Student Quote #18

Student #1: "Mr. Vest, if you weren't a teacher, what would you do?
Mr. Vest: "I don't know. Maybe work in television?"
Student #1: "Like, doing what? Would you be one of those people that tells the weather? What's it called? Don't tell me."
Student #2: "A meteorologist."
Student #1: "I said don't tell me!"
Student #2: "You didn't tell me. You told Mr. Vest."
Student #1: "Whatever, back to you, Mr. Vest. Would you be a reporter? A sports dude? An anchor?"
Student #2: "Pssh....don't you know anchors only go in oceans? I mean, come on people...."
Student #1: "Mr. Vest, answer my question."
Mr. Vest: "I can't. I need a moment."

Student quote #17

A group (during math class) was just reprimanded for being mean to one of their members....

Student #1: "That is such a shame."
Student #2: "You don't even know what they are talking about."
Student #1: "Yes I do. I know what everyone is talking about."
Student #2: "No, you don't."
Student #1: "I know what we're talking about. Wait...what are we talking about?"

Trinkets

I remember in 3rd grade, I brought my Game Gear to school one day. You remember Game Gear, right? Essentially, it was Sega Genesis in the palms of your hand and had really crappy graphics. Then again, back then 8bit was the cat's meow, so I won't harp too much on that.

Anyway, I brought it to school with the sole intention of getting attention. See, we didn't have Show-and-Tell at my elementary school so we did not have many opportunities to show off. We took it upon ourselves to bring whatever we could to increase our social status. This one kid brought his state championship baseball trophy. Another brought his black belt in karate. But, being a child that participated in gymnastics and eating eight tacos in one sitting I didn't really have much to contribute.

Hence, the Game Gear. And let me tell you, I was hot shit for about three days. The boys begged to play with it during recess, ever so carefully shielding it from our teachers who would most definitely confiscate it. When the recess bell would ring, we would race to the jungle gym, hide behind the giant Tic-Tac-To game board (WTF) and eviscerate our mighty enemies in Mortal Kombat. God, we LIVED.

When my mother found out that I brought it to school, though, I was forbidden from playing with it for a month and was given a stern talking to about "responsibility" and "taking care of our personal items." My 26 year old self agrees wholeheartedly while my 8 year old self was severely pissed.

3rd grade Mr. Vest: "How in the world will I get the other boys to think I'm cool, mom?!"

Mom: "Do a cartwheel."

Touche.

This bring me to the present day: In all my years of teaching (and if you know we well, that's an eternity right?) I have never had a class that was more obsessed with bringing random stuff to school. I'll focus on two of them.

"Jay" is very tiny and enjoys chess. He also loves to lie and kick other children when I'm not looking. A doll, I tell you. Little Jay loves to construct his own cell phones out of paper clips, aluminum foil and Chex Mix. He does this so he can contact people in other "realms" (his word, not mine). Now, I shouldn't care that he does this, but I do. Because he tends to construct said cell phones while I'm giving a lesson and I'm such a captivating public speaker that it is silly he doesn't pay attention. In addition to cell phones, he carries nine books at a time that he stacks so high that they are bound to topple on his little, odd shaped head.

Yesterday, he brought his own personal pencil sharper that became magnetized to his desk. I didn't see him bring it in, but just like a rabbit out of a hat it simply appeared.

"I brought this here personal pencil sharper because it complements my desk."

"Complements your desk? You are nine years old."

"Your point being, sir?"

Then there is "Aaliyah." Aaliyah likes to bringing anything sparkly and fashionable because she needs to keep up with the changing fashion scene. She also greatly enjoys wearing corsages. In her hair. Especially in P.E.

Aaliyah went through this phase where she brought in magnets that formed different designs when put together. Like Little Jay, she tended to play with these items during my class so they would be taken away from her. What she didn't know was that while the kids were gone I too began playing with the magnets and immediately saw the appeal. You could make them into PENGUINS. OR A MOOSE.

Maybe it's because they are bored with me, or maybe it's because they are ADD but nothing will stop them from bringing little trinkets in to make it through the day.

Though, I understand where they are coming from....and it's things like this that make them unique and remind me how fortunate I am to have a classroom full of weirdos.

It complements me.

NACHOS (again)

Evidently, it pays to blog.

The uber-generous people at nachosny.com (check 'em out!) contacted me and I'm now going to Guactacular!

You can achieve anything as long as you believe in yourself. And nachos.

Student quote #16

Also, I have five students absent today....

Student: "The less kids, the more fun. The more kids, the horror. The pure, pure horror."

