Monday, December 5
The Invisible Teacher and Noses
Called into a kindergarten class, nothing unusual about that. What was unusual, however, was the teacher's sudden appearance a hour into the day. She walked in, the class barely acknowledges her and she looks for her car keys for a hour and a half. This was the entrance of a drifter, not the class' teacher.
And, hey, why call me? Wouldn't it have made more financial sense if she had taught, and maybe asked her aide or even paid a hobo a few bucks to look for her keys? Instead of calling in the 100 buck-a-day pro?
Here's an unfortunate truth:
The amount of hugs a student will give his teacher is in direct proportion to the runniness of his nose.
Today I was a freekin' rockstar. The kids loved me. They did what I said. When they didn't, they listened to the stern-talking-to. Most of them assumed I would be back tomorrow no matter how much I told them I wouldn't.
The kids just wouldn't stop hugging me either, which is great anytime of year 'cept cold season. So these hugs were entirely one-sided, the sweet embrace of a child versus all of my desperate pushes and shoves.