Learn Me Good

by John Pearson

  Love,

  Guadelupe

  Isn’t that a sweet little note? Definitely something to go up on the refrigerator. I’ll post it right next to Marvin’s infamous forgery note. Plus, if I should happen to screw up or get laid off again, I’ll be able to use it as a reference for my next job. “Here’s what the class thought of me, Mr. Interviewer, and I know for a fact that Guadelupe spoke for the staff and student body as well when she expressed those sentiments.”

  Are you planning on watching any football on Thanksgiving? Let me give you an update on our classroom football field. We’re up to the 7’s now in Minute Math, but there are only five kids who have reached that line on the bulletin board — Xander, Ariel, Juan, Victor, and Pinar. Others have had a much harder time getting out of the gate. Lindsay, Carlos, and Sofia are still on the 1-yard line, which means that they have taken the 2’s test SIX times now and still not mastered it. In a bit of good news, Jessica aced her test on Friday. Unfortunately, it was the test to get her TO the 1-yard line. It took her these six weeks just to get that far. Ugh.

  Well, I’m gonna run now. Maybe I’ll shoot a quick line over to Tom Winter telling him he’s been a great engineer this days, weeks, and months. Heck, I might even throw in “years” just for good measure. That should make his day.

  No school for us on Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday, so in case I don’t talk to you tomorrow, have a Happy Turkey Day!

  Later,

  Stuart Smalley

  Date: Monday, December 1, 2003

  To: Fred Bommerson

  From: Jack Woodson

  Subject: Tell me no questions and I’ll say you no lies

  Hey Freddy Kreuger, Yes, I added that last name today in honor of another fallen student and his favorite movie. Nathan has withdrawn from the school to try his luck as a professional squirrel whisperer. No, they’re moving to Houston where I assume he’ll rejoin the ranks of Texan 3rd graders. Here’s hoping, anyway.

  Also, I plan on giving Jessica as many tries as she needs to move forward, even if she only gets to the 4’s by the end of the year (which she’s on pace to do). While I thought the idea was pretty darn funny, I have no intention of removing her jersey from the bulletin board, replacing it with a smear of chunky-style spaghetti sauce, and telling the class that she’s been tackled. I would have expected a suggestion like that from Larry, but it came from Tiffany? I am shocked!

  I have another little anecdote to share with you about one of my Spanish-speaking kids. If you’ve spent much time around children (and some adults even), you may have noticed that many of them rely far too heavily on the words “said” and “told.” What I mean is that they will almost always use one of these words, instead of mixing things up with the occasional “replied,” “yelled,” “cried,” “whispered,” “belched forth,” “spat out,” etc. I’ve noticed that a lot of the Hispanic kids don’t even use the word “asked” when there’s a question. For instance, they say, “I told my dad if I could go to the movies, and he said no,” or, “My mom said if you could send another form home?” or, “I told Marvin, ‘Why do you have a fish stick on your face?’ and he said, ‘Shout the fouk up.’”

  But today, I heard a new one from Jorge. At recess, he came running up to me and exclaimed, “Thomson told me idiot!”

  I have to admit, that took me aback, and I didn’t immediately figure out what he was trying to convey. Seeing the blank look on my face, Jorge repeated his quizzical statement, “Thomson told me idiot! When we was in line! And he told me chicken, too!”

  I think that if Jorge had started his claim with that last statement, I might have just assumed that he had contracted a speech impediment and was accusing Thomson of selling black-market poultry. But it’s hard to sell an idiot, so I had to think further. The light bulb finally flicked on over my head as I realized that he meant that Thomson had CALLED him an idiot!

  No doubt, you’re “telling” me a moron right now for taking so long to figure it out, but I just think it’s bizarre. When you read this, go over to Tom Winter’s cubicle and say, “Woodson told me slacker,” and see how long it takes him to figure out what you mean. And while you’re at it, tell him loser for not coming out to poker night last week.

