I am a Walrus...goo goo g'joob

I allow myself only 5 indulgent minutes of wallowing before the morning bell rings. It is my first experience teaching with a head cold. I sit at the desk and hold my head in my hands, clammy fingers massaging my sinuses and temples. Both areas pulse unpleasantly. I let out a low, raspy sigh, followed by a teachery, “there, there,” said to console myself. Mucus or not, the show must go on. I stand up, give my nose a decisive honk, straighten my jacket and sleeves, and make my way to the door to warmly greet the waiting children. The students are bundled in their brightly coloured, puffy coats; they jostle each other, nylon on nylon, while runners and boots scuff along the damp concrete and into the warm, dry classroom. Today will be “100th Day” for the kids, and they are pumped.

“When is the party?” they all want to know. I do not know where they got the idea that there would be a party today, but thank goodness Mrs. Pugliese brought mini cupcakes and popcorn for the end of the day.

“Later” I answer decisively (or so I thought). “But, first we have to get through our spelling test”.

Despite all my efforts to appear healthy and in ship shape for the students, it turns out that children are unable to understand some of the words I am enunciating for them during the test. Accordingly, the word ‘marble’ was printed by 9 out of 24 students as ‘barble’. I had to laugh about that, and ‘mommy’ turned out to be ‘bubby’ 7 out of 24 times. In good spirits, I scrapped the words from the test and marked it out of 10 instead of 12.

For the remainder of the day, I learned the hard way the reasons why ill-defined answers to children’s questions is never a good idea. Unfortunately, the entire day and all my lessons were interrupted by “when are we having the party?” Nobody was able to focus and the class was chatty and dancing on the line of off task and mayhem. In retrospect, I really should have given them a proper shape of the day, with a clear expectation of what was going to happen, and exactly when the ‘party’ was going to be.

Finally 2:00pm rolls around, and Mrs. Pugliese and I hand out the popcorn and cupcakes to the class. “Should we put on a video for them?” I ask Mrs. Pugliese. “Yeah, what about that arctic documentary that we started watching last week?” she suggested. “Ah, good idea, at least it is educational and related to our science unit” I agree.

I push the tape into the VCR and hit the play button.

A giant, white polar bear begins mauling a walrus. Apparently it hasn’t eaten in months and is weak. According to the narrator, if it doesn’t kill now, the polar bear will lose its strength and die. In a strange parallel, as if it was mirroring exactly how I was feeling on the inside, the polar bear walks in a circle, and thuds to the ground, presumably dead or dying.

For the first time all day, the class is silent. Behold, the magic of nature!