Beauty in the day: he wanted an ice pack. “I need an ice pack for my arm,” he said, massaging his shoulder at the joint.
“What happened? Why is it hurting?”
“It hurts because I was raising my arm for so long.”
“Oh – I don’t think an ice pack will really work for that, but….wow! You must be a really good student! Were you raising your hand and waiting to answer a question?”
He said no, but explained further. “I was raising my arm to signal zero noise level.”
I faked a double-take. “Seriously? Wow! You really ARE a good student!” I stood up and motioned to shake his hand, which he allowed, in a proud-yet-bewildered manner. I dismissed him then, calling after him, “Keep up the good work!”
Unlike some of the kids who leave with no memory of why they had arrived in the first place, this one left happy, but kept looking back at me on his way down the hall.
He may be onto me.
Beauty in the day: he came and stood at the tall end of the desk, his eyes peeking at me. I asked him why he was there.
“Well, I was in line, and [one classmate] got in line in front of me….” he trailed off for just a moment, and looked distant – then resumed. “And [other classmate] got in line behind me.”
I waited for the terrible tragedy that must have befallen him at this point.
He blinked. Three times, I think.
That was it. The tragedy.
At least, that was all I was getting.
Beauty in the day: he came to school with his two fingers taped together. He said that he had a broken finger and that it happened two days ago – no, two weeks ago. Mid-class, he decided he wanted to change the tape, so he came to the Clinic. I bound it with some of that paper first-aid tape. Not too tight.
“I’m so lucky I have a pencil,” he informed me. “At recess I can let people sign my finger.”
The he added, “The good one. I don’t want them to sign the bad one.”
Beauty in the day: there were two of them, standing in front of my desk this morning before school started. One has been there many, many times, his daily mission to talk to me before line-up. The other is a new student, sweet and quiet; it’s unexpected that she wants to visit – but she does.
He started it out. “Ms. Nordstrom, I would like a fidget spinner. ” This is in reference (as my story will show) to a well-used fidget spinner that is on display in my window. It’s not there to torture the students – much.
“I don’t have fidget spinners here!”
He begged to differ, as he inclined his head with a tilt toward the one on display.
“Oh, that’s MY fidget spinner. But I don’t have any for students here.”
No matter – he was nonplussed. “I would like a USB.”
A USB? He wants a USB? I looked confused. He inclined his head again and tilted it toward my window, where there were 2 USB flash drives. One belonged to a parent who had left it behind the day before, and one was mine.
“That’s MY USB. I don’t have USB’s for students here.”
While he thought of his next request, shy girl pipes in. “I want that Griffin!” She pointed to the Eagle statue in my window.
“Well, that’s actually an Eagle. And it belongs to the school, so I can’t give it to you.”
As equally prepared to continue as the boy, she asked if I had any extra harmonicas. 🙄
There are no harmonicas in my window display.
I sent them to line up. 🤷🏻♀️
Beauty in the day: he came to the office from recess with a “broken arm”. He didn’t tell my assistant why he was there – just that he was waiting for me.
When I came, he informed me (with worried eyes) that he had broken his arm at recess. Desiring to reassure him, I looked boldly at his tattooed forearm, and pronounced that he had no need to worry; the arm wasn’t broken.
This was met with crocodile tears and a low whine – I had clearly said the wrong thing. I encouraged him to come into the clinic so we could examine him, which he did. The clinic aide was on-hand, and when she heard the news that his arm had been broken, she gave him a much-needed “awwwwwwww!”
This did much to bring healing to this younger brother of Aussie Boy.
Beauty in the day: they came in together, each with their own ailment – one whose arm was hurting (for no apparent reason), the other who said she hurt her side a few days prior, and it was hurting.
“Oh! I never like it when that happens either! Have you tried the rubbing thing?”
They had not, but looked somewhat intrigued. I had to pull out a more engaging explanation than usual, because I know these littles.
“Oh, yes – let’s do try. You just take this hand, and then you gently rub, and sometimes pat, just like your mommy would do – does your mommy do that?”
Their mommies did not do that.
“Oh, well, how lucky! I’ll bet you never thought that you would get to go home and teach something to your mama, did you?”
Once again, intrigued.
“I think I can bend my arm better now!”
“My side feels better!”
“Wow! you two are just like little magical fairies!”
They left in agreement of that statement.
Beauty in the day: his mom came in to give us some information. I wrote it all down and then she said, “oh, and one more thing…” she started to laugh, corrected herself, then began again. “He told me…” she started to laugh again. This continued for a bit until she was able to continue.
“He doesn’t normally buy school lunch, so this has been new for him, and yesterday there were hot dogs. I asked him how he liked it. He told me he didn’t eat it. I asked why, and he said, ‘They only have mustard there.’ I told him I was pretty sure there would be ketchup too, but he confirmed with, ‘No ketchup at school mom. They can’t afford it.”
Mom broke up laughing again.