For real. It's invisible.

Sometimes I have trouble telling whether I’m awake or not. This is an actual problem that I have.

Since I was a kid I’ve had weird sleep/ dream issues: lucid dreaming, sleep paralysis, and something that I don’t know the name for but it goes like this: I am asleep, having a dream. I am doing normal real-life stuff, and then this thought occurs to me, either prompted by some strange event or just the subtle sensation that something is off–the thought “is this a dream?” So I pinch myself, and then I say “no, not a dream, definitely felt that,” except I didn’t actually feel the pinch, I just dream-felt it. This self-deception is airtight. I’ve heard every trick in western culture for determining whether you’re dreaming or not... And then I’ve internalized these tricks into my subconscious. It may be impossible to focus on text if you’re in a dream, but it is eminently possible to tell yourself “hey, I just focused on that text!” in a dream. 


My breakfast duty this morning was just absurd enough to raise some questions about my state of consciousness. As loyal readers will remember, I monitor first grade breakfast, which is an adorable way to start the day. Jaiden* always shows up first. Jaiden eats breakfast at home every morning and it’s always Cheerios. He and I have this running joke where I ask what he ate, and then I guess two things that aren’t Cheerios, and then I guess Cheerios. January 8 and this has not gotten old. This morning Jaiden came in walking like a Sherpa, buckling under the weight of his backpack. “What's in your backpack?” I asked (a rare departure from routine). I had to ask him to speak up twice before I understood his answer. “Sausages!” he shouted. “Your backpack is heavy because it’s full of sausages?” I asked. He said yes.

The next child to arrive was Angela. She told me it was her birthday. Then she asked if she could go give her teacher something from her backpack. “What's in your backpack?” I asked. “A penny and a raisin” she said. “You have a penny and a raisin in your backpack?” I asked. She said yes. She said it was a project and pulled out what looked like a thermos wrapped in a shopping bag. "The penny didn't do anything," she said. I asked Jaiden if his sausages were also part of an experiment but he laughed at me like I was the absurd one. Background investigation reveals that the first graders have not been assigned science projects.

Since I'm not actually the protagonist in a picture book, there was not a third child with a strange object in their backpack to complete the rule of three. But we’re not done yet. Soon after I told Angela to put away her penny and her raisin, Dalani came in. Before she even put her backpack down, she marched up to me. It was urgent. “Have you ever tried sausage muffins?” she demanded. I told her I hadn’t. She informed me that they’re great. I told her to talk to Jaiden.

The moment when I actually did have to pinch myself was when Lionel started delivering the following monologue to his classmate, which I copied down verbatim,** you’re welcome. Lionel is a seven-year-old boy, and in about two minutes he said everything a seven-year-old boy says. None of these comments on their own is at all remarkable, but smashed together like this… I want to award him The Most Seven-Year-Old Boy in America:

“One time my brother opened my brain and put trash inside and closed it back up. And my brain was full of trash. It was so gross. Today I’m going to make a whole machine. For real. It’s invisible. Frederick and me are going to make it. And I’m going to change my name to his name. Can you keep a secret? One time I saw a dog talk.”

Verbatim, people, except for a part that I missed somewhere in the middle that involved him angrily repeating “five thousand dollars! Five thousand dollars! No, real five thousand dollars!” I think that is the price to see his whole machine.

I had a really good day after that where I made fifth graders understand "The Most Dangerous Game" and then I got to show Planet Earth to third graders. The only thing better than watching a pack of 500 dolphins*** is watching a classroom of third graders watch a pack of 500 dolphins.

Whatever all that was, I never did wake up.

*Of course I always change names, but this one is a cop out. One third of the boys at my school are named some form of Jaden.

**This is the real reason I carry a clipboard.

***Actually the collective noun for dolphins is school or team. My friends recently turned me on to the best page on Wikipedia. An array of hedgehogs. A zeal of zebras. A business of ferrets. I think the collective noun for third graders is the same as for gorillas: A whoop of third graders/ gorillas.