The Tale of Water and Melon

There once was a time when a first grader decided to spontaneously rename me. During my student teaching this little boy seemed to feel a rivalry with me. He was never disrespectful, but he always seemed to feel the urge to outdo me. It was almost like he saw me as an older sibling to surpass. Honestly, it was humorous. It wasn’t something that occurred every day.

It started off rather simple. He knew I was the student teacher but forgot my name. Instead of asking, he looked around the room. Spotting the contents lying on the table in front of him, he decided it held the solution to his current predicament. A triumphant look of victory flashed upon his face.

“Your name is Melon!” he proudly announced, revealing the crayon that was apparently my namesake. He held it as if it were the crown jewel, a divine treasure, a Godsend.

Many people probably would have gotten offended or seen some sort of issue with this. Unsure of my actual name, he decided to make up his own for me, and plenty of people likely wouldn’t appreciate being renamed. Heck, it wasn’t even a “normal” human name. He named me after a crayon color/type of food. I could have chosen to be bothered by this. I decided to roll with it, though.

“Hmm, Melon, huh?” I pondered the name, stroking my chin in contemplation. “Well, then you must be Water, and together we’re Watermelon!” I exclaimed as if it were the most natural and logical response.

He seemed shocked that I played along and gave him a new name in turn. A determined light flashed in his eyes. This little boy was game. He eagerly considered his next move. The first grader didn’t make his move immediately, biding his time.

Days later, he approached me with an air of importance surrounding him. With a broad smile he declared, “I’m smart!”

“I’m smart, as well,” I replied, curious to see where he took the conversation next.

“Well, I’m smarter than you! I’m smart smart!” he insisted with gusto.

Suppressing the growing grin that yearned to peek out, I returned, “I guess that makes me smart smart smart.”

He huffed. “If you’re smart smart smart, then I’m smart smart smart smart!” he announced with finality, dashing off to his seat.

I howled with laughter on the inside but didn’t let it show. The art class still needed to be taught after all. As amusing as continuing our “smart” contest would have been, I was there to learn the practices of the art educator. He was determined to ensure I knew how smart he was, though—it would be utter blasphemy if I were uneducated and unaware of this indisputable truth, of course—and I soon found myself the recipient of a note. It proclaimed, “Water is smart smart smart smart.” Chuckling to myself, I returned the note to him with my own addition: “Melon is smarter.” Miffed at my retort, he crossed it out, shaking his head to disregard my “false” claim.

At home I pondered what I could do in response to his note. Sure, I gave him a witty response, but it felt lacking. It needed something more. We were both having fun with “Water and Melon,” and I didn’t want the fun to end (and it was blatantly obvious that he didn’t, either). While at the store, I had an epiphany. I spied a bottle and knew exactly what needed to transpire. Armed with my new purchase and a Sharpie marker, I beamed. Giddy excitement seeped from my being, eagerly awaiting his response.

The next day I spied him before school, hanging out in his mom’s classroom across the hall. Waving, I greeted, “Hey, Water. I got you something!”

I handed him the water and kept an eye on his reaction. He turned the bottled water over, curious, and he broke out in a grin from ear to ear. He loved it.

“It’s me!” he excitedly announced, enthused that I had turned the regular “Smart Water” into “Smart Smart Smart Smart Water.” It couldn’t be anything less; he was smart smart smart smart, after all. He burst out into hearty laughter.

We continued our game over the weeks, exchanging notes and quips. We were quite the duo, Water and Melon, savoring our unique and playful rapport. My first-grade buddy composed a thank you note for my witty gift. He even brought me some fruit as a return gift. I created a hand-made thank you card in return, poking fun at how my cooperating teacher “ate us” for lunch since she ate the watermelon. He appreciated my card, thinking it was hilarious.

Water often sought me out. Didn’t matter what the situation was. If school was in session, he looked for me and added to our game. Field Day was a blast—he whizzed about in a frenzy, eager to participate in all the activities and thoroughly soaking himself. He most definitely fit his namesake that day. When he saw me helping out, he broke out into a huge, sopping smile. The precious sight warmed my heart. To commemorate the occasion, I created a special Field Day card for him, noting how he looked like a “water tornado” on the field. He snickered at the thought.

We had a blast with our game. The only reason it ceased was due to the end of the school year. I continued showing up for student teaching even after my college semester was up; I had too much fun with the students. Other educators might have qualms with a first grader dubbing them after a crayon—one of my practicum teachers comes to mind (she delved into a lengthy lecture for a first grader that read the name off my name badge, insisting that he never call a teacher by their first name as it’s disrespectful, but I thought it was over the top as he was merely practicing the skill of reading and had been quite proud of himself for reading my name correctly before the intense lecture)—but our game brought life into the classroom. Granted, there’s a time for seriousness, without a doubt. Even so, educators shouldn’t forget there’s a time and place for playfulness, too. An air of silliness (albeit properly timed silliness) fosters a welcoming environment for everyone, making it a place people want to be. I know Water and I wanted to be.

I could have chosen to be more serious in student teaching, but it wouldn’t have been me. If I had, it would have been inauthentic. The real me has a playful and witty side that loves to laugh and engage in light-hearted silliness. The Water and Melon Saga is dear to my heart, and I’ll always remember our jokes and escapades fondly. If it left even part of the impression on my buddy, Water, and other kiddos, as it did me, savoring the memories in their hearts, then I’ll say my student teaching was a job well done, mission accomplished, and a worthwhile experience.