Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind (14 page)

As soon as the ducks pass, Peter runs up to me. He is in the other third-grade class.

“Mr. Done,” he says, “can I take my shoes off?”

“Why?”

“They’re all wet.”

I look down. His shoes are drenched.

“How’d they get wet?”

“I poured water on them.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“It’s hot.”

I just stare at him.

“Can I take them off?”

“Ask your teacher.”

Just then I notice a first grader crying in the corner of the field. I walk over to him.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He points to two other boys. “They won’t throw the football to me.”

I glance over at his two friends. Neither one is holding anything. I turn back to the one who’s crying. “
What
football?” The boy’s bottom lip quivers. “Now calm down. I don’t see any ball. What ball are you talking about?”

“It’s…” He wipes his nose with his sleeve. “It’s pretend.”

I make a face. “Pretend?”

“They won’t throw it to me.” He sniffs.

I wave the two over. “You boys come here.” They look scared. Clearly, this is the first time they have ever gotten in trouble
with a big mean third-grade teacher. “You need to share that football or I’m taking it away. Do you understand?”

Both nod.

“Okay now, you three shake hands.”

They stare at me.

“You heard me. Shake hands.”

They all look confused.

“Come on,” I say.

The boys look at each other then turn back to me. Together they stick their hands up in the air like they’re being held up
and start shaking.

A
classroom is like a home. Both have cupboards and closets full of clutter. Both have pets and cages with water bottles that
need to be filled up. Both have stashes of candy. Come to think of it, there isn’t much of a difference between the two. I
guess this is why teachers and parents say the same things to their kids: “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” “Do you think
that jacket is going to pick itself up?” “Let me see your homework.” “I’m not the cleaning lady.” “What do you mean you’re
hungry. You just ate an hour ago!”

But one thing classrooms have that you will not find in most homes is the intercom. The intercom system has been around in
schools for a long time. Before telephones were installed in classrooms, the intercom was the main way with which the office
communicated with the teachers. The secretary or principal would stand in front of a big metal machine, press a button, and
call students to the office for dentist appointments, doctor checkups, and visits to the orthodontist so that the rubber bands
on their new braces could be changed.

Today the intercom is used mainly to announce special assemblies, hearing tests, and other all-school news. Just this week
Bob, our principal, came on the intercom to talk to the whole school. It was a special day on campus. The Dairy Council was
bringing Ellie the cow to our assembly. “Teachers,” he said, “please excuse the interruption.” All the kids stopped working
and looked up at the speaker on the wall. Bob continued. “Ellie will be late. She is stuck in traffic.”

Once when I was in third grade, the secretary forgot to flick off the switch after making an all-school announcement. More
than five hundred children listened to the office staff chattering away until one honest teacher called in and told her. We
all heard the secretary scream. Then the intercom went dead.

This year in the middle of November, my class visited our kindergarten buddies. Each class at my school is teamed up with
another. We get together once a month and share an activity. My buddy teacher is Gail. I like being Gail’s buddy. She cooks
a lot with her students, and I get to taste-test. But I have to be careful. Last year I snatched what I thought was a cookie
off a paper plate and just about gagged. They had just made doggy biscuits.

So there we all were in Gail’s classroom getting ready for our big Thanksgiving Feast. Forty kids sat around the room at different
stations making vests out of brown paper bags, decorating oatmeal box drums, and tracing turkeys around small hands on brown
construction paper.

In one corner of the room, a volunteer mom was helping kindergartners write what they were thankful for on a piece of yellow
butcher paper. I started reading the list:

“I am thankful that my dad changed my sandwich from peanut butter and jelly to bologna.”

“I am thankful I am not a turkey.”

“I am thankful for my brain for making new dreams every day.”

“I am thankful for dogs when they lick me.”

“I am thankful for Comcast because now I can tape my shows.”

The mom gave me a grin. I smirked back and walked on. In another corner of the room, Gail’s aide, Robyn, sat with the kindergartners
taking dictation. They were making a class book entitled
How to Cook a Thanksgiving Turkey.
I stopped and listened as Robyn interviewed one little girl. She wore a white paper Pilgrim bonnet tied with fat black school
yarn.

