Juice Box Zero

We had PE today, which is always a treat on April Fool’s Day.

“You’re shoes are untied!”

“Your sunglasses have a crack in them!”

“You have a spider on your arm!”

“You have a spider on your leg!”

“You have a spider on your foot!”

“You have a spider… {fill in the blank}!”

It’s every bit as fun to be a teacher on April Fool’s Day as it is to be one on Halloween, with the exception of the small disappointment that there are never any cupcakes brought into classrooms on the first day of April.  Instead of sugar, the kids are hopped up on the rush of a good prank, and everyone howls with laughter… except the teacher.

Because?  Do you know what?  The class before yours told me I had spiders everywhere, too!  Thankfully I can improvise ALL THE DRAMA and act horribly frightened at the prospect of an arachnid crawling up the sleeve of my sweatshirt.  This kind of makes me wonder if JUST MAYBE I didn’t miss my calling as an Oscar-nominated, Hollywood actress who makes considerably more American dollars than an elementary school teacher does, and who gets to wear Vera Wang gowns at Red Carper Events.

After we’d cleaned house of all the spiders, we worked on soccer drills today.  Primarily, we worked on DRIBBLING A SOCCER BALL MEANS THAT YOU USE VERY SHORT KICKS, AND YOU DON’T KICK THE BALL 7,000 FEET IN FRONT OF YOU.  To keep us moving quickly (because sometimes concentrating on dribbling correctly means that we focus all of our attention on the ball and JUST WALK), I swiped some CDs from our school’s boys’ basketball team to blast over the sound system in the gym.

And by sound system, I mean portable CD player, like it was 1991 again, because POOR PRIVATE SCHOOL.

My CD choices out of the basketball closet were hard rock, hard rock, or hard rock.  I found a little gem entitled CLASSIC HARD ROCK, which came with no CD case and no list of songs.  I was shooting blindly when I popped that thing into the stereo, but we hit pay dirt.  The ’80s blared to life over crackling speakers, and the kids ran like maniacs, as they dribbled their soccer balls for a thousand and four more miles.

At the end of my Pre-Kindergarten PE class, one of the little fellows (who was sweating profusely, because it takes a lot of energy to run to the classic heavy metal bands) asked me, “Did he never get a juice box?”

“Excuse me?”

“That guy?  That guy who was singing?  He never got a juice box, because zero means none.”  Clearly, he was very proud of his math skills there.

Y’all, I had NO IDEA what he was talking about.  No idea… as in ZERO MEANS NONE.

I told my little four-year-old, sweaty friend, “I don’t know who didn’t get a juice box.”

And he told me, “That guy who was singing on the song.  He kept saying JUICE BOX ZERO.  I didn’t know if he got one; I never heard the end of the song.”

And that’s when my glazed eyeballs suddenly sprang to life in understanding.

People, we had been listening to Foreigner’s Jukebox Hero on the CD player.

My day was complete.

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