Raise Your Hand

First grade was difficult for Zachary.  The academics were basically a breeze for him; it was his teacher who proved to be the challenge.  In an effort to protect the innocent, we will call Zach’s teacher Mrs. Jenkins.  Mrs. Jenkins was a 23 year old newbie, in her second year of teaching elementary school, fresh out of college.  She was a newlywed, living hours from her family in another state.  I imagine when you are right out of college and teaching, you are prepared to give it your all, with fresh ideas and a love of children.  Zach managed to strip all of that away in one short academic year.

In our defense, we did warn her.  My husband and I even told her to talk to his Kindergarten teacher, a veteran, about ideas to keep him in check.  From a young age, we knew Zach had the makings of a cross between Bart Simpson and Dennis the Menace.  When he got in trouble at home, he would actually get to the naughty step before we even told him to go.  He would calculate risk vs. reward before doing something he was not supposed to, and if he felt it was worth it, he’d do it.

Zach was just downright naughty in Mrs. Jenkins’ class.  On a color grading scale, he would receive a “red dot” in his planner daily.  It was always for something little.  He was talking out of turn, not raising his hand, touching a wall in the hallway while standing in line to go to the cafeteria, or distracting other students when it was time to do some real work.  I don’t think a week went by when he did not have at least one red dot in a week.  No method of threatening or punishment worked for us or Mrs. Jenkins.  I would receive nasty-grams home on a consistent basis.

I was at work on a Tuesday, finishing up a report I had to get done in the next hour.  My phone rang, and it was from an area code only associated with the school system, at the time.  I could feel the lump in my throat and my face heating up even before I answered the phone.

“This is Merydith, how can I help you?” I said with trepidation in my voice to the unknown caller on the other end of the line.  “Hi Mrs. Blank, this is Ms. Q, the assistant principal at Zachary’s school.  How are you?”  Was she kidding?  How was I?  I was freaking out!  “I’m well thank you?”  Ms. Q proceeded, “I have Zachary here in my office, he’s fine, but there was an incident in his classroom today.”  You have got to be kidding me.

After lunch on Tuesday, the class went out for their regularly schedule recess, and then made their way back to the classroom.  They were getting ready to do something as a group on the carpet.  Mrs. Jenkins asked everyone to take their assigned place on the carpet and she went to her desk to get the materials she needed for the group lesson.  Evidently she took too long.  Zach saw this opportunity to get a chuckle from his classmates.

Zachary stood up while all of his peers were sitting quietly, criss-cross applesauce on the carpet.  With his rear end stuck out behind him, in a high pitched impressionistic voice, and right hand held high he said, “I’m Mrs. Jenkins.  Raise your hand if you like my butt!”   The crowd went wild.  Mrs. Jenkins had lost all control of the classroom.  She walked over to Zach, snatched him by the arm and walked him straight to Ms. Q’s office.

That was Mrs. Jenkins second and final year of teaching elementary school.  Last I heard she was a nanny for a wealthy family with 2 children and selling an energy drink on the side.  Did I mention she tried to sell us said drink stating it might calm Zach down?  Sure.  The remainder of the school year consisted of Zach fighting for Mrs. Jenkins’ attention and Mrs. Jenkins fighting to stay sane.

So, first grade was basically a wash for Zach.  He stayed up on his academics, and got a thicker school record at the same time.  I have checked several times and have been assured by administrative staff at the school, that elementary records are not permanent.  Let’s hope that’s true.