Wednesday, February 15



Today the best behaved fifth-graders in the world got me as a sub. Quiet, hard-working, pleasant, nothing interesting can be said about this class.

Whenever one raised his voice to a respectfully subdued whisper a devilish grin spread across his face, as if he was getting away with something. I played along, giving them a dangerous glare whenever I caught one of the punks so much as leaning towards another's ear.

How useless was I today? As the entire lesson plan called for the uber-kids to work on their own, I tried my best to wedge instruction anywhere I could. While they read a story (The one about the frontier kid who teaches an Indian to read and write using Robinson Crusoe) I occasionally interrupted, trying to teach something.

"You know, uh, Robinson Crusoe was written by Willem Dafoe."

Like the great kids they were, each would smile warmly and nod, as if they were actually giving my desperate ramblings thought.

Classes like that give one hope, don't they? After all, these are the kids that will one day be changing our diapers... goodness forbid the diaper part! The only fifth grade class I subbed for (frequently) was the class that ended up divided later in the year and put the teacher out with heart problems. The most memorable members of this hellish unit were the twins. Though they were seated in opposite corners, they still got up and made life miserable. One was so active his classmates had nicknamed him "The Nomad." Yep. Good memories!
Ah, twins. I had a pair in a special day kindergarten class. They created this gibberish language they used between themselves. I'm pretty sure neither one knew exactly what the other said, but they got a kick out of it.
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