October 19, 2005
Apologies to Brown Shirt Boy
To the teenage boy who I nearly plowed into in the Vanderbilt Medical Center East parking garage:
May I extend my sincere apologies. I had no intentions of engendering a panic response in you that will require several years of intensive psychotherapy.
In my defense, however, you did not exercise prudent judgment when you kneeled down behind my (running!) car to tie your sneaker. You were honestly out of the line of sight in all my mirrors. How could you not hear my car ignition? And why would you kneel down in the middle of a parking garage anyway?
I'm sorry I made you scream. I promise that I won't tell your friends that you nearly wet yourself in your fright; the incident would have probably been my fault if it had happened so I won't tease you. Nevertheless, please use your common sense the next time your shoelace comes undone, OK?
Posted by Anna at 03:47 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
May 15, 2005
That Has Some Bad Connotations, Brandon
I really have nothing to blog. I apologize. Maybe tonight after my viewing of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition and the Survivor finale. Sheesh. I have no life.
Something did happen at the elementary school on Thursday, though, that I guess I could share. Be forewarned, though, that, while Brandon was perfectly innocent in the following anecdote, it does have a tasteless connotation that one could interpret. Continue with that in mind.
I was helping Brandon, a third grader, complete his end-of-the-year project on animal habitats. (You know the assignment because you've probably done it yourself: choose a habitat and create a diorama from a shoebox.) The kids were in groups, sharing about their respective habitats. Brandon has some social issues, so my presence was mainly to keep him talking and interacting with his peers
Brandon: My habitat is the grassland.
Me: So tell us, Brandon, what you included in your habitat of the grassland.
Brandon: A bush.
Me: Yep, I see the bush right there. What else?
Brandon: I got a big ol' stump sticking out of my bush.
Me (hoping none of the kids caught that potential sexual innuendo): There's a stump. What else?
Brandon: There's a gazelle there. He's chewing on the stump.
Me: The gazelle is chewing the stump? Why?
Brandon: He used to just eat the bush, but then he found the stump inside and found out that the stump tasted good.
Me: Oh. OK. What else can you tell us?
Brandon: Everything likes to play with my stump. It's buried there somewhere in my bush.
Me: Yeah? What else?
Brandon (still preoccupied with the stump/bush): My bush is just a young bush, but when it gets older, the bush will get bigger. And the stump might even grow back into a tree!
Me: Maybe. Look, here's a zebra! Tell us about why you made a zebra.
Brandon: Because the zebra likes to eat the bush too.
Me: Hmm. OK. Thanks, Brandon. Kenneth, tell me about your habitat.
Kenneth: I got a bush in my world, too. But nothing wants to eat my bush.
*sigh* Kids.
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May 11, 2005
Move Over, Takeela--
Takeela, you've got competition. I met another kid today who has a name as unfortunate as yours:
Today I met a kid named Mullet. No, that's not a nickname. I asked. His legal name is Mullet.
I don't have a problem with unique names. Naming a child after an 80s haircut, though...well, that pushes the limits.
John Stamos is the only guy I want to see in a mullet!
Posted by Anna at 12:43 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
April 13, 2005
Strange Names
I think kids' names are fascinating. Some of them are beautiful, some just unique, and others make me question what Mom was smokin' when she chose her baby's name.
I met a girl today, around 4th grade, named Takeela. As I visited with her, I kept thinking "why does that name sound so familiar?" Then I figured it out: it's pronounced exactly like Tequila.
I asked her if she had any siblings. She said, "Yeah, I've got a sister." I asked her sister's name and Takeela said, "Brandy."
Hmmm. Brandy and Tequila. Oh, and they also have a dog. His name is Bud. I didn't ask if he was named from Budweiser. Apparently Takeela didn't realize the future alcohol connotations, nor did she yet know how ruthlessly she will be teased some day...
Don't get me wrong. I'm not making fun of Takeela for getting a name with a clear connection with alcohol. I'm just thinking of that child and how she will feel when she walks into a store and discovers that she shares her name with liquor.
Poor kid.
