Zodiac Killer: Pig vs. Bear

The classroom is buzzing with excitement. This week is jam packed full of activities and theme days: Valentine’s Day, VSO field trip, and Chinese New Year! The morning bell rings and the children meander toward their seats. I am trying to get the attendance done and I can’t figure out what to mark down where. I keep getting irritated little notes on the attendance from the secretary of the school because I am not paying close enough attention to the little slashes and crosses and dashes that I am supposed to use. Children are chattering, a tray of gold glitter perched precariously on the edge of the reading/craft table teeters as a student bumps into it. I want to get over there and move it out of harm’s way but I am trapped by ‘Mother Bear’, the well-meaning parent who feels the need to stay in the class to talk with the teacher every morning about her many concerns regarding ‘Baby Bear’s’ education. Phew! I glance over to the table; the glitter tray didn’t fall after all. Mama Bear is still hovering in my space, instructing me for the umpteenth time on making sure her daughter’s coat is done up all the way to the top before she goes outside, and how she needs harder spelling words, and by the way, just how much experience do I have with children and education? Ahhh! I am so flustered; I wish this mom would just leave me alone in the mornings so I can figure out this stupid attendance sheet!

BAM…WHOOSH…

A wave of horrified gasps from the children in the back row earns my full attention. Like a tragic hang gliding accident, the kamikaze glitter inevitably sails off the edge of the table and then swirls downward dispersing itself as widely as possible. Mother Bear leaves, but only after promising to return at recess. I clip my attendance sheet outside the classroom and focus the class to the over head for Daily Oral Language. While the students are correcting the sentences with proper grammar and punctuation, I survey the scope of our glitter debacle. Upon closer inspection, if I hadn’t known better, I would have thought that an entire flock of fairies had been brutally massacred at the back of our classroom. The entire table, carpet, and bookshelf sported a garish, gilded gleam reminiscent of a Christmas window display planned by primary students from the Ivana Trump School of Design.

On with the day…

Just prior to recess, Mama Bear returns. We are discussing Chinese New Year in class and talking about the different years in the Chinese zodiac. The kids are dismissed just after I tell them that this year is special for me because I was born in the year of the pig, and that it won’t come around for another 12 years etc. The children get their coats on and go outside. Mama Bear zips up her daughter’s coat, while mentioning to me that her husband is also born in the year of the pig “…So you must be born in 1971, too, eh?”

Flash to the inner me: my jaw drops to the floor and I gasp internally, mouth agape “Or 1983!” my internal monologue corrects.

Flash to outer me “Hahaha…yesss, oh hahaha, how did you know?” (uncomfortable laughing accompanied by a little white lie…), “Well, haha, I have to run to a staff meeting… see ya tomorrow”. I boot it down the hall and hide in the staff room.