It is sixth grade and I have made a blue clay whale. It is for a presentation that I am doing about whales. (Um, yeah.) I am ready to nail this thing. I know it. I've got this. All of the facts. And, that blue clay whale is good. I mean, does she have a marine biologist in her immediate family good.
I get to school and place my amazing, blue clay whale in the back of the classroom. I know the kids will be in awe of it. (They aren't in awe of much in regards to my super dorky sixth grade self but today is going to change that. Well, except possibly my corner on the "Sweats by Chego" outfits that I rocked like no one else. Each purchased with my hard earned baby sitting money. Why didn't anyone tell me that wearing a mix of Gr-animals and women's coach clothing was not flattering to anyone?) OK, I am getting off track here. I can't wait to just get up in front of the class to tell them that all that whales are mammals that are born fully adapted to life in the water. (When I look back on it, I guess most kids probably already knew that fact...but I had some other killer facts they for sure didn't know.)
There is a new boy in our class today. He is from Vietnam. "He doesn't speak any English at all, so we should please be very nice to him," my teacher said loudly, sounding out every word. Everyone looks at him and he looks back at us. The look on his face is one of terror. Seriously? This kid can't speak a word of English and you stick him in sixth grade, introduce him to the class in a language he doesn't understand and you think that is going to go well? Poor kid. Well, even though he doesn't speak English, I bet he will still enjoy my whale presentation. It is that good. Transcends the language barrier.
So, I am up after lunch. At lunch, I read through my 3X5 index cards...even though it isn't necessary. I am rocking the pink and grey SBC (Sweats by Chego), I am going to show Tom T. that I am, in fact, as smart as I am stylish. Suck it preppy, adorable girls with boring presentations and no clay whale.
It is time. We all file in to the classroom. The place is buzzing with excitement. Yeah, yeah, I know folks. Settle down. What I soon discover is that the excitement is that the new kid opted to skip lunch and recess to play with clay. Not just any clay. My beautiful clay whale. The new kid destroyed my whale. He was either so in awe of the amazing attention to detail that he felt angry and needed to destroy the perfection, or he was a terrified kid on the first day of school in a brand new town where the people spoke a language he didn't know. I still don't know which it was? (OK, I do. It was the first one.)
Anyway, I am screwed. Every fact that I had memorized is gone. The perfect bullet points on my 3X5 cards look like Vietnamese to me. (I don't know what written Vietnamese looks like but you get the reference.) Even my SBC can't save me from this disaster. I can look good...but I can't pull this off. I try to hold back. With everything that I have. I am NOT going to cry. Oh, yes, I am going to cry... so hard. That poor kid has no idea why I am sobbing so hard. NO idea. He is just sitting with a lump of blue clay in his hands staring at this idiot in a bad matching sweat suit thing who is crying and looking at him as if he did something terribly wrong.
I know. It seems like no one is going to survive this awful day. We do. I get an extension to rebuild the whale and do my presentation on Monday.
I really don't even remember how the presentation went. Honestly.
I do remember that the new kid spoke English as well as any of us by the end of the school year. Great kid. I like to think I played a small part in his adjusting to a new place on the first day. (Without the tears and glares of hatred.) Wonder where he is now? Bet he is doing something big. Maybe a sculptor?
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