“Naomi,
you need to get out some paper and a pencil,” I whispered.
“I
am!” Naomi hissed back. But she
continued to stack, rearrange, and restack her notebooks on the desk.
The
day’s assignment was projected on the Smartboard at the front of the room. Three paragraphs full of run-on sentences
were displayed. The kids were supposed
to rewrite the paragraphs and correct the errors. I looked around the room and saw everyone had
already worked through two or three sentences.
I
continued walking around the classroom checking on other kids, but kept looking
back at Naomi. She was working on a new
career in design, her desk being her first big project. She took a break from her work to look around
and watch everyone else work. As she casually
gazed around the room, her eyes eventually came to me, and she noticed I was staring
back at her. When Naomi just stared back
at me, I started walking towards her.
She quickly opened her notebook and took out a piece of paper. As I reached her desk, though, she suddenly stood
up.
“Where
are you going?” I asked.
“I
have to blow my nose.”
I
stood by Naomi’s desk and watched her leisurely amble through the other
students to the tissue box at the front of the room. After pulling out several tissues, she turned
around, breathed in deeply, and gave the class a Shakespearian performance of blowing
her nose several times. When she
finished, she regally walked to the other side of the room to deposit her
tissues in the wastebasket.
I
waited for her to come back to her desk, but Naomi had a second scene to
perform. She walked back over to the tissue
box but reached for the bottle of hand sanitizer sitting next to it. She carefully pumped the liquid into her hand
and turned to show everyone her skills as she slowly worked the clear
disinfectant into her hands.
When
she turned to pump another squirt, I called out, “Naomi!”
She
startled and looked back, exaggerating bewilderment. “What?”
I
tapped her paper. “Now.”
Several
students had stopped working to watch.
As Naomi slowly made her way through the aisles back to her desk, she
sighed and rolled her eyes.
She
sat down at her desk, and I asked, “Do you know what you’re supposed to do?”
“Yes.” She was hissing again.
I
turned and started my cruise around the room again. It took about five minutes to work my way back
to Naomi. Her paper was still blank.
“You
told me you knew what you were supposed to do,” I whispered.
“I
forgot,” Naomi hissed back.
“See
those paragraphs up front. They are full
of run-on sentences. I want you to
re-write them and fix the run-ons.”
“Oh. OK.”
I
journeyed around the room again, but found Naomi’s paper still blank when I got
back. As I approached her desk, Naomi
suddenly raised her hand signaling she had a question for me.
“What?”
I whispered.
“What’s
a run-on sentence?” she hissed.
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