Posted by Anna at 09:42 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
April 01, 2005
Elementary Day...Again
I'm out of the March PhotoQuest. [Sorry, Flip! :(] It just didn't happen in March--my camera needs batteries and I kept forgetting to purchase them. But you can still check out the other PhotoQuest blogs on Flip's site. Just click on their links in the sidebar.
I do, however, have some stories from yesterday's time at the elementary school.
Me: Hi, Kimberly! Will you play some counting games with me?
Kimberly (kindergartner): Yay! I wuv when I get to pway games wiff you. But I have a pwobwem today.
Me: Oh, no! What kind of problem?
Kimberly: Toots.
Me: Toots? (thinking maybe she's still misarticulating something)
Kimberly: Yeah, toots.
Me: What are toots? (now slapping hand for not considering the obvious early childhood euphemism for gas)
Kimberly *passing gas loudly*: Toots wike dose.
Now onto 4th grader Quentez, who I don't work with but I know from when I worked in Math Club last semester.
Me (in hallway en route to the preschool class): Hey, Quentez. What's up?
Quentez: You got any batteries?
Me: No...sorry. What do you need batteries for?
Quentez: I got this new Gameboy in my pocket. But I need batteries.
Me: I can't help you out with the batteries. Why did you bring your Gameboy to school? I would worry that it would get stolen?
Quentez: No, dude, I already stole it from somebody else.
Quentez *suddenly realizes his confession and starts stammering* Um, er, whew, um, I mean, I got it from my brother. It's new and it was still in the box but it was under his bed.
Me: Your brother? But he doesn't know you have it?
Quentez: No, I just took it from his hiding spot. He hadn't even opened it yet.
Me: Let's go talk to your teacher, OK?
I walked with Quentez back to his classroom, then talked with his teacher (a man I don't know) and left the situation in the teacher's responsibility (after all, I'm paid to tutor, not handle things. I'm taking a break from being the one in charge). I saw Quentez's teacher later in the hallway and asked how things turned out. Mr. Hillman said, "oh, it's no big deal. His brother was hiding it from Quentez to give it to him for his birthday next week. It's Quentez's anyway. He just got his birthday present a week early.
Once I was in the preschool special ed class, I worked with Devonte, a little guy who doesn't talk at all. I was helping during his art time, when his group was looking at a picture with Blue from Blue's Clues and counting them, then gluing the number of Blues next to the line. Devonte was more interested in carefully examining Blue, especially when he discovered that I'd say what body part he was pointing to and then ask him where that part was on his body.
Me: That's Blue's ear. Where's your ear?
Devonte: *pointing to his ear.*
Me: Yay! Where's Miss Anna's ear?
Devonte: *moving my hair and pointing to my ear*
Me: *clapping hands* Yes! What next?
Devonte: *pointing to Blue's tail*
Me: That's Blue's tail! Where's Devonte's tail?
Devonte: *grinning and pointing to his rear end.
Me: Hooray! What next?
Devonte: *pointing to Blue's nose.*
Me: Blue's nose. Where's your nose?
Devonte: *points to nose*
Me: Good job! Where's Miss Anna's nose?
Devonte: *starts to point to my nose but then inserts his finger into my nose* DAH!!
Me: *pulling Devonte's hand out of my nostril* Um, yeah, that's Miss Anna's nose. Let's go wash your hands.
In the third grade classroom, the kids were reading their science textbook. The teacher told the kids that Jupiter has clouds of acid over it.
Teacher: You all know what acid is, right?
Ricardo *who happens to be the smart kid in the class*: Yeah. When you puke, you throw up acid.
Class: Ew!! *looking at teacher to see if Ricardo is correct*
Teacher: Yeah, Ricardo, you do puke acid when you puke. But this is another kind of acid. There are different kinds.
Ricardo: Maybe so, but puke acid is the worst. Have you ever puked acid out your nose?
Class: Ew!
Teacher: Um, let's get back to the solar system.
