Defense and Defeat

Well, it finally happened. I’ve been waiting 3 years for this moment and, like all good things, it was worth it.

My class was busily working on various literacy activities. Some were reading, some were writing, others were researching. I was conducting a group at the back table. All seemed to be going to plan. As I do each day, I instructed them to pull out their books from previous lessons and begin reading to warm up their brains. Obligingly they do so. One girl, in typical fashion, makes a big scene.

“What book?” She taunts.

Eye roll followed by the look of, “not today sweetheart, not today”.

Taking a hint she gleefully announces, “Oh, I know! I put it over here in the library. Silly me, I dont know why I’d do that.”

I think to myself, “Really? ‘Cause I know exactly why you’d do that – for this moment right here, all the attention, all the time,” but I just sigh and continue on with the others as she prances over to her secret book hiding spot.

As a teacher my brain must move at the speed of light so as to not waste one single moment of instructional possibility. So, by the time I’ve turned around in my chair I’ve forgotten this distraction and refocused on the readers in front of me.

I’m awoken from my teaching trance by the shrieking of Undercover Book Hider. She’s ushered over to me by a concerned yet confused classmate. Holding her fingers out toward me, panic in her eyes, she asks, at a much too loud volume, “Is one of your cactuses real?”

And in that moment I have to remind myself that I am the keeper of small souls and I must not erupt into hideous laughter at her probable pain and definite distress. You see, I have told them numerous times that the pot with two cactuses and actual dirt is indeed real and will hurt if you touch it. Even the kid who ties his shoelaces together and rolls on the carpet for most of the day could tell you which one is real. This above-average IQ drama queen absolutely knew what was what when going on her book hunting adventure. 

I look straight in her teary eyes and tell her to take a deep breath, modeling a long exhale. I must assume the no-stress, monotone, voice, relaxed posture and calm movements. I assure her that her writing hand will be just fine to join us as soon as I get the spines out. As I carefully begin removing the culprits she is rambling to anyone who will listen, not even a glisten in her eye.

“I don’t even know how that happened, I didn’t even touch it. I just reached for my book and they jumped on my hand!”

“I’m sure that’s exactly how it went down,” I muse as I bring her hand to eye level to make sure I didn’t miss any.

“I’m bleeding! I mean, barely, but it’s there, look! And I’m never touching that again!”

And, as if sent from God above, the tiniest angel pipes up, “I think that’s the point. That’s the cactus’s defense mechanism. Like the shell on Spruce the Sea Turtle, remember?”

Entertainment. Pure, unfiltered, honest entertainment from the mouths of babes.

And, maybe, if it would have happened to someone else or if it truly would have hurt her, I would have felt badly. But it was kismet that it happened to her, happened in that way and that the audience was prepared for total participation. Waiting 3 years for a fateful cactus prick was more than worth it.