Not for the squeamish or faint of heart...
Yet another memory has surfaced from my days of teaching in the third-grade trenches of Northern Lincoln Elementary. Another story whose contents, as in a previously published memoir, “Fowl Territory,” are regurgitated!
After all, an elementary school teacher has no impunity from the injurious consequences of bloodshed, broken bones, or gore. Digressing from the main sail of this account—to my abject horror, a youngster standing beside my desk at dismissal time, retched the contents of his lunch on my down-filled storm coat with me zipped inside of it.
One of life’s bleachable moments in the classroom!
Here’s another, far more poignant, featuring Carrie and Jed:
All these years later, I can vividly recall their 9-year-old personas, though I’ve respectfully fictionalized their names. That morning, preserved in memory for my duration on earth, I stood in front of the whiteboard, poised with a marker in my hand, ready to approach a math lesson.
Carrie, one of my students in the front row, gave me her rapt attention. “Likeable” doesn’t cut it. She was beloved by all of her classmates for her kindness and empathy in comforting others when warranted.
Jed, whose academic standards slid south, had been going through a rough patch on account of his father’s illness. He had a soft spot for Carrie. They were devoted to each other.
Carrie struggled with math. You could sense her anxiety. That day, whether a case of nerves or the onset of influenza, she vomited all over her desk. Mortified, and in tears, she made haste to the nurse’s office.
The rest of us knew the drill of vacating our room so the janitor could clean up the spill and disinfect everything in contact. However often something like this happened, you could usually count on wry comments or theatrics over the stench of the puree left behind. No one cut up at Carrie’s expense.
I’m thinking I must have read a story to keep everyone engaged while we bided our time in the hall. Carrie had yet to return from the nurse’s office when the coast was clear for us to head back to the classroom.
As we filed in, Jed made his impact statement. “It doesn’t even stink in here. That’s because Carrie is so good inside!”
From what I could see, most of us, myself included, bowed our heads in reverence. In our own silent way, we paid homage to an angelic young lady whose goodness impacted our lives.
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In all my classes I don't recall any regurgitation. Or even any coughing or sneezing fits. I always told my classes that if they had a need to leave for any reason like the restroom, not to ask permission, but just leave so as not to disrupt the class. I guess it worked.
Sounds like one of the perils that a third grade teacher learns to expect. You handled it well in this case by having a story ready to read to the students in the hall.
Ron
"I LIKE math, mom. But from a distance."
Ah, the insight of a young Solomon!
Blessings, Eva:)