Fifth grade

I hated 5th grade. It was 5th grade at my private, Christian school that convinced me that I was ready to go to public school. My teacher, Mary Perry, was allegedly human, but seemed more like a monster to me. It wasn't just her physical unattractiveness, though she was physically unattractive (complete with a hairy mole on her lip and an awful white-girl-afro), but her personality too. She didn't talk nicely, and she had a way of making us feel dumb no matter what. She never smiled, or laughed. She just oozed meanness. She also had a mean younger brother, as monsters typically do, who was much older than we were and who sometimes came as a chaperone on field trips. I don't know what his first name was, but it started with a T because his initials were T.P. I still recall the day we first met this T.P. fellow because,in my eleven year old mentality, I made the remark, "Oh T.P. like toilet paper". My initials were J.A. and his response to me, this 20-something-year-old molder and shaper of lives said to me, "Oh, J.A. like jackass." Yep, that was my first time meeting Ms. Perry's brother. He made my insides feel like broccoli mixed with molasses, and I have never forgotten it. At that point in my life "jacksass" was definitely the meanest, ugliest word I had ever heard. And not only did T.P. say it around me, but he was directing it at me. He pretty much was the wax seal on the envelope that declared Ms. Perry was officially a monster. That was it for me that year, and no amount of dulcimer playing that Monster Perry might do could change my mind that she was the enemy.

So, here we are, 26 years later, and I find myself back in Fifth Grade. God has an interesting sense of humor. When my boss asked me to take on this job, I almost burst into tears. Not like I thought Miss Perry would be in my room with me, but hearing "Fifth Grade" brought back that broccoli mixed with molasses feeling in an instant. There was no way I could be a fifth grade teacher. That would make me the Miss Perry to a whole new generation of kids, and that is more than I could bear. I begged God to open another door. I asked him to find me something else to do. Another grade, another school, another career path altogether...just not fifth grade!

He didn't. I opened the door to this school year as the Fifth Grade teacher, and I was terrified. And then, the kids walked through the door to meet me. And they were not frightening. They were definitely not the impetus that would cause some inner monster to emerge in me. They were...precious. Unspeakably precious. Nervous, shy, adorable, smart, and nice. I knew one thing, after my first five minutes with them. I would not ever be their monster. All I wanted to do was love them. For the one who's mom just died a couple of months ago, I wanted to give her extra long motherly hugs, and for the boy who's dad doesn't come around much, I want to listen to his dreams of owning a classic GT Mustang one day. I want to dazzle them with my impressive faux British accent, and give them high fives when they come running in on Monday morning with bright eyes, sparkling, telling me their mom was so proud that she cried when she saw they got a B on their math test. I want to pay for their field trip when the only other option is that they can't go. I want to be the anti-Miss Perry. In every way. In every opportunity. I want to make them feel funny, and smart, and proud of themselves. I want to watch them be the best version of themselves that they can be. I have realized that fifth graders are wonderful.

I have no doubt that God placing me in 5th grade this year has been a gift to me. After a few tough years with some really tough kids, I find myself working with teachable, happy spirits who (so far) have very supportive and logical parents. And, maybe there is another gift for me embedded in this year. The chance for me to see, through my students, how innocent, and undeserving of cruelty I was in 5th grade. To take away that self-condemning voice that I always hear when I remember TP calling me a jackass, and to give me a new batch of fifth grade memories. After this year, when I think of Fifth grade I will no longer have to head back to broccoli-molassesville. I will, instead, be able to smile as I think of my encounter with the coolest class on campus, Fifth Grade!