As a teacher, it is my job (or rather, WAS my job) to convey the knowledge I possess to my students through various means in an accessible way. Since I don't have students, you guys will have to do. Now, going through school I was the student that always asked questions. I know what you're thinking..."I HATED that kid". You're probably picturing some little boy in a short sleeved collared shirt, buttoned to the very top, with an accompanying olive green sweater vest, khaki shorts, and socks that reach mid calf hidden at the feet by ugly shoes that probably weren't tied correctly. His hair is probably either slicked to his head or wildly untidy and his arm is raised so high that you fear (and perhaps hope) it will burst out of his socket...you've got it all wrong. I didn't develop my affinity for sweater vests until much later. So there!
I brought my habit of asking questions to my teaching, preferring the Socratic method. I am (was) always asking my students questions to keep them on their toes and to ensure that they were learning. However, this did not always work to my advantage. Sometimes there are questions that are better left unasked. I learned that the hard way!
It was my first teaching job, an Elementary maternity leave in Northern New York. I was responsible for teaching grades k-5 general music and 3rd, 4th, and 5th grade chorus. I also had to lead the school in morning assemblies for all grades, singing a new month or holiday song...needless to say, it made me hate my life. I taught in a classroom that was down a dark staircase and was literally the only classroom on that side of the building. It was located next to the old gym that was never used. Nothing says "let's get excited for music class" like a mile long walk and a room where no one could hear you scream...or sing, which they were under the impression was the same thing.
The one good advantage of teaching in the boiler room from the Nightmare on Elm Street movies, was that there was a bathroom close by that the students could use. I hate it when students would need to use the bathroom in the middle of class. I understand that not everyone can hold it during an entire class, but at the elementary level, bathroom usage is contagious. After one kid asks to go, suddenly the entire class is struggling to contain the contents of their bladder and are desperately waving their hands to be the next one to go. I found that if I waited until the first kid came back, usually the other students would forget their desperate need to use the facilities.
One day, one of my second graders, Billy, asked to go to the bathroom at the beginning of class. I was grateful because I would much rather a student go before the start of class than them ask when I was just getting to the lesson. I sent him and started class...we were singing our November song, complete with a tribute to Thanksgiving, where we gobbled like turkeys, and pretended to catch footballs...clearly, my finest moment. Billy came back to the lesson 30 minutes in, which I found suspicious. I had another student leave class to go to the bathroom earlier in the year and the aid caught him in the hallway playing his gameboy. I couldn't believe it...I never skipped class until I was in college, and at that point, no one cared! And I was smart enough to have my friend Joe sign in for me...I think I only went to 2 full classes of Human Sexuality, but I managed to squeak by with a pass. I was completely offended. I planned engaging lessons. That was the day we were singing our friendship song and I came up with a fun dance with a do-si do and...oh...come to think of it, if I had a gameboy, I probably would have gotten the hell out of there to play it too...
Being the great investigative detective that I am, I asked Billy where he was. He guiltily replied that he was in the bathroom... A LIKELY STORY! I asked if he was in the bathroom the whole time...little kids like to wander too and it would look great to my first employer if there was a 2nd grader smoking in the hallway with his other T-bird buddies. He said that he had been in the bathroom the whole time. My mind immediately flashed to a bathroom covered floor to ceiling in toilet paper, the mirror graffiti-ed with swearwords in spray paint, and a fire in the trashcan. I smartly asked him what took him so long...I could feel it...he was about to crack...his resolve was crumbling under my interrogation...I OWNED HIM! He looked at me, wide eyed and nervous and quietly said "...I had to poop..."
If there was a couch near enough, I would have crawled under it and died. Thankfully, none of the other kids heard him and were quietly talking amongst themselves. The aid, however, did hear it was was doubled over in rioted fits of laughter. I was horrified. Billy returned to his seat and after what seemed like eons of awkward, I resumed the lesson. When the lesson was over, the teacher came to get the class, the students followed her out of the room in a single file line, and the aid gave me a sad knowing pat on the shoulder as if to say, "you poor bastard, no one saw that coming." I had a prep period to recover and reflect on the horrifying situation that transpired and hope that I had not caused some unknown damage to poor Billy, cursing him to a life where he is shamed by his bowel movements.
I wish I could say that this was the first time something like this had happened to me at that job, but I would be lying. Not one month earlier, I had had another shocking episode that was again a direct result of my own curiosity. The month was October, I know that because that was the first lyric in the song we had learned that day. "The month is October, there's so much to do...play football and hockey, and pick apples too...The month is October and we will all play...we'll go trick or treating, on Halloween day..." Seriously, I am obviously educational GOLD! Why do I NOT have a job?!?!?!
Anyway, before I taught this brilliant song and introduced the xylophone part (yeah, go big or go home), I asked the kids to identify things that we only did in October. I had a little easel with a white board on it and I had to sit in a little kid chair to write on it. We were instructed to introduce the kids to reading and writing as much as possible and I was simply obliging. They clearly didn't care that to do so, I had to sacrifice all of my dignity and squat in this dwarf chair. I wrote their responses on the board and they came up with things like "go pumpkin picking, eat apple cider donuts, rake leaves, make jack-o-lanters, eat pumpkin pie.' Maneuvering around my knees, which were inches from my chin in that chair, I managed to successfully get all the answers on the board. I asked for any final thoughts and one girl raised her hand. I called on her eager tiny hand and she proudly said, "visit grandma." I thought that that was an odd response and prompted her, "but you don't only visit your grandma in October, do you?" She said "yes" and I thought to myself, what kind of parents only let their kids see their grandmother once a year. Maybe she was a trashy alcoholic, or a hoarder, or was the bearded lady in the circus and they only came to NY in October. Who knew?
Because my curiosity was not yet satiated, I asked, "Oh, where is grandma at?" Without skipping a beat the little girl happily replied "at the cemetery." All of the color drained from my face and there I sat, mouth gaping open like a river trout, crammed into that tiny chair, ass hanging off the sides, cursing my curious nature. It would appear that songs about the month never yield good results for me. In both situations, I would have been fine had I not asked the final, fatal question. Kids really do say the darnedest things...
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