Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind (23 page)

Angela wrote from Santa Claus: “As good as milk and cookies.” Stacy was complimented by Mary Poppins: “Better than a spoonful
of sugar!” J. K. Rowling adored Sarah’s book: “This is WAY better than any of mine!” Randy Jackson raved about Kevin’s: “Yo!
Check it out baby. This is awesome, dawg.” And Gina drew a giant circle on her cover and wrote, “Oprah Book Club.”

As the kids were finishing up, I looked over John’s shoulder. He had just written “Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!” on the back of his dust
jacket.

“Why did you write that?” I asked.

John looked up and smiled. “It’s from Scooby-Doo. He loved it.”

T
his year I have a student who absolutely adores sticky notes — Laura. She is crazy about them. In her desk, Laura keeps stacks
of Post-its in different sizes and colors. At the beginning of the year, she was shocked when I told her that she couldn’t
pass notes to her friends in class. But she got over it soon enough. She just started sending them to
me
! In fact, it became her preferred method of communicating.

I’d find sticky notes on everything. She’d put them on her tests:
Why are you doing this to me!
I’d find them on my desk:
You’ve worn that tie three days in a row.
She’d stick them on the whiteboard:
Mr. Done, you look very nice today. Can we have no homework tonight?

I am an excellent note detector. Whenever I intercept one, I read it. As far as I’m concerned, notes passed in class can be
treated like postcards. If it’s not in an envelope — it’s fair game. Over the years I have discovered that all notes passed
in class fall into three categories. There are the after-a-playground-scuffle notes (
Are you mad at me?
), the when-we-have-a-substitute notes (
Don’t tell her about the math!
), and of course the love notes.

Whether they admit it or not, most third graders have a crush on someone in their classroom. And most of the time teachers
know
exactly
who likes who. Right now I know that John likes Sarah, David is smitten with Gina, and Laura writes David’s name on her folders.
I know that Jennifer is crazy about Dylan (he’s oblivious), Joshua can’t decide between Lisa and Rebecca, and half the boys
are goo-goo over Angela.

Oftentimes my students just come right out and tell me. Take Emily and Melanie, for example. One day we were walking to the
school library when Emily said, “Mr. Done, you know who I like, right?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Danny,” she proclaimed.

“Well, he’s a nice boy.” I turned to Melanie. “What about you, Melanie? Who do you like?”

She stopped dead in her tracks and put her hands on her waist.
“You don’t KNOW?”

I shrugged and cringed. “… I don’t think so.”

“I like Robbie!”

“Oh yes… Robbie.” I nodded. “Right. Sorry. I forgot.”

Sometimes my students reveal who they like in their journals. The children write in them twice a week and I write back. Some
even ask my advice. When they do, I feel like Ann Landers.

February 2

S
TACY
:
Mr. Done, I like Trevor but he is not nice to me!!!!

M
E
:
What do you mean?

February 5

S
TACY
:
He keeps chasing me.

M
E
:
Honey, when a boy does this it means he likes you.

February 9

S
TACY
:
IS THAT REALLY TRUE??????

M
E
:
Yes. Trust me.

February 12

S
TACY
:
I asked my mom and she said you’re right.

M
E
:
How are things going with Trevor?

February 15

S
TACY
:
I like Conner now.

Some kids are more secretive about who they like. But there are signs: When you are going to go on a field trip and he asks
to sit in the same car that she is riding in. When she shares her bag of double-stuffed Oreos with him at lunch and doesn’t
ask for anything of his. When he looks up every time the teacher calls her name. When she puts four conversation hearts in
his valentine instead of two like she gives everyone else.

Some of the crushes in my room have been going on for years. Christopher, for example, has been in love with Laura since kindergarten.
Laura knows. The whole class knows. The entire third grade knows. But Christopher will never talk with Laura. If I catch him
fooling around, all I have to do is glance over in Laura’s direction then look back at him with a smirk like I’m going to
make him go sit by her. He straightens up immediately.

Of course sometimes the kids have crushes on their teacher. My own first teacher crush was in grade one. Her name was Mrs.
Ranada. She wore her hair in a beehive and used lots of hair spray. From September to June, her hair never moved. When the
morning bell rang, I waited by the door so I could be first in line when Mrs. Ranada opened it. When she called us to the
reading rug, I’d run so I could sit right by her. If she wore new earrings, I noticed. If she had a run in her nylons, I told
her.

One afternoon Mrs. Ranada was standing by the door excusing her students at the end of the day. My mom was waiting for me
outside. As I walked out of class, Mrs. Ranada said, “Phillip, thank you again for the beautiful flowers.”

I didn’t respond.

“What flowers?” my mom asked.

Uh-oh.

My mom looked at Mrs. Ranada. “Phillip brought you flowers?”

“Yes, every day this week,” she replied. “Your garden must be looking pretty bare by now.” She laughed. “I couldn’t get them
all in one vase.” She turned to me. “How many vases do I have now, Phillip?”

“Three,” I muttered, looking down.

My mom raised one eyebrow at me. “May I see them?”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Ranada, cheerily.

Not good.

We walked inside. There on the teacher’s desk sat three vases full of daisies, daffodils, tulips, calla lilies, snapdragons,
geraniums, marigolds, and yellow mustard weed.

“Well,” my mom said, “they’re beautiful.” She gave me a pointed look. The other eyebrow was up now. I did not make eye contact.
“But they’re not from my garden.”

Mrs. Ranada looked puzzled.

My mom breathed in deeply.
Here it comes.
“Phillip,
where
did you get these flowers?”

I cringed.

“Answer me,” she said with the same voice she used when I put lime Jell-O powder on our dog for St. Patrick’s Day. “Phillip,
where did you get those flowers?”

Gulp.

