I wish people simply gave to charity out of the goodness of their hearts without need of incentive or competition. Fortunately, 8th graders are easy to trick into doing things, so when there is an incentive that is desirable enough and a competition that is hot enough, it's the perfect storm for Mrs. Martin, Super Saleswoman! Here is the competition: to raise money for families in need during the holidays, the lunch room supervising teachers (yours truly and the rest of the poor souls who were assigned this duty) are selling paper feathers to students for $1.00. When a student buys a feather, he writes his name on it and tapes it to one of the the cafeteria windows. Whichever team (the school is divided into teams depending on their schedule and lunch times) purchases the most feathers wins a prize. In the past, the prize has been gym time during homeroom. This was what the prize was thought to be for the first week of the competition. My team, the Jaguars, bought a grand total of three feathers. Yeah, it was pretty indicative of their attitude for charity. "I don't have any money. They should be sending me food during the holidays!" "Who cares about gym time?" On Friday, it was announced that the competition had been extended to the following Wednesday and the prize would not be gym time, but instead a movie with free popcorn for the whole team in the auditorium, during the school day. Feather sales would soon start to increase.
On Monday I started my pitch. The Jaguar's feathers are black to match the color of their hearts and their lanyards. I took a big stack of black paper feathers and a silver marker and waved them above my head as I walked around to each round lunch table.
"Who's buying a feather today? Who wants that free movie day? Who wants to help give to families in need during the holidays?"
No hands shot up in response. I walked up to a table and bent down.
"Come on guys, who wants to donate a dollar? You guys could get a free movie day!" I said.
A curly-haired mixed kid responded, "There's no way we're going to catch the Cardinals. They have a full window filled already!"
The Cardinals are the honor's team. Their feather color is red. They're the rich kids, they're the white kids, they're the generous kids. I frankly love having them in class. They may be snobs, but they be snobs whose parents taught them manners. They donated lots of money before they even knew what the prize was. They are, of course, a bit cocky though.
"No, no, no. You guys don't get it. You see, the Cardinals won't see you coming. They're content. They sitting pretty. They have a comfortable lead. You have three measly feathers up there! You're a joke! That's why you're in the perfect position!"
The table of Jaguars stared a me. A skinny black girl with a bad hair weave spoke.
"But how we gonna get as many as them? They got like a hundred. We only got two days. We don't got a chance."
I countered, "Yes you do! If every Jaguar donated just one dollar, you could have a window covered by today! Trust me on this: you plan a sneak attack. Donate a ton at the last minute. No one will see it coming! It's the perfect plan!"
They Jaguar table looked at each other skeptically.
I tried another tactic. "How much do you pay to go see a movie?"
The mixed kid said, "Like, ten bucks. Plus popcorn and stuff, like twenty maybe."
The other Jaguars nodded in agreement.
"This is one dollar. Just one! Maybe two if you want to be safe."
"But what movie is it going to be?" a fat kid argued. "It's probably going to be like PG or something lame."
"Who cares?" I said, throwing my hands up theatrically. "It's during the school day! And you get free popcorn!"
I bent over lower.
"And you get a chance to beat the Cardinals without them even knowing it. See, you have lunch after them. You have the advantage of knowing exactly how many feathers they have, so you'll know exactly how many feathers you need to win. It's the perfect plan, guys. Trust me. It's seriously perfect. Imagine, the Jaguars, the team who came from only three feathers in the first week, winning the movie day..."
The Jaguars looked around at each other. I could see the wheels turning.
"How much for one feather?"
I smiled. "A dollar."
Two of the Jaguars dug their hands into their dirty jeans' pockets and pulled out some dollar bills.
"I'll take two."
"I'll take one."
I shouted, "Yeah, that's what I'm taking about! A Jaguar surge! A sneak attack! It's all you, you're going to win! Spread the word!"
I performed my act at a few more tables. I got $5.00 from one kid and several more single orders. By the end of Monday there were 20 black feathers on the cafeteria window and promises from several students to bring money the next day.
