Mr. Brossart finds out what he is teaching...

It was a humid sunny day when Mr. Brossart first reported to Macario Garcia Elementary to work. The moisture hung in the air palpable and unignorable like the nervous excitement that coated his stomach in a queasy greasy anticipation. As he and his carpool buddy, Ms. Ashleigh Stacey treaded air to the front door Mr. B's thoughts hung on seeing his classroom for the first time. He knew that he was teaching fifth grade, but was not sure if he was going to be self contained or if the fiery principal, Ms. Mir, had made one of her off the cuff decrees that had earned her the reputation of being a fairly benevolent, impulsive, dictator that ruled the school with a absent minded fist that demanded positiveness and a passionate energy directed at teaching our kids about all the things in life that matter: namely the Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills test.

After a bout of introductions and names already forgotten, Mr. B was ceremoniously shown his first ever teacher mail box, was taught and almost learned the complex sign-in procedure, received a quick tour and was herded to the library to wait giddily for his first ever School Meeting. He conversed awkwardly with the few faces that seemed familiar. He proceeded to confuse two staff members from the introductions earlier with each other, mispronouncing the names but then divisively charging forward with the conversation too quickly for either of the dark Latino teachers to make the "we all look the same to you people" comment.

Mr. B then saw the principal come in and decided to go to the fifth grade table and wait. He spent the remaining minutes while she struggled to figure out her laptop and the power point presentation trying to figure out if wet behind the ears described the inexperienced or the experienced. He knew it was one or the other, but couldn't remember. He ended up deciding it was the inexperienced. It might be a cattle reference- they are born all covered in goop and so when they are brand new they are wet behind the ears. Cowboys are so good with turn-of-phrase he noted, and made a mental post-it to himself "Google: Wet Behind the Ears". He never remembered to do it since then Ms. Mir started her state of the school kingdom address.

Mr. B tuned out for the next two hours then shuffled to the gym/cafeteria at the same time as the other new teachers and hoped that nothing important happened during the morning library. He still wasn't convinced about wet behind the ears. Maybe the cowboys used it to describe the veteran wranglers that had herded cattle through a rain storm so bad that even their their ten gallon hats couldn't keep them dry. He imagined that cattle spooked easily during a storm and that only a real wet behind the ears cowboy could keep the cattle on the trail, keep the horse calm, and keep their nerves from fraying.

Or maybe it has nothing to do with cowboys? Unlikely, but worth considering.

Mr. B found himself and his musings in the gym looking through a host of new supplies that Ms. Mir informed him were "New Teacher Gifts to get y'all started in your subject areas." Ms. Mir led him to a pile of Math Games and Texts and Mr. B heard her say to him "We have had you pegged as our math guy since our first interview..."

Mr. B did not want to rattle the boat so he swallowed the "WHAT!?!?!!" that had tried to jump indignantly out of his thought. I wonder what part of being a humanities teacher who talked mainly of poetry slams, philosphy, and the beauty of exploring the human experience in texts madeher peg me as the "math guy" She probably would look at Stephen Hawkings and peg him as her star center for the fifth grade basketball team. Idiot!. I wonder if she knows that most math people don't major in Humanities or believe that the Truth is found in raindrops, silent laughter, and the phases fo the moon. Most math people probably don't grudgingly admit that numbers might be useful but by removing the gray areas of life they also suck the joy out of the human experience. Do Math guys practice crying in front of their mirrors so that if they ever get a chance to read "Where the Red Fern Grows" to their class they can cry when old Dan and Little Anne die even though they know it is going to happen and have already cried so many tears over them that even the red fern planted by the angel offers little solace. Do Math people fall in Love at least twice a week? Do math people try to write poems about how sunsets are God's way of apologizing for making a world with so much loneliness? Do math people use words like karma and human experience daily? Do I over generalize and dramatize what math people do? maybe, but still- I am not a math person and anyone that thinks I am has either never talked to me, or has a brain made out of bitch-shit....

Mr. B checked his thoughts there, feeling bad for degenerated into senseless mental swearing. He thanked Ms. Mir, collected his things and took them to room 213- unlocked it with his new keys and dropped the math stuff off and hurried off to his team meeting.

After the introductions: Mr. Burns, Mr. Maddox, Ms. Weiler, Ms. Flores. They got down to business. First on the agenda was dividing up the grade into two teams and then dividing the subjects. Ms. Weiler, the department head, announced that she had done it already based on our skills and interests. She announced that Mr. B was doing Social Studies and Language Arts. Bells Ring, Angels Sing, and people sitting calmly all over the world on park benches, in hammocks, and next to fires feel a calm pass over them and know something wonderful has happened.

The day continues and Mr. B floats through it. He finds out later that the principal had mistaken her subjects and thought he was Mr. Maddox. He didn't even get upset that she didn't know his name when she was talking at him for 10 minutes in the gym. He didn't even care that she hadn't asked him anything. The Angels were still singing and gravity wasn't as strong as usual: Mr. B was going to help kids find themselves, others, and the world in literature; Mr. B was going to help 5th graders find a voice that would help them deal with adolescence; Mr. B could maybe help history from repeating itself by making it interesting to the leaders of our future. Mr. B was going to teach reading, writing, and social studies.

He was ill equipped. He was inexperienced. He was excited.
He was about to be a teacher man! And he was going to teach what he loved to those deserving of love: children.

He also might be wet behind the ears, but he couldn't be sure since he still didn't know for sure what it meant.