by John Pearson
Signing off,
Not The Bachelor
Date: Friday, April 23, 2004
To: Fred Bommerson
From: Jack Woodson
Subject: You say potato...
TGI Friday! I feel so stupid! How could I not have recognized you on TV all these years? But why isn’t your show called “Everyone Loves Bommerson?”
I am so glad the weekend is finally here. Though Tuesday is the TAKS math test, so we are down to the wire. Today was our usual test day, so it was relatively quiet and uneventful. Plakton managed to amuse me without even trying, though.
Because Plakton has qualified for reading Special Ed., I am allowed to read the questions to him on our math tests. He still has to do the work, though. I just have to be careful to read the questions and answers in a neutral voice, almost a monotone. My 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Gibbs, used to read questions on tests like this:
“Question number four: Who shot Abraham Lincoln?
a, Robert E. Lee.
b, Hannibal Hamlin.
C, JOHN WILKES BOOTH.
d, Stephen Douglas.”
She was an elderly lady, and I really don’t think she was aware that she was giving the answers away by practically screaming the correct choice. When my brother was in her class a few years later, he told me a story about someone throwing a pencil in class. The pencil hit her desk, which she was sitting at, and landed on the floor. Mrs. Gibbs started yelling over her desk at the pencil, like it was a kid. “You get up this instant! You’re in big trouble, young man!”
So that’s the senility I can look forward to. But on to what happened with Plakton today. I have a signal worked out with the kids for when they’re testing. If they have a question, they raise their hand. But if they just need to get up for Kleenex, they raise one finger. (Index finger, buddy!) That way, if I’m across the room, or helping someone else, I can just look up at them and nod yes or no.
Today, I happened to be walking by Plakton’s desk right as he raised one finger into the air. However, he continued to write on his test as he held his hand up, so he didn’t notice me standing there. You never know with Plakton, that finger might be a pre-emptive strike on his own eye, or it might be a signal that his innards are about to let loose. Just to be sure, I bent over and asked, “Do you need a Kleenex?” He looked up and answered, “No, I just need a tissue.”
Sometimes I think Plakton lives in the Twilight Zone. It would not surprise me at all to have him come running into the room one day screaming, “IT’S A COOKBOOK!”
And speaking of people who live in their own world... Based on certain observations, I’ve come to the conclusion that Samsonite thinks I’m a dinosaur. Allow me to explain. Often when a student is playing around and they shouldn’t be, I can just glare at them for a few seconds, and that is enough to get them back on track. However, that little trick doesn’t work with Samsonite.
Remember that scene in Jurassic Park where the T-Rex first attacks the people, and the main scientist tells everyone not to move, because reptiles can’t see something if it isn’t moving? This is the approach Samsonite takes with me. When I catch him playing with his crayons or pencils, instead of redirecting his attention to where it should be, he just freezes. He starts breathing shallow breaths. His eyes dart from side to side and back to me, but the rest of his body never moves. I can sit there and watch him for minutes at a time, but as soon as I look away, he goes right back to playing. If I look again, he freezes again.
I’ve found that the best way to get him to actually stop is to slam my foot on the floor, let out a huge roar, and occasionally eat the child next to him. I mean, you’ve got to maintain the illusion, right?
Later,
Tyrannosaurus Tex
Date:Tuesday, April 27, 2004
To: Fred Bommerson
From: Jack Woodson
Subject: The day of reckoning
Hey dude, Today has been a truly exhausting day. The TAKS math test was today. Of course I was stressed last month when the kids took the reading test, but today even more so because this is MY core subject. I feel like my worth as a teacher will be proven or dispelled with the results from today.
We started off the day with a quick review — my homeroom first, then Kelly’s. I had made up a list that had about twenty-five topics on it, but Mrs. Fitzgerald wisely advised me to cut that down to the top five. I tried to make things positive and up beat, to keep their spirits up. I ended each review by running around the room slapping high-fives for luck.
