"I like your hair, Ms. Natasha."

Shemar.

He's one of my students in the 1st grade and he's a trip. Shemar's often in trouble and almost as often making me laugh. Here's an exchange I had with him earlier this week:

Ms. Natasha: Shemar!!! Why were you in the bathroom for so long? What did I tell you about playing around in there?
Shemar: But Ms. Natasha, I was taking a dump.
Ms. Natasha: Have a seat Shemar.

Today Shemar gives me a gift (via his grandmother) for Christmas. I am now the proud owner of Organic Root Stimulator - Healing Hair Care Kit. In it I have the following:

• Organic Root Stimulator Uplifting Shampoo
• Organic Root Stimulator Dry Scalp Relief Oil
• Organic Root Stimulator Carrot Oil
• Organic Root Stimulator Olive Oil
• Organic Root Stimulator Hair Mayonnaise

AND if that wasn't enough, I am the proud owner of an Organic Root Stimulator Olive Oil Pillow Case.

Shemar, I love you.

Moments of Zen

As a teacher, I am constantly reminded of my humanness and the preciousness of life by the kids that I teach. It's the hardest thing I've ever done, and the most necessary at this point in my life.

This week I was touched by...

-Kendall, while watching a film on Shakespeare, sneezed and farted at the same time. It was so loud it surprised him. He was so proud of the feat, he applauded himself.
- Cari, Sorcha and Mekiah (muh-kye-yuh) hump-dancing a statue of James Buchanan in Meridian Hill Park during recess.
- Jeremiah grossing out his lunch table with tales of eating poop and pee pee.
- Mekenzie and Keenan fighting for my attention, prefacing every attempt with, "look what I can do!"
- A group of 5th graders desperately looking under their table for a wire tap, because I said I recorded their conversations.
- Kahri (KA-ree), a 1st grader, fell asleep in class. After I woke him up, he began to weep softly and said, "Miss Tasha, I just want to sleep. You know?"

Thank You Miss Phelps!

Today at school, I helped set up the Scholastic Book Fair. (Oh, the memories!) There's not much that has changed since I attended my first book fair in 1988 at Scott Elementary in Illinois. After all these years, the fair still springs forth from giant metal carts that hold the books and toys that defined my childhood.

I can still remember the anticipation I felt when I received the paper-thin Scholastic catalogue in homeroom. I would run home and circle all the things that I wanted to buy, begging my parents to fulfill at least one of my hearts desires. I remember devouring my very first Judy Blume book set (Fudge, Super Fudge, Double Fudge, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing). My formative years were spent pouring the pages of Ramona Forever, The Boxcar Children, The Baby Sitters Club Series, Nancy Drew, Where the Wild Things Are, Where the Sidewalk Ends, The Face on the Milk Carton, Where the Red Fern Grows, Roll of Thunder Hear My Cry... the list goes on, and on.

I became humbled and nostalgic watching the little demons I teach, don halos and glow with excitement when they saw the book fair (quite literally) unfold in the school's multi-purpose room.

This nostalgia compelled me to look up my old elementary school. In doing so, I stumbled upon this recent picture of my old 3rd Grade teacher, Miss Phelps (who is still teaching at Scott Elementary). I was floored by my discovery! After nearly twenty years, I recognized her instantly. And with one glace of her photo, I was overcome by the memories of my eight year old self.

As a military brat, I attended two elementary schools, two middle schools, and two high schools. Out of all the schools I attended, there were very few teachers who stand out as meaningful, and Miss Phelps was one of them. I remember her kindness and her ability to make me feel important. She was able cultivate my love of language and reading - taking me to my first book fair.

I still believe.

Working with kids all day has opened up my world. I am embedded in a culture that regards bodily functions, Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy as non-negotiable. The faith of these mini-people is astounding, and emboldening.

Can you imagine walking around the world with ridiculous...faith? A belief in the infinite possibility of life, and they ways to live it? I can see in the eyes of these inner city "youts" that most of them aren't tainted yet. They haven't been touched by the hand of cynicism or been defiled by self-doubt. They are tiny-little engines that run on hope, love and artificial flavor.

Somedays, I forget to believe. Before I can order my coffee in the morning, I've already lost sight of what it is that I'm working so hard to become. The wind is knocked out of my sails, and I dock on the shores of medicority and frustration.

I have to constantly remind myself to look up, to see what is in store, to believe.

“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Clause."

Superman is a Bad Word

Like many artist, I have a day job to pay the bills. My day job is working as a drama teacher. I teach grades Pre-K through 6th Grade. Most days I feel really lucky (and sorta sneaky) that I get paid to play with kids all day. And then there are those days that are more difficult - especially when I don't go to sleep until 4am.



Little Zen-master Emily

Today was one of those days. After a venti-to-much-money-extra-shot-whathaveyou, I began my day teaching our nation's future Oscar winners, with (surprising) success.

Regardless of they kind of day I'm having, I can always rely on moments of Zen courtesy of this age group's tendency toward talking to anyone who'll listen.

Today's moment of Zen provided by Janae:

Janae is 5 years old, with an adorable speech impediment (is it wrong that I think speech impediments are adorable?). Janae stopped me in the middle of my lesson to tell me that another student had said a bad "wurd." Intrigued, I asked Janae what the other student said. Janae replied, "He said Superman and Spiderman. That's bad wurds." I then corrected the other student not to take Superman and Spiderman's names in vain.