Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind (30 page)

Soon it was time to make my entrance. I climbed up on the ship with the other men. The orchestra began playing the pirate
song, and we entered singing and swinging our swords as the crew pushed the boat onto the stage. Immediately my whole class
stood up en masse and started waving and pointing and reaching for me. One kid started crawling up on stage! The parent drivers
frantically pushed the kids back down into their seats. I wanted to jump ship and make them all sit down, but of course I
couldn’t. I had to act like the happy pirate. Apparently I had left out one very important rule for good theater behavior:
Do not stand up when you see your teacher on stage!

I have a great idea for a new reality show. It’s called
Teacher Survivor.
On this show, a group of contestants would take a class on a different field trip each week. The show would be based on the
true experiences of veteran teachers. I alone could fill an entire season. Here are a few of the real-life stories that I’d
submit:

It was a peaceful spring morning. When we walked into the museum, our docent, Linda, stopped in front of a large statue in
the lobby to review the rules and talk about what we were going to see. Immediately all the kids started giggling and laughing.
No one was listening to Linda. It was impossible.
Please God,
I screamed inside my head.
Tell me I’m hallucinating. Please God, can we move away from the six-foot naked lady statue?

My class and I were standing at the railing looking over the bear den when I noticed one of the bears playing with a tennis
shoe. I smiled and pointed. “Hey, kids, look at that!” The kids were laughing.
Uh-oh,
I thought.
That shoe does not belong to one of my…
Quickly I scanned my kids’ feet. Sure enough — Gavin was missing one shoe. “Gavin,” I screamed.
“What happened?”
He looked down at his sock and shrugged. “It just fell off.”

One beautiful autumn morning, we loaded five cars with students and drove to the local pumpkin patch. When we arrived, one
of the chaperones put sunscreen on her kids’ faces. The next day those five children looked like they were wearing war paint.
They had orange streaks on their noses and cheeks and foreheads and chins. The helpful mommy had used her Tan in a Bottle
by mistake.

The room was filled with artifacts from the local Native Americans. Our docent was a nice little old man named Al. I could
tell that he hadn’t worked with young children much. Some of his explanations were a bit over their heads. But I didn’t mind.
The artifacts were wonderful: baskets, tools, arrowheads, a papoose. There was even a canoe.

As we were walking through the museum, Joshua pointed to some objects in one of the display cases.

“What are those?” Josh asked.

I looked in the case. There were about a dozen small carvings stacked in a pyramid. Each looked like a thick cigar. I had
never seen them before.

“Well,” Al explained, stepping toward the case, “the women in the tribe carved these. They would set them in front of the
huts of a newly married couple on their wedding night.”

My jaw dropped. My body stiffened. My heart stopped. If it had been hooked up to a monitor, all you would have seen was a
flat line.

They’re not. They can’t be. Those are NOT stone wienies.

Al continued. “The Native Americans believed that the more of these placed in front of the hut — the more children the couple
would have.”

THEY ARE!

My sweat glands started to kick into overdrive. I could feel heat coming off my face. Al walked closer to the case. The children
started to follow. My heart began pounding like a warrior drum.
NO! DON’T EXPLAIN MORE! STOP!
Just then I spotted some baskets.

“Oh my goodness!” I sputtered. “Look!” Everyone turned. “What are
these
?”

Trevor gave me a funny look. “They’re baskets.”

I clapped my hands and stepped closer. “Oh, they’re
beautiful
! Could you please tell us about
these
?”

Al walked over to the baskets. He forgot about the wienies. Thank God.

L
ast week the third-grade teachers at my school attended a big literacy conference at a nearby hotel. I love going to conferences.
I get to walk straight into the men’s bathroom while fifty women line up in front of theirs. I get more than thirty minutes
for lunch. Once I even got to eat at a real live restaurant. And if I want to, I can even slip out and make a personal phone
call! But my favorite part about conferences is all the free stuff. In between workshops, I run around to all the vendors
and load up on pens and calendars and key chains and bookmarks and candy. It’s like trick-or-treating for grown-ups. At each
booth I act like I am interested in the materials. But really I am just waiting for them to start the raffle.

