Dave the Fish

A year and a half ago when Taryn got her fish tank for her birthday, she named some fish. Now, forty fish later we just don't bother. I honestly think she looks forward to them dying because she likes to go to the pet store and get new ones. Anyway, we feed them, and care for the tank. Have the water tested regularly, and it is always perfect. But still, fish after unnamed fish dies.

Last night, Taryn felt sick. She had been in and out of the bathroom thinking she might have to throw up, and finally lay down in bed. "Stay". She told me. I thought she meant until she fell asleep, so as soon as her eyes were closed for a few minutes I would stand up to leave, and the moment I would she would open her eyes and say, "sit". It was kind of creepy. A few times I tried to escape, and each time she knew.

After about an hour of sitting on the edge of her bed staring at the lone unnamed fish in her huge fish tank, I named him Dave. I stood up to feed Dave, since I had nothing else to do, and of course Taryn opened her eyes and glared at me. I told her, "I am just feeding your fish. I named him Dave." She didn't feel good, so she didn't care about anything, including what I named the fish. She told me to name it whatever I wanted to. I sat back down for a while waiting for her to sleep, and enjoyed watching Dave explore the plants and sunken ship, and just...keep...swimming. He was kind of cute-ish. By the time I left the room another 20 minutes later, I kind of liked Dave. I hate pet fish. I think they are pointless to have and are basically the same as flushing money down the toilet. But the little zebra fish, Dave, and I had a moment...or an hour and twenty minutes worth of moments. It was as special as human/pet fish in a tank interactions can be.

This morning, Taryn woke up feeling better, and informed me that Dave was not acceptable for the fish to be called. "I know I said you could name it whatever you wanted, Mom", she said, "but it can't be Dave". ("Can't be Dave?", I thought. "I don't think I can handle this. Dave IS Dave"). "It has to be Dave THE FISH, she said." Phew. Dave the fish was what I called Dave already, so I was fine with make "The Fish" officially part of his name. Disaster in my mind avoided.

So, unnamed fish is now "Dave the Fish". I should be pleased, but I just can't help but think that Dave the fish is doomed to die any moment. I mean, when we didn't notice him, or talk to him, or care about him...he was probably going to live forever. But now we NAMED him, and had a CONVERSATION about him. That is pretty much the kiss of death for little old Dave the Fish. I feel bad. And, quite frankly, I am already pretty depressed about the future passing of the unnamed fish named Dave the Fish who hasn't died yet.

What have we done?

This One Kid

In my class this year, there is this one kid that keeps catching my heart.

He is kind, and sweet, and smiley, and quiet in a room of vibrant kids that tend to overshadow, and over shout him. He's new to the school this year, and still has that look like he is always only half sure that he is in the right place. This one kid loves to draw, and is a talented little artist. Little is an appropriate adjective too, because he is the smallest little guy in the room. School tends to be a little bit hard for him. The staying focused, the not losing things, and the math. Poor kid. For the first few weeks of school, I thought he would cry whenever I said that the class should get out their Math books. But, this one kid never whined and complained. The students around him, who are all getting A's, they whined and complained and said it was too hard. This one kid just walked up quietly and said, "I need help." This one kid needs so much help with Math. So, so much. But he waits patiently, and does as much as he can without me. And while I help the A students, who really only need me to watch them work and reassure them that they are doing right, I worry about this one kid.

Yesterday, I got a note from this one kid. It was a note that made me smile, and want to cry, and also gave me full assurance that ,Math or no Math, this is going to be one successful kid. The note was a skillful piece of communication, surrounded by flowers and a puppy drawing. It started off with him relating to how I feel. How it must be so frustrating and disappointing for me when he loses or forgets his homework. How very sorry he is to make me feel that way. Then he went on to compliment me, indicating that I am the "most beautifulest" teacher that he has ever seen. And finally, just when the time was right, he finished with a request to please make up his missing work because he will do it all and would I please accept it?

I'm telling you, when it comes to late work, if it is past one day late I don't accept it. But for this one kid, on this one day, because of this persuasive essay that I don't even think he knows that he wrote, I will. That simple note brought me a peace and certainty for this one kid's future. He does work hard, and apparently he is a natural communicator and negotiator. This one kid will probably own his own business one day, where people like me work for him and balance his books, and call him ,Sir. And he will be sweet, and smiley, and quiet as he signs the paychecks. And as he does, he will dream up things that are bigger, and better than Math could ever be.