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last week the early literacy class (the ones who think they are my favorites, the ones who made butter and always have very funny and clever things to say even though they are all late and even though only twelve of them show up each day) decided to be fools. on friday. some days they say things like, "but it's friday, miss." like that means i should sit there for two hours and stare at them while they sleep or text instead of teaching. not likely. and although they aren't generally like that they were on friday, and they were right in the middle of the time when i read out loud to them. we're reading from the first chapter of a book called roll of thunder, hear my cry. as far as books for teens go, as far as historical fiction goes, i think it's pretty swell. i take it personally for the book when kids don't listen. so i'm up there reading this really dramatic book about klansmen on night rides and there's sleeping and texting and talking going on all around me. and what i wanted to say is, "you guys are being such jerks that i'm not going to read to you. try to figure it out for your own selves." this is mean because the book, although written for middle school kids, is well beyond the reading abilities of most of them. so what i said instead was, "you guys are being such jerks that i'm not going to read to you. try ti figure it out for your own selves." sometimes all that fancy college training just flies right out the window and a person accidentally says exactly what she thinks.

their eyes got big. "nineteen pages," i said. "there will be a quiz monday and it will be miserable." i glared at them. i'm getting rather good at glaring this year. and they knew they were being jerks because they didn't outright refuse, but they attempted all sorts of bargaining. i glared until the bell rang. it helps me keep from bargaining. on monday, we had a guest speaker in class so i reminded them that they'd read this nineteen pages over the weekend and could expect the miserable quiz on tuesday or wednesday. tuesday we were loaded down with work, but toward the end of class, i mentioned the quiz again. "what's it over?" someone asked. "all nineteen pages." "how long do we get?" "an hour and a half." eyes got big. quizzes are usually over in five or ten minutes. an hour and a half is a final exam. "how many questions?" i smiled. "one." the children were silent, doing the math. nineteen pages plus an hour and a half plus one question equals disaster. they couldn't think of a single question that could possibly take up so much of their lives. and they were sore afraid.

but don't think, even for a minute, that any of those sweet little children went home and read any of the nineteen pages on tuesday night they were supposed to have read over the weekend before. because they didn't. well, two or three did. but mostly they didn't. i know, i know. they can't. but they ought to be able to solve that problem somehow over the course of a week. they didn't even have enough sense to go home on tuesday night and call someone who read it. so they came in wednesday and we did a bit of work we needed to do first and then i split them into groups of four. the quiz: create a mural depicting the events in the first chapter of the book. now, i won't bore you with the details of the rules they had to follow and the requirements they needed to meet. they had to make a mural. they set to work with butcher paper. one group scooted tables together and spread out their mural canvas. another rolled their paper out onto the floor. the third group put their paper on the chalk board, held fast with fifteen or so foam letter magnets left over from a past teacher. they used colored pencils and crayons and craypas but i had one box of giant, vivid poster chalks, like sidewalk chalk for artists. if you've never used these, you want to protect your hands, clothing and anything else nearby. i'd planned to get latex or plastic gloves but hadn't been able to find any near school. one of the adults in the room offered to get some from the nurse. four children donned latex gloves and began work. i don't even know how to begin describing the scene. there aren't words. they didn't even look like people i knew. and that's when i looked around the room. not a single person was looking at me. not a single person was looking up. every head in the room was turned toward its own project. i do not remember ever having seen this before but it was so beautiful i thought i would fall down. there was no yelling. no screaming. look, there is always yelling during group work. always. but not today. one boy came in late, more than an hour late. he asked what he should do and i put him in a group and told him to do what they asked. he put on gloves and began yellowing up a school bus. i showed him how to use the chalk and his finger to make dust clouds around the bus. four children stood around a single sheet of butcher paper, each one working, nobody shoving, making dust clouds and schools and books.

i wanted to help but they really didn't need my help. one of the rules of the quiz was ask when you need help and for the first time all year, they came to me with requests for supplies. scissors (these are usually children who run with scissors). black pencils. glue. glitter (do you have any idea how many glitter "accidents" i've witnessed?). and that's it. they needed things. not me. which is the best and scariest thing i've seen. they did not finish but this is because they were taking their time, working at specific jobs. the reader from each group was responsible for pulling out passages vivid enough to include in the mural. the drafter was responsible for creating the outline of all images in pencil. two illustrators colored in the images as the drafter finished them. they will finish tomorrow. i taught my first class in september of 1990. the last few days, i feel like i'm maybe starting to get the hang of this teaching thing.