The blog. This one has been innactive for a bit. We apologize to you interested surfers. This is my first post. Again, I apologize to you interested surfers.
It is tempting to conjour up some kind of fantastic intro after the long drought of dialogue produced here. However, that would require an extra measure of effort that is not available on this particular afternoon. So, unless a mug of fresh ground coffee appears on the desk next to me along with a delicious pastry that is more hazardous to my health than helpful, I am bound to a basic beginning. Here goes, in medes res.
Today, I taught fifth grade (year 5 in Aussie) and third grade (year 3 in Aussie) kids about King Saul, first proclaimed monarch of the Israelites, tall in stature and small in many other ways. This one never got a name change. Anyway, Michael, a hands-on sort of kid, proclaimed himself king, declared me to be the Philistine Goliath, grabbed my wooden prop sword, and ran me through. If you think that the classroom then turned into that dreaded threesome of anarchy, bedlem, and chaos…you are right. And the din continued from moments to minutes until one girl said, “Michael, I think you really hurt him.” Another boy responded, “No. He’s faking.” Michael tried to get a “Long Live King Michael” chant going with his wooden sword in the air and some old shiny fabric over his shoulders. For a few seconds he had a couple of followers. Then Georgia, who had helped me find my class earlier, said with very genuine concern, “I think he’s hurt. Maybe we should get Mrs. Wilson or Mrs. Bauldey.” I let her reach the door, and then I spoke her name. “Georgia” Before I finished her name, while still lying on the floor, a kid to my right proclaimed in a very sure voice, “He has risen!” And I thought good point, wrong lesson, but good point.
More later. Gotta go now. Looking for roos. Miss all of you.
