the jeteye master of multiplication

Editor's Note: it's a long read, but you'll laugh. Hopefully outloud...
Perhaps because they were my first class of third graders, perhaps because we were together every day from 7:40 to 5:00 almost every day, perhaps because our school year is four weeks longer than average public schools… for whatever reason, my class felt a lot like a family by the time our second semester began.

With a few exceptions, we were a collaboration of unusual third graders, unique and a bit quirky, but still awesome. Misfit is the wrong word when you get to know us, but at first glance, well, one might think misfit. In fact, many visitors probably thought they threw most of the “unusuals” from third grade and put ‘em with me. Which is fine, after twenty four years on this planet, I have learned you don’t have to be cool to be cool. You just have to know who you are and roll with it.

It’s been a long, long, long year with these twenty three hooligans, but it has been full of laughs along the way. The year was sprinkled with little moments that whispered in my ear: this is working, you’re doing okay as a teacher, keep it up.

One of my proudest moments was likely one of the silliest in our classroom. I’ll attempt to be brief but must provide background. I have a student who has struggled throughout the year with social skills. Most of the fall semester, every single day we had a knock-down drag out with this kid; he would see someone in the hall that reminded him of second grade (horrible memories apparently) and he would loudly threaten to kill them with his bazooka. Yes, you read that correctly. Almost every day. Or, if he was last in line, he would drop to the floor, rock himself back and forth, and refuse to leave the classroom for restroom break or wherever we were headed. That was a quick fix, I made a permanent line order that we rotated monthly. (Sure, we were the only class in third grade to do that, it’s an old pre-kindergarten trick, but “whatever it takes.”) And, some days, he would bully his classmates, but they were very, very patient with him. I like to think they were following my example, but really, I had some very sweet souls in my room and for them I will forever be grateful. A typical day would start off very disruptive, but we learned to just roll with it.

He would walk in for school ten minutes tardy, we’d be in the middle of our warm-up activity, and I’d say quickly “Good Morning, Joe.” He would stop in his tracks, backpack still on his shoulder, geeky lunchbox in one hand, hair gel fresh on his head, and he’d say “Good Morning” quietly, somewhat cheerfully. Then, like a flash, he’d stick his tongue out of his mouth and loudly, very loudly, say “BAD morning, Sophia!!” or pick out someone else for literally no reason to wish them a bad morning.

Needlesstosay, he’s grown up a lot. The bad morning bullying has ceased, as I have sat him down dozens and dozens of times to role-play what he would feel like if it happened to him. Somewhere around January 15, I realized things were changing for the best as I noticed a decline in “incidents.” He was getting along with people more regularly, and his struggles were mainly that he didn’t get to sit next to so-and-so at lunch, or he was furious that someone had his pencil. Although, there was no way for him to confirm this because his genius teacher, Ms. Rob, had passed out uniform pencils with his tantrums in mind.

Alright, you have the background. Now, picture our classroom the first week of May, it’s Friday, we’ve taken the TAKS test the previous week, it’s going to be a pretty fun day in Aggieland. (My classroom is themed around which university? Yep, TAMU, baby.) We’re all unpacking our backpacks, some students are actually reading the “do-now” I’ve written on the board, and most of them have remembered it’s the day of the “Multiplication Challenge” for third and fourth grades. The previous day we’d gone through our own challenge, similar to a spelling bee but with multiplication skills.

Because it’s post-TAKS and a Friday, you won’t find the teacher frantically running around the room prepping materials or responding to emails before she has to focus on the students. No, I sat on one of the tables near the front board, feet resting in a chair, visiting with some of the students and waiting for all hooligans to take their seats. As a few stragglers put their things away, most of them took their seats and were reading my message on the board.
And then, on our relaxed Friday morning, around 7:55, panic struck the third grade Aggies. It ripped through the classroom before I could gain control, and I immediately felt as if I was the lone police officer amid a riot. It only took one person to spark the fire before it was a blaze the entire room.


