NO SHARING PENCIL LEAD

Last week I substituted for third grade.  I took the job thinking it would be a nice break from the New London High, terrorist I had been dealing with.  I get there a little early, go to the class, and sit down to read the instructions left from the teacher (who was going on vacation).  At the bottom of his two-page letter, were these words:

NO SHARING PENCIL LEAD, NO GIVING PENCIL LEAD, AND NO TRADING PENCIL LEAD

The whole letter was written in pencil.  The words above were written in permanent red marker, as if an after thought.  I was thinking in my head: this guy has lost it, and it is blatantly obvious that he needs a vacation.

Twenty minutes later the classroom fills with 26 third graders.  I was also given a paraprofessional (she is there to assist with the two special education students).  I get the class started on classwork.  The students are diligently working quietly.  I sit at the desk and lean back thinking how easy this is compared to high school.  These kids listen.  They work.  They work without talking.  They work without the use of their cell phones.  When they have a question they raise their hands.  Their vocabulary consist of simple words.  The most devious word they dare say out loud is “crap”.  There is no dropping of the puppy bomb (see previous blog).  There is no female dog names being muttered.  This is the life.  Just as I am about to kick my feet up on the desk, I hear a shriek, “LOOKEE WHAT I FOUND!”  I see a student on the floor, under a desk that isn’t her own.  Irritated with myself for not noticing that she moved from her desk to the floor, I jumped up and walked over to her.  Now the whole class is straining to see what she has.  Then I hear this shriek from the other end of the classroom, “THAT IS MINE!  MRS. J, SHE TOOK THAT FROM ME!” 

“I DID NOT, IT WAS ON THE FLOOR!” the instigator screamed back.  *Note these words are in all caps for a reason.  

I walk over to her and hold out my hand.  She sadly drops in a mechanical pencil lead.  Stupidly I stare at this third grade “hot commodity”, and say, “It’s pencil lead, get back to work.”  The classroom goes quiet.  No more screaming, absolute silence.  Every student is staring at me.  I walk over to the trash and drop it in.  You could hear the led fall against a sheet of paper that I had tossed minutes before.  Then this happens:

     

I hear a student wailing.  Shocked I walk over and ask what happened.  I was sure she was going to hold up her hand and have blood gushing out.  I was positive she was going to be physically hurt somewhere on her body.  I was not ready for this.  

“THA THA THA THATTT WAS MYYYYYYY LEADDDDDDDDDDDDDD!”

It took 25 seconds for her to get that out between tears and gasping for air.  Then it took me another 25 seconds to replay it in my mind, deciphering what she said.  Trying not to laugh, I said, “How do you know it was yours?”, wondering to myself if the lead were somehow magically marked.

“BECA BECA BECAUSE I HAD THREE AND NOW NOW NOW I ONLY HAVE TA TA TA TWO!”

This kid isn’t just sad.  She is EXTREMELY TORN UP.  You would have thought I had just killed her kitten right in front of her eyes.  She is beside herself with grief.  Over lead.  And I thought that third grade was going to be easy.  

It took me ten minutes to calm a class down that spiraled out of control in 32 seconds flat.  All the students started pulling out their lead and counting it making sure they too weren’t missing lead.  Then I had students crawling on the floor in search of the missing lead.  I stood there in shock that this was really happening.  

It was a catastrophe.  I had students on the floor, I had students pulling everything out of their desks, I had students running to their backpacks emptying them out all over the floor.  Papers everywhere, books flying, kids crying.  Over LEAD.  

I gladly spent the following two days in New London High School.  Where they didn’t care about lead.  They just wanted to cuss me out.