NACHOSSSSSSS

Before school, I was trying to purchase tickets to Guactacular (a huge celebration of guacamole in NYC) and much to my chagrin, I found that it was sold out. A student came early and saw my desperate attempts to get tickets to this festival.

When students started to arrive, another child came up to me and wanted to tell a story. The student from earlier butted in:

"Don't bother Mr. Vest, [Student] he's trying to get tickets to a nacho festival and he means business."

The know me too well.

Student Quote #15

Mr. Vest: "Okay, we did a push-up contest. Now, lets do a pull-up contest."
Student: "Mr. Vest, are you serious?"
Mr. Vest: "Totally. How many pull-ups can you do?"
Student: "Mr. Vest, you wear Pull-Ups? Like the diapers?"
Mr. Vest: "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."
Student: "I mean I know you don't have a lot of time to use the restroom during the day, but that is ridiculous."

Ready, Set, Push!

I love competition, especially when I know I am going to win. This started years ago when I discovered that when it came to athletics, I wasn't going to a superstar. Being overweight and whiny didn't help. However, I eventually came to love competition when it came in the forms of Scene-It, Trivia Pursuit and all things nerdy.

It just so happens that the only time I enjoy physical competition is when it is against children. I'm not one of those teachers that just lets children win. No, no, no. I enjoy the feeling of winning and I tend to not mind it when the people that I defeated don't have a driver's license. Or their voices haven't changed.

So, imagine how giddy I became when a child challenged me to a push-up contest. Keep in mind, this child is nine years old. Now, I'm okay in the upper-body strength department and can hold my own when I compare myself to the diva ladies at my New York Sports Club who were rejected from "The Real Housewives" casting department. Knowing this, I entered the competition with a certain air of confidence.

I knew I wasn't going to let this kid win. It would be a fight.

A bit of a background on my competitor- M is probably one of the greatest kids I have ever taught. He's sweet, incredibly good natured and just loves life. He tends to get caught up in naughtiness but it's okay because he's just a genuinely great kid. I was happy to take him on in the challenge.

The important part: Several years ago, his father passed away unexpectedly from a seizure. This was before I came to this school and everyone told me how hard it was for the little guy. I felt an instant connection with him because I too had lost a parent at a young age.

Today in class, we were reading "Freak the Mighty" and came to the end of the story where one of the main characters has a seizure. Several students did not know what one was and M raised his hand and proceeded to tell us that his dad died from one when he was asleep.

He began to get upset and I curbed the class conversation into some other topic, allowing other students to chime in on their thoughts on the current chapter. M put his hands on his forehead and stared at the book. I knew instinctively what he was thinking and just placed my hand on his shoulder in a "I know what you are feeling kind of way."

I wanted to cheer him up, so after this lesson I decided it was time for the competition. I gathered the students around the carpet and instructed them to keep their noise levels down and cheer us (namely, M) on. M was a bit nervous, but I held my hand out and said, "May the best man win!"

Class: "Yeah, NOT Mr. Vest!"

They clearly support me.

M had challenged me to 30 push-ups, which I knew I could do. But then he said, "I can do 40!"

Shit.

So, the push-ups began. We were about 20 in when I kept noticing that M was looking over at me, this incredibly happy smile on his face. I couldn't beat this kid! I needed to let him enjoy the moment and I began to feign tiredness.

"Oh man! I don't think I can do this anymore!"
"Yes you can, Mr. V!"
"Looks like M is going to beat me!"
"Yeah!!"

The funny thing is, M was totally not doing a correct push-up. He was just bending his waist down ever so often like he was being pulled up by a rubber band. But he was laughing. And smiling. And I saw a little bit of a nine-year old me in him.

After we both hit 35, I decided it was time to end it (and truth be told, I was freakin' tired) and pretended to collapsed.

The kids freaked out and M jumped up and down, his hands in the air like Rocky. He hive five-d his classmates and held out his hand to let me shake it.

"Good match Mr. V. Next time, pull ups?"

What a kid.

It's moments like this make me damn happy I am a teacher.

Portrait of a Teacher by a Young Lady

She even remembered to include my tattoos...and muttonchops, apparently.

The Spittin' Image

Earlier, I had an entry about farting...now, let's talk spit.

There seems to be this epidemic of spitting going on amongst the students of my grade recently. For reals. Spitting. I don't even know how this started or why it did, but it's here and I am dealing with it on almost a daily basis.

It began a few weeks ago, this spitting. A group of boys decided to be...well, boys and reak havoc on some kids on the school yard. What was interesting was that the group of boys that were involved are generally good kids. It was ended pretty quickly as I got faux mad at them and I thought nothing of it.

Until yesterday.