  See ya,

  Gentleman Teller

  Date: Tuesday, December 2, 2003

  To: Fred Bommerson

  From: Jack Woodson

  Subject: Irritable Vowel Syndrome

  Hey buddy, One of my kids told me something today that brought to mind the WORST possible imagery, and I think I might be scarred for life. I know that I’m scarred for at least the next month. This is far worse than the time Larry shared his tips and techniques for plucking his chest hairs — over lunch, as I recall. Worse even than the description of your last girlfriend’s refrigerator contents. Thought I had forgotten, hadn’t you? No, those things pale by comparison to what came out of this eight-year-old’s mouth.

  We had just switched classes, so it was about 11:00 in the morning. The kids were busy working on the problem on the overhead. I was walking around, observing the kids as they worked. Suddenly Plakton got out of his seat, came all the way across the room to where I was standing, and said, “Mr. Woodson, I gotta tell you something, secret-like.” I told him to go sit down and that I would be right over. When I made my way over to his desk, he motioned at me to stoop down so he could whisper something to me. (Cue the ominous music rising in the background.) No, he didn’t whisper, “The horror! The horror!” Though in retrospect, he probably should have. Instead, he proclaimed, with all seriousness, and not a little urgently, “My bowels be runnin’!”

  Yeah, I’ll give you a minute to recoil from the screen. I had to willfully fight the urge to say, “What the hell does THAT mean?” Of course, I knew only too well what it meant. And this strange phrasing, coming from a kid who usually just declares, “I gotta use it,” made me decide rather hurriedly that Plakton was not bluffing. I practically pushed him towards the bathroom with the simple command — “GO!”

  When he returned, everything seemed fine and normal again. Except that he was about 20 pounds lighter. No, I’m just kidding. But if the situation should ever present itself again, I’ll have a better response — “If your bowels be runnin’, then your feet best be, too!”

  Sorry to go from an intestinal story to a success story, but while Plakton was struggling to control his innards, Ralph was conquering number patterns. That’s our topic for the week — 4, 7, 10, 13... What number comes next?

  All day long, Ralph kept saying, “I get it! I get it!” After about the tenth time, I wasn’t really sure whether he was talking to me or talking to himself, shades of The Little Engine that Could. I’m really proud of him, because while kids like Rafael, Kari, and Tereelia grasp these concepts easily, Ralph really has to work at it. And he’s not always willing to work at it. So it’s great to see him get a shot of selfconfidence. Unlike Plakton, who apparently needs a shot of Immodium.

  Well, that’s the news from this side. How’s the new design going? If you’re still having trouble with tooling issues, you might want to talk with Darrin. If you can look past the constant hitching up of his Sans-a-belt pants and his not-sosubtle racial jokes (such as always declaring, “Nobody called for a taxi!” whenever Latya walked into the room), that old man is a wealth of knowledge.

  Your pal,

  Turd Ferguson

  Date: Thursday, December 4, 2003

  To: Fred Bommerson

  From: Jack Woodson

  Subject: Birthday wishes

  Hola, amigo! Sorry if I put you off your lunch yesterday, but at least now you have a new phrase guaranteed to get you out of status meetings. Use it wisely, my friend.

  Today was Mrs. Swanson’s birthday. She is obviously beloved by the kids because several of them brought in balloons and cards. Krissy, Salma, and Laura, who are in her homeroom, came over to my room right before the day started and tried to enlist my help in some sort of birthday surprise
. I was supposed to lure Kelly away from her room so that the kids could work their magic. I’m afraid I didn’t help them much.

  At around 8:30, I called Kelly on her cell phone and told her there was something she should come over and see. She let out an exasperated sigh and said that the kids had been trying to get her to come to my room all morning. She sounded very annoyed. “Do I REALLY need to come over there?” she asked. I decided then that the kids were on their own. “Um...not really,” was my reply.

  Later, she told me that the kids had gotten her out of the room somehow anyway and then closed the door, locking her out. When she finally got back in, the kids were all hiding behind tables and bookshelves — except, of course, for the one who had to come and open the door for her — and they jumped out and shouted, “SURPRISE!”

  Yes, I’m sure she was stunned, had no idea whatsoever that they had all gathered there in her honor. But at least the kids seemed pleased with themselves.

