"We got a problem..."

          “Be meticulous in all you do because you know it represents you.”  This is a mantra I say to my students presently and I try to follow it in most areas of my life.  When I watch a movie that is “based on a true story” I sometimes perseverate on what is fact and what is fiction until I’m able to tell myself, “relax and enjoy the story.”  So, imagine my anxiety at 3:00 a.m. when I suddenly woke up and realized I had made a major factual error in my blog.  I guess I forgot to remember before I forgot.  So to correct my very first blog…Rowena could not have asked me to sub when I was working on a paper mache donkey for Palm Sunday because we came to that church in June, 1983 and I started teaching in September, 1983.  I didn’t make the paper mache donkey for Palm Sunday until spring, 1984.  So, maybe we were working on Solomon’s Temple made out of sugar cubes?  I don’t remember exactly, I just remember she referenced my work with the 5^th grade Sunday school class and said because of my creativity, I might enjoy filling in for this teacher on maternity leave.  Suffice it to say, my blog is “based on a true story.”

            Even though we had made huge strides by presenting our ideas to Mr. Brock, I still arrived at school every day with a degree of naiveté.  One morning I arrived ready to silence the beasts within and have a great day. 

          “We got a problem,” Joan greeted me.

          “What’s the problem?” 

          “Firedrill today.”

          “Good!” I replied, “it will give a chance to get outside with the kids.”

          “No, Lori, you don’t know Cate.  She is scared to death of those things.”

          “Don’t worry about it Joan, we’ll just talk about it ahead of time,” I assured her.

          She looked at me, chuckled, and I thought I heard her mutter under her breath, “good luck.”

          The students arrived.  We waited until everyone was in the room and as quiet as they could possibly be. 

            “Okay everyone,” I said while Joan looked on with expectant eyes, a smile on her face, and a body posture braced for action. “Today we are going to have a firedrill,” I said the words with excitement, hoping my tone would convey the feeling of a fun event.

            The scream was primal.  Cate curled up on the floor in a fetal position, tears streaming down her cheeks, and the sound coming from her throat was one I could only imagine hearing in the jungles of a rainforest.  “Noooooooooooooo,” she moaned.  “Please, Noooooooooooo!”

            I stood there and watched in horror.  What had happened in her life to cause such fear of a loud noise?  Joan got her up finally.  I went to her. 

            “Cate,” I said.  “You are going to stay right beside Miss Lori all morning, okay?”

            “No firedrill,” she moaned over and over.  I held on to her hand as we went through our morning routines.  We had just finished brushing our teeth when the alarm sounded.  Three other adults ran into our room to help us walk our group out of the building quickly.  The biggest relief in the firedrill was not being able to hear Cate’s heart-wrenching moans.  We walked outside and parked along the sidewalk.  When I told Mr. Brock we wanted to start walking outside, this was not what I had in mind.

            Finally it was time to go back into the room.  As we walked into the room, I noticed something really odd.  The entire class was quiet.  It was as if we had come together to survive a major trauma.  We felt connected.   It was a magic moment as I felt intense love for each of my angels.  I savored the seconds until the spell was broken.  “Joe.” Jump.  “Joe.”