There's the kid, see...and we'll call him A Lot to Handle (ALTH). ALTH sucks his thumb, thinks he is god's gift to everything, and doesn't feel like doing any work. Ever. His mother also hates me with the strength of a thousand suns. I think it's because I let her know her kid is a pill.

So, ALTH has suddenly joined the Spit Train and it's making stops e-ve-r-y-where. Mainly on walls, posters, floors and children's necks and shirts. It's disgusting.

I took the kid down to our very patient dean and thought that the issue would be resolved within minutes.....Ninety minutes later she returns with him and looks exhausted. The kid shuffles in as if he's coming home from 'Nam and plops down in his seat. The thumb goes in his mouth and he sucks away.

You would think that after ninety minutes of lecturing about spitting and lying about spitting and generally letting the kid know that spitting is gah-ross, he'd stop.

Yeah...you're wrong.

An hour later, ALTH claimed five more victims in the span of minutes. It was like those raptors in "The Lost World" when they ate all of those dudes in a corn field.

I even watched him spit on a kid and when I confronted him he said, "I didn't spit on no one!"

"I saw it come out of your mouth," I retorted.

"I was just talking!"

"With spit?!"

"I'm really expressive when I talk!"

Gross.

Student Quote #14

Mr. Vest: "And where would you like to go to college?"
Student: "Yale. Because it will be easy."
Mr. Vest: "Oh? Why?"
Student: "Because all I'll have to do is yell."
Mr. Vest: "Excuse me?"
Student: "YELLLLLLLLLL!"
Mr. Vest: "I got it. Thank you."

Graffiti Bridge, sans Prince

I never really understood graffiti written in bathroom stalls. It always seemed to me like a cowardly move. Graffiti is meant to be written in a clear area, where people can marvel at your work and want to copy it onto t-shirts or something.

But in a bathroom stall? That's just nasty. What compels people to sit on a toilet (as they do their business) and write something disparaging about another person? The only other people that will see it are kind of busy...but I do agree that it gives people something to do at the time.

Still...it semi-stings when you find out one of your students has written something negative about you in a public setting. Today, a sweet kid of mine came up to me and notified me that "people wrote something about you in the boys bathroom."

"Oh and what was it?"
"Mommy told me to never say these words."

I picked up my phone (to take a picture of the evidence) and entered the crime scene. Now, I was expecting something either questioning my sexuality or about how I'm stupid or something.

All I saw was this simple phrase: "Fuck Mr. Vest."

That was all. And I didn't really mind it. Frankly, I was happy they were able to spell the word correctly. Still, I had to fein shock and I let the custodians know the issue.

The only other time I remember someone writing something lame about me in such a way was in college when the person I was dating at the time's ex wrote that I was a "stuck up snob" on his facebook page. I didn't really mind it, because 1) that was a repetitive statement, 2) the kid was crazy as fuuuuck and 3) it was kind of sort of a true statement.

My second year of teaching I experienced my first bit of positive graffiti. See, the high school in the building had a set of girls who had developed crushes on me. At first I was flattered, but then it got creepy. Like, "following me to the subway and singing songs about their love of me" creepy. One day, I came to school and written in black permanent marker was the phrase, "Mr. Vest is sexy."

I didn't mind that one, either.

So, if one was the attempt to insult Mr. Vest through graffiti it wouldn't really work. I'll either agree with the statement or be flattered by it.

If you want to insult me, just tell me my clothes are ill-fitting or something.

Or don't. I'm sensitive.

Is it summer yet?

Look- no one wants to be in school right now. People have their shorts on, they are drinking iced coffees by the gallon, and they are cah-learly sweating underneath their arms. Yes, it's springtime and everyone is distracted. You can't help but think spring break is a friggin' tease. You get just a slight taste of good 'ole Mr. Sun before you are suddenly whisked back into the confines of your classroom. Would I rather be lounging in Prospect Park, getting my tan on and stalking dogs that I want to steal from their owners? YES.

But, the children will be returning tomorrow. This is always a rather interesting time to be a teacher. It can go several ways:
1) You are kind of excited to see your students again- you miss their quirks and look forward to having new material to share with friends about insane in the membrane they are.
2) You hope to GOD some kids decided to transfer to other schools.
3) You just want to spend each and every day at a happy hour. Like, from 8am until closing.

For me, it's a combo of all of those things. I always remind myself that the students are just as distracted as I am. They want to be outside just as much as you. This is one of those rare times where you see eye to eye.

My first year of teaching, my energetic group (read: I hated them) came back and promptly told me that they didn't feel like working anymore. Now, this wasn't a radical change as they had not done much of any work that year, but even so....

