Elephant Walk

The Circus, mind you, is more than three hours long. No one has an easy time sitting for that long - but especially not a bunch of six year olds. So when it got to be 1:00, and they were really starting to fidget and whine, my Assistant Principal mercifully informed me that the buses were waiting. It was time to go, even though the show wasn't over yet. The elephants had just entered the ring.

The elephants were standing on little tubs as we filed past them, lifting one foot up into the air, balancing on each other's backs, waving feet at the audience, and I figured the Criminals would really like that. They were, however, only mildly interested.Then, just as we all were completely ringside, the biggest elephant dropped the, uh, ball. A huge, enormous, gigantic, incredibly impressive ball of poop.

My class "star'd with wild surmise, silent upon a peak in"...well, not Darien. The Bronx. Then in unison they raised their arms above their heads and yelled:

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!"

And we, like Lewis and Clark, proceeded on, satisfied that there could be no more exciting finale to our day at the Circus.

Or the Evil Clowns will Eat Me (2005)

So yesterday the Criminals and I went to the UniverSOUL Circus. I will gloss over the fact that my school sent us to a Christian event (I kept waiting for the ringmaster to ask me to "give a shout out to" my synagogue...but he didn't. wonder why?), and concentrate on the Criminals' reactions to their first circus. Nary a one had been before, so they kept shaking their little fingers at me and saying "Noooooooo, Miss Victoria!" when I told them there'd be people flying through the air. They were pretty damned impressed with Miss Victoria when everything she said turned out to be true.

This year I've got Bradlee. He's six. He doesn't talk. Ever - well, almost ever. Bradlee has what's called selective mutism. He wouldn't talk to his Kindergarten teacher or classmates last year, he won't talk to any of the administrators or lunch ladies or guidance counselors or social workers. He will, however, talk to me. I'm not sure why - maybe because I'm okay with him if he doesn't want to talk? Every once in a while he comes over and grabs me around the knees and yells "PENCIL!" or "DOGGIE!" That means he wants the doggie book he likes. But usually, he's silent.

However, yesterday at the circus, Bradlee suddenly became positively loquacious. We got off the bus, we lined up, he took his place at the front of the line (of COURSE he's the smallest one in my class), he took one look at the circus advertisements outside the tent, glared up at me and yelled:

"I HATE CLOWNS!!!!!!!!"

There were, of course, about twenty five people from the circus standing around. They all looked at me like it was MY fault the boy has perfectly good sense!

So I mildly said, "you DO?"

He yelled "YES, I HATE THEM! I HATE CLOWNS! CLOWNS ARE STUPID!"

So then, of course, everyone else in my class (they all love Bradlee) felt the necessity to support him in his vehemence. They were all pretty surprised that he talked, but they were damned if they were going to let him stand alone.

Criminals: ME TOO! I HATE CLOWNS! CLOWNS ARE SO BORING! I HATE CLOWNS!

Teacher: (quietly to class) okay okay everyone, come on let's stay in line and go sit down

Criminals: MISS VICTORIA CLOWNS ARE STUPID! WE HATE THEM!

Teacher (watching all the circus employees glare) okay okay but look! They have lions and popcorn and funnel cake too!

Criminals: Oh! Okay! But CLOWNS ARE DUMB!

Well...at least they didn't refuse to go to their seats. Next time: The Tale of the Elephant Poop.

It's a WHAT? (2004)

For those of you who do NOT have children in the NYC public schools, this week was the dreaded ELA test for third and fourth graders. ELA is eduspeak for English Language Arts.Thus, the school had to be QUIET....QUIET DAMMIT!!!! And thus, off went the first grade to field trips for two days straight. The Criminals thought they had died and gone to heaven...and by the way Miss Victoria could they eat their snacks on the bus?

I will gloss over the fact that for the whole rest of the year the asswipe principal can't get her shit together and insist on teaching children the necessity for quiet. No discipline at the top means no discipline at the bottom. Or, as my teacher friend says, "Shit Floweth Downward." Hence the reason we have to actually be sent out of the building to make it tolerable for the testing grades.

Moving right along, on our first day we went to the Children's Science Center in Queens. After a public address announcement which went something like (exactly like) this, "ALL TEACHERS ON THE SECOND FLOOR NOT TESTING, THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING. LEAVE THE FLOOR IMMEDIATELY OR YOU WILL BE JUDGED INSUBORDINATE." Pleasant workplace atmosphere, no?

We sat in the auditorium for an hour waiting for the buses. You can imagine how well that went over with 20 antsy first graders. Anyway, we did finally get on the road after Miss Victoria personally fastened 21 individuals into their seatbelts. She left her own off in hopes that she could take the easy way out and die in a bus crash.

Below, a sampling of our "noticings." <-- another eduspeak word:

MISS VICTORIA LOOK A TRUCK! yes I see the truck.

MISS VICTORIA LOOK A DOG! yes I see the dog

MISS VICTORIA LOOK THE OCEAN! well, actually the Harlem River

MISS VICTORIA LOOK LOTS OF CARS! yes, trust me, I see the traffic jam on the Deegan in which we are about to take part.

So after Miss Victoria had gotten whiplash looking at everything, she got up to give a running commentary on the flora, fauna, and local sights. Everyone was pretty agreeable and listened without yelling...too much.We then arrived at the Science Center, which, in case you didn't know, is basically a big indoor playground for science with no structure whatsoever. It took threatening no more field trips EVER to get the Criminals to stay together.

Everyone SAID he wanted to see the first demonstration lecture. "Are you SURE?" said Miss Victoria, "it's a dissection." "YES!" shouted the Criminal Element, "LET'S GO!"