“How heavy is the turkey?” Robyn asked.

“A hundred pounds,” the girl answered.

Robyn tried not to laugh as she wrote down the answer. “And how long do you cook it?”

“An hour.”

“At what temperature?”

“Hot.”

“Then what?”

“You put a lot of oil on it.”

“How much?”

“About ten gallons.”

I smiled, gave Robyn a wink, then walked on. A few minutes later I crouched down beside one of the kindergartners. His name
was Scotty. He had just moved to our school. Scotty was wearing an orange headband covered with thunderbirds and some serious
warrior paint on his cheeks. He was stringing a macaroni necklace.

“Hi, Scotty,” I said. “Nice hat.”

“Thanks.”

“That’s a mighty nice necklace. Are you going to give that to your mom?”

“No. She doesn’t wear macaroni. She only wears diamonds.”

I smiled. “I see.”

All of a sudden the principal’s voice came on the intercom. “Teachers, please excuse the interruption.”

Gail clapped her hands in a rhythmic pattern. The children stopped what they were doing and clapped back. The classroom grew
quiet.

“Okay, listen up everyone,” Gail called out.

Scotty stared intently at the round speaker on the wall.

“Well,” the principal continued, “it looks like it is going to rain. So teachers, we will have recess inside today. Thank
you.”

When the announcement was over, the children got back to their projects. Scotty continued staring at the speaker.

“Everything okay, Scotty?” I asked.

He didn’t respond.

I set my hand on his shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

Then with huge eyes he turned to me and whispered, “Was that God?”

T
his week in class we made our family trees. When I asked the students about their heritage, Joshua reported that he’s half
cowboy, Christopher claimed that he is one-fourth pirate, and Kevin (who is Irish) declared that he is 100 percent leprechaun.
When Trevor told me that he was named after his grandfather, he looked disappointed.

“Why the long face?” I asked.

He sighed. “I’d rather be named after a football player.”

Art Linkletter was absolutely right. Kids do say the darndest things. But that’s only the half of it. When kids say the darndest
things — their teachers have the darndest responses. Here are some of the most popular:

This response is used when you’re pretending to listen to a child but actually aren’t. I implement The Fake Listen when being
followed around the blacktop at recess by a child who wants to explain every one of the tricks he can do on his new skateboard,
or during Show and Tell when Laura is sharing her 50th foreign coin and has another 250 to go. The Fake Listen is similar
to The Fake Applause. The Fake Applause is commonly utilized when a teacher is whispering with one of his colleagues during
the school assembly and suddenly realizes that everyone is applauding so he starts clapping his hands, too, but really has
no idea why.

Teachers employ The Buying Time when asked questions that they are not exactly sure how to answer. When John, for example,
asked me in the middle of the math lesson, “Why do women crave sardines when they’re pregnant?” I used it. When Lisa asked
me what
in heat
meant, I used it. And when Laura asked me why they called it a booby trap if there were no boobies in it — I used it, too.
The best way to implement The Buying Time is simply to respond to the child’s question with another question. Buying Time
responses include, “
What
did you just say?” and “Where did you hear
that
?”

Unlike The Buying Time in which teachers are not sure just how to respond, The Teacher Dodge is implemented when they absolutely
do
not
want to answer a child’s question. This year when Dylan asked me if Santa knows God, when Gina shouted out, “Why is that
frog on top of the other frog?” and when David wanted to know what the difference is between a steer and a bull, I sidestepped
with The Teacher Dodge. To do it, simply change the subject as quickly as possible in order to avoid answering the student’s
question. Successful Teacher Dodges include: “Oh sorry, out of time,” and “Never mind that. Get back to work.”

This response is accompanied by a state of surprise, shock, bewilderment, speechlessness, and utter disbelief. Since the new
school year began, I have already used The Frozen Teacher on multiple occasions. The first time was when my students and I
were playing charades. It was Trevor’s turn. He ran around the room, crashed into the wall, fell over, got up, and fell over
again. I was dumbfounded. After a couple of seconds, I spoke.