But my favorite part of the day was reading with Conaquia. We read together quite often, since she's a second grader with early kindergarten reading abilities. Because of her reading level, she reads very easy books that have descriptive pictures to go along with the "Go, boy! Run fast!" text. Conaquia had chosen a book about a dragon on a picnic. At the end of the book, the dragon shot fireworks through his nose. Of course, it's up to the reader to notice the picture because the text certainly doesn't support it. Conaquia didn't seem to notice, so I pointed it out to her.
Me: Did you see Dragon? Look what he's doing with his nose!
Conaquia: *smiling but not responding*
Me: (hoping for some extra language stimulation) What's he doing?
Conaquia: He's, he's, he's, um...blowing his nose.
Me: Yeah, he's blowing his nose, but what's coming out?
Conaquia: Um, rainbow snot?
Me: No, silly. Look again. He's shooting fireworks out of his nose!
Conaquia: Oh! I see! Dude, that's hot.
Me: That's hot? I guess fireworks would be hot, huh?
Conaquia: No, I mean "that's hot" like Paris Hilton says it.
Me: Oh, like Paris Hilton.
Conaquia: Yeah, she's hot. And tight.
Me: Right...hot and tight. Hmm.
Posted by Anna at 02:42 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
March 18, 2005
Another Day At School
Yesterday was my day in the elementary school again. I probably shouldn't have gone because I felt yucky, but I did go. And as usual, I heard some interesting things.
1. I started the day working with kindergartner Bianca. We've been working on number identification up through 20. She always misses 4 and 9 and only recognizes a few over 10. We were playing War with the cards, where each of us turned over a card, she identified each number, and then whoever had the biggest number got both cards. (Hey, I'll do anything to keep the kids motivated to work!) I turned over the number 12. (She called it two-teen, but that's a logical mistake.) She flipped over her card to show the number 9.
Me: OK, Bianca, what numbers?
Bianca: You got two-teen, and I got that number that looks like a penguin.
Me: A penguin? Why do you think it looks like a penguin?
Bianca: It walks like a penguin.
Me: Um, hmm. A penguin. Well. Um, who gets the cards this time? Whose number is bigger?
Bianca: Mine. A penguin is bigger than a two-teen.
I just let that one go. I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that.
My friend Joseph (from a previous entry) was absent from the preschool class. I think the teacher was a little relieved to get away from his constant repetition of words. I spend my time with Elias. The class was painting Easter eggs with watercolor paints. Now, you need to realize that watercolor painting is tricky with preschoolers because they have the natural proclivity to swipe their brush over all the colors at once, resulting in all the little ovals of paint becoming black. With my individualized help, though, Elias's box of paints stayed rather clean. His egg, however, ended up a dingy brown color because he painted in the same spot over and over again until the colors had blended into a mess. When he realized what he had done, he beamed at me and said,"I made a poopoo egg! My egg is poopoo!"
In the second grade class, I took Dewanna to the library to read. Usually, I get the kids who are reading below their peers, but Dewanna is actually reading a grade level above her peers. She never gets to read with me, so it was definitely an exciting moment for her. I helped her choose a book (one that I really liked as well), and we settled down to read. The book had the words "cedar chest" and "cedar chips" in a few places. When she first reached the words "cedar chest," she paused. I could tell she was stumped (a rare occasion for her).
Dewanna: What's that word? (pointing to cedar)
Me: How about you make a guess and then I'll help you?
Dewanna: Cheddar cheese?
Me: Good try, but the words are 'cedar chest.'
Dewanna: Well, what the heck is a cedar chest? He seed her chest? It's supposed to be 'he saw her chest.' And why's he seeing her chest anyway? I'd be wallopin' him if he lookin' at my chest!
Me: No, not that kind of chest. A cedar chest is a box made out of a wood called cedar.
Dewanna: Oh, OK.
She continued reading until she got to the words "cedar chips." The full sentence was "Brandy found a box filled with cedar chips."
Dewanna: What's that word?
Me: We've read it before. Try and then I'll help you.
Dewanna: Cheddar chips.
Me: Could it be cedar chips?
Dewanna: No, you said cedar is wood. You don't eat wood and it don't come in a box. It's cheddar chips.
