>Learning. I’m a teacher. You’d think, wouldn’t you, that I would have a lot to say about learning. Teachers, at least the best of us, are always learning. Always. Here’s the story of a day I learned an important lesson.

I was substitute teaching in a wonderful K-8 school during the last week of August. Ragweed was blooming, and pollen was flying. The livin’ was easy, unless you were a kid with hay fever.
It was eighth grade social studies, third hour, American History. The boy in the front row three was sniffling so often and so hard he was almost snorting.
That’s when I made my mistake.
“Ryan, do you need a tissue?” asked the naive substitute teacher (me).
“No, thanks, I just swallow it.” replied Ryan.

The moral of the story: Never ask a question unless you really, really want the answer.

This post is entered in Scribbit’s Write-Away contest for September. Check her out; the submissions are always, always, fun to read.

>”How are you doing?”

“So far, so good.”

“Making progress?”

“I’m getting there. That’s my new mantra: I’m getting there. I’m getting there.”

“Of course, when you get there, you’ll find out you’re supposed to be somewhere else.”

>Upon unpacking boxes of materials in my new classroom, the following questions arose.

Why do I own a world map that includes the USSR? The Soviet Union collapsed before I started teaching!
Where’s the coffeepot in this building?
How many boxes do I need to open with my fingernails before finding my scissors?
Why are so many boxes are labeled DESK? Do I really own that many pens and paper clips?
How is it that the posters that took up four large drawers last year all fit in one drawer now? Oh, I guess I missed a box. Or two.
In which corner does my flag go?

Do all new teachers get the ugliest file cabinets? I’m not really new. Really, I’m not.
Where’s the nearest printer? And where’s the color printer?
Can I fit my four computers on two tables so that I have room for books and kids in the Book Nook corner?
Can I throw away the ancient styrofoam cups stored in the cupboard?
Did my supply order come in? What do you mean, what supply order?
Where is the file of my sent emails under budget?
When can I go home?

And the rest of the story: Yes, I threw away the outdated map. The media specialist led me to the printers. I re-wrote the missing purchase order, using details from my files. We have a gem of a secretary, and she started the wheels turning as soon as I gave her the specs. Hopefully, I’ll have everything soon after school starts.

>In the final graduate class toward my Masters Degree, all of the class members were describing their personal growth and professional progress as they had passed through the program cycle. We were seated in a circle, and Deb was showing us a collection of photos that represented critical points in her journey. My friend Sara was seated next to me. The classroom windows were tall and narrow, so only a few of us sitting exactly in the right place could see outside.

Beyond the window behind Deb, on an entrance road that passed rather close to the building, a juggler appeared. Yes, a juggler. Big yellow shoes, baggy black clown pants, bowling-pin style clubs spiraling through the air. Sara and I exchanged glances, then looked back at Deb and tried to concentrate. The juggler walked on, and a parade of dog-walkers following him. This group of people — it had to be at least 75 to 100, just counting the two-legged folk — strode along as though they were marching for a cause (which was probably the case!). By this time, Sara and I could no longer look at each other. The longer the line went on, the closer we came to laughing. When the dogs and their humans were fading away, a helicopter landed on the campus lawn.

Yes, a helicopter.
Deb had no idea.

Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. The beginning of this one is the setting, with Deb telling her story. The middle? The ongoing parade outside the school. The end would have to be the part where we told her what was going on during her presentation. Sara and I held onto our sanity and our drama skills to at least feign focus until Deb was done. Then, during our break, we told her the whole story. I was wiping tears from my eyes, and so was Deb. Truth is stranger than fiction, and this was one of the strangest things to happen to us during grad school.
Yes, we are still friends. Deb’s a fabulous teacher and a great juggler herself, a mother of three and teacher in a low-income school in our fair district. Her sense of humor took her through this whole cycle of grad classes, and served her yet again when we let her know what kind of distraction she’d been fighting and she hadn’t even known it.

As the school year looms closer, and my personal juggling act gathers momentum, I always think of Deb, and the juggler who started the whole crazy parade outside the window. This story has smile value, and that’s enough for me.