Forgive Us Our Trespasses. Diane Gensler

delivered his lines with his prepubescent high-pitched enthusiastic voice, “Mmmmm….this stuff is terrrifffiiccc. I need a bucket to drink it properly.”

      As he put his hands to his face, he secretly smeared chocolate hidden in his fists. I wish I had a photograph of his clown-like appearance with his round face, chubby cheeks and full lips all smothered in melted chocolate. We were all hysterical.

      Then he pretended to fall into the river, rolling and thrashing about on the paper as he screamed, “Help! Help! I can’t swim!”

      To add to the frolic and histrionics, four students dressed as oompa loompas, the short chocolate workers in Wonka’s factory. They wore white t-shirts with big O’s on the front, but skipped face paint and wigs. With arms crossed and deep knee bends, they sang the song from the original 1971 soundtrack:

      Oompa loompa doompety doo

      I’ve got a perfect puzzle for you

      Oompa loompa doompety dee

      If you are wise you’ll listen to me

      What do you get when you guzzle down sweets

      Eating as much as an elephant eats

      What are you at, getting terribly fat

      What do you think will come of that

      I don’t like the look of it

      Oompa loompa doompety da

      If you’re not greedy, you will go far

      You will live in happiness too

      Like the Oompa Loompa Doompety do

      Doompety do

      — Anthony Newley / Leslie Bricusse

      My students were thrilled to receive thank-you notes from the young audience members. They couldn’t wait for another opportunity to perform. The other half of the sixth, seventh and eighth graders heard what great performances my students gave and requested performances too. So we honored their requests, continued our “road show,” and visited the middle school classrooms as well.

      Starting from the beginning of the year, we would often read together in class, initially with short stories but eventually advancing to novels. I gave students time every week to read a book of their choice in class. Each child had a journal, which was a marble composition book, that we used to write reader’s responses. We reviewed what makes a good journal entry and examined different types. I kept a list hanging on the wall. Some of the items on the list were to summarize a chapter, write about how they relate to an incident or character, write a letter to a friend or teacher about something they read, make a prediction, write a poem or song about something in the book, or write something else if they were inspired. Sometimes I would pair them to share journal entries. I would often pair myself with a willing student. From time to time I would take the journals home (one class at a time but still a heavy load) and respond to their entries. I enjoyed reading them.

      The children were welcome to bring their own books or library books to class to read. I checked to make sure the books were appropriate and on grade level.

      Mrs. A popped her head in my room one day during my planning period.

      “Diane, Mr. Z needs to see you right away. He’s waiting for you. Go now and don’t waste any time,” she said ominously. She ducked out.

      What did I do? Why on earth am I being summoned to the principal’s office? Why does it sound so urgent? Does Mrs. A know what he wants and doesn’t want to tell me? What am I in trouble for?

      I dropped what I was doing and headed down the corridor, shuffling my feet on the carpet like a shackled prisoner making the long walk to the execution chair. I’m surprised I didn’t electrocute myself with all the static electricity I generated. With each step I could hear the figurative chains rattle as I wracked my brain trying to figure out what I could possibly have done wrong. I hadn’t had a conversation with Mr. Z since my interview. I couldn’t think of one reason why he would ask to see me. Did I say something wrong to a student or a teacher? Did I neglect to turn in some important piece of paperwork? Is he ripping up my contract and firing me on the spot? Maybe I was just being paranoid, and he actually wanted to compliment me for something.

      I stood squeamishly in front of his door, took a deep breath and forced myself to knock. I considered running back to my classroom, but I didn’t think that was a good idea.

      “Come in,” I heard through the door. I opened the door and took a few steps inside. He didn’t offer me a seat or shake my hand. He got right to the point.

      “There was a group of your sixth graders who came to see me,” he said.

      Oh my gosh! Whaaaat??!

      “And their parents have complained as well.”

      Holy crap! I really must have done something wrong! What were they complaining about?

      I tried to remain composed, but once again I was sweating in his office even though the temperature was just right. Was I getting fired after only working a few weeks? What did I do? What would happen to my students if they replaced me? I don’t want to leave.

      “You have no library in your room. The kids want to have books.”

      “What?”

      “Books,” he answered a little louder. “The kids want books. They want to be able to select their own books to read for leisure.”

      “They do select their own books for leisure,” I replied.

      “They want to be able to select books from your classroom.”

      Well, that’s great!” I exclaimed.

      “You need a classroom library.”

      “We have a school library. I was going to take them as a class next week so they could check out books. I’ve already made arrangements.”

      “They are accustomed to the teacher having a shelf with books on it for them. They don’t want to have to go to the library,” he said, sighing exasperatedly.

      “Oh,” I responded. “Our own library?”

      “Yes,” he answered impatiently through clenched teeth. He was obviously perturbed, and so was I, as our conversation seemed to be going in circles. I felt like the village idiot.

      “Well, I think it’s great that they want a classroom library. I would love to have one. But it’ll take some time to put together.”

      This is why I’ve been called to the office? This is my major offense? It’s only the second week of school and my first full year of teaching, and they are upset because I don’t have a book collection? And why are they bringing this to the principal’s attention and not to me?

      “We can provide you with a bookshelf,” he said.

      “Okay....” I paused for a moment. “I would hope that my students would feel comfortable enough to come to me and tell me this themselves.”

      “I’ll have someone bring you a bookshelf when we find one,” he responded. “Thanks.”

      I left his office and returned to my classroom, puzzled by this whole affair. I would have to “feel out” my sixth graders and try to find out what was going on. Now I had to focus on how to get books for my classroom. Of course the school didn’t offer to pay for them. It was expected that I would use my own money, as I did for all my bulletin board materials and many instructional materials. The other teachers told me at the beginning of the year there was no stipend for supplies. The principal didn’t mention if there were books available for use somewhere in the school or if someone could donate books, and I hadn’t thought to ask. Did the other teachers have classroom libraries? I hadn’t seen any.

      True to his word, several days later I found a four-shelf bookcase parked inside my classroom. I pushed it to the rear of the room near the back door. This location made it accessible but out of the traffic pattern.

      A few