My Life As A Taco

This is stupid. Wear-your-sneaker-toes-out-kicking-the-carpet boring. A full careful-not-to-tip-your-chair-too-far-or-crash snorefest. And it’s making me hungry.

“Who can give me an example of a food from the grains and cereals group?” There’s a collection of play food from the kindergarten kitchen on the table beside Miss Krizinski. David C and Michelle got to go down to the kindergarten room to pick it up from Mrs. Wilson. That’s all the way out the big doors and down the hall. Lucky. To get to go. Not because of the kindergarteners.

Kindergarteners are babies. That’s why they have to be in a separate section from the big kids. The closer you are to being a baby, the closer your class area is to the big doors. We’re Grade Twos so we’re like halfway down this side of the class hall. The Really Big Kids – the Grade Fours and Fives – are on the other side of the school, separated from us smaller big kids by the library area. Only the kindergarteners are like really, really separate in a different room just for them. They even have their own recess space with tiny slides that aren’t fun to climb at all.

The big kids get the whole playground with the twisty slide and hanging bars and the big grass hill with the tree. We can roll down the hill if we want. If it’s not too muddy. But we aren’t allowed to climb the tree which is kind of dumb because I’ve never fallen off a branch but going over the top rail of the twisty slide will knock the air right out of you.

Our classes only have rollie shelf dividers or spaces between them. This is called Open Concept and we’re supposed to just want to stay in our areas and be able to decide what we want to learn and stuff. Except if you go to a different class area, you’ll end up having to put your head down on your desk instead of going out for recess. I’d pick recess all the time. I would not choose to learn about stupid food groups, but Miss Krizinski said I have to stay at my group table and listen.

Jennifer D puts her hand up. Again. “Let’s give someone else a chance, shall we? Jenny? How about you? Want to give it a try?” Miss Krizinski’s teeth poke out more when she does her extra big you-can-do-it smile.

I don’t want to, but I know from experience that Miss Krizinski isn’t really serious about the whole learn what you want and make your own choices. Like, I have to be ‘Jenny’ instead of ‘Jennifer M’ because there already is a Jennifer M in our class. There’s also three Davids and two Michaels. They all have different first letters for their last names so Miss Krizinski can just use their initials to tell who she is taking about. Two Jennifer M’s was too confusing. It’s ok though. I don’t super-mind being a Jenny because I really hate Jennifer D and this makes us more different.

I slide out of my chair and head to the front. The remaining options include a big plastic broccoli, a pink pork chop, a rubber fried egg, and a few other foods nobody likes. There’s only two grains and cereals stuff left. One is a mini box of Raisin Bran. Gross. The other option is a foam piece of bread that little fingers have picked away, leaving a hole right through the middle. I hand it over triumphantly.

“Very good Jenny! Bread is a grain and an important part of a healthy diet!” Miss Krizinski eyes the hole in the play toast with suspicion. I think she’s wondering if I could have done the damage just handing to her. I may have picked at it back when I was a kindergarten baby, but I’m pretty sure I only went as far as a few flecks out of it. This missing chunk is someone else’s handiwork. I catch her setting the crumbling piece to the other side of the table instead of putting it back in the bin with the other foods that have already been identified.

I march back to my group table, knees high, arms swinging and plop into my chair between Dawn and Peter. Across the table, Stupid Robert makes a scrunchy face at me, mouths “very good jenny penny”, and then sticks out his tongue. I hate Stupid Robert too. He should go kiss Jennifer D and get married and have stinky, smarty pants babies.

“Now Grade Twos, we are going to start a writing assignment about healthy food. Imagine YOU are a healthy food. What is it like to be YOU? What would you do in a day? Print your story on loose leaf like this.” She shakes a piece of paper in the air and flashes another this-isn’t-a-choice smile. “Then we’ll make construction paper covers to form a booklet. You can decorate the front of your booklets and add ill-u-stra-tions, if you want, in your story. Do we all remember what ‘ill—a—stray—shuns’ means?” Miss Krizinski waves her hand around like she’s drawing and scans the room to make sure we all get the big word for pictures. “Who would like to bring the crayon buckets around to the worktables? Jennifer D? Yes, go ahead. And who would like to hand out the construction paper? Robert?”

See. Jennifer D and Stupid Robert. I bet they don’t even want a chance to move around. They just want to be picked to be special. Watch, I’m going to get stuck in this chair the whole time and with yellow construction paper too.