  More fun later in the day. Usually, Kelly is the one from our grade-level who collects money and then goes out and buys a card and gift for the birthday person. But this being her birthday, and me being her partner, I had volunteered to do that duty this time. So last night, I got her a card and a gift certificate from one of those candle, soap, and handbag places. To Infinity, and the Bathroom and Beyond, or something like that. Don’t worry, I got you a lovely cucumber-honey loofa; I know they’re your favorite.

  Before sending the card around to the other teachers, I wrote my own birthday wishes, and then I added a few extra signatures. One said, “Have a grout day, Msis Swasnsn. Louve, Marvin.” I also wrote, “You can’t see me. Happy birthday from your favorite student, Mark Peter.” Fortunately, Kelly got a kick out of that.

  See, I miss that aspect of the job at Heat Pumps — the card signings, where even though there were only about ten of us that would sign a card, somehow fifty signatures and comments would turn up. I don’t yet know the people here well enough to know if writing, “Hope the operation is a success!” or “Sorry to hear about your poodle’s run-in with the school bus!” on a birthday card would be considered funny or offensive. And do you remember what Latya wrote in Larry’s birthday card a few years ago? “Meet me out back at 8:00, Honey Buns. Love, Ron Philby.” That probably wouldn’t play too well here, which is a shame.

  Miss the gang there,

  Hallmark Hacker

  Date: Tuesday, December 9, 2003

  To: Fred Bommerson

  From: Jack Woodson

  Subject: What a day for a picnic

  Hey, Thanks for letting me know Tiffany’s birthday was last week, I’ll have to send her an e-card. And thanks for forwarding on some of the comments on her card. Let me guess, Larry was the one who wrote, “You are now legal in 15 states!” even though she turned, what, 25? Whenever his bday comes up, please do me a favor and write, “Congratulations! You’re almost as old as your waist size!” and sign my name.

  Today was an interesting day. To start with, each of my classes got a new student. Then just before lunch, I had to handle a little situation between two kids who are normally not problems at all — Krissy and Ricky. When I had them sit down and write what had happened, this is what I got from Krissy:

  I called him a big facts mokey becaus He tolld me to shetup littel girl so I called Him big Facts mokey...

  She actually wrote a lot more, in one big run-on sentence, but I think I’ve captured the salient points. I’m just glad that missing ten minutes of recess made them each see the error inherent in telling someone to shut up or calling someone a big fat monkey. Or a big fast smokey.

  I also gained a little more insight into the enigma wrapped in a conundrum surrounded by a fruit roll-up that is Mark Peter. We were going over last night’s homework, which was on the topic of temperature. Each problem had a drawing of a thermometer and then the question, “Which activity would you do when the thermometer looks like this?”

  On the first one, the thermometer read 30ºF, and the choices were:

  A. Go on a bike ride

  B. Go to the beach

  C. Go on a picnic

  D. Go ice-skating

  Right now, the kids are pretty good at reading the thermometer, but they don’t really have a sense of what the reading means. They don't know if 30 degrees is hot, warm, or cold. So several of them chose answers a, b, or c. However, when we went over the answers, and I convinced them that 30 degrees Fahrenheit is COLD, below freezing even, most of them changed their answer to ice-skating.

  Most, I said. Not Mark Peter. He kept insisting that he and his family routinely go on picnics when it’s thirty degrees outside. Even when it’s snowing! Yes, I know because I asked, just to be sure. They picnic in the snow. Right.

  This kid is one textbook short of a class set. One Pokemon card shy of a deck. One crayon short of a box. And perhaps one snowball shy of a picnic?

  Stay cool,

  Willard Scott

  Date: Thursday, December 11, 2003

  To: Fred Bommerson

  From: Jack Woodson

  Subject: Round up the usual suspect

  Hey bud, Stop being such a nerd. Yes, 30 degrees CELSIUS would be decent picnic weather (though a bit on the hot side), but that is not why Mark Peter insisted on that answer. Did you miss the part about the snow? We were definitely talking Fahrenheit here. He’s just a goober.

