Humor at School

What do you want to be when you grow up?

One of my best friends was teaching 3rd grade down the hall from my 4th/5th split.  After school, she beat a path to my door.  Wait ’till you hear this.  I was asking all my students to tell me what they wanted to do when they grow up.  Kiearra said she wanted to “draw”.  I asked her what things do you like to draw?  I’ve never seen you drawing in class.  She said, no Mrs. Teacher, I want to “draw” like my mom does, you know, draw, you get checks in the mail.  Oh.

We have a very diversified school here!

I remember going to the interview that landed me my first teaching job.  I drove through miles and miles of Illinois countryside.  Lots of farms, pick up trucks with filled shot-gun racks in the back windows.  I was thinking, Yee Haw!  I’m really out in the middle of no where.

I met the superintendent, who was also the principal of a one building district.  It contained K-8th grades.  His comments as we toured the two hall ways are forever etched in my mind.  Oh yes, we have all kinds of students here.  My mind was thinking, what, both country and western?  I just smiled and nodded as he continued.  Yes, we have both Protestants and Catholics! Oh, we did have one Jewish family, but they recently moved. 

Be careful what you say to teenage boys!

It was the first year I was teaching.  I was supervising indoor recess for the 7th and 8th grades.  This was a very small, rural school, grades K – 8.  I had blown my whistle to signal time to line up.  Oh , of course the boys kept playing basketball, and I had to blow my whistle again.  When I finally got everyone to line up, I started with the lecture.  I was pretty hot, that it had taken a lot for me to get order, and everyone in line.  Being short, I stood up on the bottom steps of the bleachers and began giving stern directions about how to line up.  When the whistle blows, you are to stop what you are doing immediately.  Not wait until you finish, you do not  take another shot.  You are to get in these lines and get quiet,  and hold on to your balls!

As soon as I said the words, I saw the smiles start spreading across the older boys’ faces.  I quickly added, and not one of you had better laugh!, or you will owe me recess time next time.   

Then to add insult to injury, I stepped down, but stepped on a cone I had not noticed and ended flat on my back!  The students in front, were just looking at me shocked to see their teacher splayed flat-out on the floor.  I just said in a loud voice, well…….don’t just stand there, help me up! 

 What a day, foot in mouth and a fall.  I learned more in that 5 minutes than I had learned in all my student teaching!:)

Where do you live?

Okay, Andre’, what is your address?  Mrs. Teacher, I’m a boy!!!!  I don’t have a dress.  No, honey, I mean, where do you live, what is your address?  I told you, I’m a boy, I don’t have a dress.

Required workshop

I went to the required music workshop today.  It was fun, we got some great ideas.  The best thing is being in a room with a bunch of music teachers.  Most of us are real “hams”, so there is a lot of humor trying to out perform each other.  Now here is what made me scratch my head.  This was a required workshop, all music teachers were expected to attend one of the two dates.  Just one small hitch,  there was not enough participant slots for everyone.  Now, how can one attend a mandatory event, if there is no room for you?   I just had to laugh at the insanity!!!!!!!!!  Typical.

What is your phone number?

I was talking to the K teacher the other day, what is the name of that new student?  We then begin to share stories.  She always asks her students “What is your phone number?”  She usually waits to write it down, because the first answer she often gets is, 1, 2, 3, 4, ….She then begins again.  No honey, I don’t need you to count.  I need your phone number.  Okay, Mrs. Teacher.  1, 2, 3, 4, ……..  That’s fine Jimmy.  I ‘ll get that later.  She then asked her next student.  He started, 9, paused and said, Mrs. Teacher, aren’t you going to write this down?  Oh, sorry Donte’, of course, start again.  She began writing,.  In a clear steady voice Donte’ said his phone number. 9…….1………1……..!

What is you name?

The small little face just stared at me.  I asked again, what is your name?  He finally mumbled something.  I thought he said Xavier.  I asked, can you spell it?  He shook his head, very slowly and deliberately stated, R, P, A, T, X.  I asked him to repeat his name, I could have sworn I was talking to Scooby Doo.  All I heard was Rrruff – a – rruffer.  I gave up, assigned him a seat, and just put down a question mark.  I would get his name from his home room teacher later.  You have to be gentle with the little ones, they cry and pee themselves very easily.

Me? A Track Coach?

I remember clearly that  I had agreed to take on being the girl’s track coach to help me get my first teaching job.  I promised to go to workshops and read up on “track”.  Inside, all I was thinking, I just want a job!

I did as I promised.  Went to workshops, went to the library, checked out some books, and spoke to my husband, a former PE major.  I figured, I know enough to keep us safe. 

Our first track meet came. Both the girls and I were excited.  I was just sure we had several future Olympians on our team.  The boy’s track coach came over and said that I would have to help run some events.  I looked at him with shock?  Run some events?  He assured me it would be all right.  He said, here, you go help with the shot put.  It’s easy, just watch and see where it lands, run to that spot, and whatever you do, act like you saw it and know what you’re doing.  I was too shocked for words and just nodded my head.  He looked at me and said go, it’s over there.  Off I went, scared out of my mind.

The first shot went flying over my head.  I had no idea of where it landed, really.  I just went running close to where I thought it had, and stood there while other people measured.  All of a sudden, I heard the boy’s track coach yelling for me.  I ran over to where he stood.  He said, what are you doing?  I thought I was doing what you told me to.  Are you trying to get yourself killed?  Don’t stand ON the field, stand over to the side!!!!!!  Oh.

A Parent’s Comment

Just the other day I was talking to a parent about her son.  I was doing hall duty, she seemed lost, so I asked if I could help.  She told me who she was and who her child was.  Oh yes, I know Ommoni well.  I’m the music teacher.  We staring chatting.  She shared some personal family history, she had recently lost a child.  Her son was still having a hard time dealing with the fact his baby brother had died.  I shared some of my history, my daughter had died.  We were now connected in a way that only parents who have lost infants can understand.  I suppose that’s why she felt so free to share her next comment. 

We just happened to see Ommoni walking past with his class.  She looked at her son.  Mmmm,  that boy needs a haircut.  Just look at him, he looks like a runaway slave, ready to work for anyone.  I couldn’t help laughing.  Yes, it was a rather unfortunate and rather racist comment, but he did look a mess and it was his own mother saying it.  I just smiled as said, yes, well, he is looking a little disheveled.  But he’s a really good kid.  We both stood there, laughing, gave each other a hug, and off she went to follow her son.