5 Year of the tiger

one of my favorite years teaching elementary school was in 1983-1984.   it was a year that we clicked. most of the students loved to learn and were eager to try crazy experiments to prove a point.  in one experiment, each student was to make something using one kind of simple machine (gear, pulley).  what fun we had with the successes and the almost successes.  another experiment involved dropping an egg from a third-story window without it breaking. imagine twelve students and their teacher looking out the window watching the eggs go splat! or remain intact.

we adopted a room mascot, which i still have today.  it was a little one-eyed stuffed tiger we found in a garbage pail.  each week the person doing the best work or putting forth the best effort took the tiger home for the weekend.  students added necklaces, bracelets, etc., to make tiger more of their own.  once, while the class was reading quietly, i raised a ruckus and slammed my desk drawer on tiger.  the class was in an uproar, yelling "mr. richey" and laughing uncontrollably.

learning and laughter are a great mix.  again the students were reading quietly while their teacher, after about 20 minutes, was getting bored.  so, he pretended to have a cold, sneezing and coughing.  the students did not see him put a clean tissue on the top of his shoe.  they did see him blow his nose loudly into a tissue and then dropped it.  when he sat up, he put the clean tissue in his mouth, chewing on it as the students were grossed out.  we spent about 10 minutes telling jokes we had played on someone.  and then we returned to our reading, quite refreshed and energized.

the students were old enough to start thinking for themselves and young enough to still want a hug from their teacher.  one was especially affectionate, sitting close to me at recess while the others played.  he had no interest in running around.  instead, he would clasp my arm as he would tell me stories and would explain scientific concepts he had learned. twice that year, he asked me to be his dad.  you see, his father was gruff, often smelling of alcohol, and totally disinterested in his boy's education.  the boy was evasive when i asked him if his dad hit him, but he told me his dad would yell a lot.  my heart was broken.  if i could have, i would have taken him home and raised him myself.  but given the circumstances, i could let him know everyday that i loved him.  leaving on the last day of school, he ran up, grabbed me around my neck, and hugged me, sobbing as he said, "i love you, mr. richey, i wish you could be my dad".   i cried all the way home.

by the way, five of the twelve students from that year have found me on facebook.  they are constant reminders of a special time and place where we spent a special year together.