TEARS FOR THE TEACHER

As an executive in the entertainment industry in the days when women were few and not particularly endeared by the powerful, I learned to be strong and tough.

The president of a studio I worked for picked me up and threw me against the wall for failing to include a favorite of his on a memo — and I didn’t cry. A network department head threatened to throw me out the window for making a decision when he was out of town — and I didn’t cry. Another studio head joined me at a meeting to share good news — without his pants — and I didn’t cry. But I was reduced to tears by a class of five-year-old kindergartners.

I was their sixth teacher in the first ten days of school, including one who had requested the assignment. All had refused to return. How ridiculous, I thought with great confidence. They’re babies! I have handled some really tough middle-schoolers as well as emotionally disturbed, large fifth-graders with some degree of aplomb. This will be a piece of cake!

Ah, yes, pride does goeth before the fall. First, there was Alexis, an adorable pigtailed little girl with shining black eyes. She stood when she was asked to sit, sat or sprawled horizontally on the floor when asked to stand, announced that “my momma told me I don’t have to sit next to no White boy,” and took off out the door and across the yard whenever she felt so inclined.

Now I know enough to just ignore her, but she was smart. She was not going to be negated and she was determined to settle for nothing but complete victory. And when she threw down the gauntlet, I felt compelled to act. This was indeed a power struggle as 20 pairs of eyes stared, wondering who was really in charge here. I used the extreme punishment — banishment. She was sent to a table by herself at the back of the class. This provoked hysterical, hiccuping crying with no letup. Her parents were called, came to observe, and she proved she could be a little angel for the exact duration of their visit.

Coming in a close second in obstreperousness was her smaller cousin Larry. He flailed and punched at anything that moved, which happened to include a majority of his classmates. Thus began my moment of ignominy.

It was lunch time on Tuesday, day 2. My promised aide (every kindergarten teacher has one) never came back after day 1, and the principal promised that he would find a replacement so that I would be able to eat lunch. It’s the law.

It’s also the law that I get a break, but that never happened and I never got to the restroom. We were lining up for lunch. All our children qualify for the free lunch program, but they must have a ticket.

So there were two lines. One for the children who remembered to bring their ticket and the other (much longer) for the children who forgot it, ate it, lost it, or claimed it was stolen. The first line must be escorted directly to lunch and the second line must be taken to the “no ticket” desk.

I was trying to figure out how I could do both, when I turned and saw Larry take a bite out of George’s forehead. I grabbed both their hands, as ear-piercing screams erupted from both the biter and the bitee. Human bites require immediate medical attention as they can be extremely dangerous. They are required to go directly to the nurse.

So, two kids to the nurse, one line to lunch, and one line to tickets. Too much — I was on overload. I ran out to the yard and the only help in sight was a fifth grader. I drafted her to take one line, pushed the other one in the general direction of their objective, and dragged the screechers to the nurse.

I failed in triage. I sent my children with a definitely uncertified person, the fifth grader, and the others were left to do for themselves. When the dust lifted, I was blubbering, frustrated, and really pissed off.