Since I'm on a roll with confessing my own mishaps here and because I'm feeling generous after a delicious banana bread muffin, I'll tell you two stories in this one post. Who doesn't love a Two-Fer? Let's start by re-visiting my first year of teaching (yes, again) where I learned a valuable lesson about using rhythm sticks. Because, innocent as they may seem, they can become serious assault weapons in the wrong hands.
Crazy Sticks
I learned in student teaching that "rest position" is perhaps the most important part of instrument playing in the music classroom, so I teach it in the very first lesson at the start of each year. My kids were well-trained by the time this story takes place, so there they were - seated in a circle on the floor, their blue rhythm sticks neatly resting on their shoulders as they awaited further instruction. In my hands were those same long, blue sticks, but mine weren't in rest position. I would like to tell you that what happened next is because I was demonstrating and one of my sticks went rogue, but the truth is, it's because I talk with my hands.
I was standing directly behind the circle, squarely between two students. I was talking animatedly when, WHACK! I nailed a poor boy right in the side of his head with one of my sticks. The hit was pretty hard based on the awful thud it made, so I immediately crouched down and cradled that poor kid's head in my hands as I repeatedly apologized. He insisted, through watering eyes, that he was okay. I checked the point of impact and it was red, so I sent him off to the nurse for some ice. That's when I realized this boy would probably be going home with a bump or bruise on his head and have to explain to his parents that Mrs. Music Teacher hit him with a rhythm stick. And because the word "accident" might not be a part of his version of the story, I decided I'd better beat him to the punch and make a phone call.
I still often carry a pair of rhythm sticks as I teach, but when I enter the "danger zone," they go into rest position.
Flying Shoe
Hi, my name is Mrs. Music Teacher, and I'm a shopaholic.
I can throw down some serious dough at the mall, but in an effort to maintain a stable bank account, I shop sales and peruse the clearance racks. And that means I sometimes settle for things that I wouldn't purchase if they were full price. It's how I ended up with a pair of flats that I thought would coordinate with everything (they didn't), even though they were just a little too big on me. I only wore them a few times because they were hard to walk in given that they slid off my heel with almost every step. The last day that I wore them, I was teaching a dance to "Tideo" that involved a really watered-down version of the Kozachok - the Russian squatting/leg-kicking dance. I was demonstrating the dance in front of the class as they sat innocently in their chairs. Why I didn't take off my shoes is a mystery... it was hard to do the dance with my shoes flopping all over the place and I absolutely should have foreseen the moment when my shoe rocketed off of my foot. This was not your average flying shoe. It did not lazily slide off and make a dainty fall to the floor. No, it flew off at the speed of light, remaining airborne until it crashed into the drop-ceiling, punching the tile upward. It then fell to the ground, landing with a big slap inches from a student. The whole thing was comical, but the look on Jeremy's face as he watched it unfold was priceless. He even took cover, putting his arms protectively over his head and ducking out of the way as he waited for my shoe to fall out of the sky. Afterward, he said nothing. He only looked at me, mouth open, eyes wide and asked, "Did you do that on purpose?!"
At that, the whole class erupted into laughter and I worked myself into a fit of giggles that couldn't be contained. I cried, snorted, and squealed my way through the rest of class.
I no longer wear those shoes. I've had a hard time parting with them, as I do all purchases, but I confidently put them in the Goodwill pile this past weekend because "my shoe came off and accidentally broke your child's nose" is not a conversation I ever want to have.
Crazy Sticks
I learned in student teaching that "rest position" is perhaps the most important part of instrument playing in the music classroom, so I teach it in the very first lesson at the start of each year. My kids were well-trained by the time this story takes place, so there they were - seated in a circle on the floor, their blue rhythm sticks neatly resting on their shoulders as they awaited further instruction. In my hands were those same long, blue sticks, but mine weren't in rest position. I would like to tell you that what happened next is because I was demonstrating and one of my sticks went rogue, but the truth is, it's because I talk with my hands.
I was standing directly behind the circle, squarely between two students. I was talking animatedly when, WHACK! I nailed a poor boy right in the side of his head with one of my sticks. The hit was pretty hard based on the awful thud it made, so I immediately crouched down and cradled that poor kid's head in my hands as I repeatedly apologized. He insisted, through watering eyes, that he was okay. I checked the point of impact and it was red, so I sent him off to the nurse for some ice. That's when I realized this boy would probably be going home with a bump or bruise on his head and have to explain to his parents that Mrs. Music Teacher hit him with a rhythm stick. And because the word "accident" might not be a part of his version of the story, I decided I'd better beat him to the punch and make a phone call.
I still often carry a pair of rhythm sticks as I teach, but when I enter the "danger zone," they go into rest position.
Flying Shoe
Hi, my name is Mrs. Music Teacher, and I'm a shopaholic.
I can throw down some serious dough at the mall, but in an effort to maintain a stable bank account, I shop sales and peruse the clearance racks. And that means I sometimes settle for things that I wouldn't purchase if they were full price. It's how I ended up with a pair of flats that I thought would coordinate with everything (they didn't), even though they were just a little too big on me. I only wore them a few times because they were hard to walk in given that they slid off my heel with almost every step. The last day that I wore them, I was teaching a dance to "Tideo" that involved a really watered-down version of the Kozachok - the Russian squatting/leg-kicking dance. I was demonstrating the dance in front of the class as they sat innocently in their chairs. Why I didn't take off my shoes is a mystery... it was hard to do the dance with my shoes flopping all over the place and I absolutely should have foreseen the moment when my shoe rocketed off of my foot. This was not your average flying shoe. It did not lazily slide off and make a dainty fall to the floor. No, it flew off at the speed of light, remaining airborne until it crashed into the drop-ceiling, punching the tile upward. It then fell to the ground, landing with a big slap inches from a student. The whole thing was comical, but the look on Jeremy's face as he watched it unfold was priceless. He even took cover, putting his arms protectively over his head and ducking out of the way as he waited for my shoe to fall out of the sky. Afterward, he said nothing. He only looked at me, mouth open, eyes wide and asked, "Did you do that on purpose?!"
At that, the whole class erupted into laughter and I worked myself into a fit of giggles that couldn't be contained. I cried, snorted, and squealed my way through the rest of class.
I no longer wear those shoes. I've had a hard time parting with them, as I do all purchases, but I confidently put them in the Goodwill pile this past weekend because "my shoe came off and accidentally broke your child's nose" is not a conversation I ever want to have.