People used to tell me
to my face
that I am a saint.

In truth,
I am a teacher.
A teacher who learned early on
to hide lavendar throughout the classroom
to counteract farts and puberty sweat smells.
Yes, a teacher who learned early on
to stay on the good side of the custodian
to counteract bodily functions and feats of inexplicable behavior.

In one day, yes, just one day,
I single handedly traced the owner of a pair of boots
that one of my students had in his backpack.
He had his own boots in his locker.
His shoes, worn through and soaking wet with snow on his feet.
The owner of the boots did not go to the same school.
Imploring and empowering a bus driver with a midday run,
The boots found their rightful owner before lunch recess.

The student is working in a study carrel asks for help
As we work through the problem, I notice purple goop on his head
“Tell me about this.” I ask as I gently touch the goo.
A large patch of his hair adheres to my fingers.
He quickly tells me in one breath that he accidentally and in no way on purpose cut his hair.
He doesn’t want me to be mad, so he glued his hair back on his head.
Dumbfounded, all I can think is where was I? How did I miss this?

Oh, no.
Barely started, we are by no means done.
The student is slow to dress for a snowy recess.
He is not in good humor, having been reminded to wear his boots outside.
The battle for independence is sometimes slow
and in this case, too slow for the other children.
To prevent overheating, I left the student in the classroom and led the other students out.
When I returned, the students cheeks were packed full with something.
“What do you have in your mouth?” I ask sternly.
The student takes pains to cover his mouth before answering “Nothing.”
I look down and notice the now empty cookie tin on the floor.
“No cookies for snack.” I say in dismay.
A whole package of cookies,
In mere minutes.

He heads out to play.
There’s no sense in punishing both of us.
I’m no saint.