First Day of School--Summer School, that is

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Well, Summer School started today with a splash--no, with a series of disturbing beeps.
Actually, my day began with the buzzing of my cell phone's alarm clock at an hour that was WAY too early. But I got up. You know, it really is pleasant to be awake early in the morning (around sunrise) . . . once one gets over the initial "un-awake" feeling. But at this time of year, morning is beautiful--fresh, clean, unpopulated.

I'm responsible for my campus's before-school-care program. So I'm supposed to open up at 7am to take in the kids that arrive early. Well, I was running a little late (amazing how no matter how early I start, I still end up running a little late!), and showed up to open the gates at exactly 7am. Already there was one kid waiting at the door for me, another approaching with grandparents in tow. No, scratch that last one. Amendment: his grandparents were approaching with him in tow. They are very nice people, peppy and excited about their grandkids and everything associated with them, especially since the oldest is just out of kindergarten and ready to start first grade in summer school this year. I suspect that they are still new grandparents.

So now I have an audience for the opening of the doors. Bother! Oh, well. I get out my nifty set of keys (I LOVE having keys to the buildings I work in!) and wave my card in front of the alarm box. If I remember right, it's supposed to beep and then click the door open for 5 seconds so I can get inside without opening the main doors (someone opens them an hour later when more people are coming). So the box beeps but there's no click and the door remains locked. Bother! I try again. And again. Still nothing, so I turn to my audience and announce that my keys do not work (to which the grandpa replies that he has surmised as much). I attempt to call one of my bosses. I get his voice mail and decide not to leave a message. Then I bethink me of my other keys--perhaps one of them will open the door and I can at least get into the building. [I have visions of myself standing outside the building all morning until someone else arrives with a key; I can see myself telling the parents "oh, we will be having before-school care outside today!"; I can see the parents not being very thrilled and not seeing the humor of the situation; and I laugh inside at the humor of it anyway.]

The key works to get us into the building where the alarm is beeping, calmly letting us know that the building knows we are there without any right to be there and that the situation is being dealt with. I seat the kids on the steps, rummage in my bag for the paper that tells me how to call the alarm company, and run into the office to call the company. The lady at the company walks me through turning off the alarm, and the day proceeds as normal--as "normally" as the first day of summer school ever proceeds!

Actually, my two 2nd grade classes really went well. There came a couple moments when the kids were sitting spellbound at my description of what would happen to them if they misbehaved when I realized that if I thought about the total theatricality of the moment I would laugh. So I stopped thinking about their faces looking at me in awe and fear and proceeded to remind them that they did want to follow the rules because life would be so much more wonderful if they did. Teaching really is a performance much of the time!

And then there are the moments when you know you can't laugh until later when you can talk about the incidents in the teachers' lounge--today I had a kid singing in the bathroom. I'd never had that situation to deal with before! He is the kind of kid that thinks class clown is a job description he can apply for. So when his chance came to use his nifty new restroom pass, he decided to make it a memorable trip. He started to hum as he approached the bathroom door (our classroom has a bathroom at the back of it) and then he began to sing when the door was closed. Of course the other kids thought he was funny, and all 24 of them began to giggle. I waited to see if he'd stop, wondering "ok, how do I handle THIS one?" He didn't stop. Finally I banged on the door. When he called oh! so sweetly "Who is it?" I firmly told him, in my deepest, sternest voice (as reminiscent of my father's as I could make it), to stop. "Ok," he meekly replied and stopped. I explained to the class that he would not be laughing about it later when he got in trouble for it; I also talked to him after class about his misbehaviors (of which the bathroom incident was only one). Yes, I did my own laughing about the incident when I recounted it to the teachers I ate lunch with.

It truly has been a memorable first day. Funny how the things that make it memorable are not the fact that I have a huge class and the fact that my first-day-of-school class time went better than ever; the things that make a day memorable are the out-of-the-ordinary things. Theatrical moments.

Tomorrow my key should work. We tested it before I left school today. Maybe tomorrow won't be very memorable.