And she went right along reading. I guess cheddar chips made sense to the story, at least in her mind. *sigh*
Time for first grade. The kids were struggling to solve the math problems involving "how many more" questions. For instance, Joy has 7 crayons. Sam has 4. How many more crayons does Joy have than Sam?
The teacher split the group into two, and she gave me the lower group. (Lucky me!)
Me: This problem talks about kittens. Justice, tell me how many kittens Bradley has.
Justice: 6.
Me: Good, Justice. Destiny, how many kittens does Joshua have?
Destiny: 4.
Me: OK, so who has more kittens?
Class: Bradley.
Me: Great! Bradley has more kittens. So how many more does he have?
Shenequia: Bradley has 17.
Mekaylah: No, he doesn't, Shenequia! Bradley has 64.
Shenequia: Now, don't you be dissin' me, girl! I'll get my daddy after you!
Me: Oh, boy. Let's try this again. We need to take 6 minus 4 to get the answer.
Christian: But why are we minusing? Are we killing the kittens?
Me: No, we're just seeing how many more kittens Bradley has.
Briella: Who cares about kittens anyway? I don't like kittens. I only like puppies.
I gave up on solving that question. I just told them to write down 2 on their paper.
Had I felt better, I might've laughed a little harder at the day's experiences. Hopefully, you were amused at them. Right now, I'm still not because I feel icky.
Posted by Anna at 02:41 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
March 10, 2005
Day in the Elementary School
As I do nearly every Thursday, I spent the day at an inner-city elementary school. I always laugh at some of the things the kids say. Just a few:
--Skylar is a little girl who speaks only Spanish at home. In kindergarten, she is struggling to learn how to read (and speak) English. She gets a little extra help from me, but she's starting to read and wants to read her book on her own.
The actual book text: Max smelled Cam's bag. It smelled like gum. Yum, gum!
What Skylar read: Max sniffled Cam's butt. It smelled like gum. Yum, gum!
The actual book text: Cam played in the kiddie pool. He had fun in the pool!
What Skylar read: Cam played in the kitty's poop. He had fun in the poop.
--Later, I moved on to a second grade classroom to work with Lexi, a girl who is behind in most subjects. Sometimes I help her with her math, but today was a reading day. We went to the library and she chose a book.
The actual book text: Look at that man!
What Lexi read: Look at that, man!
I reread the sentence so she could understand the emphasis was on the word "man" instead of "that." She never got it right.
The actual book text: He grabbed the balloons so they wouldn't fly away.
What Lexi read: He grabbed his balls so they wouldn't fall away.
--Then there's autistic Joseph in the preschool class. He likes to repeat words. Sometimes it's helpful like,"Use your indoor voice," (except he says it repeatedly), but today it was another word. Today it was "weenie." It was the only word he said, but he said it with different voice inflections. My conversation with him went something like this--
Me: Hi, Joseph! What are you making with your Play-Doh?
Joseph: Weenie! Weenie, weenie, weenie. Weenie?
Me: It looks like you're using the yellow knife to cut your Play-Doh into a triange.
Joseph: Weenie, weenie. Weenie, weenie, weenie? WEENIE!
But my favorite (and rather heartwarming) experience of the day was with Kenny in the third grade. He is a very reluctant reader and even more reluctant in writing. The teacher opened up a picture dictionary and selected random words that the students wrote about in a story. Today's objects were "mirror" and "feet." The teacher asked them to write a story about a mirror that smelled like feet. Kenny scowled and crossed his arms the whole time. His teacher asked if he wanted to work with me in the hall on the story (he gets very distracted in the classroom). He glared at me, then picked up his notebook and pencil and stomped out into the hall with me. I think he thought I was going to force him to actually do the handwriting part, but when I agreed to alternate writing sentences with him, he brightened up and created this elaborate story about how a king in a castle noticed that his mirror smelled like feet, so he brought in the joker. The joker cleaned the glass, but it still smelled like feet. It ended up that the king was smelling his own feet, so once he washed them, all was well. He was soooo proud of himself. He proudly showed it to the teacher, and she let him take it to the assistant principal to read it. It was definitely the highlight of his day (more likely his week), and certainly mine as well.
