Flashback Friday: Title Track March 21, 2008Posted by Ms. Art in Darndest Things, Flashback Friday.
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Once upon a time, I found myself in another art teacher’s classroom as her kindergarteners filed in. She was temporarily nowhere to be found, so I started to get them settled for her, when a little girl raised her hand.
“I like your hair,” she said. I thanked her. Another hand shot up.
“I like your clothes,” he added. Another thank you. Another hand. They’re getting increasingly urgent.
“I like your earrings! They look like chips!” Oooookay. Thanks. Again. One more hand, this one waving desperately, not even waiting to be called on…
“I LIKE YOUR FACE.”
Flashback Friday February 8, 2008Posted by Ms. Art in Black Just Like Everybody Else, Darndest Things, Flashback Friday.
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Sometime last school year, I was standing in the hall outside the art room before school, supervising the hoodlums, when two of my second graders came running up (“Walk please!”, I said), and Grant threw his arms around me and said, “MS. ROGERS. Last week in art Angel called you WHITE.”
Note that this was literally an entire week previously.
So I said, “But I am white!”
Janice: “No you’re not! You are not white, you’re not, you’re black! YOU’RE BLACK JUST LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE!”
Me: “Well, actually, I am white. Sorry. But-”
“No you are NOT, stop saying that! You are not, you’re black, you’re black!”
“Um, well, I appreciate that, but I promise, I’m white. But if Angel said it in a mean way, well, you’re right, we need to address that.”
So we argued a little bit more about whether or not I was black and they eventually went off to class.
Fast-forward about an hour and their class arrived at my door. As Angel went by me, before she was even in the room, she stopped and said, to the floor, “sorryIcalledyouwhiteinameanway.”
I guess that took care of that. In the meantime Janice was standing behind her, shaking her head and mouthing, “No you’re not YOU’RE BLACK YOU’RE BLACK.”
Flashback Friday, in honor of Super Tuesday February 1, 2008Posted by Ms. Art in Flashback Friday, Role Models.
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Okay, so this one only flashes back a few weeks or so. Regardless:
We’re outside at the car-rider loop. Kiara is seven and is one of the last kids to be picked up (Kiara is almost always one of the last kids to be picked up). All the other teachers have bailed (all the other teachers most always bail).
Kiara walks over, clearly on a mission. “Ms. Art. Are you voting for Barack Obama, or [undisguised disgust] Hillary Clinton?”
“What if I’m voting for John Edwards?” (It apparently occurs to neither of us that I might be Republican. )
“Well, are you?”
“My mom wants Hillary Clinton but I want my FIRST BLACK PRESIDENT!”
I try to explain about judging people not by the color of their skin, but the content of their character (picked that up somewhere), but it falls on deaf ears. This is maybe why seven-year-olds can’t vote.
Flashback Friday January 25, 2008Posted by Ms. Art in Bathroom Humor, Darndest Things, Flashback Friday.
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One day, somebody farted in my fourth grade class. And my third
grade, come to think of it. Wonder what they served for breakfast.
Anyway, the class went apeshit, I went into my “farts aren’t that funny” spiel but was
interrupted by Daijia, who said, “Gotta fart to live.”
I adopted it as my new spiel.
Flashback Friday!!!!!!!!! January 18, 2008Posted by Ms. Art in Bathroom Humor, Flashback Friday.
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Deonte was an eleven-year-old third grader who, despite an elementary school career of surely-record length, still couldn’t read a word. His mother refused special education services (and, tangentially, my very first day working at that school, was in court, having been brought there by my administration on bomb threat charges).
Deonte was keeping up his usual continuous background patter as I tried to introduce the lesson. His sole tablemate was doing a pretty good job ignoring him for awhile, but finally, she’d had enough.
Perfectly matter-of-factly, she blurted, “Ms. Art. Deonte passed gas and said it was your breath.”
It’s my favorite insult of all time. I’m still saving it up, but someday, I feel sure that I’ll have reason to bring someone to their knees, and out it’ll come.