'Yo, mista Davis are those chocolate milk cows?'
Our school bus, cheddar cheese yellow and three blocks long, bounced and jolted across the Whitestone bridge on our way to another strenuous field trip. Our sixth graders, semi-belted into their seats, wavered between abject fear and awe as we made our way closer to the Queens Meadow Farm. Half of them had never been over water, most had never touched a body of water, and zero of them had been in Queens, NYC. Oh, I nearly forgot. They lived in the Bronx, a ten minute drive from Queens. Nevertheless, passing a pasture of forgotten cows, Terrell's comment about the origin of chocolate milk easily passed into the realm of unforgettable. Now normally I would never smile at these over-aged, pimply, bumbling sixth graders that could simultaneously break my heart and make me see shades of red that don't yet exist. Yet, Terrell got me by surprise, and turning to my good friend Mercedes, I instantly passed along his words of wisdom while attempting not to lose control entirely of my face and its upstart smile.
'Ummm, no Terrell, those are regular cows, which provide regular milk.'
'Yu mean the 2 percent stuff my momma buys to make me bigger?'
'That sounds about right...', turning towards Mercedes to avoid showing my upper lip pressed closely around my mouth in stifled laughter.
The teacher chronicles are jammed with memories such as these, and I'm convinced that if a dozen teachers from a dozen different schools got together and shared their stories, it would be on the bestseller list for years to come. Here are another priceless few moments.
1. A co-worker of mine called me over to her first grade classroom because her student Glymer (pronounced Glimmer: "There's a y in there mista becuz he a boy, not no girl glimma") had just eaten a small fluorescent bulb. According to what he said, he had just wanted "a snack." Cue ambulance, frenzied assistant principal, mom saying "s'all right, he jus craaazy," and a one-way ticket to Children's Village. Yes, this place exists, and no you do not want to teach there.
2. Mariela, my little kindergarten angel, looking up at me during a math lesson where we were writing numbers with marker on white-boards, and saying, "Senor Davis, I think I just felt the lightbulb you always talk about in my brain turning on."
3. My little Alejandro in 3rd grade - For our living things unit we had been observing the egg-hatching process of chickens, which fascinated all save Alejandro. On the day we finally saw a chicken hatching, my class, normally strictly in line with classroom expectations, went berserk. Rushing over to our incubator, we all peered over the top and watched the tiny little miracle occur. I hadn't realized, in my happiness of seeing the students open-mouthed, thrilled and whispering in frantic voices to each other, that Alejandro was tugging my sleeve from behind, serious eyes turned up at me. I looked down and asked him what was wrong. "Senor Davis, si tu quieres, mi mama se puede quitar las plumas, limpiar y cocinar esas gallinas 'pa una fiesta." (Mr. Davis, my mom can clean, pluck and cook those chickens for our end of the year party if you want)
4. Teaching 4th grade, I had brought some small bones in for fossilization. A few I had purchased at a specialty shop, such as the owl bones I began showing them. It took me a few minutes to realize where some of the wing bones had gone. Raymond, my student with a one-on-one paraprofessional (for some reason she had chosen that lesson to step out), was busy cracking and sucking on them in the corner.
5. Joshua: Height - 4'11''. Weight: App 85 lbs. Occupation: Extreme Tormentor Student, highest order. Angel: Height - 5'8''. Weight: App 150 lbs. Occupation: Quiet female student prone to violent rages.
Joshua to Angel: "Yo, you maaaaaad ugly."
Angel to Joshua: "Quiet, small kid, I'll punch you."
Joshua to Angel: "Did you make that weave yourself? It's maaaaad ugly."
Angel: Calmly walking over to Joshua, picking him up about four inches off the ground and throwing him into the class door. Walking over, holding his shoulder with one hand, and punching him with the other. "I saiiid, shut. the. fuck. up."
At last, a superintendent suspension. :)
6. 4'2'' boy, skinny as a rail, big front teeth, shaved head. In the middle of an English lesson: "Yo mista, I had a dream las night that in another life I wuz a stripper named Candy Cane."
7. Big unit test. Rubin leaned over and looked at his neighbor's test.
Mr. Davis: "Rubin, that's cheating."
Rubin: "Naw Mista, I'm not cheating I'm just reading his paper."
Mr. Davis: "By definition, that's cheating Rubin."
