It was the beginning of the school year, 2005, and classes had only been in session for a few days. I had a room full of students I didn't know yet. I was teaching in a rather nondescript classroom with no windows, a tile floor, one chalkboard, one bulletin board, and a drop ceiling. One of the ceiling tiles was missing, which was pretty common. I was in the middle of a lesson when a small mousy girl in the back of the room suddenly raised her hand. She had a terrible look on her face and I assumed a pass to nurse's office was about to be requested. However, when I called on her, I realized that she only had a question...an urgent and troubling question.
"Miss V., why are there eyes in the ceiling"?, she nervously asked.
The entire class immediately stared up at that missing ceiling tile and, sure enough, three sets of eyes peered back at us. I calmly asked the students if they would slowly get out of their desks and follow me into the hallway. We left, shut the door, and I immediately paged a custodian.
It turns out that a family of raccoons had moved in during summer vacation. They knew they were there, but the exterminators could not find them and said that the noise of the students coming back would likely draw them out. They were right!
"Miss V., why are there eyes in the ceiling"?, she nervously asked.
The entire class immediately stared up at that missing ceiling tile and, sure enough, three sets of eyes peered back at us. I calmly asked the students if they would slowly get out of their desks and follow me into the hallway. We left, shut the door, and I immediately paged a custodian.
It turns out that a family of raccoons had moved in during summer vacation. They knew they were there, but the exterminators could not find them and said that the noise of the students coming back would likely draw them out. They were right!
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