No foolin'
It's time for the once-a-week check of my AOL mail. I found this link in a message from my mom:
You know you're from Chicago if...
(But it doesn't mention "The Jewel" at all. I'm disappointed.)
Unlike last year, I didn't have to work this April Fools Day. Good. Last year wasn't all that bad, except that one of my lovely fifth graders pranked me by pretending she'd hurt her arm. She'd legitimately broken the other arm earlier in the year and still had the sling from it, so she stuck her unblemished one in the sling and sat out rehearsal before school. She admitted during her lesson that it was a joke. Ah, ha-ha, not funny, considering this school had a concert in four weeks, there were two weeks scratched due to Holy Thursday and Easter Break (Easter was April 11 last year), and we were still in the process of picking out music for that school. She was one of just three flute players, none of them strong--and she, as the youngest, needed the most work. To have skipped an entire rehearsal was horrible. I also can't believe I fell for it, but that shows you I was a novice.
(BTW, this child is no longer in band. That actually surprised me, but oh well.)
I have a nearly twenty-year-old scar from an April 1st. It must have been spring break that week, as I have no other idea why I'd be climbing a tree on a weekday. My mom's friend's sister was having marital troubles and was staying with mom's friend. The sister had two kids, including a daughter my age. I was in front of the friend's house climbing her tree while her niece watched me. Suddenly I lost my grip and slid down the side of the tree. The bark tore at the side of my abdomen. By that time one of the adults was outside and both she and the niece saw me slide and figured I was hurt pretty badly. I just remembered grasping the tree, hugging it, and then I realized what day it was. I offered up a feeble, "April Fools," and held my breath, telling myself not to cry. They took pity on me and brought me inside, where I got a nice large piece of gauze to cover all my scratches. I still have a small white mark on my left abdomen from that, nineteen years later.
You know you're from Chicago if...
(But it doesn't mention "The Jewel" at all. I'm disappointed.)
Unlike last year, I didn't have to work this April Fools Day. Good. Last year wasn't all that bad, except that one of my lovely fifth graders pranked me by pretending she'd hurt her arm. She'd legitimately broken the other arm earlier in the year and still had the sling from it, so she stuck her unblemished one in the sling and sat out rehearsal before school. She admitted during her lesson that it was a joke. Ah, ha-ha, not funny, considering this school had a concert in four weeks, there were two weeks scratched due to Holy Thursday and Easter Break (Easter was April 11 last year), and we were still in the process of picking out music for that school. She was one of just three flute players, none of them strong--and she, as the youngest, needed the most work. To have skipped an entire rehearsal was horrible. I also can't believe I fell for it, but that shows you I was a novice.
(BTW, this child is no longer in band. That actually surprised me, but oh well.)
I have a nearly twenty-year-old scar from an April 1st. It must have been spring break that week, as I have no other idea why I'd be climbing a tree on a weekday. My mom's friend's sister was having marital troubles and was staying with mom's friend. The sister had two kids, including a daughter my age. I was in front of the friend's house climbing her tree while her niece watched me. Suddenly I lost my grip and slid down the side of the tree. The bark tore at the side of my abdomen. By that time one of the adults was outside and both she and the niece saw me slide and figured I was hurt pretty badly. I just remembered grasping the tree, hugging it, and then I realized what day it was. I offered up a feeble, "April Fools," and held my breath, telling myself not to cry. They took pity on me and brought me inside, where I got a nice large piece of gauze to cover all my scratches. I still have a small white mark on my left abdomen from that, nineteen years later.