  MP’s parents don’t have a phone, so we can’t call them to discuss his behavior, and they don’t have a car, so they don’t visit the school very often. Somehow, any notes that we send home fall into a black hole, so Kelly and I paid a visit to his apartment after school. I had been to their apartment once before, a few weeks ago, when I had had enough of his behavior, but this was the first time for both of us. Today, it was Kelly’s turn to get fed up, and I tagged along.

  We got to the apartment and knocked on the door, and Mark Peter’s father let us in. He didn’t look too happy to see us, but then I suppose he knew that we probably weren’t visiting to announce that his son had won the class citizenship award.

  Have I mentioned that MP’s parents are HUGE? MP is taller than average for his age, but his dad is about my height, 6’4”, and his mom is even taller! Maybe it’s due to size intimidation, but MP seems to be a completely different boy when he’s in his parents’ presence. At school, he’s a loud, obnoxious bully, but when his father asks him a question, suddenly everything is “Yes, sir — No, sir.” Also quite the opposite is his voice; at school, it is belligerent and arrogant, but at home, it is subdued and high-pitched — like Mickey Mouse on Prozac.

  One of the first things his dad said to us today was that MP had told them Mrs. Swanson and I had been out sick for the past few days. This came as news to us since Kelly’s last absence was about three weeks ago, and I haven’t taken a day off all year. The really odd (and disturbing) thing was that despite the fact that we were standing right there denying this, MP continued to insist that we had not been at the school.

  During the course of our visit, MP’s mom mentioned the weather and how it was starting to get cold. I couldn’t help myself, and I replied, “Yeah, it’s almost picnic weather.” As I expected, she just stared uncomprehendingly at me.

  Thankfully, Mark Peter’s parents are not the types that believe their child can do no wrong and who take their child’s every word as gospel truth. They’ve obviously been around the block a few times and know that MP’s stories are not always entirely accurate. When we got to our most recent concerns (our list of grievances), Kelly told them that some items had been stolen from her desk, and she suspected that MP had been the culprit.

  Mark Peter immediately exclaimed, “I didn’t take those red tickets!”

  (In the poker world, we would call that a “tell.”)

  I think we all realized what had just happened, but I was the first to say anything. “Mark Peter,” I said, “Mrs. Swanson never said anything about red tickets. She said some things were taken, but she didn’t
say what those things were.”

  I’m not sure if MP knew he had trapped himself, but his parents sure did. They started questioning him, and he FINALLY admitted taking some tickets and a few other things from Mrs. Swanson’s room. He must have a predilection for tickets, because a few weeks ago, he stole some of my blue tickets as well. I was able to nail him right away though, because he had torn them right off the roll, ripping one ticket in half, and leaving the other half on the roll. When I saw half a ticket with Mark Peter’s name on it, it was kind of a dead giveaway.

  Actually, for being guilty of theft, MP got off pretty easy. When my brother was much younger, he had a friend named Kyle who took things to the extreme. One time, when a playmate grabbed up one of Kyle’s Transformer toys and wouldn’t give it back, Kyle picked up the phone and dialed 911!! BOOM! Way to lay down the hammer, Kyle! Needless to say, Kyle’s unique brand of vigilante justice did not go over well with his mother, and I think the 911 people actually put him on their “Do not call” list.

  At least we didn’t call the cops on Mark Peter. All we did was tattle on him to his parents. They seem very supportive of us, and they control him pretty well at home, but somehow I doubt that we’ll see any real change in class tomorrow.

  Later,

  Sheerluck Holmes

  Date: Monday, December 15, 2003

  To: Fred Bommerson

  From: Jack Woodson

  Subject: Tales of a third grade roughing

  Hey Fred, Yes, I had seen that email before, about America’s dumbest criminals. I especially like the guy who gave the store clerk a $20 bill to get the cash register open, and then ran off with the $10.85 from the register — leaving the $20 bill behind! I have no doubt Mark Peter will one day make this list.

  And speaking of our pal MP, he is in big trouble yet again! Last Friday, I dropped my class off at the art room and ran into Mrs. Swanson, who had just dropped her class off as well. She told me that MP was in Mrs. Andrews’ room, and that she was going to see him, so I followed her. As we walked to the fourth grade hallway, she told me why our angel was in another room.