8. Laurent walking into class: "Mr. Davis, can I bring some guns to class?"
Mr. Davis: "Ummm, absolutely not."
Laurent: "Then why did you let me bring these?" (Pointing at his skinny 6th grade arms)
9. Teaching 6th grade literacy one day...Under my breath.."What the??" (dog barking sounds coming from somewhere in the room) Glancing under one of the tables. "Luis, why are barking like a dog and under your table?"
Luis: "I'm practicing being a dog. See, ruff! ruff!"
---
On the second day of teaching 6th grade literacy, I began lining up my class outside in the hallway in order to go to lunch. Lines, or order in general, were very foreign things for my students, yet that day we filed out, 33 strong, and stood in line for a brief moment until I asked out loud to no one in particular, "Where's Arius?"
"Ooooh, I'll go get him Mr. Davis!!!" shrieked Chadia, a short, Jamaican version of a cherry bomb firework. "Uhh, no, don't wor..." my words lost in the heads turning of every student as they watched Chadia sprint down the hallway, all quietly whispering, "oooooooooooh, now he's gunna get it."
"Me too! I'll help" replied Andy, turning out of the line and beginning to unfasten a hitherto hidden fluorescent orange belt. "I'll teach Arius to get in line on time for you Mr. Davis, don't worry."
At this point I felt something akin to a vein of panic, though to be fair, the feeling of panic is rare after 6 years of teaching in the Bronx.
"Hold here please, I'll take care of it," exuding all the confidence I could muster, and marching towards my classroom door. By some miracle the class stayed where they were, and did not witness Chadia hopping on one foot while grabbing her shoe and hurtling it at Arius yelling, "I'm gunna teach you how my momma taught me to listen!" Nor did they see Andy whip his belt from the loops. "You listen to Mr. Davis when he says line up Arius!"
"Oh shiiiiiit!" yelled Arius, (6'2'' in 6th grade) ducking, swerving and jumping from the room in efforts to get away from Chadia's second shoe which missed him by inches.
Laughing, giggling, shaking their heads, Chadia and Andy came over to me and said, "Don't worry, it's all right Mr. Davis, we don't mean no disrespect. He'll be alright now."
I could only say thank you and head the class downwards towards their deep fried mozzarella sticks and dead-lettuce salad.
Our school bus, cheddar cheese yellow and three blocks long, bounced and jolted across the Whitestone bridge on our way to another strenuous field trip. Our sixth graders, semi-belted into their seats, wavered between abject fear and awe as we made our way closer to the Queens Meadow Farm. Half of them had never been over water, most had never touched a body of water, and zero of them had been in Queens, NYC. Oh, I nearly forgot. They lived in the Bronx, a ten minute drive from Queens. Nevertheless, passing a pasture of forgotten cows, Terrell's comment about the origin of chocolate milk easily passed into the realm of unforgettable. Now normally I would never smile at these over-aged, pimply, bumbling sixth graders that could simultaneously break my heart and make me see shades of red that don't yet exist. Yet, Terrell got me by surprise, and turning to my good friend Mercedes, I instantly passed along his words of wisdom while attempting not to lose control entirely of my face and its upstart smile.
'Ummm, no Terrell, those are regular cows, which provide regular milk.'
'Yu mean the 2 percent stuff my momma buys to make me bigger?'
'That sounds about right...', turning towards Mercedes to avoid showing my upper lip pressed closely around my mouth in stifled laughter.
The teacher chronicles are jammed with memories such as these, and I'm convinced that if a dozen teachers from a dozen different schools got together and shared their stories, it would be on the bestseller list for years to come. Here are another priceless few moments.
1. A co-worker of mine called me over to her first grade classroom because her student Glymer (pronounced Glimmer: "There's a y in there mista becuz he a boy, not no girl glimma") had just eaten a small fluorescent bulb. According to what he said, he had just wanted "a snack." Cue ambulance, frenzied assistant principal, mom saying "s'all right, he jus craaazy," and a one-way ticket to Children's Village. Yes, this place exists, and no you do not want to teach there.
2. Mariela, my little kindergarten angel, looking up at me during a math lesson where we were writing numbers with marker on white-boards, and saying, "Senor Davis, I think I just felt the lightbulb you always talk about in my brain turning on."