This is going to require a lot of thinking. Stupid Robert already said he’s going to draw about an apple and gave himself red construction paper to match. An apple is boring. What’s he going to say? “I sat in a tree all day.” I can do better than that.

My Life as A Taco

Hello my name is Tina Taco. I have a great life as a taco. I have meat letus tomato and super lots cheese in my shell. I am a healthy food. A person made me.

I like to run round the dinner table. A person cote me and now I have to sit on a plate and be quiet and listen.

Now the person eat me. I am going down in to the tummy. This is a really long trip. I see a light at the end.

I came out the back of the person and in to a big bowl but I am a really smart taco and I can swim.

I swim out a long long river and end in The Lake. I live in The Lake now and I am very happy.

The End

Perfect. I worked really hard on my story. It’s five pages plus pictures and I think I really made the yellow construction paper work. Joke’s on Stupid Robert because tacos are really exotic and from Mexico and it’s really hot so there’s probably lots of sand. Yellow worked out just fine. I’m one of the last kids handing in my booklet before lunch but it was worth sticking with it. This is, for sure, Good Job Sticker material.

Now it’s a really quick run home now so I get to see the whole episode of Batman before I have to go back to school. My brother and I always get to eat our sandwiches in front of the tv and watch Batman on school days. But no drinks in the living room. We guzzle our milk in the kitchen before heading back out, wiping our moustaches with our arms as we go.

After lunch is music class. Miss Krinzinki waves us through the bookshelf dividers to join Mrs. Clark’s Other Grade Twos. Double Grade Twos means a bit of a scramble for the good instruments but my best friend Tabitha is in Other Grade Two so she’ll save me a spot and try hold the cymbals or bells for us both. The cymbals are great for crashing and we can each take one and play them together like a team. More often we get the bells because most kids don’t like them as much. We hang them on our ears all fancy and shake our heads to make them ring. One time I shook my head so hard, a bell flew off and hit Jennifer D. She told. Tabitha and I and weren’t allowed to sit together for a while. Mrs. Clark said nobody could wear the bells anymore but I saw Jennifer D and Sarah doing the same thing after we got in trouble. I didn’t tell but Tabitha and I know it was our idea first and we still do it sometimes if Mrs. Clark isn’t watching too hard. Music class is fun like that.

Most of the story booklets are in our spots when we get back to our group tables. I can see yellow paper tucked under Miss Krinzinki’s one arm as she weaves around the tables, bobbing her other hand up and down to motion us back into our seats. She circles my table a couple of times before she slides my story down, leans in, and whispers, “See me at recess please.” Inside the cover, the “See me,” message is echoed in red pen on top of the first page.

I’m not really sure what to expect. I’ve had all kinds of “Jenny, settle down; Jenny, put that away; Jenny stop being a chatter box” talks with teachers. I don’t usually put much effort into school stuff, so this Good Job chat will be a new experience.

Miss Krizinski glares at me skipping towards her desk. Her face kind of droops. She takes a deep breath, and looks back up at my face. Her eyes are wide and eyebrows arched up. She has a sort of not-a-choice smile, except with her teeth are pressing against her lips instead of busting out. You know she shouldn’t be so surprised I could write such a good story with picture ill-stations and everything. Miss K tells everyone I could I have so much potential “if only”.

“Jenny, I need to talk to you about your story.” Her teeth still haven’t made an appearance.

“Yup.”

“My Life as a…a…uhm…Taco?”

“Yup-o!” Secretly, I’ve been eyeing the banana Good Job Sticker and I’m pretty sure it’s scratch and sniff.

“What did you mean by…. I mean…. What’s this all about?” Her forehead is scrunched like Stupid Robert’s. Maybe she’s forgotten why she wanted to talk? Teachers should keep better track of these things.

“You wanted to talk to me about my story.” I set it on the desk to jog her memory a bit, tap the see-me note, and glance over at the sticker book. There’s a lemon scratch and sniff one too.

“Yes. Your story. I’d like to think I’m not sure what it is about. Do you have an explanation?”

“Well see – I’m a taco. Well, Tina is a taco but we’ll say I’m Tina because it’s supposed to be us as foods. I just thought Tina went better with Taco than Jenny.” We don’t have a Tina in our class so maybe she wasn't sure it’s my work. Otherwise, I thought the story explained things pretty well. “And, like you said, this is my life… as a taco.” I get that maybe the name was confusing, but she should know the rest of this. She gave us the assignment in the first place. I tilt my head at her and wait to see if that clears it all up.