The last session of the day took place in the grand ballroom. There were about a hundred teachers. The room was full (rumor
had it that the instructor hid door prizes under the chairs). I sat at a round table with my colleague Sandy and eight others.
I was the only man at the table. There was nothing under my chair. Sandy slapped me when I tried to see if anything was under
hers.

“Okay, everyone,” our instructor Barbara said, “for our first task, I’d like you all to do a quick-write about your most embarrassing
teacher moment.” The crowd chuckled. “You’ll have about five minutes.”

Everyone started writing. Except me. Not because I didn’t have anything to write. I have plenty of embarrassing moments. The
problem was that I had
too
many to choose from. It was like trying to select something on a menu when you’re starving and everything looks good. Immediately
I started going through the slide show of embarrassing moments in my head.

Slide One:
Teacher notices wasp on inside of classroom window. Teacher grabs dictionary and slams it against glass. Window cracks. Wasp
is fine.

Slide Two:
Teacher stops car at red light while singing at top of his lungs with windows down. Teacher looks left. Teacher sees his
student and student’s mom sitting in next car.

Slide Three:
Teacher loans Austin a die to play board game at home. Teacher writes reminder on board. Austin’s mom walks into classroom
and sees “Austin — die!” written on whiteboard.

Slide Four:
Teacher plays
National Geographic
video in class about cheetahs without previewing it first. Midway through movie, cheetahs start “going at it.” Teacher grabs
remote to skip segment. Instead of hitting Stop button
then
Fast Forward, teacher presses Fast Forward. Students watch
everything
in fast motion.

Slide Five:
Teacher returns tie in Macy’s that Sophie gave him for Christmas. While standing at counter, teacher spots Sophie with whole
family.
What are the odds?
Teacher screams at clerk to hide tie, grabs shirt off return pile, and pretends to buy it.

Slide Six:
Teacher greets students as they enter classroom at start of school. Christina’s mom says, “Have a good day, sweetheart.”
The teacher, who mistakenly thinks that Christina’s mom is talking to
him,
smiles awkwardly, and says, “Uh… thanks. You, too.”

Slide Seven:
Teacher runs to bathroom in between two parent–teacher conferences. On way back to classroom he cuts across field. Halfway
across grass, automatic sprinklers come on. Teacher does next three conferences soaking wet.

Slide Eight:
Teacher plays tag with class on play structure. Teacher hears loud ripping sound. Teacher looks down, sees boxers through
ten-inch hole where seam used to be in pants. Teacher orders two children to hand over their sweatshirts, ties them around
his waist, and teaches like this for rest of day.

Slide Nine:
Teacher steps out of shower at gym and hears familiar voice call his name. Teacher turns and spots student. Teacher cups
hands over front, grabs towel, and runs to locker.

“Just a couple of minutes more,” Barbara sang in the microphone.

I looked around the table. Sandy was already finished writing. So were several of the other teachers at my table. I still
had nothing on my paper. Then all of a sudden Slide Ten popped into my head.
Bingo.
I started scribbling.

Barbara walked around the tables one more time then asked us to wrap it up. I continued writing. “Okay,” she announced. “Now
I’d like you to turn to the person next to you and share what you’ve written.” We all laughed nervously. Quickly, I finished
up my last sentence then turned to Sandy.

“You want to start?” I asked.

“No,” Sandy said. “You go first.”

“Okay.” I sat up, cleared my throat, and started reading.
“My most embarrassing teacher moment. One day I was in a huge hurry to get to work. I grabbed my lunch sack, threw in a drink
from the fridge, and raced to school. When lunchtime rolled around, I sat down in the staff room and started chatting away.
As I was talking, I pulled my lunch out of the bag. Audrey tapped me on the arm and said, ‘Hard day?’ ‘Why do you say that?’
I asked. She stared at my can. I followed her gaze. ‘Ahhhhhhh!’ I screamed. I grabbed the can and threw it back into the bag.
It was a Budweiser.”

