We looked at each other and silently communicated the same thing: What do I do?
It’s the school year once again. And, as such, I am reminded of so many silly things that the children do—either on purpose or by accident. For those who are new to my blog, first, let me communicate my gratitude, and also inform you—while simultaneously reminding existing subscribers—that I work at a middle school as a teacher aide in the SPED Department assisting children with math. They say I’m good at it, but, I am only good at it because they keep putting me in the classes with math, so, I get the lessons over and over again. I would hope that after 10+ years I would be good at it. I do love my job.
Recently, I was in a 7th-grade math class, supervising a test. As I monitored and helped students, I was reminded of an event from a few years ago that took place in that same classroom.
Tests come and go. Testing stress can come in many forms. Ways to combat that stress and anxiety also come in many ways. This is not one of those stories. No, this is a story about theft and friendship. I know, right? You all totally saw that coming. Sure you did. Regardless, a math test is a math test is a math test. And, if you’re not ready for it, well, that sucks. Now, in this particular class, most of the children had grown up together. They had attended the same elementary schools, Little League teams, etcetera. And, while some new kids had joined the ranks as move-ins, the overall 7th-grade students were pretty familiar with each other—the good, the bad, and the odd.
As an aide, it is usually my job to monitor or assist a student or two (or three or four or…), within a classroom setting, to ensure they get the assistance they need. In this particular math class, I was there for one student. Let’s call him Lawrence. The classroom teacher had set the desks into groups of four or five. This allowed for all manner of bonuses, including but not limited to, instant project groups or a neighbor for when the class was asked to “talk to your neighbor about [fill in the blank]…” kind of situations. It had been working quite well. Lawrence was in a seat that allowed me to reach out to him, as needed, and not become a distraction for everyone else. He was seated next to Flloyd (not the other kid’s real name either).
Flloyd was ready for the test. Flloyd had gotten out all his testing supplies and had cleared his desk of distraction, just as the teacher had asked. Lawrence was still working on it. Flloyd had also provided himself with a little treat. It was one of those ready-to-go cereal bowls—they’re still relatively new on the market where I live. They are a premeasured serving of cereal and all you have to do is peel off the lid, pour in the milk, and eat. Not a bad idea. It’s the same kind of concept—for those old enough to remember—of miniature cereal boxes that were about a serving size. You could cut it open (I’m that old) or use the perforations (for the slightly younger crowd) and then after you poured the milk into the wax-coated bag, you ate. If you messed it up by poking a hole through both sides of the wax paper then you had a wet mess all over your kitchen table. The steep learning curve of perfection… But, I digress.
Nevertheless, Flloyd, in his readiness, carefully and quietly peeled back just a small portion of the lid on his personal bowl of Lucky Charms. As he worked on his test, his little nimble fingers would slip into his prize, pull out one cereal bit, place it in his mouth—without taking his eyes off his test, and eat it. All without making a sound. I was very impressed. It was not going to be a distraction. Now, I had known Fllyod and Lawrence from the year before. Both boys had been in the same pod (at my school a ‘pod’ is three to four classrooms that share students and rotate so that one teacher teaches one topic, such as math or science, to the entire group). And, both boys got along pretty well. Additionally, Flloyd had known Lawrence since kindergarten. Flloyd was well aware of Lawrence’s quirks.
The Lucky Charms were set out of Flloyd’s way but coincidentally positioned so as to be near Lawrence’s desk as well. Flloyd would reach in, take a bit, eat it, and work. Again, without issue. As I sat in my chair—monitoring Lawrence to see if he required assistance on this test—I watched as he mimicked Flloyd. Whether he meant to or not, Lawrence was taking the Lucky Charms without asking. At first, I thought that maybe that’s why Flloyd had set the bowl where he did—to share. But, it did not take long before that theory was scrapped. In went Flloyd’s hand. In went Lawrence’s. Repeat. I was now on high alert for whatever could come next. What actually did happen both surprised me and did not.
Flloyd went to put his hand in the bowl but encountered Lawrence’s. Without looking up, Lawrence slightly moved the bowl toward Flloyd as if to say, “Here you go.” Flloyd was taken aback. You could see the incredulity all over his face. And, on a twelve-year-old, incredulity looks hilarious. It really does. So, what now? What’s Flloyd gonna do? I knew Flloyd to be a good kid. He wasn’t a troublemaker or bully or anything like that. Still, this was his treat and Lawrence was just taking it—without it even being offered. I waited.
As I scanned the scene, Flloyd’s eyes met mine. We shared the almost exact same thought (I know what I wrote). His face read, “What do I do?” The room was dead quiet. Anything said would disrupt the entire class. Peace was in command, and, if you’ve ever been in a middle school classroom, you know that you do not disrupt the peace. You’ll never get it back. That cardinal rule was the only reason I had not acted sooner. I waited until Flloyd did something. Mostly because I wasn’t 100% certain that what Lawrence was doing would offend Flloyd or not.
So, there’s Flloyd asking me what to do, directly with his eyes. I responded—with my eyes, “What do you want me to do?” Both messages were received and understood. The ball was in Flloyd’s court. He shrugged his shoulders, pulled the lid on the bowl farther open—to make it easier for Lawrence’s slightly larger hand, and moved the whole thing closer to Lawrence. As I mentioned before, I knew Flloyd to be a good kid, still, even good kids have the right to not share if they don’t want to. But, what he did, that morning, in that classroom… It made me happier than I could have thought possible over something as trivial as a cup of cereal. That joy that a parent feels when their child shows charity and kindness for another. That kind of ‘hope for the future’ sorta thing. It was a simple and beautiful moment. I was torn between getting a little misty-eyed and laughing. I did my best to avoid both and settled for a tightly suppressed smile.
The entire situation took place in less than five minutes, and, for the rest of the test, I watched as the two boys shared that little bowl of Lucky Charms. Well, mostly Lawrence.
Almost Heroes 