“At the neighbors,” I mumbled quietly.

“Where?”

I shifted my feet. “At the neighbors.”

“
What
neighbors?”

There was a beat of silence.

“On the way to school.”

Her voice grew louder. “You cut flowers on the way to
school
?”

I nodded faintly.

Suddenly Mrs. Ranada made a quick snorting sound through her nose then covered her mouth. I had never heard her snort before.
My mom shut her eyes tight and opened them again the way grown-ups do sometimes to see if they are hallucinating.

“With what?” my mom asked.

I looked up at Mrs. Ranada. She was biting her lip now, but I could tell that she was trying not to laugh. She wasn’t mad
at me. I reached down, unzipped my backpack, and pulled out a pair of rusty kid scissors with rounded edges. All of a sudden,
Mrs. Ranada clutched her stomach and started laughing. Then she held the edge of the desk, leaned over, and laughed some more.
I watched her closely. Her hair never moved.

T
his week our local opera company came to school and performed a couple of scenes from
La Bohème.
The whole school packed into the multi for the performance. I sat on a metal folding chair by the wall with Dylan beside
me. The performance would last an hour. This was a long time for Dylan to sit still. I wasn’t sure how he would respond to
an hour of opera. Fortunately, the audience seemed to really enjoy it. For the most part, Dylan was a good listener, too.
I only had to remind him two or three times to pay attention. When the show ended, Dylan sprang up on his knees and clapped
loudly.
Wow,
I thought,
he really enjoyed it.
As he was applauding, Dylan turned to me with a big smile and shouted, “It’s over! Mr. Done, it’s
finally over
!”

Not always sure what’s going on in your students’ heads? Need help figuring them out sometimes? Here’s a guide to help:

Your student is sitting with her back straight and her eyes on you.

You think:
What a good girl.

What’s actually going on:
She wants a Jolly Rancher from your goody jar.

As you stand in front of the room and read a book in different voices, your students laugh.

You think:
I’m funny.

What’s actually going on:
Your shirt is unbuttoned and they can see your tummy.

Your student’s eyes are staring straight ahead while you’re writing on the overhead projector.

You think:
She is focused.

What’s actually going on:
You’re writing two feet off the screen.

Your student got all the spelling words right on his test.

You think:
He studied.

What’s actually going on:
You left all the words on the board during the test.

Your student waves his hand wildly.

You think:
He is so involved.

What’s actually going on:
He has to pee.

As you look for kids to dismiss for recess, your student is smiling angelically with his hands crossed.

You think:
My management system is working.

What’s actually going on:
He’s trying not to let the soccer ball roll out from between his feet.

Your student begs you to tell a story.

You think:
She loves me.

What’s actually going on:
She doesn’t want to take the math test.

Your student is jumping up and down.

You think:
He is motivated.

What’s actually going on:
He’s thinking about the chocolate pudding that his mom put in his lunch.

Your student asks to go to the bathroom.

You think:
He has a weak bladder.

What’s actually going on:
He wants to play in the rain.

Your student is using a magnifying glass to carefully examine the rocks that you have set on a paper plate.

You think:
He is really into the science lesson.

What’s actually going on:
He’s trying to see if he can burn a hole in the paper plate.

After passing out seeds to each child and explaining that a plant must break through the seed coat as it reaches for the sun,
you witness your student removing the coat from his seed.

You think:
He is fooling around.

What’s actually going on:
He’s trying to help the little plant so that it won’t have to push so hard.

O
ne morning Gina walked into the classroom carrying a plate covered with aluminum foil.

“Is it your birthday?” I asked.

“No,” she answered, “it’s my half birthday.”

I smiled. “Your
half
birthday?” I pointed to the plate. “Don’t tell me. You have half of a cake under there, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Does this mean that in three months you’ll bring in a
three-fourths
birthday cake, too?”

“Mr. Done!”

At the end of the day, I cut Gina’s half-birthday cake and called the kids up to my desk a row at a time. David grabbed one
plate — then another.

“David, I said to take the first one you touch.”

“I touched two.”

Some elementary schools are starting to ban sugar from their campuses. Might this mean no more having to buy seven boxes of
Girl Scout Cookies because I have seven Girl Scouts in my classroom? Could this be the end of all geometry as we know it today?
Every teacher knows that Tootsie Rolls are cylinders, Whoppers are spheres, and Brach’s caramels are cubes.

I’m all for healthy eating and watching what we eat, but school without sugar is hard to imagine.

“Happy Halloween, kids. Here are your cupcakes. They’re frosted with avocado.”

“Happy holidays, Christopher. What do you mean you don’t like tofu candy canes?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, boys and girls! I dropped celery sticks into your mailboxes.”

Besides, I like when moms send in two dozen Krispy Kremes for their child’s birthday and three kids are absent so I
have
to eat the extras. We wouldn’t want ants.

And what about my goody jar? Grade school teachers understand that the goody jar is one of
the
best management tools. It helps us keep control. If the kids are wiggly, just walk near the goody jar and they will quiet
down. If the children are really loud, walk near it and pick up the lid. If they’re absolutely bonkers, take the lid off,
lift the jar to your nose, and take a long, loud whiff. Complete silence.

If we outlawed sugar in schools, I’d worry about the new teachers most. They would never experience the thrill of scraping
their students off the ceiling on November 1 because their mommies let them bring half their Halloween loot to school for
snack. New teachers would never learn all the places on a child’s head where a piece of candy corn can be lodged. New teachers
would never see how sharp the tip of a candy cane can get when sucked into a weapon. They would never get to observe a student
dump an entire box of conversation hearts into her mouth at the Valentine’s party. And they’d never witness boys like David
scarf down two pieces of half-birthday cake then go right on eating the plates.