Picture Day

In the fall we take pictures. This is a ritual practiced in pretty much every school in the U.S. of A. This is the time parents can buy their precious child’ portrait. This is the picture that will go in the year book. This is the all important photo. This is picture day. Every year I get a little apprehensive on picture day and this year was no different from any other…

As we are all awaiting that imperative call from the front office, I decided to read my students a few stories so that they would not get glue, pencil, crayon, marker or dirt on their clothes before getting their picture taken... As I was reading I looked patiently at my 20 wiggly, jiggly students. Jordan had a pair of scissors and was impetuously cutting a piece of white paper into tiny little triangles which she instantly placed in her shirt pocket. Joshua was spinning senselessly, spontaneously around and around in circles but staying uncontaminated. Addison sat kris-cross-apple sauce and quiet as a mouse hoping the other kids wouldn’t disturb her perfection. Kelsey was sitting proudly in a chair instead of the floor because she was wearing a new dress. Marlon sat still for the first time in days; it must have been the new hair cut. Justin sat away from the group in his brand new jeans. Earlier, Sarah had shown me her new shoes and Logan arrived beaming with delight because his dad put gel in his hair that morning. Now, Sarah was ripping the Velcro on her shoes repeatedly making an irritating reverberation and Logan was gently yet incessantly taping the top of his own blond head with his fingers.

The rule is, when the front office calls the room, the teachers are to line the children up by height. I have yet to figure out why. I understand why in the spring, because they take a class picture and need to stand on the risers but why in September? But I did it anyways. Barley. It all started with Brandon: “I’m the line leader, I need to be first.” “Sorry, not today, Jordan is shorter than you.” “But who’s going to lead the line?” Then the others joined in with happy chorus: “I don’t want to stand next to her,” “Can I go to the bathroom?” “My shoes are untied; can you tie them for me?” “Joshua cutted!” “Why are we going to the gym? It’s not time for PE!” “He’s taller than me, you put him in line wrong,”“she pushed me,” “Are we going to lunch?” “I’m hot!” “Nadia’s crying because she lost her hair bow!”

We finally made it to the hot, scorching gym…late. We immediately got in line behind a kindergarten class. After putting my class back in height order for the second and third time, and chasing Joshua back in line, each child had the opportunity to sit on the stool, back straight with a big smile. By the time it was my turn, I was red, hot and sweaty from the oppressively muggy gym. By the time it was my turn, my hair was going in every direction. By the time it was my turn, my shirt was wrinkled and bedraggled. By the time it was my turn, the photographer had developed a tick. He promptly flashed his camera and sent me on my way with my jumbled, muddled class. Picture day, is always and adventure.