Walking and Talking, Part Two

Warren walked in carefully, back erect and head held high, eyes cautiously shifting from side to side, with subdued, yet nervous delight.  He was wearing a full, real, soccer uniform from the Ivory Coast.  Jersey, shorts and the knee socks, which were mysteriously pulled up over his knee to mid-thigh.

He looked magnificent. 

"I'm hot. Are you hot, Carl?" I asked the fourth grader to my left.  "No, I'm kind of cold" he answered.  "I must have a fever," I responded, "I'm sweating". I have an odd cold that has never exactly reached full expectancy, yet began as a sore throat, moved to a clogged nose and is currently hovering in coughing up nasty stuff territory.  It leaves me feeling permanently tired, yet has not actually completely knocked me out yet.  It has been going for over a week.

The whole class was dancing to the Ketchup song.  I am a terrible dancer and can even show my lack of rhythm during easy, Spanish favorites, like the Macarena and the Ketchup dance. I do it anyway.  I actually really shake it.  The song was reaching the strenuous part when everyone starts to get tired.  "Keep going!" I yelled, "You guys are getting beaten by a forty year old woman with a fever!".  "Your only thirty-nine!" some of the kids yelled back.  Thanks for that, lovelies.  And I mean it. 

As first grade George excitedly told me about the best water slide in the world, I slyly slipped my fingers around his ankle.  We both started screaming. The notion of swimming along in the pool and feeling a hand closing around your ankle horrifies both of us.   Jokes like that are probably not appropriate for six year olds, but we like it.

The kinders are taking shape and developing personalities.  I have my eye on one devilish little girl with curly hair and mischievous eyes.  She holds hands with Ignacio's little brother in class, which only makes me like her more.  I sat on one of the tiny chairs in my classroom, reading La Oruga Muy Hambrienta to the class.  I could feel the kids fiddling with the weird floral object that sticks up at the end of my shoe.  I don't mind when they touch it.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Curly coming in a little closer to my shoe, a curious look in her mischievous eye.  "El lunes, la oruga comió...." I continued.

The tip of her tongue shot out, touched the flower thing on my shoe and quickly retracted, only to be replaced by a satisfied smile.