Teachers in the Wild

I think that Highlights for Kids should introduce a new section entitled "Teachers: They're Just Like Us!"  At the very least, such a photo spread would be educational for the first-grade girl I ran into the other day at the vending machine in my building.  I had been standing with my eyes trained squarely on the Cheez-Its--deftly avoiding looking toward the jacuzzi where I had once accidentally seen two college kids making out--when I heard a teeny voice say, "Miss Robertson?"  Then the voice grew louder with confidence, "Miss Robertson?  What are you doing here?"

That question is where this picture, positioned next to Goofus and Gallant perhaps, would come in:

THEY'RE JUST LIKE US!

They eat stale Chips-Ahoy!

Miss Robertson stepped downstairs to get a bag of chocolate chip cookies and a pop. Sources close to the Grand Forks substitute teacher report that she often eats vending machine food for dessert.


That one picture wouldn't even begin to make a dent in changing most students' responses to seeing their teachers in the suburban wild, however.  As a sub, I run into kids I've taught nearly every day, and I've learned that their reactions range from embarrassed, shy surprise (hiding behind their mothers' coats) to excited, loud surprise (the little girl at my building's pool).  This tabloid-style photo layout would have to be a regular feature, then, with occasional special edition inserts aimed at other school employees: "Principals: They're Just Like Us" or "Paraprofessionals: They're Just Like Us!"

Witness (and please forgive the Myspace quality of these photos):

THEY'RE JUST LIKE US!

Their hair gets frizzy!

We snapped Miss Robertson reading a book near her Grand Forks apartment.  It was unclear if the sub, who recently moved from Chicago, had remembered to brush her hair that morning.

THEY'RE JUST LIKE US!

They go to the grocery store!

Miss Robertson was caught wearing her favorite sunglasses on the way back from the local Hugo's.  The thrifty GFPS sub apparently had a coupon for her favorite pop.


In other news, I've been looking for a photo to include with the resume packet I hand out to principals.  I think I've found it.

Shrimp, Sauerkraut, and Me

In the intervening month between this post and my last (I set myself a simple goal--one post a week--and blow it only two months in), I've fallen in love with the North Dakota third-grader.  With streetwise smarts at the level of a Chicago kindergartener, these students are reminding me how kids can take a person to the highs and lows of self-esteem.

Last Friday, a third-grade girl asked me to stand "just for a second" in front of her.  After I stared back at her quizzically, she explained, "You're just so beautiful, Miss Robertson."  Monday's third-graders, on the other hand, picked up on a different attribute: "Miss Robertson, you smell like shrimp."  I like to think this comment was based on my super awesome Miss Frizzle-style crustacean earrings (thanks, Dani!).  I also like to remind myself that North Dakotans have most likely not even been exposed to shrimp, so it's possible this girl thought that the shrimp's scent is a sweet-smelling cross between roses, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, and California oranges.

Despite the crustacean comparisons, it is good to be back in North Dakota's schools after a week in my old Chicago haunts.  There's nothing like being greeted, too, with snow on the ground, Christmas tunes weakly sung by a gaggle of blond fourth graders in a school gym, and a fridge of canned plums, canned peas, and canned sauerkraut juice.

(Photo courtesy of Wegmans,
the best grocery store in the lower 48.)

As to that "Kraut juice"?  Not as delicious as one might think, but anything in the fight against scurvy.  Skol!

Miss Robertson Goes to Grand Forks

So it finally happened--I'm a teacher again!  After months of filling out paperwork, getting my fingerprints processed through the FBI, and countless calls to the state education department in Bismarck (not to mention several frantic calls to Amy), I received my North Dakota state certification, complete with a gold emblem and all.

In my mind's eye, the cover letter for my certification packet would read something like this:

Dear Miss Robertson,

         Y'betcha you're qualified for teaching in the state of North Dakota!  We are extremely excited to enclose your North Dakota teaching license, and we know that our students will benefit from your skilled teaching.  What is more, you sound like a cute, fun girl.

         Come visit us in Bismarck any time,

         The Education Board

In the end, the letter I received proved a little less personalized and folksy--although I like to think it is just as glowing an account of my teaching, looks, and personality if read between the lines.  Unfortunately, though, instead of cordially inviting me to tour their state capital, the Board has cordially invited me to register in classes in American Indian Studies and Space Science.  Ladies and gentlemen, there's a Space Race afoot, and, alongside testing their reading fluency, I need to examine my kindergarteners for the potential of The Right Stuff.  I could have the next Chuck Yeager or John Glenn or Sally Ride on my roster, after all.     

None of this really matters, though, because I'm now in the Grand Forks Public Schools substitute teacher pool and have a snazzy clip-on teacher ID to prove it:

Here I am doing my best impression of Lulu from To Sir with Love.  I suppose more modern media figures like Rihanna also sport the single earring look, but why go for the less obscure celebrity reference when I can instead compare myself to a 1960s British pop star?

Here's hoping that some day one of my students will compose and perform a song in my honor.