By the time the whole third grade day had run its course and I checked my mailbox on the way out the door, I had long forgotten whatever context might have surrounded this supplication. The situation was clearly dire enough to merit a note, but I had no idea about what I was being so wholeheartedly begged. I sensed that this "ples" was the two-syllable kind (puh-LEES), but all context beyond a generalized desperation had been lost among the various situations that needed re-directing throughout the day, questions that needed answering, math groups that needed teaching, and Time Outs that needed Outing.
Today I found another such note tucked in the back of the mailbox.
Opening with "But Ms. Sara" made the note seem rather mid-conversation. I just had no recollection of my role in this conversation.
Was this a student looking for a little recognition of an anatomically impressive feat?
As an experienced reader of minds, my best guess is that the anonymous author found terribly unjust my expectation for him or her look at the lesson during class. Full-on. Whole eyeball. When really, as I suspect the note writer is proposing, a "tip of my eye" gaze is sufficient.
But if anyone out there has any thoughts on what action I'm supposed to take in regards to these two notes, just jot it down and leave it in my mailbox.
The stories in this blog celebrate the quirkiness of childhood and the lighthearted moments of elementary school. They come from one of the classrooms in my ten years of teaching. Students' names have been changed.