On Friday the school's two vice principals came to each of my four classes to test me on knowing the names of all 148 of my students by going around the room to name them one by one. I named 147 of them... I'm so sorry tiny sweet little Dennis, I blanked. I'll make it up to you somehow.
So on Monday, guess whose name I said several times, giving him lots of attention. I think I figured out why his name wasn't sticking. He's absent most of the time! Jeez, Dennis, get with the program. You're making me look bad.
There's another 'test' this Friday supposedly. I will have to sing all of the songs the school requires teachers to know. There are two pages of songs, ranging from Head Shoulders Knees and Toes, to the I Love You You Love Me song, to songs about standing up and sitting down, to the days of the week, to the kindergarten's school song. I am not a singer. I'm terrible. I sing to my students everyday for two reasons 1) because I have to, and 2) I love it when they sing along because it makes them so happy. I feel so sorry for them, being subjected to my singing. I sit there on my teenie tiny little chair, stare my tiny students straight in the eyes with an apologetic look, like in those awful movies where the bad guys make innocent people torture other innocent people and you can see the emotional trauma in the torturer's face because you know he doesn't wanna do it and it's going to scar him forever, yet he does it because if he doesn't 1) then the bad guys will kill him, and 2) then the bad guys will find someone even worse to do the torturing. It's a no win situation.