“Teacher, I don’t like this novel,” Waleed said to me as soon as I walked into classroom catching me a little off guard.
“Whaddya mean? I love this novel. It’s hilarious,” I said with honest enthusiasm. “Didn’t you read the chapter last night?”
“Yeah,” he assured me, “but the vocabulary was very difficult.” Shaking his head he continued, “I had stop and look up words all the time. It’s really hard to understand.”
“Well,” it was time for me to sound like a teacher, “Like I said at the beginning of the semester,” I began enunciating every word, “I recommend not stopping to look up every word, just get the main idea. You can always mark words and go back later to read certain parts again that were confusing.”
“Yeah, but…” he wasn’t having any of it.
I had to think fast and try to diffuse the situation. “Give me an example. What’s so difficult?”
“Ok, what is ‘stool’?”
“Stool?” I questioned with a crinkled brow of confusion.
“Yeah, in the chapter last night it talks about Ignatius sitting on stool. I don’t understand.”
“Oh, yeah!” I was getting really excited again and began speaking at normal speed again. “That’s one of my favorite parts of the book! Mr. Gonzalez gives Ignatius a stool with wheels to help him reach the lower drawers. Big ‘ole Ignatius sits on the stool like an eggplant on a thumbtack,” I said using grand hand gestures and started to sense some level of comprehension from Waleed.
“As soon as he tries to wheel around the floor, he falls off and starts screaming that he broke his back,” I continued building momentum. “Help! Help!” I started screaming and trying to imitate Ignatius’ pompous pain, and Waleed started to brighten up a little.
“Then, that nutty, senile Miss Trixie comes in and doesn’t even notice Ignatius wallowing around on the floor and steps on him!” Now, I could see a smile.
“Next thing ya know, Ignatius pulls Miss Trixie down onto the floor and the boss walks in!” Waleed exploded into hysterics and had to hide his face in his hands. I think I even saw him wipe away tiny tear.
“Oh… well… when you explain it like that, I understand,” he confessed as the confusion came back to cloud his face. “But what is stool?”
I looked at him cockeyed. “Uh?”
In all seriousness, Waleed looked me in the eye. “When I go to the doctor, I have to give a stool sample,” he stated while holding out his cupped hand in front of my face for emphasis.
“Stool is sh*t, yes? I don’t understand. I hate this book.”
