Well, the personal glimpse didn't exactly garner a very enthusiastic response, but I'm doing another one anyway because I don't have another post cooking yet and I wouldn't want to abandon my li'l bloggy too long.
This one is from the history files, a short episode from my subbing experience in kindergarten.
My first lesson on the job was that in Bais Yaakov, at least in preschool, the fine line between English and Hebrew is never drawn. Now, I can communicate in Ivrit, but we are talking here about a completely different language. So, by the time I translated
"Mo-wuh, I need to go to the base-ha-kee-say."
it was already fairly obvious what the kid needed.
"Mo-wuh, I need to go to the base-ha-kee-say."
it was already fairly obvious what the kid needed.
The kids were fairly innocent, a refreshing change from my usual clientele, and I didn't anticipate any discipline problems from these sweet little things who still believed that teachers are G-dlike. Little did I know...
There sure was a behavior problem in that class, and she was a real terror.
Every few minutes, during circle time, davening, free play, and even Shabbos party, I'd have a kid whining and tugging my sleeve:
"Morah, Ayala pinched me!"
"Ayala kicked me!"
"Morah, Ayala took my doll!"
"Ayala's not sitting nicely!"
"Ayala kicked me!"
"Morah, Ayala took my doll!"
"Ayala's not sitting nicely!"
By 10:00, I wondered what the kid was doing in a general ed classroom.
By 11, I wanted to send her home.
By 12, I vowed that if the teacher wasn't feeling better on Monday, I'd refuse to come if Ayala was going to be there.
By 11, I wanted to send her home.
By 12, I vowed that if the teacher wasn't feeling better on Monday, I'd refuse to come if Ayala was going to be there.
The most disturbing part of it all was that I couldn't even identify the little perp. I mean, who'd think that 5-year-olds could be so sneaky?! As I began to pick up on the kids' names, I met an Atara and an Ayelet... but where was Ayala? I began to worry that she'd run away, but never fear -- within moments yet another little girl was on my knee, crying because Ayala had pulled her hair.
In exasperation, when her tears were dry, I said, "Now show me which girl did this to you!"
She turned her big, fearful eyes up to me and said,
"Oh no, Morah, we're not supposed to say loshon hara! Morah Rivky said that if we need to tell on someone, we should just say that...
"Oh no, Morah, we're not supposed to say loshon hara! Morah Rivky said that if we need to tell on someone, we should just say that...
A YALDA DID IT!"
I was floored.
Morah Rivky was back on Monday.
And now I teach middle school. :-)
Morah Rivky was back on Monday.
And now I teach middle school. :-)
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13 comments:
lol.
that's really funny.
That's very funny, and very cute. And a great lesson! :)
:-D lol.
PS: lack of comment doesn't mean lack of interest... just lack of comment.
Haha..that is so cute.
That's so cute! : )
The funniest part is that it's absolutely true. I just re-read it and realized that it's downright corny in writing... but it really happened!
Ayala... A yalda... 15 kindergarteners in speech therapy... you can picture this, no?
Hilarious!! Welcome to my job....
And I was commiserating with you cuz we in fact DO have an Ayala of the same sort... Go figure :-P
(15?! Try 22....)
Ayala's the reason I too went from preschool to elementary school to high school to college teaching. Problem is she followed me as I went up in the grades. Her speech improved but her attitude didn't.
You have my sympathy.
Prof... Please re-read the punchline in blue, preferably with a runny nose :-)
Ayala doesn't go to college...
Sorry for misspeaking. Those same misbehaving yaldot, whatever you call them, were the ones that plagued me in every grade.
Trust me, if my ex-YOB students can end up at Touro then anyone can go to college, including Ayala.
BM, that was good :)
Dat was funny.
lol
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