We did a bit of class shuffling before the test began. I put all of the kids that I felt absolutely confident about in Mrs. Swanson’s room. These were the kids that I knew without a doubt would pass the test. So once both of them were taken care of... No, I’m kidding, there were actually twelve kids over in Kelly’s room.
Four of our kids were in a group that got to have the test read aloud to them, so they were in a separate room. This group included Plakton, Carlos, Krissy, and a new girl, Carmen, who entered my class just yesterday. I got her a day before the test, and she wasn’t even in my room long enough for me to gauge her ability, yet her scores will count for or against me. She’s a very sweet girl, and I hope she does well, but does that sound at all fair to you?
Three of our angels — Marvin, Ralph, and Samsonite — took the test in another room, with a teacher watching them closely. I didn’t want any of them disturbing the other kids. Around midday, I went to check on those three and make sure they weren’t causing Miss Scott any trouble. Marvin and Ralph actually appeared to be behaving pretty well and working diligently. Samsonite, however, had already spilled his water and was obviously playing around. When I first entered the room, I noticed that he had his shoes off and had removed his left sock. After checking on Marvin and Ralph, I walked over to Samsonite and saw that he had put the left sock back on and removed the right. Rest assured, when I left the room, he had no water bottle, his socks and shoes were on, and hopefully the fear of God was in him.
So that left about fourteen kids to take the test in my room. It should have been fifteen, but for some reason, Jorge’s family decided to take an out-of-state vacation on TAKS day. I don’t even know why that would surprise me. He’ll have to take the test when he gets back, and I’ll be sure to TELL him why on earth would he miss the TAKS day.
Some of the kids in my room, like Susan and Sa’tun, I was pretty sure would pass, but I wasn’t positive because of some bone-headed errors they had made on practice tests. As for the others, it really felt like a crapshoot. They might pass with flying colors, they might squeak past, or they might fail spectacularly. It all depended on who showed up today. The kid who wants to pass and is going to try his best, or the kid who doesn’t care. I’ve seen both sides from so many of these kids this year.
Like I said, it was a long day. There’s really nothing that we’re allowed to do except constantly walk around, pass out snacks, and keep an eye on things. No filing, no grading, no reading Entertainment Weekly. But the physical tiredness of being on my feet all day long was nothing compared to the emotional drain of seeing mistakes being made and not being able to do anything about it.
I spent much of the day trying to develop mental telepathy, as my mind shouted, “NO! That’s not how I taught you to do that!” It was to no avail though, because Lindsay and Sandra and the others kept on bubbling in the wrong answers. On one question, I saw that Lindsay had added 3 kids and 10 pencils to get 13 pencils.
I started to feel a little light-headed for a while there, seeing my teaching career go down the drain. Mentally, I polished up my resume and contemplated the return to engineering. I could practically see the headlines — “Entire class fails TAKS due to former engineer’s colossal blunder!” All hopes of ever publishing my instructional tome, “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Self-Esteem,” evaporated.
I thought that maybe I had expected too much from some of these kids. Maybe they just couldn’t do it. One of my Duke professors
used to say, “You can’t get milk from a chicken.” And I guess he was right. Of course, he also said, “A man without the ability to measure pico-amps is not a man.” So his pearls of wisdom WERE kind of hit-or-miss.
But then a more rational side of my brain took over. I realized that the many mistakes I had seen had not all been made by one student. Spread out among the fourteen in there, it didn’t seem as bad. My fears were further allayed at lunchtime when Mrs. Jones told me that eight questions in the middle of the test were field questions, meaning they were being tried out and would not count toward the scores. A majority of the errors I had seen were on those field questions, so that did quite a lot to loosen the knot in my chest.
Also, I observed that Susan and Sa’tun were living up to their potential and doing quite well. In addition, it appeared as though Zaphonalia, Miguel, Anita, and even Esteban (!) were on a roll. By the end of the day, I was actually feeling pretty good about the class’ performance.
Now we play the waiting game. Which is not nearly as fun as Stratego, Taboo, or Tetris. It will be nearly the end of the school year before we get the results back. Overall, I’m optimistic. Now I’m going to crash, and most likely dream of acronyms, equations, and pictographs. Hopefully Catherine Zeta-Jones and a big pan of lasagna will find their way in there somewhere, too.
