Mr. Smith stood before seven students on the roof of a twenty-story building.
“For today’s lesson, we are going to fly. Not learn to fly. But fly. Jimmy, you had a question.”
Jimmy, the one with his hand raised, nodded yes. “We’re not birds. We can’t fly.”
“No, we’re not birds. We’re superheroes.”
Emily raised her hand and asked, “Will there be a net?”
“No, Emily, there won’t be a net.”
Jason, the kid with the glasses, didn’t raise his hand. He just asked, “Are you sure? I’ve never flown before. I tried jumping off my dad’s barn. If I hadn’t fallen on a load of hay, I would have broken something.”
“Jason,” there was frustration in the teacher’s voice. “You can’t break something. You’re a superhero.”
Margaret looked scared. “Are you sure, Mr. Smith?”
“Of course, I am sure. I’ve been teaching twenty years and I’ve never lost a student. Now, class, step up to the edge.”
The seven twelve-year-olds turned and stepped onto the ledge. They looked down. It was a long way to the concrete below.
“Now jump off. And don’t forget to land on your feet.” Mr. Smith stepped behind each of his students, confident that they were going to fly.
Well, you’ve heard the old saying that turkeys can’t fly. Mr. Smith’s class couldn’t fly. His students hit the concrete below. And they hit it hard. When he heard the splats below, Mr. Smith’s mouth dropped open. What happened?
Just then, Miss Pettigrew, his assistant, rushed into the classroom. “Mr. Smith, what happened?”
She took the clipboard from his hand and read it, then she looked up at his face. “Didn’t you read this? It says here that this class is the X-ray vision class.”
He took the clipboard and read. The script was blurry. He squinted. Yep, it said “Flying”. He was sure of it. He looked down at the pavement below and said, “Darn kids.” Then he ripped off the page and handed it to Miss Pettigrew. He looked at the next class roster. “Well, it’s not my fault that they didn’t fly. Now, on to the Able-to-jump-tall-buildings class.” He passed the clipboard back to Miss Pettigrew.
She read the class title to herself. “No, Sir, it’s the Shapeshifting class.”
He grabbed the clipboard from his assistant and read, then he looked up at her. “Miss Pettigrew, do not argue with me. It’s the Able-to-jump-tall-buildings class.” There was a lot of frustration in his voice. He was starting to turn blue. When he went dark blue, all hell broke loose.
To calm him down, she said, “Yes, Sir. You’re right.”
Her soothing words brought him back to a state of calm and his body went back to its normal tan. Then he said, “Miss Pettigrew, I think you need some glasses.”
As he left the room, Miss Pettigrew said under her breath, “We know who needs the glasses.”