the guys in the shop spent their lunch breaks watching the movie clip and then arguing over the drawings for Maggs's chair and cradle.
Maggie wanted to thank Bryce without embarrassing him, so she cooked him a roast, smothered it in gravy, carrots, and potatoes, and bought him a key lime pie to satisfy his sweet tooth. She wrote a note, left the dinner at his front door, and spent the next two days swaying in that chair and nudging the cradle with her big toe.
On the third night I waited until she fell asleep, then picked her up and laid her down beside me. When I woke the next morning, she was still there, but somewhere during the night she had carried that chair and cradle in from the nursery and slid them over next to the bed.
DESPITE THE HEAT, I ROLLED DOWN MY SLEEVES, walked into my second-story classroom, opened the windows, straightened the desks into rows, and cleaned the chalkboard. Soon kids shuffled in, eyed the available seats, and chose ones that suited them. The room was hot, and proximity to airflow was prime real estate.
The second bell rang, and I cleared my throat. "Good morning."
Faces looked back at me blankly. The silence was heavy, but the nonverbals were raucous. The silence said, "Look, man, we ain't no happier about being here than you are, so let's get this over with."
I let a few more minutes pass, thinking eager stragglers might rush in, but they didn't. Clearing my voice again, I picked up my roll book and eyed the first name. "Alan Scruggs?"
"Here."
In my first year of teaching, I established the habit of identifying students by their places in the classroom until I got to know their work and personalities. When Alan said "Here," my mental note sounded something like, Second row from the window. Center of room. Reading a book.
"Wait, you skipped me."
I looked up. "Who are you?"
"Marvin Johnson!" The speaker leaned back in his chair. "See, Jcome befo' S."
It doesn't take the class clown long to identify himself.
"I don't usually start with the A's."
"Oh, tha's cool." He looked around at the other students. "I's jus' lettin' you know. Thought you mighta forgot." My new friend smiled, showing a mouthful of white teeth.
I returned to the roll. "Russell Dixon Jr.?"
"Yeah."
A deep voice came from my left. Against the window, front row. Big, broad shoulders. Sitting sideways. Looking out the window. Never looked at me.
"Eugene Banks?"
"Uh-huh. "
Left side next to the window. Two back from Deep Voice. Looking out the window. Also never looked at me.
"That was enthusiastic. Marvin Johnson?"
"Yo." It was my alphabetically conscientious friend. Frontand-center and liking it. Smiling. Big ears. Sweatpants. Tall and athletic. Shoes in a tangle.
The contrast between my non-air-conditioned room and his sweatpants room struck me. "You look like you just rolled out of bed. Aren't you hot?"
"Who, me? Naw." He waved his hand. "See, dis' what I wear." The kid was a walking attitude, an uncrackable nut-or so he hoped.
"Amanda Lovett?"
"Yes, sir. Both of us." A sweet, gentle voice rose from next to the window. Front left, against the window, in between Uh-Huh and Deep Voice, and ...
"Both?"
She patted her stomach gently. `Joshua David."
I admit it, I'm not proud of my second reaction-the one that questioned her morals. I thought it before I had time to wish I hadn't thought it, but it didn't last very long.
`Joshua David?"
"Yes, sir," she said again, holding her hand on top of her stomach.
"Well," I said, recovering, "you make sure that young man makes it to class on time."
She broke into an even larger smile that poked two dimples into the sides of her cheeks. "Yes, sir."
Laughter rippled through the room. Somebody against the window said, "Yes, sir" in that mocking tone that kids are so good at. I looked up and waited for him to finish.
"Kaitlin Jones?"
"Koy," a voice from the right rear of the class said quietly.
I looked up at a young woman whose face was nearly covered by a
Maggie wanted to thank Bryce without embarrassing him, so she cooked him a roast, smothered it in gravy, carrots, and potatoes, and bought him a key lime pie to satisfy his sweet tooth. She wrote a note, left the dinner at his front door, and spent the next two days swaying in that chair and nudging the cradle with her big toe.
On the third night I waited until she fell asleep, then picked her up and laid her down beside me. When I woke the next morning, she was still there, but somewhere during the night she had carried that chair and cradle in from the nursery and slid them over next to the bed.
DESPITE THE HEAT, I ROLLED DOWN MY SLEEVES, walked into my second-story classroom, opened the windows, straightened the desks into rows, and cleaned the chalkboard. Soon kids shuffled in, eyed the available seats, and chose ones that suited them. The room was hot, and proximity to airflow was prime real estate.
The second bell rang, and I cleared my throat. "Good morning."
Faces looked back at me blankly. The silence was heavy, but the nonverbals were raucous. The silence said, "Look, man, we ain't no happier about being here than you are, so let's get this over with."
I let a few more minutes pass, thinking eager stragglers might rush in, but they didn't. Clearing my voice again, I picked up my roll book and eyed the first name. "Alan Scruggs?"
"Here."
In my first year of teaching, I established the habit of identifying students by their places in the classroom until I got to know their work and personalities. When Alan said "Here," my mental note sounded something like, Second row from the window. Center of room. Reading a book.
"Wait, you skipped me."
I looked up. "Who are you?"
"Marvin Johnson!" The speaker leaned back in his chair. "See, Jcome befo' S."
It doesn't take the class clown long to identify himself.
"I don't usually start with the A's."
"Oh, tha's cool." He looked around at the other students. "I's jus' lettin' you know. Thought you mighta forgot." My new friend smiled, showing a mouthful of white teeth.
I returned to the roll. "Russell Dixon Jr.?"
"Yeah."
A deep voice came from my left. Against the window, front row. Big, broad shoulders. Sitting sideways. Looking out the window. Never looked at me.
"Eugene Banks?"
"Uh-huh. "
Left side next to the window. Two back from Deep Voice. Looking out the window. Also never looked at me.
"That was enthusiastic. Marvin Johnson?"
"Yo." It was my alphabetically conscientious friend. Frontand-center and liking it. Smiling. Big ears. Sweatpants. Tall and athletic. Shoes in a tangle.
The contrast between my non-air-conditioned room and his sweatpants room struck me. "You look like you just rolled out of bed. Aren't you hot?"
"Who, me? Naw." He waved his hand. "See, dis' what I wear." The kid was a walking attitude, an uncrackable nut-or so he hoped.
"Amanda Lovett?"
"Yes, sir. Both of us." A sweet, gentle voice rose from next to the window. Front left, against the window, in between Uh-Huh and Deep Voice, and ...
"Both?"
She patted her stomach gently. `Joshua David."
I admit it, I'm not proud of my second reaction-the one that questioned her morals. I thought it before I had time to wish I hadn't thought it, but it didn't last very long.
`Joshua David?"
"Yes, sir," she said again, holding her hand on top of her stomach.
"Well," I said, recovering, "you make sure that young man makes it to class on time."
She broke into an even larger smile that poked two dimples into the sides of her cheeks. "Yes, sir."
Laughter rippled through the room. Somebody against the window said, "Yes, sir" in that mocking tone that kids are so good at. I looked up and waited for him to finish.
"Kaitlin Jones?"
"Koy," a voice from the right rear of the class said quietly.
I looked up at a young woman whose face was nearly covered by a
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