“Uhm, yes. I see. And what are you trying to say here? With this?” She crinkles her nose and points to the page where Tina Taco is going through the person.

“Well, if I was a taco… we had tacos for dinner the other night... have you ever had tacos? It was really good. We normally have like dry, gross roast beef but this wasn’t like that. Anyways, if I was a taco… I would be a food.” I lift my palms up and wave towards the story, so that she could better see the connection here. Nothing. She just stares at me blankly with her mouth open a bit. She should be getting this, right? “This is what happens to food.” I act out the eating and chewing, and point down my stomach and out my backside, nodding. That should do it.

Miss Krizinski clamps her mouth shut, pauses, and then starts writing something in teacher-writing in her marking book. “I see.” But she’s not looking at me so I don’t think she does. Maybe she just didn’t read it right? Or the idea of tacos was making her hungry like the food group talk.

“And this picture here. What’s this a picture of? Is that a chair?” She holds open my booklet and points to a drawing.

“That’s the person who ate the taco sitting on the toilet. See, this is the toilet.” I turn the page for her so she can follow the action. “And this is Tina. Swimming. And there’s a pipe out of the toilet.”

I look up at Miss Krizinski. She looks lost. “Before The Lake.” I turn another page. “And here’s The Lake. And Tina. And fish. And…” I stop. Miss Krizinski’s lips are pinched tightly together.

“And you think this is funny maybe?” She stares down at me.

“Well not for Tina. Not at first. But, I mean, it comes out all right in the end.” I actually never thought about making the story funny. Miss Krizinski didn’t tell us it was supposed to be.

Miss Krizinski’s eyes are darting all over my face. I have no idea what she thinks she’s looking at. I’m sure I wiped off all the crumbs and milk from lunch. Besides, Tabitha would have told me if my mouth was dirty.

Miss K makes more a few more notes in her book, looking back at me every few seconds and then back at her teacher-writing.

“I… I… I just don’t know what to say about this Jenny,” she says eventually, shaking her head. “I can’t even imagine how you ever thought of such things. I’m… I’m shocked.”

“Thank you!” I smile. I was starting to get a bit worried she was never going to get it but see, Miss Krizinski can’t even believe how totally creative I am. I put out my hand for the Good Job Sticker. Maybe I’ll get the orange one instead. And I’m not going to let Jennifer D or Stupid Robert smell it. No matter how much they ask.

Miss Krizinski breaks our standoff with another deep breath.

“Alright then Jenny. You can go.”

I shrug and walk away. Maybe the Good Job Sticker part is later, after she shows my story to the class or the whole school even. “Ok, well, can I have a scratch n’ sniff one when you do the presentation?” I smile and nod to show her how patient I’m being and then head for the central hallway, out to our cubbies.

“I don’t..what… Jennifer Matthews..” I’m almost out of range when she squeaks that out but I turn and smile wider so she knows I heard. You know, there ought to be two Good Job Stickers for all this.

“You’ll be taking your story and a note home tonight. I want a chat with your parents.” Her voice is flat and serious. I had no idea she was this impressed. If she wants to let my parents know, maybe this is even a Pizza Night Reward kind of deal.

“Ok.”

After school, I race home. Gilligan’s Island will be on soon. I want to grab a snack and get to the good spot on the floor, as close as I can be without crossing Mom’s that’s-too-close-you’ll-go-blind line.

“Hi Mom!” I dump my school bag at the door but hang on to the Good-Job-Sticker-maybe-even-Pizza-Night-Reward story. “Here ya go.” I flip the booklet and note on to the table and turn my attention to the cupboards.

I root around and come up with some peanut butter, bread slices, and a banana. I start putting my sandwich together, looking over occasionally at Mom. She’s alternating between looking at my story and the teacher’s note. Red is slowly rising up her neck. She’s got that same pinched look Miss Krizinski had.

“Jennifer…” my mom starts slowly.

“Yes.”

“What happened at school today?” She tilts her head at and me and purses her lips.

“Not much,” I shrug. Casual because, like, I didn’t even get my Good Job Sticker yet so let’s not get ahead of ourselves too much, like they always say. They will probably want the Pizza Night Reward to be a surprise. I load my sandwich on to the Tupperware plate and head for the living room.

“Oh!” I should at least let her know what I learned from all this today. “Guess what Mom. I’m going to be a writer when I grow up.”