6- Eyeball Suction Cup

I can tell that the novelty of “the first week of school” has started to wear off, because the kids are getting a little relaxed. They seemed less rigid today, and less concerned about following classroom rules. The air feels less tense, and I like that. This week I want to focus on getting to know my students as learners. I am eager to find out their personal interests and the ways they learn best. I have extremely high expectations for my students and am determined to do all I can to help them reach their potential.
This morning, all but two mommies refrained from walking their children into the classroom. Taylor’s mom completed her ritual of unpacking his backpack and massaging his shoulders while the boy completed his morning work, “He’s a little tense in the mornings,” was the Asian mother’s excuse. Class Mommy surprised me with a generous gift of twenty small dry-erase boards, along with their own eraser and marker. The boards are items that I have wanted to purchase for my classroom, but haven’t had enough money. I felt so thankful; I almost forgave her for last week’s bathroom incident.
Today, while I was in the middle of teaching a Science lesson on ecosystems, I heard snickering in the back of the classroom. I figured the kids must be laughing at my pathetic attempt to draw a frog catching a fly on the front board. I try to have a good sense of humor, so I laughed along with them and commented on how they needed to use their imaginations when I drew. As the lesson progressed, the snickering did not stop. I realized that ignoring the commotion was going to get me nowhere, so I paused to resolve the situation.
I glanced in the direction of the giggles just in time to see Robbie slap something small down onto Gabriella’s desk. Gaby’s eyebrows formed a perfect V above her nose as she let out a very typical girly squeal. “EEeeeeeee!” Being one of the class’ more prissy girls, Gaby shrieked again and then turned furiously to Robbie. “Get. It. Off.” Her face was red with fury, and she seemed completely disgusted.
Robbie, a boy whose haircut makes him look exactly like the comic book hero, Wolverine, shrugged nonchalantly. He grinned with big white teeth and then looked away as if he had barely heard Gaby. I have learned over the past few days that Robbie is the class clown. A smart boy with both wit and charm, he easily makes his classmates, and me, laugh. I constantly have to remind him to raise his hand before blurting out, and I constantly have to remind myself that laughing at students is a terrible way to maintain classroom control.
So there I am, trying to teach ecosystems, when Robbie goofs off again. I walk over to Gaby and see that a suction cup, about the diameter of a nickel, is stuck to her desk. It’s the same kind of thing one would use to hang little signs or trinkets on their window. I tried to pull the suction cup off the desk, but it was so tightly stuck to the surface, I ended up sliding it all the way to the edge in order to remove it. At this point, I catch myself rolling my eyes, annoyed that Robbie has interrupted my teaching.
Holding the suction cup, I glanced in Robbie’s direction and told him that I would return his toy at the end of the week. I tried to say this in a stern voice, so he would know that I meant business. The class had grown unusually quiet by then.
Why is everyone so quiet? I felt suspicious.
As I returned to the front of the room, a little voice piped up from behind. “Teacher, that doesn’t belong to Robbie.”
“Who does it belong to?”
No answer. The class has fallen silent.
“Well?” I asked again.
Out of the silence, Robbie’s voice boomed, loud and proud, “THAT BELONGS TO KRAMER. THAT’S THE THING HE USES TO PULL HIS EYE OUT.”
With this, the other class joker, Taylor, went into hysterics. The rest of the class soon joined him.
Pull his eye out? I looked down into my hands and realized that I had been unconsciously suctioning and then unsuctioning the palm of my hand. I prayed that they were kidding.
Holding the thing between my thumb and my index finger, I walked over to Kramer, a chubby African American boy that looks an awful lot like Fat Albert (and does, in fact, have a glass eye). The poor kid was in an automobile accident several years before and lost his left eye. In its place sits a perfect glass replica to match his remaining operative right eye. Kramer looked up at me and smiled sheepishly. I placed the suction cup into his outstretched hand. Looking embarrassed, he whispered, “Thank you,” and then shoved the instrument into his pocket.
Oh my God. I felt bad. I had no idea that people suctioned their eyeballs out.
I didn’t want to embarrass Kramer any further, but I was a little grossed out. A lot grossed out. For the last five minutes of class, I let Kramer give a mini- science lesson to his classmates about glass eye removal.
While he was speaking, I snuck over to the sink and washed my hands.