Tales from the Courtyard

My school is a donut, with the courtyard in the middle. I have a back door that goes out into the courtyard, which is great this time of year when I can let the kids go out and have their silent reading time.

Yesterday the weather was great. C, my autistic student, asks if he can go out and read. No problem, sez I. A minute or so later I look out and C has unbuttoned his shirt down to the belly button and is standing there, arms akimbo, enjoying the sun on his chest. The look on his face is the look of a kid who is damned happy to have the sun back and is going to enjoy it to the last.

I gave him a minute, then made him button up. He was happy to do that, too, then wandered off to settle down with the neat book about spiders he'd gotten from the library. C is my Zorba.

A few days earlier I looked out at the kids reading, and two of my boys were staring at the tree in the middle of the courtyard with the most horrified looks on their faces, having a pretty animated conversation. They come running up to me and T asks, "Mr. Rain, is there a dead kid buried under that tree?!?!"

This one made me pause for a second. "No, not as far as I know. Why would you think that?"

"Because of the sign!"

"The sign? What sign?"

"THAT sign!"

I go over and read the sign:

Tree Donated By Student Body of 2004-2005

Big grin on my face. "T, honey, that just means that all the kids donated the tree."

The look on his face made me think that he didn't quite believe me. I wish I had taken a moment more to think, because I really could have had a lot of fun with it:

"Oh, THAT dead student. Yeah, he was one of mine. Didn't do his homework. It had to be done. Also, he didn't eat his vegetables at lunch. Poor kid. I wonder if anyone told his parents?"

First graders are fun.