My fourth graders and I were sitting outside with the rest of the school for afternoon dismissal when I overheard a conversation about cockroaches that is most likely, not true.
"When I was little, I didn't know that a cock-a-roach was a bug, so I ate it!"
"Ewww!!! Wait, what is a cock-a-roach?" asks Innocent.
"A cock-a-roach is a huge bug and I ate half of it!" Tyler responds.
My incessant need to "teach" kicks in and I interrupt, saying, "You guys know it's cockroach, right? Not a cock-a-roach. Two syllables, not three." I mean, after all, these are fourth graders. They should know this bug's proper name. I want them to say the word correctly and sound educated when they talk about beetles. One could argue that what happens next is all my fault.
"Wait, what is a cock?!" screams Innocent. He screams it because he has one volume on his voice (VERY LOUD) and because for reasons I still don't understand, he's excited. At this exact moment, an administrator walks by and not so subtly tries to stifle a surprised laugh, a laugh that says good luck getting out of this one. I stand completely frozen, praying that none of the other children react. This is Innocent we're talking about here - I'm pretty sure that he honestly doesn't know and I'd feel pretty bad if this was the situation in which he found out. Mercifully, nobody reacts. Whew! Bullet dodged. I choose to ignore what I pretend was a rhetorical question. That's when Innocent starts up again, "Cock-a-roach! Cock-a-roach! I know, I'll put three words together to create that word!" he proudly announces.
"COCK!" (Pause)
"OH!" (Pause)
"ROACH!" (Pause for laughter. I don't know why, but he thought this game was great fun.)
"Wait. Mrs. Music Teacher, what is a cock?" Oi. Here we go again. I study him to see if he is really as innocent as I think, or if he is playing a cruel game with me. I conclude that he is indeed clueless.
"A male chicken," I answer. And with that, I walk inside as he continues to shout "COCK! OH! ROACH!" I hightail it out of school. If they can't find me, they can't blame me.
"When I was little, I didn't know that a cock-a-roach was a bug, so I ate it!"
"Ewww!!! Wait, what is a cock-a-roach?" asks Innocent.
"A cock-a-roach is a huge bug and I ate half of it!" Tyler responds.
My incessant need to "teach" kicks in and I interrupt, saying, "You guys know it's cockroach, right? Not a cock-a-roach. Two syllables, not three." I mean, after all, these are fourth graders. They should know this bug's proper name. I want them to say the word correctly and sound educated when they talk about beetles. One could argue that what happens next is all my fault.
"Wait, what is a cock?!" screams Innocent. He screams it because he has one volume on his voice (VERY LOUD) and because for reasons I still don't understand, he's excited. At this exact moment, an administrator walks by and not so subtly tries to stifle a surprised laugh, a laugh that says good luck getting out of this one. I stand completely frozen, praying that none of the other children react. This is Innocent we're talking about here - I'm pretty sure that he honestly doesn't know and I'd feel pretty bad if this was the situation in which he found out. Mercifully, nobody reacts. Whew! Bullet dodged. I choose to ignore what I pretend was a rhetorical question. That's when Innocent starts up again, "Cock-a-roach! Cock-a-roach! I know, I'll put three words together to create that word!" he proudly announces.
"COCK!" (Pause)
"OH!" (Pause)
"ROACH!" (Pause for laughter. I don't know why, but he thought this game was great fun.)
"Wait. Mrs. Music Teacher, what is a cock?" Oi. Here we go again. I study him to see if he is really as innocent as I think, or if he is playing a cruel game with me. I conclude that he is indeed clueless.
"A male chicken," I answer. And with that, I walk inside as he continues to shout "COCK! OH! ROACH!" I hightail it out of school. If they can't find me, they can't blame me.