"Hola" one of the kids greeted me. "By the way, it hace frío in here".
"Gilbert," I said to the icy blond first grader with white hair, white skin, blue eyes, a big bow and a boy's name, "where's your little man we cut out? Did you hand him in?".
"No. I cut him into little pieces" she responded, staring at me until I looked away.
"Mucho gusto" I said, shaking another little hand and looking away. Until I felt the tongue on my thumb.
"Hi Spanish teacher!" little Jay from Kindergarten greeted, after washing his paper man in the sink.
I smiled back and waved at the little boy with the small, alien mouth. The corners of his mouth turned upward in a little toothless smile.
"Cómo estás?" I asked the dark, adult looking Bangladeshi first grader. "Biennnnnn.." he answered, unsmiling, in a deep monster voice. And then he rolled across the rug.
Herbert does everything right. He's a stoic little dude. Someone prepared him for Kindergarten. He watches me gravely with eyes wide open and jumps to do everything I say. He was crying uncontrollably on the third day of school. "What happened? What happened?" I asked him and then the other kids. "He cut the head off his man...." they answered.
I made the mistake of laughing at the booty shaking, knee wiggling blond boy. Suddenly, five booty shaking, knee wiggling kids rose out of nowhere. "No! No! Siéntate!" I cried, attempting to regain control. And then they grabbed me, swarmed me and I too was on the ground...."Keep our bodies to ourselves, our bodies to ourselves...."
"Do you know why you're in Time Out?" I asked the seventies looking kid with blunt cut bangs. He hissed in response. "You can come out of Time Out when we are ready to use big boy voices. We're not in pre-K anymore". He hissed and growled louder. I continued my "class". The hisses and growls grew louder. And then the scratching on the bulletin board...the tearing. "Please stand by the door" I instructed. I heard my Tijuana map being ripped from the wall and animal-like hisses.
"His psychiatrist says he becomes a dragon when he feels nervous. He says he is fluent in English and Dragon and can't speak Spanish as well and it makes him nervous" another teacher informed me after the child was removed from my room. "He didn't stop hissing at us for an hour!". "I understand," I answered,"but I personally am traumatized".
"You can hold this" Ali told me, thrusting his book bag at me. "You can help me keep track of my number". Every time a new dismissal number would be called, Ali would wag is finger. No, not his number. During the first week of Kindergarten, he had memorized it.
I will break their spirits. Unfortunately, I just know it.
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