Miss Daisy Is Crazy!

“My name is A.J. I like football and video games, and I hate school.” Our teacher, Miss Daisy, was taking attendance. It was the first day of second grade. Miss Daisy told everyone in the class to stand up, say our name, and say something about ourself.
    All the kids laughed when I said I hated school. But there was nothing funny about it. I have learned a lot in my eight years. One thing I learned is that there is no reason why kids should have to go to school.
    If you ask me, kids can learn all we need to learn by watching TV. You can learn important information like which breakfast cereal tastes best and what toys you should buy and which shampoo leaves your hair the shiniest. This is stuff that we’ll need to know when we grow up.
    School is just this dumb thing that grown-ups thought up so they wouldn’t have to pay for baby-sitters. When I grow up and have children of my own, I won’t make them go to school. They can just ride their bikes and play football and video games all day. They’ll be happy, and they’ll think I’m the greatest father in the world.
    But for now, I wanted to let my new teacher, Miss Daisy, know from the very start how I felt about school.
    “You know what, A.J.?” Miss Daisy said,
    “I hate school too.”
    “You do?”
    We all stared at Miss Daisy. I thought teachers loved school. If they didn’t love school, why did they become teachers?
    Why would they ever want to go to a school as a grown-up? I know that when I’m a grown-up, I’m not going to go any-where near a school.
    “Sure I hate school,” Miss Daisy contin-ued. “If I didn’t have to be here teaching you, I could be home sitting on my com-fortable couch, watching TV and eating bonbons.”
    “Wow!” we all said.
    “What’s a bonbon?” asked Ryan, a kid with black sneakers who was sitting next to me.
    “Bonbons are these wonderful chocolate treats,” Miss Daisy told us. “They’re about the size of a large acorn, and you can pop the whole thing right in your mouth so you don’t need a napkin. I could eat a whole box of bonbons in one sitting.”

    “They sound delicious!” said Andrea Young, a girl with curly brown hair. She was sitting up real straight in the front of the class with her hands folded like they were attached to each other.
    Miss Daisy seemed like a pretty cool lady, for a teacher. Anybody who hated school and liked to sit around watching TV and eating chocolate treats was okay by me.
    Me and Miss Daisy had a lot in common. Maybe going to school wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

     

Miss Daisy said it was time for us to clear off our desks and see how much we knew about arithmetic.
    Ugh!
    “If I gave you fifty-eight apples and Principal Klutz took twenty-eight of them away,” Miss Daisy asked, “how many apples would you have left? A.J.?” 7
    “Who cares how many apples you would have left?” I said. “I hate apples. If you ask me, you and Principal Klutz can take all the apples away and it wouldn’t bother me one bit.”
    “You would have thirty apples,” said that girl Andrea Young in the front of the class. She had a big smile on her face, like she had just opened all her birthday presents. Andrea Young thinks she’s so smart.
    “I hate arithmetic,” I announced.
    “You know what?” Miss Daisy said. “I hate arithmetic too!”

    “You do?” we all said.
    “Sure! I don’t even know what you get if you multiply four times four.”
    “You don’t?”

    “I have no idea,” Miss Daisy said, scratching her head and wrinkling up her forehead like she was trying to figure it out. “Maybe one of you kids can explain it to me?”
    Boy, Miss Daisy was really dumb! Even I know what you get when you multiply four times four. But that smarty-pants-I-know-everything-girl Andrea Young beat me to it and got called on first.
    “If you put four crayons in a row,” she told Miss Daisy as she put a bunch of crayons on the top of her desk, “and you make four rows of four crayons, you’ll have sixteen crayons. See?” Then she counted the crayons from one to sixteen.

    Miss Daisy looked at the crayons on Andrea’s desk. She had a puzzled look on her face.
    “I’m not sure I understand,” she said.
    “Can somebody else explain it to me?” Michael Robinson, this kid wearing a red T-shirt with a dirt bike on it, explained four times four again, using pencils. He had sixteen pencils on his desk, in four rows of four pencils. Miss Daisy still had a look