Crouching beside her drawing, I asked A. what she’d been working on.

“It’s you,” she said. There was my hair, she explained, and there, my eyebrows and there, my beard.

And there was my moustache, frowning over the space that would have been my lips.

“You’re angry.”

Oh, no, I thought. It’s hardly five days into the school year. Had Mr. U shown his mean side already?

“Why am I angry, A.?”

“You couldn’t find your glasses.”

My wife got me those shades. Hugo Boss.

It started as a simple lesson in how to use glue. It turned into a cult-like chorus of children, chanting.

Today, we taught the kids that when they use glue, they should use “just one drop, not a lot.” It’s a variation on a time-tested mnemonic that helps kids avoid sticky messes.

They repeated it a few times, just for reinforcement, then headed back to their tables to make their letter art.

Then, as they were gluing little squares of construction paper onto big, blocky ABCs, the chanting started.

“Just one drop, not a lot. Just one drop, not a lot. Just one drop, not a lot.”

Normally, this wouldn’t be so funny — because normally, we tell kids to chant these kinds of things.

But unprompted, while they’re working? And in a sort of droning, monotone choral way?

Our assistant principal happened to be in the room. He couldn’t stop laughing and asked me to tell the story twice today. So we’ve got a witness. I just wish I had video.

Third day of school. First day of P.E.

Coach Spells is asking kids about their favorite sports.

“I like basketball,” T. says.

“Why?” Coach Spells asks.

“Because I can shoot and pass and dip.”

Coach Spells checks around the room. Soccer, football — also popular.

It’s S.’s turn. What’s your name?

“My name is S. and I like butterflies.”

Laughter.

That’s wonderful, S. But OK, really, we’re talking about sports.

She tries again. Her voice trembles.

“My name is S.”

She pauses, swallows.

“I like butterflies because they’re pretty.”