Kids are just great.
Posted by Anna at 03:30 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
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.
Posted by Anna at 04:50 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
February 08, 2005
What IS It About Me?
I know I've said over on Christopher's blog that kids tend to do weird things around me. First there was Mercedes, the little girl I met doing my very first practicum in undergrad school. Mercedes LOVED me and usually got so excited to see me that she would lose all bladder control and occasionally bowel control. Then there was Jaron, the little guy who seems to develop a great deal of gas in my presence. Then there's the little man (about 2) across the hall who speaks no English but for some reason feels obligated to give me things. The times I've seen him, I've ended up with his pacifier, his box of juice, and his Beanie Baby (all of which I've returned, just so you know I'm not stealing from a toddler). Now there's a kid at the Bellevue Mall who doesn't even know me...and yet I engender loss of his stomach control. I was in a half-price book store this afternoon and the kiddo pukes right in front of me and it splatters on my shoe.
Do I really scare kids that much?? Do I somehow exude an aura of meanness or cruelty? I just don't understand because all of the above kids seem to like me. Mercedes adored me, Jaron always hugs me when he sees me (perhaps why he then feels the need to fart), the toddler across the hall always grins at me, and the kid today was playing peek-a-boo around the bookshelves with me. I just don't understand how my very presences causes unfortunate side effects among children!!
Posted by Anna at 05:58 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
February 03, 2005
Wanted: Advice
OK, teachers and those who just like to offer advice...
Spiders. Snakes. Heights. Public speaking. They're all common phobias. But I worked with a girl today with a phobia I'd never even considered: headphones. I work in her kindergarten class part of my day, and her teacher cannot get the girl to go near the computer or tape player because the girl is very afraid of the headphones. Her teacher is out of ideas and wondered if I could get the girl to be comfortable, or at least not have a meltdown when the teacher shows something to the class on the computer. She will not go within a 6 foot radius (I watched her today come near the teacher at the computer and noticed where her boundary was) of a computer or tape player, and I'm pretty sure it's the headphones.
Today I took the girl over to the listening center. She was petrified and I had to carry her over to the center even though she was screaming. I don't know if that's really what I should've done, but that's what the behavior consultant would do at the school where I taught last year. I finally convinced her that we would just read a book together and not use the tape player.
I'm not sure if getting her to the table is progress. But I even got her to (tentatively) brush the headphone cord off her book where it was covering the picture. But then I moved the headphones so they wouldn't creep over on the book again and she had another meltdown.
In a class of kindergartners, it's just not feasible to let the computer or tape player go without headphones.
*scratching head* It's not that she's terrified of headphones or tape players or computers. I'm sure she'll get over that eventually. My dilemma is what I do with her to help her get over it, or at least so she can function in her kindergarten class.
So???
Posted by Anna at 03:44 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
January 28, 2005
Lost in Translation
After over six weeks of vacation and absence, I finally headed back yesterday to the inner-city elementary school where I tutor. It was so great to get back around kids; despite being an education grad student, I'm actually around children very little.
Here are some things I heard from the kids I worked with yesterday. Where needed, I have provided a translation. Please realize that I am in no way poking fun at any particular race or ethnic group. For those people not commonly around different races of children in an inner-city school, I am translating because some children use a different dialect from my own.
"Oops...I pooked [puked] a little bit in my mouth then it went back down into my tummy." (Kemaya, kindergarten)
"Doo, dis getti tuper good." ("Dude, this spaghetti is super good." Travis, kindergarten--has a bit of a speech problem)
"Hey, Bradison, you're wearing my shoes." (Raphael, third grade. There are two boys in one of my classes with identical shoes. It's kind of a standing joke between the two.)
