Last Monday I had the opportunity to drive Little One and Sweet Caroline’s big sister to school. As we approached the railroad crossing that goes through the middle of our small, zombie-filled, Georgia town (they film a hit television show here), three unique things happened.
First, she thanked me for taking her to school. A polite teenager is indeed a rare find these days.
Second, there were no zombies waiting to ambush us at the crossing — usually a once-a-week occurrence. With a blast from its whistle the morning train’s engine rumbled past as I continued to listen to my passenger.
Third, and perhaps the most unbelievable thing, she mentioned she had a test that day. While still on the lookout for any stray zombies, and trying to keep count of the train cars as they clanked by, I explained to her why a test on Monday was simply impossible.
Monday was a sleep day in school. Wednesday was set aside for pop quizzes. Friday was test day. Everyone knows that. At least everyone who had Old Mrs. Crabtree in the third grade at Mt. Olive Elementary School.
The teenager gave me the “look” that only teenagers can and asked, “You’re about to tell me another story, aren’t you?”
“Why, yes, I am,” I replied. With that she rested her head against the window and closed her eyes — to help focus all her concentration and attention on my story, I’m sure.
After only a month in Mrs. Crabtree’s class, it was easy to understand why Mondays were sleep days. Still tired from all the fun over the weekend, more than one student started the day by placing their heads on their desks and falling asleep.
After she spotted them, Mrs. Crabtree calmly walked over and dropped a book on the desk right next to the unsuspecting head. Of course, she didn’t drop any books next to the heads of some students. She had told those students to place their heads on their desks because of misbehaving. They were left alone.
So on Mondays I misbehaved. Uninterrupted naps during the first part of her class were wonderful.
A slow smile of approval from the teenager sitting next to me proved she was still listening to my story about testing, even with her eyes closed. Or she liked the sound of the distant train whistle as the engine approached the crossing just down the street.
I continued my storytelling while, watching with a wary eye, a group of slow moving zombies now shuffling in front of my car heading towards the make-up trailer.
Train cars clanked over the crossing, their numbers now reaching 40.
I think Mrs. Crabtree was also tired from her weekend of grading papers because she never gave a test on Mondays. That or she was simply too tired to make up a test. Wednesday wasn’t test day either. It was pop quiz day.
By Wednesday Mrs. Crabtree had mustered enough energy to design a 10-question true or false test. I loved taking her pop quizzes because there was a 50 percent chance I’d get the correct answer.
Unfortunately after a few months, she changed to a multiple-choice test and you had to choose between one of four answers. I called these “multiple-prayer” tests because I didn’t have a prayer to do well on them. Could be because I always picked the “none of the above” answer if I didn’t know the answer.
There was a slight giggle and another half smile from the teenager as she shifted in her seat and pulled her sweater up around her neck.
The caboose clanked by.
By Friday Old Mrs. Crabtree was ready for the weekend and ready with a test. She said it covered all the material she had gone over during the entire week. The test make-up was always the same: a few true or false questions, a few fill-in-the-blank, 10 matching, and a bunch of those multiple-prayer type questions. There were even a few questions I never even heard of. Guess she had gone over them during my Monday morning nap time.
Mrs. Crabtree said we were to be little sponges all week long, soaking up the knowledge she and the books had to offer. Then on Fridays the sponges get wrung out and answers should simply spill forth and down onto the paper.
The guardrail lifted and we continued our journey just in time as a small pack of slow moving zombies tried to attack our car. Either that or they were late for the food tent and their morning coffee. Yes, zombies drink coffee. They are just dead without it.
At our arrival in front of the school, the story ended and the teenager was set to get out of my car, but not before some parting advice about test-taking.
I said, “If one of the multiple choice answers is “none of the above,” it never is. Leaving an answer blank is still a wrong answer. Most importantly, don’t be the first person to turn in the test. If you have time left, you have time to go back over your answers. Good luck, go forth, and be a wrung-out sponge.”
That last comment garnered a quizzical look from the still sleepy teenager. I think she was wondering if I was going to pick her up from school and tell her another story. Either that or she was asleep the whole way to school and didn’t hear a thing I said.
The next day she got her test grade back and it was an “A.” Guess the little teenage sponge was listening after all.
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
