Lost Backpacks

Michael is one of two students who often "lose” their backpacks. Sometimes it is "at his dad's," or "in the car," or "at mommy's work," or "on the table." There are also times when Michael just doesn't KNOW where the backpack is - the giant and much-feared BackPack Fairy apparently swoops down and steals it, in order to ensure Michael's misery and my continued frustration.

Then there is Alex, who just forgets where he left it. Which isn’t surprising, since every single morning this school year, Alex forgets that he has it ON and has to be reminded to hang it up. On the hooks. In the back of the room. Where they always go.

“TEACHER! I can’t find my backpack,” Alex will often wail when it is time to locate it. “Somebody took it!”

Nobody wants Alex’s crusty, reeking backpack but that doesn’t prevent him from accusing somebody of making off with it – as if anybody wants three weeks worth of returned homework, one dirty mitten, a toy truck, half a bottle of last Tuesday’s juice, two empty milk containers, and a half dozen of his sister’s Tinkerbell crayons. He also has several moldy apple cores from lunch last week, so he can “plant the seeds.” Any minute now I expect his backpack to sprout an apple tree.

“Alex, I will say patiently, “Your backpack is exactly where you left it.”

“But I can’t find it,” he exclaims, with the panic rising in his voice and his eyes wider than quarters. He stands there looking up at me, utterly helpless and desperately trying to look needy.

So then I engage in the stupid-teacher trick of getting into a circular conversation with a 5-year old. The fact that his backpack cannot simply “disappear” is completely incomprehensible to him. He is five and developmentally delayed in the logic department. He believes Ethan is a monster at recess simply because Ethan says so.

No matter what I say or which questions I ask, the backpack is always where he left it, which is one of two places. Once the inevitable discovery is made, he looks rather surprised and says, “Oh.” He hasn’t figured out humility or embarrassment yet.

Sometimes he tries my patience too much and the “lost” backpack is left on the floor sprouting seeds under the jacket he couldn’t seem to find. This leads to panic as I shoo him to the waiting school bus. Within minutes I get a phone call from his mother wanting to know if I know where Alex’s backpack is. I assure her I do. Everybody in the class knows. It’s Alex who can never figure it out.

Michael owns two backpacks. The original backpack lasted a few months and then was mysteriously "stolen" with much wailing and carrying on. Since wailing and carrying on works well at Michael’s house, Michael's father bought him NEW backpack. This NEW backpack was also misplaced - but then the old one showed up again. So now Michael alternates, although there are days he shows up with his brother's backpack, because the wicked fairy "stoled" both of his backpacks. At the same time.

The problem with the brother's backpack is that it looks EXACTLY like Carlos's backpack. And, of course, Michael forgets this often enough so that when Carlos's backpack shows up missing, we know exactly who has it. Although Michael swears to goodness on a stack of Dr. Seuss books that it wasn't him. Amidst all this the second backpack showed up. "It was at mommy's work under the counter!" Michael reported with much enthusiasm and excitement.

“Imagine that!” I said wondrously. The whole class agreed. It was truly remarkable.

Today, like many, many, days this year, Michael responded to my direction to "pack up the backpack to go home" with the plaintive and angst-ridden cry, "I don't have my backpack." He then looks suitably dejected. This way, he is sure, I will feel sorry for him and give him a bag. Michael's mother must have all the grocery bags from my last two trips to Von's. She won't need plastic bags or brown bags with handles for years and years.

Since he hasn't had his backpack most of the week, I asked in my most put-upon teacher voice “Just where IS your backpack, Michael?"

"On my bed," responds Michael in his smallest, most pitiful voice.

"Michael," I say patiently, "How in the WORLD can you lose your backpack ON YOUR BED?"

He brightens, feeling much better. "It's easy!"

Alex nods with complete understanding.

“Yeah, teacher – it’s EASY!”

Michael likes the brown bags with handles the best.