April Fish

​I thought I would be spending April 1st with my students explaining the origins of Poisson d’Avril- how the French recognize this infamous day. Instead, I gave instructions about being sneaky at school.

The majority of these kids were in fact five years old. Somebody has to teach them how it works.

I preached...
Running gives you away.
You can’t be quiet when you are running.
You can’t stealthily make your way up to a teacher’s door with a paper fish if you are running.
You can’t make a clean getaway if your voice and stomping feet echo in the halls.

The French recognize April Fool’s Day as Poisson d’Avril, which literally means Fish of April. Basically, French kids try to tape paper fish to each other all day while yelling Poisson d’Avril and running away. My kids yelled everything but Poisson d'Avril. We kept practicing because this is not the easiest French expression for them to squeal. They eventually managed it quite nicely.

Totally adorable.

My kiddos did not care that I tied this lesson to history or to calendar talk or to awesome cultural standards sent out by the great folks at the American Council of Teachers of Foreign Languages (ACTFL).

They only cared about the great sneak surprise we played on our principal. We initiated a covert operation from blue hall down a red hall and into a back door of our office. Seventeen tiny but very enchanted kids became a little concerned that we would get in big BIG trouble. We managed to tape all of 17 decorated fish to a door and scoot out of the office before a great giggle fest erupted.

Third and fourth graders adventured down yellow hall and managed to cover their homeroom doors with lovely paper fish. Some were serious, some were silly, and some were well in touch their sneaky side. It was a morning filled with lots of laughter, paper scraps, and excitement. I loved it all.

My fifth graders however had no trouble being sneaky. I give them kudos for pranking me into a scream so loud that they fell in the floor hooting. I never saw them go near my desk with the fake roaches. As I sat down to check an email, a large (plastic but I didn’t know it at the time) cucaracha cradled my coffee cup.

Did I scream because of the roach or because I realized I might have to go the morning without coffee?
We will never know.

This happened TWICE within five minutes, and I fell for it both times. As these fifth graders ran down the hall to their room to cover their door with fish, I followed yelling, “Stop it, stop it!” To my amazement, they listened, and we creeped into the room where their teacher had her own surprises waiting. I ended this day with my own door covered in perfectly precious paper fish.

I seriously need to practice what I preached today.

Running gives me away. I need to slow it down.
I can’t be quiet when I am running myself ragged.
I can’t stealthily make my way towards retirement if I am running on fumes. My back and shoulders and my knees can’t take it.
I can’t make a clean getaway if I’m complaining and stomping my feet in frustration when something doesn’t go my way.

I’m hoping to channel some of that giggling and hooting and silliness of today to help me soar into spring break.

There was a lightness to the day that was unexpected.
And that’s no joke.

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