Later,
Mr. FanTAKStic
Date: Friday, April 30, 2004
To: Fred Bommerson
From: Jack Woodson
Subject: The Fellowship of the Pink
Hey buddy, Thanks for keeping your fingers crossed. And please pass on my appreciation to the others as well. I received several emails on Monday from the good folks at HPU (including Philby!) wishing my kids luck on the TAKS. Carol and Tiffany also wanted to know who ever won our little math tournament, so you can tell them that Tereelia was crowned champion, with Miguel coming in second. I gave them each funky little water bottles with crazy straws, and they’ve both used them every day since.
Have I told you that several boys here at the school have been wearing pink shirts? Apparently, pink is the new gang color, and while I’m sure none of these kids are actually IN a gang (yet), I guess they want everyone to see how much potential they have. You heard me, I said pink. Here I thought that pink was supposed to be the new black, whatever that means, and not the new red or the new blue.
When I first saw a fifth grader that I know wearing a pink shirt, I thought there had been a laundry malfunction. The color that they have chosen is NOT a good shade of pink. It’s splotchy and uneven, like someone threw a red sock into a washer full of white shirts.
Today, my very own student Juan wore a pink shirt. I was of course disappointed for him from a fashion sense, but also because he is so much better than that. Juan’s brother is a fifth grader who hangs around with the tough-guy-wannabes, and he must be having some influence on Juan. I had a brief talk with Juan before he got on his bus today, and I told him that I knew what the pink shirt meant. When I asked what it meant to him, he feigned ignorance at first, but he finally answered, “It means pimp.”
“And what does that word mean to you?” I asked him.
“Like when you’re in a band,” he replied.
I asked him if he meant a band that plays music together, or a gang. He affirmed the latter. Which I know is a disappointment to you, because I haven’t forgotten your desire to start a band there at HPU. Though I still think nobody but another engineer-geek would think that “Cylindrical Tolerance Zone” is a good name for a rock band. Something sportsrelated would be better, like “The Pump Fakes,” or “Quarterback Sneak.” Of course, “rock band” is too generous a term, seeing as how you only play the triangle, Tom Winter wanted to make armpit sounds, and you assumed Latya could play the sitar just because he’s Indian. Do you even know what a sitar IS?? But I digress.
I told Juan not to wear that color again because it is not a message that he really wants to be sending. He’s a good kid; I seriously doubt we’ll have this issue again.
I’m still just totally amazed that anyone, much less boys, would be wearing this awful color. Pink to me doesn’t express toughness. Pink says to me, “I’ll give you your money back lady, but I’m keeping the purse.” There have got to be REAL gang members out there snickering behind their hands, high-fiving each other and saying, “Hee hee, we got them to wear PINK! What can we get them to wear next? Lavender? Goldenrod? Dare I say it...Puce??”
Later,
Pinkbeard the Pirate
Date: Thursday, May 6, 2004
To: Fred Bommerson
From: Jack Woodson
Subject: Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue!
Hey buddy, I have to say, I don’t really think Reggie is trying to join a gang. You may have THOUGHT he was wearing a pink shirt, but it was probably rose, or salmon. Or just maybe... his wife accidentally threw something red in with his white dress shirts.
You know, sometimes as a teacher, you wonder why kids act up, misbehave, say rude things, and so on. But then you don’t really wonder so much when you witness the behavior of their parents. Chassity was a good example. Let me give you another.
Zaphonalia was once again in one of her moods today, refusing to do anything I asked, bullying other kids, and sleeping in class. She’s not a narcoleptic (and speaking of, I’ll pause while you peer over the cubicle wall to see if Phil is awake or asleep), but she does doze off far too frequently for my tastes. Sometimes her mouth lolls wide open, and I’m tempted to see if I can throw M&Ms into that big gaping maw. But that wouldn’t really be setting a good example for the other little weeble-wobbles, I know. When I get on Zaphonalia’s case, she claims, “I can’t sleep in my bed!” Like that makes it OK to sleep in class. I always want to shout back, “Then sleep on the floor! In the tub! On the roof! I don’t care!”