3. My little Alejandro in 3rd grade - For our living things unit we had been observing the egg-hatching process of chickens, which fascinated all save Alejandro. On the day we finally saw a chicken hatching, my class, normally strictly in line with classroom expectations, went berserk. Rushing over to our incubator, we all peered over the top and watched the tiny little miracle occur. I hadn't realized, in my happiness of seeing the students open-mouthed, thrilled and whispering in frantic voices to each other, that Alejandro was tugging my sleeve from behind, serious eyes turned up at me. I looked down and asked him what was wrong. "Senor Davis, si tu quieres, mi mama se puede quitar las plumas, limpiar y cocinar esas gallinas 'pa una fiesta." (Mr. Davis, my mom can clean, pluck and cook those chickens for our end of the year party if you want)
4. Teaching 4th grade, I had brought some small bones in for fossilization. A few I had purchased at a specialty shop, such as the owl bones I began showing them. It took me a few minutes to realize where some of the wing bones had gone. Raymond, my student with a one-on-one paraprofessional (for some reason she had chosen that lesson to step out), was busy cracking and sucking on them in the corner.
5. Joshua: Height - 4'11''. Weight: App 85 lbs. Occupation: Extreme Tormentor Student, highest order. Angel: Height - 5'8''. Weight: App 150 lbs. Occupation: Quiet female student prone to violent rages.
Joshua to Angel: "Yo, you maaaaaad ugly."
Angel to Joshua: "Quiet, small kid, I'll punch you."
Joshua to Angel: "Did you make that weave yourself? It's maaaaad ugly."
Angel: Calmly walking over to Joshua, picking him up about four inches off the ground and throwing him into the class door. Walking over, holding his shoulder with one hand, and punching him with the other. "I saiiid, shut. the. fuck. up."
At last, a superintendent suspension. :)
6. 4'2'' boy, skinny as a rail, big front teeth, shaved head. In the middle of an English lesson: "Yo mista, I had a dream las night that in another life I wuz a stripper named Candy Cane."
7. Big unit test. Rubin leaned over and looked at his neighbor's test.
Mr. Davis: "Rubin, that's cheating."
Rubin: "Naw Mista, I'm not cheating I'm just reading his paper."
Mr. Davis: "By definition, that's cheating Rubin."
8. Laurent walking into class: "Mr. Davis, can I bring some guns to class?"
Mr. Davis: "Ummm, absolutely not."
Laurent: "Then why did you let me bring these?" (Pointing at his skinny 6th grade arms)
9. Teaching 6th grade literacy one day...Under my breath.."What the??" (dog barking sounds coming from somewhere in the room) Glancing under one of the tables. "Luis, why are barking like a dog and under your table?"
Luis: "I'm practicing being a dog. See, ruff! ruff!"
---
On the second day of teaching 6th grade literacy, I began lining up my class outside in the hallway in order to go to lunch. Lines, or order in general, were very foreign things for my students, yet that day we filed out, 33 strong, and stood in line for a brief moment until I asked out loud to no one in particular, "Where's Arius?"
"Ooooh, I'll go get him Mr. Davis!!!" shrieked Chadia, a short, Jamaican version of a cherry bomb firework. "Uhh, no, don't wor..." my words lost in the heads turning of every student as they watched Chadia sprint down the hallway, all quietly whispering, "oooooooooooh, now he's gunna get it."
"Me too! I'll help" replied Andy, turning out of the line and beginning to unfasten a hitherto hidden fluorescent orange belt. "I'll teach Arius to get in line on time for you Mr. Davis, don't worry."
At this point I felt something akin to a vein of panic, though to be fair, the feeling of panic is rare after 6 years of teaching in the Bronx.
"Hold here please, I'll take care of it," exuding all the confidence I could muster, and marching towards my classroom door. By some miracle the class stayed where they were, and did not witness Chadia hopping on one foot while grabbing her shoe and hurtling it at Arius yelling, "I'm gunna teach you how my momma taught me to listen!" Nor did they see Andy whip his belt from the loops. "You listen to Mr. Davis when he says line up Arius!"
"Oh shiiiiiit!" yelled Arius, (6'2'' in 6th grade) ducking, swerving and jumping from the room in efforts to get away from Chadia's second shoe which missed him by inches.
Laughing, giggling, shaking their heads, Chadia and Andy came over to me and said, "Don't worry, it's all right Mr. Davis, we don't mean no disrespect. He'll be alright now."
I could only say thank you and head the class downwards towards their deep fried mozzarella sticks and dead-lettuce salad.
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