"Are we gonna...are we gonna...are we gonna play that game where we find the cards that have the same letters but one is in upper case and then say what the letter is and then say what sound it is and then point to it on the letter board and then if we get all of it right we get to keep the cards and if I get the most cards then I win and get a high-five from you?" (Emmanuel-Garcia, first grade)
"Gwok! Blaygee gwok!" (No translation available. DeLaMonte', preschool)
"Man, them orange crackers make me have to use it!!" (Kortavius, second grade. "Have to use it" means "needs to use the bathroom.")
"There was my brother, and he was real mean to me, so one day I went up to him and I pushed him in the mud and then I sat on his head and I farted and he cried." (Dayzhona, first grade.)
And just for my readers who esteem me for my snot stories:
In the preschool class, the kids were using ice cubes to "paint" with the generic brand of Kool-Aid drink powder. One of the little guys discovered that he could lick his ice cube and it would taste like Kool-Aid. He did this so often (the teacher didn't have a problem with it) that he got the Kool-Aid up his nose. I could tell he was uncomfortable, but I figured he would go get a tissue if he was that miserable. He got up from his chair, came toward me and pointed to his nose, and then proceeded to bury his face in my sleeve and blow his nose as hard as possible. Therefore, I ended up with a crusty patch on my sweatshirt that was purple and smelled strangely like grape...
Posted by Anna at 11:25 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
January 14, 2005
I Know Kids Grow Up Fast, But...
I was in my local Kroger grocery store the other day, the one where very few people speak English. While I was pondering the various bread choices (I always get the cheapest brand, but I still like to browse), a little boy, perhaps three years old, raced around the end of the aisle and came right up to me.
"Hey, you, girl!," he exclaimed.
I turned around, surprised to hear my native tongue in the multicultural grocery store, and faced a little boy dressed in an odd match of green shorts and a striped purple shirt.
"Hey, girl," he said again, "Guess what? I got dodent!"
You need to realize that, based on my past teaching experience with handicapped preschoolers and my general passion for the little ones, I pride myself on the ability to determine a child's intentions when he has garbled speech. Since he now had my attention, I knew I could figure out what he said.
"You have what?" I asked.
"I got dodent," he insisted again.
I was stumped about the meaning of dodent. A frenzy of possible meanings of "dodent" flew through my head--did he have diarrhea? A new toy? Spiderman underwear? I concluded from his tone of voice that he was rather pleased with his possession of dodent. So I decided to play along, suspecting he probably meant the word "doughnut."
"Oh, you do??" I responded, "Do you like to eat those?"
I fully expected him to nod and disappear back to the doughnut and snacks aisle, the aisle directly next to the bread. But instead he turned up his nose and declared,"You no eat dodent. Duh!"
"You don't? Then what do you do with it?"
At this moment, he reached into his pocket and proudly unveiled his treasure: a trial size package of deodorant. "No 'tinky pits!," he squealed.
"No stinky pits, huh? Well, that's always important, I guess," I said.
With that, my new little friend turned and trotted over to his grandmother, who had steered her cart into the bread aisle and was selecting her loaf. As I passed him with my new bread in hand, I said, "Hey, you have fun with that deodorant, OK?"
He grinned, nodded, stuck out his chest in a gesture of pride, and said, "'Tinky pits bad. Me no 'tink now!"
Kids. I realize they grow up fast, but this is ridiculous!
Posted by Anna at 04:52 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
January 13, 2005
Get Off the Curbs!!
Tomorrow is a day that came up faster than I ever imagined: it is my baby brother's sixteenth birthday. I can't believe it's been sixteen years since I saw the nurse hold up a tiny little foot and I fell in love with a wrinkled little baby.
Sixteen is a major birthday, mainly because the fledgling adult is allowed to get a driver's license. And my brother, even with all his wide turns and jerky braking, is well-prepared to receive his "license to independence." He's done a good job. He's a good kid.
At 4:38 p.m., my brother embarks on a new adventure: his life as a sixteen year old and new driver and young adult, with all the privileges and responsibilities that go along with this important birthday. If you see my David, be sure to wish him a happy birthday...and you'd better remember to stay off the curbs for awhile.
So happy birthday, Davey boy. I'm proud of the wonderful young man you've become.
Posted by Anna at 06:31 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack