Day one of student teaching consisted of: making a three-year-old cry because I held her boyfriend's hand, getting pelted in the face with a dodgeball, and developing a need for light up shoes.
I didn't realize full-fledged relationships even existed in preschool. When I think about it, it seems pretty ideal. There are no cares. You hold hands at recess, throw sand at each other if there is ever a fight, and move on to the next guy who has a yummier lunch to share with you. Not bad. Go for the guy with the string cheese!
The dodgeball to the face was no accident. That little tike looked right at me, aimed, and hit me square between the eyes. I hadn't even introduced myself yet. At least his parents taught him to stay away from strangers.
Light up shoes. Need I say more? Could you imagine the intensity of my magic feet then?
Day two of student teaching consisted of: being called a "girly-girly-nana," receiving mud pies for my imaginary "third" birthday, and a little boy threatening to cut my foot off.
The whole "girly-girly-nana" name was cool, until I had kids coming up to me crying saying, "So-and-so just called me a 'nana.'" I guess I need to get up on the playground lingo so I know when I'm being insulted.
The kiddos claimed it was my birthday. They went all out. They made me eleven mud pies with little sticks for candles. One boy even sang me "Happy Birthday" from across the sandbox because he was too embarrassed for me to actually hear him. This I wasn't aware of. When I asked him why he hadn't sang to me yet, he got all huffy and said, "I already sang it three times!"
Sitting at circle time, I felt a hand on my ankle. The little guy next to me was moving his hand in a saw-like motion and giving me a grin. I was thinking, "Sweet. Foot massage!" But then he said, "I'm going to cut your foot off." I sat indian style for the rest of circle time.
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