I called her father after school, using the cell phone number he had given me the last time he was up at the school. I was quickly sorry that I had called. When he answered the phone, I could tell that he had been smoking something other than cigarettes. After I introduced myself, he responded, “Ooooo, hey, Missshter Woooosshhhhh...”
I don’t know about you, but I’m not really accustomed to speaking with people under the influence (unless you count Jimmy in IT’s four-Red-Bulls-a-day addiction). I thought about messing with him and saying, “Duuuuuuude!! You’re wasted too?? AWESOME!!” But I decided to take the high road (no pun intended), and besides, there might be some mitigating factor that I don’t know about. Maybe he has a prescription for medicinal reefer, due to glaucoma, or a herniated disc, or maybe even lacerated buttocks.
I didn’t linger on the phone with Zaphonalia’s father; I didn’t really see any point, seeing as how the guy was higher than Larry’s cholesterol level. Frankly, I wouldn’t have been surprised at all if, when I had mentioned Zaphonalia, he had replied, “Whozzat??” I sped through my complaints, and he assured me, Cheech and Chong style, that he’d take care of things right away. I have a feeling that he was probably more concerned with the dancing tomatoes and the talking monkeys at the time, though. I doubt he’ll even talk to Zaphonalia. This answers a lot of questions about her, though. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Or, in her case, I should say the fruit doesn’t fall far from the grass.
Maybe I can hook Zaphonalia’s father up with Baby Boy’s uncle. Together they could start a local chapter of Weed Whackers Anonymous.
Later,
Doobie Brother
Date: Tuesday, May 11, 2004
To: Fred Bommerson
From: Jack Woodson
Subject: They’re making a break for it!
Hey buddy, Oh my gosh, you’re absolutely right! I missed a golden opportunity to call Zaphonalia’s father Barry! I guess the shock of realizing he was in La-La Land put me off my game. Maybe I’ll call him again tonight, just to mess with him.
Now that the TAKS tests are over, we have a little time to relax and have so
me fun. Sure, another round of tests is coming up next week, (No Child Left Behind? No Child Left Untested Till He’s Blue in the Face is more like it.) But we need a bit of unwinding. Today, we went on a field trip to a place called Camp Wisdom. No, not Camp Wisdom the street, where all the strip clubs are; this is an actual campground area, with lots of activities for the kids.
I wanted to take my own car because I wasn’t really looking forward to riding on a school bus. Chipped paint, graffiti on the seats, gum on the floor, hard to work windows — but enough about my car. We did wind up taking three buses.
On the drive to the camp, the kids on our bus started up a rousing rendition of Old MacDonald. Old MacDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O. Apparently, every single animal on the farm goes, “quack quack here and quack quack there.” Ducks, pigs, cows — they all quack. Later verses revealed that in addition to the aforementioned animals, on that farm he also had giraffes, frogs, penguins, and Mr. Woodson. Of course, all of these went “everywhere a quack quack.”
Our group was huge — the entire third and fourth grades — but once we were there, we split up into smaller groups and rotated around through the attractions. Of course, when I say the entire third grade, that excludes anyone who got in trouble last week. Marvin and Ja’ Wane, for instance, who got into a fist-fight at recess right in front of the assistant principal. For their efforts, they won a lovely parting gift of missing the field trip and spending the day in a kindergarten class.
My group consisted of my two classes and 3G, Ms. Dennison’s class. The first little area that we went to was a miniature castle, with turrets and little jail cells. Victor and Miguel wound up serving a lot of hard time in those makeshift dungeons. There were a couple of stockades as well. I guess the Marquis de Sade had a hand in developing this little campground. There was also a labyrinth out behind the castle, which was fun. The walls were about a foot shorter than cubicle walls, so I could position myself right at the center of the maze and see everything that went on inside of it.
