Shades of Gurple

One of Arnold's get well cards.  "Mrs. Dahl+computer=love"

I have been in rehab for the last 10 days.  Oh, not the sort you are probably imagining (“Mrs. Dahl, I never KNEW.  You hid your problem so well…”).  No, my source of cold turkey withdrawal has its roots in the very thing I am typing furiously on right at this moment.  Yes, that’s right.  My computer and I were forced into separation and it felt like an eternity.  My laptop began to show symptoms of being ill a couple of weeks ago, then things became critical, and after a rushed trip to the computer ER, I have been forced to wander blindly through my days trying to get by on the ancient beasts located both at home and in my classroom.  The desktop model in my room at school is so slow, I’m pretty sure there are actual files inside it and little people run around inside there retrieving and doing my bidding.  It was almost too frustrating to even attempt to do anything other than check my email .   Anything else left me hyperventilating.

How and when did I get so spoiled?  Really, I thought my kids’ generation were the only ones hyper-dependent on their electronic toys.  I am amazed and a little ashamed that I too fall into that classification.  To be fair, I use my computer for much of my classroom business.  I do my lesson plans on it, I keep track of grades on an Excel spreadsheet, I write letters to parents, I plug the projector in when using the document camera or showing an educational video, and the list goes on and on.  The bottom line is, I use my computer constantly.  It was a bit like when you lose your power at home, or have plumbing issues and are forced to think of alternative ways of going about your daily life.  It is doable, just harder.

I pulled my students into my sense of loss and they felt my pain deeply.  They went home with daily status updates to share with parents and guardians, I heard, and even made homemade “get well” cards for Arnold.  Yes…. we named my computer.  Gender is male, apparently.  He is now and forevermore, Arnold. 

It took three surgeries and ten days, but he is now back home, resting comfortably.  

Not really.  I’ve been working him pretty hard since he got here.  He’ll probably need a follow-up visit from sheer fatigue.

I probably could have saved myself the anxiety and several hundred dollars if I had just let my resident superhero have a go at him.  Turns out, one of my first graders has the vision of Superman.  No, really….

We were sitting outside waiting for our turn in the Bismarck Public Library’s Bookmobile.  Clark Kent says to me, “Mrs. Dahl, did you know that I can see two hundred miles away?”  I arched an eyebrow.  “Really.”  He knew he had me hooked so he rushed ahead.  “Yeah, I can see to Medora right now” (a tourist town on the western edge of the state).  I was game.  “Oh yeah? What’s happening right now?”  (This the part that just kills me.  I laugh every time I think about it).  He looks away in the opposite direction and squints his eyes so that they are nearly shut, his face a mask of concentration.  He stared into the distance for several seconds then answered with confidence, “They’re putting on a daytime musical today.”  Against all logic, I found myself looking in the same direction he was as if maybe he really could see that far, and if I squinted enough I might catch a glimpse too.  He turned back to me and smiled.  Little Clark had made his teacher giggle and he was most satisfied with himself.

We nearly needed a superhero intervention a few minutes later when our turn for the bookmobile arrived.  My students were busy poring over any book that had a dinosaur or puppy on its cover and were being assisted by the very friendly, smiling librarian.  A line quickly formed at the counter for the magical time of checking books out and being allowed to take them home for a whole month. 

I have to backtrack briefly. 

The day before Bookmobile day, I just happened to read aloud to my Darlings the story, “Beverly Billingsly and the Overdue Book.”  Genre:  fiction (we know this, boys and girls, because mice can’t really speak).  It was about a cute little mouse who gets her very first library card and loves her library book about dinosaurs so much that she fails to get said book back to the library by the due date.  She frets about what her consequences may be and asks several school chums if they are familiar with library policy on such a grievous sin as an overdue book.  Her very wise classmates assure her that the penalty is, indeed, severe and life altering.  One boy is sure that he had an uncle that did hard time for being a week late with library books.  Little Beverly dreams that night that the dinosaur in her library book comes to life and tries to eat her for being tardy with the return.  The story ends, of course,  cheerily and assurances that it is merely wise to return books on time, it will not stain your “permanent record.”

Fast forward to our moment at the checkout counter on the Book Bus.  Superman is standing there with a sloppy stack of four or five books in his steely arms when it is finally his turn at the counter.  I am busy dispensing library cards for each child and making sure I receive their printed slip of checked books and not paying much attention to The Man of Steel.  He plops his books down and waits patiently to be cleared for take-off from the bus.  He will, of course, fly back to the classroom.  The librarian clicks a few keys then looks at me nervously.  She says quietly, “He has books still out from last year.  His fine is $82.00 at this point.”  I wanted to shout out, “EIGHTY-TWO DOLLARS???? HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?!?”  However, I am trained professional, so I responded with a completely professional, “Huh?”  I look over at S.M. and see that his face has gone completely white.  Mr. Kent has just encountered Kryptonite and was weakening quickly.  I could tell that our story from the previous day was now screaming in his brain.  He just knew the librarian was mentally measuring him for a tiny orange jumpsuit and open-toed sandals.  Quick, what does a first grader use for prison currency?  He wasn’t sure and neither was I. 

I tried to be sunny and reassuring.  I asked if he remembered those books and could he try to find them and bring them back?  There would be no fine if he simply returned them.  I ended with, “I’ll call mom.  We’ll see what we can do.  But for today, you cannot check any books out.  I’m sorry…”

I could see tears forming in his bionic eyes but he stubbornly refused to let them fall.  He turned away with slumped shoulders and empty arms and left noiselessly.  The librarian had her thumping heart lying bloody and exposed on the counter just like I did.  We had to do something!  She offered hopefully, “If he leaves his books at school, he may still check them out.  You will just have to be responsible for them.”  Oh, boundless joy!  I ran to the door and shouted after my little Marvel Comic, “Come back!  You can check them out!”  He came running back and I quickly explained the terms of his parole, which he embraced enthusiastically.  We still need to track down those prodigal books, but for today, he is all smiles.  And so am I.

Art brought another chuckle.  I laid out paper mache boxes, paint, brushes, paint shirts, newspapers for covering the workspace, and Pepto Bismol for the teacher.  We were still working from our book, “When This Box is Full” by Patricia Lillie.  The next step in our yearlong time line project was to paint our individual boxes any color we chose – an extension of our own individual personality.

Paintbrushes flew and so did the paint (hence the reason for the Pepto), and masterpieces were created that day.  Most of the boys chose John Deere colors for their priceless treasure boxes.  But not Little Sallie Sue.  She is my Willow from the book of the same name.  When she closes her eyes, she sees blue apples and pink trees.  Her world is as unique as she is.  Little Sallie Sue called to me with great pride, “ Hey, Mrs. Dahl.  You like my box?  I painted it Gurple!”  Her arms swung gracefully in the direction of the dripping box in a beautiful Vannah White move.  I gazed at her Piece de Resistance.  Sure enough, it was a glorious shade of gurple.  I smiled and unofficially added gurple to the color wheel.

Don’t ever change, Sallie Sue.  Even the Supermen of the world need women who see life in shades of gurple.