Not in Kansas (or my right mind) Anymore

Well I am definitely not in Kansas anymore (or Gospel Doctrine for that matter).   I had hoped to receive an orientation and a couple of weeks of teacher shadowing prior to my first day of instructing.  Instead, President Schwent found me after Sacrament Meeting and took me directly to a room in the far back corner of the meeting house.  We seemed to be moving toward the loudest spot in the church; a tumult of sorts.  When the commotion appeared reach a fevered pitch, President Schwent opened the door.  I noticed she did not look into the room at all, but averted her eyes like a person might do when they see a car accident.  She ushered me in room, ignoring the sound, shut the door quickly behind me.  I was not certain, but I thought I recognized the tune President Schwent was humming as shed closed the door behing me as Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust.”  Strange song for primary.

Admittedly, what happened after that was largely a blur, much like remembering the source from which you received a concussion.  I recall there was a small boy hanging out of the open window and another sitting atop a stack of precariously balanced chairs.  Most of the other children were moving at such a rapid rate in the small room that it was impossible to plot a specific coordinate of any one location or even to identify in what action each child was engaged.  I thought, “Chairs first.”  Yes, that was the correct place to start, with the requisite “C-shaped” sitting configuration. This beginning effort was initially thwarted as I was unable to persuade the perched child to descend from the chairs.  That problem was promptly solved by the boy who pulled himself in from the window and pushed over the pile of chairs.  I would like to have said the spirit allowed me to grab the child now sailing across the room in mid-air, but unfortunately a sweet little girl broke his fall.  Perhaps I had a stupor of the spirit.  Still, there was no blood and I am thinking that this might be a good indicator of success going forward. 

I did manage to get the children in the general vicinity of their chairs and attempted to have one of the children say the opening prayer.  I heard a “Dear Heavenly…” and after a notable and what I suspect to have been an intentional pause, the boy flatulated.  The class was lost.  The children became non-commutative with laughter.  The remaining time was spent telling the children that “fart” was not an acceptable word for church and attempted to extinguish repeated mock-prayers that were promptly interrupted by various simulated (and a few not-so-simulated) bodily functions.  Most of this carried a rather blasphemous undertone.  I am glad they are all still under the age of eight. 

The bell at last rang, but when I went to open the door, the knob had been removed and was missing.  After a fruitless interrogation, we all departed out the window. Incidentally, the door knob was discovered hanging from the shrub outside of the window.  I now understand the meaning of the child hanging out of the window.  I only wish I could remember which of the little ones it was, so I know where to focus a more enhanced interrogation.

I am presently reading the red, no. 2 manual to see how long a primary teacher is asked to stay in their calling.  I am sure that the duration must be a function of the age of the children, where the younger the children, the shorter the calling.   There must be some guidance, or an equation, or something.  Still looking….