“Where. Is. He??” One of them noticed that our friend was absent. One of my sillier students jumped from his chair before I could say anything, knelt on the ground with his hands in the air, head tilted back towards the ceiling. So silly. “Where. Is He???” He was definitely yelling at this point.

Normally, this student’s absence isn’t a huge issue. It certainly is noticed, but does not cause anyone to jump from their seats. “Oh my gosh, he’s not coming to school today? TODAY? TODAYYY?” They started to look scared, frantic, crazy.

I clapped my hands and told them to take their seats; I stood up to regain control, and realized that they were worried about our multiplication tournament.

You see, I believe in building a child’s confidence in any way possible. And this kid, well, he’s a rock star when it comes to multiplication, I’d be willing to bet money he could compete with the country’s smartest third graders – or fourth or fifth, for that matter. And it’s completely self motivated, I can’t take credit for it – he memorized basic facts long before I’d introduced the concept of multiplication. So, anytime he’s down on himself, or I need an example of determination, I go to him & his multiplication facts. His face lights up as his pride takes over whatever situation he’s found himself in, and it only takes a few questions to remind this kid he’s smart, he’s worthy of feeling confident, shoot, he’s even, dare I say it? Cool.

7x9? 8x8? 12x6? He’ll whip through the answers, grin on his face, and confidently ask for something “harder.” My class was naturally banking on the Aggies winning the upper school multiplication tournament taking that Friday, and without our clean-up hitter, well, what good would we be? Our multiplication master, absent on multiplication tournament day? It was too much for them to take, and the panic continued for another 45 seconds or so.

Just as I began to calm the natives down and get them started with our “Do-Now” morning activity, he opened the classroom door. I wish his parents could have seen what happened next: two calm students, who normally would ask my permission before leaving their desks-and would never, ever dream of yelling- ran towards the boy, dropped to their knees, and bowed to him. It was so strange, because they both did the same thing, though I’m sure it was unplanned. The class began chanting his name and smiling at him, and because he could be so difficult and infuriating and, well, mean, I’m not sure all twenty-two of them had smiled at him at the same time before, and it was quite the moment. The boys looked up at their friend as they knelt before him in our cubby area.

“Jet-eye master! Jet-eye master! Jet-eye master!” The arms bent above their heads as they continued to bow to the boy whose face was lit up like a lantern had been put inside of him.
One kiddo turned to me, not noticing the tears in my eyes as I sat watching the chaos unfold, laughing and proud of my “team” like a mother hen as she watches her chicks strut through the farmyard.

“Ms. Rob!!!!” One of them had the giggles and shook my arms. “Ms. Rob!!! Everything is FINE. He’s here!” We both laughed as he continued to shake my arm. “We’re going to WIN the tournament!!!”

Everything I had been working for happened, in an instant. My most difficult student felt as if he had friends, saw what it was like to enjoy positive interactions with his peers. My students learned the importance of praising someone else, not just yourself, and better yet, not just the cool kid. And, no one was saying he is going to win, though it was an individual competition. They had finally learned what I’ve been teaching them all year. We win together, we lose together, we love each other, we support each other, we treat others the way we want to be treated.

We didn’t win the multiplication tournament that day. The fourth graders were talented and shook our confidence a bit; we lost the 100% focus it would take to win. But, we had three of our five participants advance to one of the final rounds. Most importantly, we learned to cheer on our teammates and not just ourselves. My students were not focused on the fact that they did not make it into the tournament, they were not focused on our other participants who might be easier to cheer for or easier to get along with. No, today, for a brief moment, we cheered our underdog. A teacher watched as silly, loud, cheering students bowed to their friend and let the room turn to chaos, and though we lost the multiplication challenge that day, well…we overcame other challenges, and we all went home winners.

Some might say, moments like those are exactly why I. Teach. For. America.