“Uh… I give up. What are you supposed to be?”

The corners of Trevor’s lips stretched upward. “A chicken with my head cut off.”

The second time I responded with The Frozen Teacher, I was searching for something on my desk when Kevin and Danny walked
up to me.

“Mr. Done,” Kevin said, “do you know how to French-kiss?”

I spun around, eyes bulging. Kevin kissed Danny on one cheek and then on the other. Then Kevin turned to me and smiled. “That’s
how the French kiss.”

Me:
Blank. Completely blank.

A few months ago, I was in the middle of a lesson when Emily stood up in the back of the classroom, stretched to the ceiling,
and let out a huge yawn. I stopped teaching and stared at her, immobilized. When she finished yawning, Emily sat down, crossed
her hands on her desk, and gave me her complete attention.

Finally, I came to. “Emily,
what
was that?”

“Seventh-Inning Stretch.”

Last week I pulled my latest Frozen Teacher. We were talking about cats when Christopher volunteered, “I’ve eaten cat food.”

Full-freeze frame.

“You… you
what
?” I asked, shaking myself back to reality.

“It tastes good,” he admitted, proudly.

I should
not
have asked the next question.

“How many of you have tasted cat food?”

Half the class raised their hands.

Now I know it sounds bad, but there are times when employing The Teacher Fib is absolutely necessary. It is not a lie, per
se. It is more of a survival tool. I only use it when I’m in a really tight spot. This year’s Teacher Fibs include:

1. Telling Robbie that I was allergic to the birthday cupcakes he brought in after I noticed that most of the frosting had
   been licked off.
   
2. Telling Sarah that I left my grade book at home after she asked me what her spelling test score was when in actuality I
   couldn’t find my grade book.
   
3. Telling Rebecca that I couldn’t attend her birthday party because I already had other plans.
   
4. Telling Brian that the fire detector in the classroom is really a hidden camera and that if he didn’t sit down immediately
   I was going to show the tape to his mother. He sat.
   

Sometimes one teacher response is not enough. This was the case just last week when Stacy asked me her big question. It was
a peaceful Monday afternoon. We were reviewing our new spelling list for the week. The words were all in past tense using
ed
endings.

Stacy looked up from her paper. “Mr. Done, what’s E.D.?”

Eyes bulging, I snapped into The Frozen Teacher. My eyebrows felt like they were locked in too tight a face-lift.
Did I hear her correctly? I think she just asked me what E.D. is. What do I say? Try a Buying Time.
I adopted a calm expression. “What did you say, honey?”

She repeated the question.

She
did
just ask me what E.D. is! Oh my gosh! I don’t want to answer I don’t want to answer I don’t want to answer!
I could feel the blood rushing out of my head.
Deep breath. Deep breath. Close your mouth. Go for second Buying Time.

I feigned a relaxed smile. “Why do you ask?”

“It was on TV.”

As I opened my mouth to speak, I noticed that the rest of the class was now listening to our conversation. I looked back at
Stacy.
She’s still waiting. Now what? Try Teacher Dodge.

“I think you should ask your parents.”

“I did. They won’t tell me.”

Alarm bells began going off in my head. I could hear the little
Lost in Space
robot voice sounding off:
Warning. Warning. Danger, Phil Done. Leave topic immediately!

I glanced up at the clock.
Attempt Dodge Number Two.

“Oh my! It’s time for recess. Okay, everyone, put your spelling lists away. Time to clean up.”

“It’s not time for recess,” Laura pointed out. “We still have seven minutes.”

She was right. I couldn’t send them out this early. I looked over at Stacy. She was still waiting for an answer. Sweat started
soaking through my shirt. As I ran my finger under my collar, I pictured Wile E. Coyote waiting helplessly for the burning
fuse to reach the dynamite. I had no other choice but to pull out The Teacher Fib. I looked down at my watch, glanced up at
the clock, then shook my head.