Dancing by Myself

           You know that Robin song, "Dancing On My Own", that everyone is sick of by now? I am especially sick of it today because it became a reality for me this afternoon. I was trying to get the kids to stop talking. Poor kids, they get stuck inside all day when there's snow to play with on the ground! I've found that the French teachers yell to silence them, but when I yell only dogs can hear my high pitched voice. I've been searching for ways to get the kids to settle down. I've tried counting down, but that doesn't work because then they scream in English to show me that they know the words. I have tried looking sad and not talking, but that doesn't do anything, and, in the course of me being quiet, I inevitably overhear something hilarious a kid has said and burst out laughing. Last week I tried talking to myself, and, as if that wasn't embarrassing enough, singing to myself. Neither worked. Today, I tried clapping. I remember my second grade teacher would clap different patterns until the entire class had joined in. The French children did not get this. I tried to ask one of them to mimic my clapping in hopes that it would catch on. It didn't. He just gave me a dismissive, eight year old look. Naively hopeful, I continued clapping for a good minute, adding in a light dance routine. I danced and clapped until all the kids were staring at me in horror. But also in SILENCE. It was golden, even if my dancing and clapping weren't.
            I am also a rapping celebrity in one of my classes. I can "three hundred thirty thieves" very quickly. It's nice to know eight year olds think I'm cool and that I now have a backup career as a professional tongue twister sayer.
           In other eight year old news, I was told today that my writing was "Wow! Bizarre!" which, in French, means "Wow! How weird!" The French students because they default write in cursive. They learn print a bit when they are in the equivalent of kindergarden and first grade. Then they abandon it. I tried to explain why I have to write in print: I used to write in cursive, but then it turned into a curlicue; even allowing for a long stretch, you couldn't call it cursive. In eighth grade, I was fired from my homework recorder duties because everyone complained that they couldn't read my writing. I have relegated myself to print. I also explained to them that American children seem to write less and less in cursive, (thanks to) the Internet, because print is omnipresent. I was attempting to get pity for my inability to write in cursive but they remain unimpressed with my writing. I've consoled myself with the fact that I'm getting better at writing on the chalkboard. I am no longer writing at 30* and I remember that what I write is taken literally. If I put a blue underline underneath a word, the entire class will raise their hands to be allowed to get a blue pen to do the same thing. Now I just need to go sit in on the kindergarden cursive class!