Doors and Windows

I have an open-door classroom policy.

Well, to be honest, it is a 1-open-door, two-locked-door policy, but more on that later.

For the, most part, the kidlets are free to come and go as they please before school, during lunch (except for the weeks I have lunch duty) , and after school. Some come needing help with homework. A few who are still trying to find their place in the jr. high social structure come for a safe place to sit and read. But most of the kidelts just drop by to visit.

On any given morning I will hear a variety of play-by-play reenactments of the previous afternoon's sporting event, a few excited comments about upcoming Young Women's and/or Scouting activities, a smattering of pre-teen relationship updates, and the occasional review of a sketch from Disney's "So Random" (My newest "I should be way to mature to enjoy this" obsession... seriously...have you watched it? I laugh sooooooo hard!).

Of course, the problem with a "for the most part open door policy" is that "for the lesser part" of the time when, for the sake of my sanity, the door needs to be less open.


A lot less open.

Closed, even.

And sometimes locked.

You see, all of that visiting ends up cutting into my much needed last-minute-lesson-preperation-time, so over the years I have learned to come early when I really need to get things done. The problem is that the kidlets arrive pretty early too.

The first bus delivers a group affectionalty known as "the rowdy bunch" at 7:30 a.m., and some kids with working parents are dropped off even earlier.

School policy states that all kidlets must remain outside the building until 8 a.m., a policy that our kindly head custodian conviently overlooks on cold and/or wet mornings. While I usually unlock my classroom's front door right away, some morning I get busy and forget.

I will be sitting at my desk, working diligently, when I hear the doorknob behind me start to shake.

The doorknob shaking is always followed by gasps of surprise, and then more door knob shaking (the other assembled kidlets always have to check to make sure the origional knob-shaker's assessement that the door is locked is actually correct).

Once the "locked status" has been confirmed, the discussion phase starts, wherein they determine that A) The classroom light is on, and B) I am, in fact, in the room.

Then the knocking begins. At first, the knocking is a mellow, "Excuse us, Miss, but we would be very greatful if you would let us in" kind of knocking. Then it morphs into a more intense, Big Bang Theory, "Knock-knock-knock-Penny!" kind of knocking.

When that doesn't work, the kidlets assume that I must have my music up too loud to hear them. Yes. Loud music. That must be the problem.

The next step is the "there-is-an-escaped-mental-patient-chasing-me-with-a-very-large-knife" knock. Some of the really advanced students can actually use both hands for a knocking/knob-shaking combo.


That is about the time I turn around, shoot them a surprised, "Oh my goodness! When did you get here?" look, fumble with my keys for a couple of seconds (just to add a little extra dramatic tenson to the moment) , before opening the door. And suddenly, all is right with the world.


My classroom also has a back door. It is very popular with 7th grade boys who whole-heartedly believe that using that particuar door to get to the outside annex classes is unbearably cool.


I don't have the heart to tell them it increases their travel time by a good minute and a half.

This door has also seen it's share of frantic kidlet knocking. I don't like to brag, but I have gotten pretty darn good at distinguishing between the types of outside-knocking. There is the "I'd like to say hi," knock; the "I left my current events paper on the kitchen counter and need to use the classroom phone to call home before my mom leaves for work" knock; the, "I just learned the coolest new joke that I just have to tell you" knock; the, "I can't wait until 8 a.m. to go to the bathroom" knock, and the ever popular, "I really, REALLY can't wait until 8 a.m. to go to the bathroom" knock.

I hear that particular knock a lot. So much, I think I might rename this door the piddle portal.


And the third door? The door that leads from my classroom to the bandroom/stage? It deserves a post of its own.

It used to be that, when I would come home from school, I would leave all of the knocking behind me. But that was before I got a cat.

And when I say that I got a cat, what I mean is that I in no way have a cat.

You see, over the summer, this cat decided that I should adopt it. The cat even tried bringing me presents to soften me up... a half eaten fish, a dead bat, etc. I have done nothing to encourage the blasted thing. But it must have followed me to school for some reconnissance.

When that doesn't work, Never-Going-To-Be-My-Cat moves around to my kitchen window well. There, it continues to meow for exactly three minutes before giving up and disappearing into the night. Probably to catch more bats with which to gift me.

But I am still not going to let it in. At least, not until it can discuss the So Random Zombie Man skits at the same level as the kidlets.