Mr. Vest: "There are still eight weeks of school left. What do you think you are going to do everyday?"
Student #1: "Lounge around and not do sh*t."
Student #2: "Makeup. Lots and lots of makeup. You could be used as a model."
Student #3: "Make your life really difficult."

You had to appreciate their honesty.

With my current crop of kids, I won't expect such an attitude. They are wonderful and funny and blah blah blah- but it still won't be an easy few months. There will be days of frustration, exhaustion and the constant questioning of "WHY?!" But then the day is over...and you are at happy hour.

With nachos. Or mozzarella sticks.

Or, in a perfect world, both.

With Anderson Cooper.

Give Me a Hand Part 5- Curtains Up, Curtains Down

The rehearsals went relatively well, save for minor diva antics from this 5th grader I'll call Lady Godiva. We had to record our voices on a tape first, so we could focus on manipulating our marionettes during the show and home girl was giving everyone a hard time during the process.

"None of you are ENUNCIATING!" she bellowed as her ponytails swayed back and forth like pendulums. "This will sound terrible if you don't e-nun-ci-ate."

This was the type of kid that people allowed to be an asshole. I'm sure she was Student Body President at her high school. "Just let her act like she has authority and we'll just move on," Animal said as an aside to Polexia.

Polexia: "If she keeps talking, I'll enunciate her freakin' face."

LOVE.

Anywho- the recording process came out relatively well. There was the issue of me realizing that I sounded like a girl on tape. I didn't have the most masculine sounding voice, but for chrissake it never sounded that much like Michelle Tanner.

"Who is that girl speaking my lines?" I asked.

"It's you."

FAIL.

The evening of the performance (or, as I pronounced "perforMANCE" in my faux British-way), all of the families gathered in the performance arena of the Center for Puppetry Arts. Translation: A room with 50 fold able chairs. Classy.

The nerves of the dozen or so campers backstage was palpable. In some way, this was a landmark moment for a few of us. Throughout our unfortunately dorky lives, we had never been center stage and yet here we were, performing a shown to a packed room. Through puppets. At puppet camp.

I turned to Polexia and said, "I guess this is it! Hasn't this been fun?!"

She turned her face towards me with her dark eyeliner and "Jerry Garcia RIP" self-made t-shirt and patted me head. "It sure has squirt."

SQUIRT?! God, I loved her.

All in all, the show ran a total of 15 minutes and there was only one mistake. At one point, Lady Godiva's fairy puppet was supposed to flip through the air and land on a launch-pad (remember, we were in space). Unfortunately, the strings of her legs had somehow been tampered with and when the action was attempted, the legs came clear off.

Lady Godiva screamed. Her parents screamed. I laughed. Polexia showed me a pair of scissors in her pocket and smiled.

After the show, hugs were exchanged between the campers, Animal made a speech about the fun he had with us and how proud he was, and I was rarin' to go to Planet Hollywood. I remember being shuffled off rather quickly by my family so I didn't get to say a proper goodbye to Polexia which left me a little sad. That changed when we got to Planet Hollywood and I saw an actual suit worn by Val Kilmer in "Batman." Remember when he was kind of hot?

Months later, I returned to the Center for Puppetry Arts where a few of the campers came together for a festival. The museum's exhibits were all finished and we were some of the first people to walk through it. From across the room at a reception, I saw Polexia. My heart skipped a beat as I walked briskly towards her. I didn't want to RUSH as to seem desperate, but I'm sure she could tell I was excited to see her.

We exchanged pleasantries and updated each other on our lives. She was detailing the start of her junior year of high school and I was trying to find something exciting to say about 6th grade. All the while she kept her hand on my shoulder, and my little 11 year old heart was just about to melt.

"Where is your Jerry Garcia t-shirt?" I asked.

"It's time to move on, squirt," she said, "Jerry would of liked it that way."

"He would?"

"Do yourself a favor. When you get home, find some way to listen to 'Ripple.'"

"Is that a song?"

"No, squirt. It's a recipe. Of course it's a song."

"OK!"

With that, she patted me on the head once again and winked as she disappeared into the crowd. I never saw Polexia again, but I often to listen to that song and remember that while lots of nerds were at Puppet Camp, there was someone pretty rad.

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When I tell people about Puppet Camp, I'm often met with laughter or an "Are you serious?" attitude. What people don't realize is that I consider it one of the most defining weeks of my childhood. It was an opportunity to do what I loved- use my imagination and create something groups of people could enjoy. There were people around me that got to do this for a living and I decided that somehow, I would be involved in this type of creativity when I reached adulthood.

I realize that it isn't the coolest camp an 11 year old can go to, but hell, I had the time of my life.