An Ongoing List: Things I Never Thought I Would Say at School~

There are times throughout the school year that I hear myself saying something that, out of context, would sound quite bizarre. I picture the fly on the wall, the secret video camera, the unseen visitor, doing the classic double-take and wishing they had paid closer attention.

I always have students who undress at school. They remove socks, shoes, belts, hats, shirts, and vests. Sometimes I find these things strewn about the room. Usually they are tossed in a corner or left on a chair or table. I have two students this year who remove their shoes and place them in their cubbies.

Sammy removes ONE shoe, then kicks it around the room.

"Sammy," I say, "Put your shoe back on."

He keeps kicking, then happily replies, "I can't."

"Sam, if you can't put your shoe back on, don't take it off," I say, using logic that is beyond him.

"But,I like to take this one off," he says.

We have this conversation regularly. "This one" is the right shoe. Always the right one. Never the left.

Emily and Mari also remove shoes. Occasionally, they will take of their socks but you know Murphy's Law of Socks. Inevitably, one goes missing and the kid goes home with one foot sockless. They swear to God they have NO idea where the other sock went. Days later, I will find it in the blocks or behind the Legos and attempt to return it. At this point, they swear on their mothers' lives that THIS sock does not belong to them. Never seen it before. Ever.

Well-meaning parents put their kids in layers, sending them to school certain that their little learners will be toasty and stylish. If it is a flannel shirt layered over a tee shirt or tank top, I will bet you money the shirt will be flung over something in the classroom and its owner will be reluctant to claim it.

Sara has them all beat. Her mother dresses her in layers too. No sooner does Sara hit the classroom, she begins to disrobe. Off goes the sweatshirt, sweater, or blouse. Then the tee-shirt. When she is happily bouncing around the room in her spaghetti-strapped undershirt, I start shivering.

"Sara, it's 10 degrees outside. Put your clothes back on."

"That's okay," says Sara, clearly not getting the point.

I gather up the strewn clothing: A sleeveless red sweatshirt, a blue and white tee shirt, and a bright pink scarf. I hand them to her.

"Put these back on," I say in my best teacher voice.

"I don't want to," counters Sara.

I clench my teeth and lead her to the bathroom. "Put the clothes back on. Hang the scarf up."

Sara emerges from the bathroom in the same state of undress as when she entered.

"SARA! I am not kidding. Put your shirt and sweatshirt back on."

"Okay," she mutters. I stand there while she dresses.

Eight minutes later I see her bouncing around the room again. In her undershirt.

I point to the bathroom. "Get your shirts back on. I am not kidding."

"I'm HOT!" moans Sara.

The thermostat reads a balmy 66 degrees.

"NOW, Sara."

"Okay," she sighs, trudging off to the bathroom. She emerges completely dressed. I smile and pat her shoulder. She bounces off to find her friends.

Fast forward about a half hour. Sara is nowhere to be seen. A quick scan of the room finds her curled up in a fetal position on my desk chair, in her undershirt, shoeless, sockless, with eyes squeezed shut, just certain that if she doesn't "see" me, I somehow won't see her. Some people will tell you they just LOVE this age!

"Sara," I say slowly. I breathe deeply. I think about safety pins and duct tape. She sheepishly stands up and I hear myself say it. The thing I never thought I would say in class:

"How many times do I have to tell you not to take your clothes off at school?"