Sandy started cracking up. I could feel my face getting hot.

“You’re blushing,” Sandy said, in between laughs.

“I know.” (I turn red faster than a thermometer stuck in boiling water. Can’t control it.)

Just then Barbara walked by our table and put her hand on the back of my chair. “Looks like you two are having a good time
over here.”

“You’ve
got
to hear Phil’s story,” Sandy said, wiping her eyes.

I shook my head broadly. “Ohhhhh no.”

“Come on, Phil,” Sandy prodded. “It’s funny.”

By now the others at my table had stopped reading and were listening to us. I shifted in my seat.

Barbara leaned over my chair. “I have an idea. Why don’t you share it with the whole class?”

“Yeah!” Sandy said, patting me on the back.

“No way!” I refused.

“Come on!” another piped in.

I could feel my face turning redder. I turned to Sandy. “The only reason you want me to read it is so that you’re off the
hook.”

She laughed.

All of a sudden one of the other women at my table started chanting. “Phillip! Phillip! Phillip!”

“Stop that!” I whispered through gritted teeth.

The others joined in. “Phillip! Phillip! Phillip!”

The last time I was in a pickle like this, I was on a cruise with a group of friends. They pushed me up on the stage during
the karaoke competition and I was forced to sing “Ain’t Nothing But a Hound Dog” to half the ship.

“Oh all right!” I grumbled. (This had to be easier than singing Elvis.) Sandy started clapping. I shot her a look. “I’ll kill
you later.”

“Okay, everyone,” Barbara said, excitedly. “Please listen up. Listen up, please.” The room became quiet. “Phil is going to
share his most embarrassing teacher moment.” She handed me the microphone.

I stood up slowly, looked out into the audience, and gave a half smile. “Is my face red?”

A hundred people answered, “Yes.”

Then I took a deep breath and swallowed. “Well,” I said staring down at my paper. “Uh… this really isn’t my most embarrassing
moment anymore.” I looked up and paused. “I’m having a whole new one
right now.
”

W
hen I was in third grade, I asked my mom if you have to be a lady to work in the cafeteria. She said no. “Good,” I responded.
“Because when I grow up I want to be a cafeteria man.” I used to love eating in the cafeteria. The lunch ladies made cinnamon
rolls and large, soft, uneven peanut butter cookies from scratch. Every St. Patrick’s Day we had chocolate cake with green
icing. The day before Thanksgiving, they always served turkey and mashed potatoes. I told my mom that hers was as good as
the school’s.

I don’t eat in the school cafeteria anymore. The food is sent in. At lunchtime I usually drive to a little Mexican restaurant
down the road and grab a burrito. If I time it right, I can get there, order, and return to school just before the bell rings.

One afternoon I had just picked up my burrito and was on my way back to work when I heard a loud noise behind me. I looked
in my rearview mirror. Blue and red lights were flashing.
Dang!
I pulled to the side of the road, parked, and rolled down my window. I was right beside the school.

“Hi, Officer,” I said meekly as he stepped up to my car.

He removed his sunglasses. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

I shook my head.

“You were doing thirty-five in a school zone.” He pointed to the campus. I decided to not tell him that I worked there. “May
I see your driver’s license and registration please?”

I reached into the glove compartment and handed him the papers. As he walked back to his car, I glanced at my watch. The bell
would ring in five minutes.
Please hurry.
If I didn’t get back in time, my kids would not let me hear the end of it.

Suddenly I spotted children walking down the sidewalk.
Eek.
The kindergartners were out. They were walking home with their mommies. I grabbed a paper off the floor, slid down in my
seat, and covered my face.
Please, don’t anyone recognize me. Please no one start waving at Mr. Done.

I glanced at my watch again. Two minutes till the bell. I shook the steering wheel.
Hurry, Mr. Policeman.
Finally, the officer walked back to my car. He was studying my driver’s license. When he reached the window, he pointed to
the school and asked, “Do you work there?”