"Do you even know what a dissection is?"

"LET'S GO LET'S GO MISS VICTORIA!!!!" (much tugging and pulling towards benches in front of table with some cool instruments and a big light and some whizzy optical illusion stuff on it).

"Well....oooookaaaaaay..."

Guy comes out. Guy sits down. Guy opens cabinet under table. Guy nonchalantly whips out bucket of eyeballs.

Criminals scream "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Guy grins at Miss Victoria. Miss Victoria smiles and nods thinking "yeah you go ahead, Guy, you think that's all they're gonna do?"

Criminals start screaming HEY MISTER WHAT'S THAT WHAT YOU GOT THERE IS IT DEAD CAN WE EAT IT WHAT'S THAT THING WHAT'S A SCALPEL LEMME SEE IT THAT'S OKAY I WON'T CUT MYSELF.

Guy begins to look at little desperate.Miss Victoria smiles serenely.HEY WHAT'S YOUR NAME HEY JAKE CAN I HAVE ONE OF THEM EYEBALLS EEEEEEEEUUUUUUUWWWWWWWWW IT SMELLS IT'S MAKIN' A CRUNCHY NOISE JAKE HOW COME YOU'RE CUTTIN' IT UP WHERE'S THE REST OF THE COW???????

Miss Victoria smiles serenely.

We got through about another five minutes, all the way, in fact, to the iris, before Miss Victoria took pity, yelled "CAPTAIN!" and got her chicks into line. We went upstairs to check out the Science of Sports exhibit, which the Criminals also enjoyed. They also enjoyed the library, the space exhibit, and the lunch. Then they enjoyed marching to the bus. Then they enjoyed sitting on the bus for 20 minutes waiting for the stupid idiot teacher who coordinates the field trip to get off her ass and on to the bus (I had to go yell at her - she was chatting with the security guards indoors while we waited for her). They enjoyed it when one of the Criminals thought it would be a good idea to start up a rousing rendition of "Kiss your Brain!" - a song Miss Victoria sings with them every morning. Then they all fell asleep. Except for Miss Victoria. Miss Victoria, no joke, called her Mommy. Miss Victoria needed to hear that it would be all right as soon as Miss Victoria got home to soak in a tub full of Calgon.

It was. At least until 8:30 the next morning when it was time for our trip to THE POLAR EXPRESS. Miss Victoria can't recall what happened on that trip - at least not until she's had a weekend to recover.

Follow the Drinking Gourd (2003)

So it's been a tough month with the Criminals. After last week’s series of lessons on a book called Follow the Drinking Gourd to introduce the concept of slavery to the first grade, I was faced this week with attempting to figure out if the group could see where I was going when I started off the week with Paul Laurence Dunbar’s small poetic masterpiece called “Sympathy.” I know that at the end of this unit on African American poets, I want the children to understand the progression of the black experience in America. What I didn’t know, however, could fill several pages. I didn’t know if I had the talent to teach it well enough for the class to understand. I didn’t know if the children were even able to understand at this age. And I certainly didn’t know how to tell if they understood.

So we sat on the rug on Monday morning and reviewed some vocabulary words they might not know. I didn’t say a word about last week’s book. I didn’t tell them anything about Dunbar other than his name. I explained that I didn’t have a book with pictures today, said that we might think about doing our own illustrations and making a book, pointed out those key unknown words, and launched into a reading of the last stanza of the poem.

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore--
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a plea he sends from his heart’s deep core,
But a prayer that upward to Heaven he flings--
I know why the caged bird sings!

I finished reading, and Diana’s hand shot up. I called on her, sighing inwardly as I waited for her inevitable request to go to the bathroom.

“Miss Victoria, that’s like Follow the Drinking Gourd.”

Teacher sat, nodding dumbly for a few moments in stunned silence, then said shakily, “Yes….yes Diana…I think you’re right, I think it is like Follow the Drinking Gourd.” I watched almost the entire rest of the class nod in agreement with Diana. If I had had my wits about me, I would have immediately assessed further by simply asking, “Why?” I didn’t think of that until a few hours later. The next day, we headed back to the rug for a second look at the poem. I reviewed vocabulary and re-read the text, the class starting to chime in on the more familiar lines. I got to ask what I had slipped up on the day before. “Diana said something very interesting yesterday, she said this poem reminded her of Follow the Drinking Gourd, and some of you said you thought so too. Why do you think that?”

Hands waved in the air. “The slaves wanted to be free just like the bird wants to be free.”

“They didn’t want to die in a cage neither.”

“Their hearts was hurting like the bird’s heart was broken.”

I picked up a piece of paper I had been holding in my plan book and read aloud to them. “Paul Laurence Dunbar was born in 1872. His parents were Matilda and Joshua Dunbar, escaped slaves.”

“Ooooooooh!” said the class as I turned the page around and showed them his picture.“Why did he feel sympathy for the bird?”“He knew, Miss Victoria, he knew how the bird felt in that cage!” Beyond my wildest dreams, they understood. We brainstormed a list of the different illustrations we could make for our book, and the class clamored to have the first turn at the painting table during our center time. One student wanted to paint the bird in the cage, another a man in a cage. One wanted to paint praying hands and a cross, one a solitary wing with a bruised side.

The government (what did you learn in school today, dear little boy of mine) wants me to prove that I'm a good teacher via portfolios of student work. Produce, produce, produce. I don’t know if it’s possible to prove with a piece of paper what happened in my room this week. How do you get down on paper, as a teacher, “This week the first grade explored the existence of symbolic meaning in literature and tackled the concept of the pain and suffering of one as an example for the ages?” Assess THAT, President Bush.