My transition from middle school to elementary school
teacher has been a little rough.
Elementary school teachers intimidate the living daylights out of
me. The rigor and challenges presented
by Common Core do not faze elementary teachers. During the last
Superintendent’s Day, I observed my colleagues diligently developing Core
lesson plans and then, as soon as the work day was over, begin transforming
their classrooms into holiday wonderlands. I stomped up and down the hallways,
disgusted. Twinkly trees triggered my temper. Who were these happy people? What
inspired them? I rechecked my contract to see if I was legally obligated to
decorate my elementary classroom.
Later, my husband stared at me in some disgust as I
described my dilemma to him. Fortunately, I was used to that expression. “When
did you become the Grinch,” he asked. “You teach little kids,” he said, stating
the obvious, “get on board the happy train.” Tormented by trees tagged with an
expiration date of less than three weeks, I finally stumbled on a solution: an
indoor snowman. Brad moaned.
With some helpful internet instructions clutched in my
hands, I was headed into the store when I bumped into my friend, Letchworth
copy-ologist, Pam Gabauer. I excitedly showed Pam and her sister my plans to
construct a snowman out of boxes. They stared at me in disgust. Fortunately, I
was used to that expression. They immediately revised my plans, promising to
provide me with appropriately-sized exercise balls before sending me into the
store for the rest of my supplies.
The phone rang as I wandered hopelessly around the craft
section. “Amy, are you at the batting yet?” I explained to Pam that I was in
the craft section, not the sports section. After a long pause, Pam patiently
defined “batting” as quilting fluff, aka indoor snowman-making stuff. Oh. She
ground-guided me to the batting display and soon enough, I was victoriously
headed out the automated double-doors.
The next day, while I was wrestling a Pepsi from the vending
machine, Pam was busy wrestling three exercise balls out of her car and into
the school. While I was trying to talk eight-year-olds into doing their math,
Pam was trying to talk physical education teacher, Tim Eustace into inflating
our snowman. While I was directing students to construct life cycle wheels, Pam
was asking the director of maintenance and custodial services, Rocky Roberts,
into constructing a wooden frame to support our frozen friend. While I was
considering the legality of taping some mouths shut, Pam was getting Joe Sherman,
also a part of the maintenance and custodial staff, to securely tape the
snowman in place.
Pam arrived after school to watch me put the batting on. She
complimented my effort and then removed it all so that she could put it on
right. Turns out my strong suit was hot-gluing on the button eyes (Everyone has
a gift). A perfectionist, Pam kept
breaking into my classroom to add finishing touches including “snow” around the
base of our smirking snowman.
It was all worth it the next day when my students walked in
to a magical holiday wonderland. Worth the headache. The lack of sleep. Worth
the combined effort of the behind-the-scenes elves who selflessly work to bring
happiness to children (or because they are afraid of Pam Gabauer). It was worth everything just to see their
little faces when they saw their snowman. Worth it when one cherub looked at me
in disgust to say, “Why doesn’t it have any arms?” Fortunately, I was used to
that expression.
published in "The Warsaw Country Courier," December 12, 2013
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