Inkblots: Braxton's Beetle

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February 10, 2005

Braxton's Beetle

I was sifting through photographs of my former students today, selecting my favorites to hang in my cubicle at work. I came across a picture of Braxton, a little guy I had my first year. He was quite obviously special ed, though nobody could figure out exactly what was causing the problems. As I looked at the picture of him beaming at our Valentine's Day party, a story floated back up into my mind and I just had to laugh. And, of course, turn it into a post. I think I posted it on WIT?! after it happened, but I can't seem to locate it in the archives. Therefore, here it is again for you, pasted in from an email I sent to one of my undergraduate education professors:

You know I'm all about hands-on, realistic experiences in my classroom. Last week, though, I had one of those "teacher nightmare" experiences that makes me question my philosophy on tangible science. Last week was Insect Week. I had set up a science center with magnifying glasses and a jar full of various bugs (my aide and I had a great time capturing all those critters during our lunch breaks the previous week). I had given the kids paper and crayons and told
them that they were scientists and had to either draw pictures or "write" about what they saw at the science center. I had supervised the center carefully...until my Jessica's glasses broke in an unrelated incident and I had to fix them. So I turned my back for a split second to rescrew her glasses. When I turn back around, I see
that one of my kids has unscrewed the lid to my jar and bugs are running frantically around the table. Kids are squealing and running away...except for Braxton. Before I could race the 20 feet across the classroom to gather my bugs back into the jar, Braxton had eaten all my bugs except for the black beetle. It was time to use something that I'd not yet utilized as a teacher: the commanding voice. "Put the beetle down NOW!" I said in my best teacher voice separating each word with a staccato emphasis. I even pointed at him, something I knew I wasn't supposed to do. As it would inevitably happen to a first year teacher, Braxton popped the beetle into his mouth and chomped it. Along with the satisfying crunch of the defenseless beetle's exoskeleton, it squirted greenish juice all over our classroom table. I reached him at that exact moment but knew fighting him was futile. He smiled at me with a mouth full of various beetle parts and juice running down his chin. I wasn't quite sure what the protocol was for intentional insect ingestion, so I gave him a cup of water, wiped off his chin, and said something under my breath about "this kid is going to kill me yet." I vowed I would only tell his mother if she came to me first. Luckily, Braxton doesn't talk much, so I doubt she'll know what he's saying even if he DOES tell her.

After the initial shock wore off, I decided to have a sense of humor about the whole experience. Since unscrewing a 3 inch lid is on
Braxton's IEP, I went ahead and marked it to show progress. So I
accomplished something!! Tomorrow is the beginning of Fish Week. We are having goldfish in the Science Center...

And that's my flashback to my first year of teaching. There are a few other things I learned that year:
--Preschool boys not entirely potty-trained should not wear boxers, no matter how cute they are when covered with little yellow ducks.
--Aforementioned preschool boys should avoid the boxers especially on days after the boy eats a combination of corn and raisins.
--Kids who can't say their "c" sounds can really sound funny. Particularly when reciting the line from Little Miss Muffet where she eats her curds and whey.
--The child who loves Little Miss Muffet and also loves to perform should be discouraged from shouting that line at the top of his lungs at the parent program. The audience of parents all gasped when Benjamin screamed "eating her turds away."
--Going to the circus is entirely too over-stimulating for preschoolers. I had told this to my administrators, but they won and therefore I had to deal with 20 overstimulated special ed kids at a circus.
--The circus does, however, get the kids' attention when the big barrel comes out for the elephant to pee in during intermission. All the kids really liked that part. Matter of fact, in our "memory book" about the circus, most of the kids drew pictures of the elephant peeing.
--The skinny Crayola markers can go quite a distance up a child's nose. So can fingers, drinking straws, the long skinny pasta, and the narrow generic-brand Lincoln Logs.
--There is apparently something very satisfying about peeing at the top of the slide and watching it roll down. The satisfaction is doubled if the slide is a curly slide.