This writing challenge is called the Slice of Life, taking the time to capture a slice of one’s life each day for a month.As my fingers tripped over the keys after a long day of teaching, it accidentally typed slice of lice. Well, if

one is in teaching long enough, there are usually a few lice stories. Here are a couple of mine.

 

My first year at my new school, many years ago, it was reading time. Kids were sitting at their desks, heads burrowed in books as I worked my way from reader to reader to listen, confer, and encourage. I noticed the principal, Ms. Luey came in. Although under 5 feet and petite, she towered over the school with her strict and abrasive demeanor. “There is lice in the building! I am here to do a lice check.” “Okay”, I answered, assuming she would be efficient and more importantly, discreet. I have since learned not to assume. She tapped the first kid closest to the door on the shoulder and signaled for them to follow her. But rather than walk outside, or at least out of sight, behind a bookshelf, anything, she stayed in the room, by the door and pulled out her thick popsicle stick and rubber gloves and began separating hair. First the top, then the side and lastly along the nape of the neck. No more than 30 seconds in her first lice check did she holler out, “I’ve got a live one!” I watched the student, Lucia, shrink, not lifting her gaze as she was instructed before everyone to gather her things as she was going home. I wish I was quicker, braver and had said to Ms. Luey, “Can you be more private, can you be more humane.” But, I did not. I helped Lucia gather her things and handed her some work and books she could take home with her. I gave her a helpless smile and let her know I hoped to see her back soon.

 

Many years later it was me with the lice. Scratching, scratching for real or phantom lice, I did not know. I had a student who had lice, Natalie. At the time, I taught small groups of reading intervention. She was in one of my groups. She was kind, timid, and so fearful of seeming behind. Her smile was always slow to spread across her face and quick to withdraw when her nervousness took over. One day, I noticed her scratching her head a lot. As she read the page, I looked up at her head, her hair parted in the middle and could see a bug cross from one side of her part to the other. I averted my eyes back to the text, preparing what to say to the school nurse that would investigate, privately and humanely. Later, the school nurse did check and Natalie and her 2 siblings left for the day.

 

It was not for a few days till I noticed I too was scratching, a lot. I went home and asked my husband to check for lice. Nothing. I asked my teenager to check for lice. Nothing. Granted, their checks for lice took all of 30 seconds and lifted hair off only two parts of my head. So the lice spread. I went on winter break and towards the end, I was certain I had lice. My husband and kid checked again. Nothing. Imade an appointment with the Hair Fairies and after 5 minutes in their chair they had counted at least 10 live lice and dozens of nits, or eggs. I was horrified. I sat patiently as they combed each strand of hair multiple times to ensure they were all gone.  I went back a few days later for an additional check.

 

Every now and again, I get a whiff of a diffuser full of essential oils. The smell of tea tree oil, what they use to treat lice, always makes me think of Lucia and Natalie. It also triggers a memory of my time with lice, as I involuntarily reach and scratch my head, first the top, then behind my ears and lastly at the nape of my neck.