’s a person who dutifully responds to every email with a witty comment (or
snide remark as the case may be), who sends out mass emails with interesting
yet disturbing facts for the staff to think about while they dine at their
favorite Chinese hub (like the article about the people who fish old oil out of
the gutters and sell it to cheap restaurants to re-use in the food they serve),
and FYI’s on how to spot a fake China Yuan (dollar) by holding a black light to
the top of the bill to find the water mark (or was the mark the sketched Hitler
mustache on Chairman Mao’s upper lip?).
But Matt has a nurturing side too. He teaches his class
responsibility the old fashion way. For example, the students wanted a class
pet, so naturally, he let them have a turtle. They took great care of it… that
is until Chinese New Year. It was the last day of school before break; I worked
late; no one else was still at work. I walked into Matt’s class to turn off the
computer and noticed the turtle in his tank, all alone. I took him home for the
week. No one asked about him until I found a sign taped to my classroom door a
few weeks later, which read:
“Turtle Abductor”
It had my picture under the caption. Oh no. I interfered.
The turtle was supposed to die. Responsibility.
Another example: His class also has two hamsters (or is it
three… or four now?) One morning, the girls in his class, frantically asked if
they could hang a poster on my door. It read:
“Missing Hamster
Color: White
Color: White
Name: Snowy”
Underneath of the description was a penciled sketch of
something that looked like a balled up piece of paper (I guess that was
supposed to be Snowy). They were posting these signs all around the 5th
grade hallway. They finally found Snowy in a cubby in the corner of the
teacher’s classroom next door. Thankfully they made those posters. The students
might not have recognized him otherwise. Maybe they would have thought it was a
loose rodent… wait…
Another time, a hamster died. No one cried. There was no
funeral. In fact, the students put on rubber gloves and dissected him instead
of going to recess. Wait… that was the next day. After he started to stink, they
decided to get rid of him, but they did some science on him first.
::sigh::
I thought it couldn’t get any furrier in my co-teacher’s
classroom until one day, I walked in and found a rabbit. Yes, a rabbit. A big,
soft, brown, long-eared rabbit. A new addition to the zoo. Poor Matt. I can’t
really call him my co-teacher anymore. Not until the rabbit’s gone- or potty
trained.
I hear a Christmas song coming on… Five GOLD-EN RINGS, Four
hamsters hopping, one turtle tapping, one rabbit reeking, and a bird—in-a-blue
re-cy-cle-box.
Yes a bird.
Last week Matt’s students brought in a bird with a broken
wing that they found during recess. He let them keep it in the classroom for
protection for a day before letting him go free. Story has it, two days later,
one of the kids cupped the bird in her hands like a scene from the end of an
old movie, threw it up in the air and watched it fly… until it came crashing
down into the bushes, at which time the kids shrugged at the lifeless bird and
went back to class.
Oh the 5th grade hallway.
I’ve noticed another smell in the 5th grade
hallway this month, other than the rabbit’s pee. It was my turn to take all the
5th grade classes to recess this week. Even on the field I could
smell it, the smell of adolescents sweating grossness. Later in the day, I
decided to make a public service announcement to each 5th grade
class.
I walked in. The teacher said, “Okay boys and girls. Miss
Lyons has something very important that she needs to talk to you about. Please
listen to her. Giver her your attention.” Smiling, she said, “Go ahead Miss
Lyons.” I said, looking at the eighteen ten year olds, “You stink. Wear
deodorant.”
Hands go in the air. “My mom won’t let me. She won’t even
let me wear perfume.” “What if my mom says no?” “Where can I buy deodorant?”
“What IS deodorant?” To which I replied, “It’s something you wear, so that you
won’t stink.”
And leave it to the homeroom teacher to diplomatically explain
that they are at a certain age, where they will produce certain smells, and to
the girls who were red in the face, she reassured them, “but it’s okay because
boys will smell worse.”
“Yea, smelly boys,” I
said and wrinkled up my nose, winking at the girls. That’s my diplomacy. That’s
as far as goes.
There are diplomatic people. There are purposefully vocal
people, and then there are those people who just tell you that you stink. I
strive to be that person.
