A letter

Dear May 4th,

I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold up.  If you and your friend Taiwan (island country formerly part of China, not the little black boy in my 1^st grade class) could please hurry, I’d be forever grateful.

I’m sure this is common place for parents.  But I’m not a parent.  I don’t even have a dog.  Or a goldfish.  I’m sure you’ve heard by now:  It was a long day.  Well, it was more like one class...and there were only 9 students...but still.  It was 9 FIRST GRADE students. 

Today was warm.  Beautiful actually.  Good enough to wear short sleeves for the first time of the year...Mistake #1.  The children have never seen hair on someone’s arm before, much less the hair of two burly grown men that is growing on my arms.    They love to touch it.  And laugh at it.  And dance around doing gorilla impressions.  I’m pretty much a walking Freak Show.  There’s no English lesson happening here.

When I finally managed to calm the children and begin the lesson, I noticed one little boy not participating.  I walk closer to see what had caught his attention, and deduced that the blood all over his face was the cause.  (Now, for the record, I’ve been working with children too long to care in the least when one of these little farts is bleeding, but I figured I should take him to the office.  I mean, better he bleed there than in my room.)  When we arrived another teacher asked him what happened.  You guessed it...he was picking too hard. 

19 more days.

When I returned to my classroom, the students were hovering around the trashcan.  One little boy was crying.  Why?  Who knows?  Or cares?  I looked into the trash can to sort out the problem, but saw nothing.  Trash.  But he’s still crying so I look through the waste further.  He finally sees what he’s lost.  A magnet.  Nothing special.  As generic as it gets.  I’ve got a million of them in my desk.  But now he’s got the one he came in with.  All is well again.

Until...

I notice two little boys across the room.  One standing behind the other.  Index finger extended.  Poking.  Repeatedly.  In the other boy’s...ummmmm...rectum?  This is the funniest activity either one has participated in in a long time.  Apparently.

May 4^th, please hurry.  

                                                                   Sincerely,

                                                                           A nearly insane English teacher