On Tuesday I spread my plan to more tables. The Jaguars were buzzing. One wiry blonde boy with crooked teeth tossed me a bag with $20.00 worth of quarters and dimes. I cheered them on and excitedly urged them to spread the word! Every Jaguar had to bring at least a dollar to win! By the end of Tuesday's lunch there were 83 black feathers on the window. There were 120 red feathers. The Jaguars were closing in...
Wednesday was the final day to donate. I told my homeroom that if everyone in our class gave at least a dollar, I would bring them candy on Friday, regardless of if they won the overall competition.
My sassy little Mexican girl who always, I mean every day, always, wears some form of leopard print said, "If we don't win, I want my money back!"
I looked at her. "What do you think this money is for?"
Everyone got quiet.
"You want your two dollars back? Really? For what? So you can buy Air Heads at the book store or a cookie in the lunch line? Come on. If you lose, you still will have given a lot of money to families who don't have food or warm clothes. You want your two dollars back if you don't get to watch a stupid movie?"
She shook her head. "Nah, I'm just playin'. They can keep it."
I let the silence hang for a bit. "Good," I said.
Another one of my homeroom students came into class a little late with a money bank full of change.
"There's $27.52 in here!" he exclaimed, slamming it down on my desk.
"Alright, awesome!" I said.
He asked, "Can I go around to all the homerooms and ask for spare change? We can just put 'Jaguars' or something on those feathers. Or just leave 'em blank, who cares? We're gonna win!"
He was practically jumping up and down. The rest of the class didn't even mock him or laugh under their breath like they usually would at anyone who showed the least bit of positive emotion. They all just smiled with excitement and said encouraging things like, "Wow, that's so awesome!" and "I have some change in my locker!" and "Can we, can we please go collect change, Mrs. Martin?!"
"OK," I said, "but ask the classroom teacher first and don't be disruptive! And be back in less than 10 minutes to finish your work!"
He and a friend rushed out the room, the coin bank clanking heavily.
After he left and the room was quiet with Jaguars working on their morning math, one of my girls looked over at me. She has never spoke to me respectfully the whole year. She is rarely in her seat when the bell rings and she usually is stirring up some kind of disruption by gossiping loudly or dancing in her seat to silent pop music, which she mouths obnoxiously.
She said, "If it weren't for you, we would still have three feathers."
She said it very frankly. Not like a complement, not like an accusation, just sort of stating a fact. She stared at me for a few more seconds before I said, "I know."
She turned back to her math and quietly started working.
The cafeteria was mayhem that day. Jaguars were rushing up to me with handfuls of crumpled dollar bills. Everyone was asking, "How many do we need?" and "Are we going to win?" The Cardinals had also brought their A game for the final day of donating. A whole other window was feathered red. I didn't count the red feathers. I just kept collecting Jaguar money and animatedly answering "I'm not sure, we're close though! Everyone needs to give or else it won't be possible!"
The final score after Wednesday's lunch: Jaguars- $161.00, Cardinals- $258.00 None of the other 5 teams were even close. I didn't tell the Jaguars they had lost. They left the cafeteria bumping fists and excitedly murmuring, "We could win, we could win!"
When I told one of my colleagues what I was doing, she said, "The kids you hate? These are the kids in your homeroom, right? These are the kids who give you all the trouble? Why are you helping them?"
I just shrugged. I don't know really. Maybe I got caught up in the competition. Maybe I love an underdog. Maybe I enjoyed tricking the black-feathered monsters into donating all their money to charity. I honestly can't say. All I know is that tomorrow I will feed my kids a story along the lines of, "There was one kid on the Cardinals that gave like $50.00 at the last minute." Or, "You were only about $20.00 behind! If only more people would have donate just one dollar, we could have done it!" Or, "We will hatch an even greater plan next time and we will win!"
I don't know if they got the message or understood that each those colored feathers on the window represented $1.00 and added together those feathers would feed several families Thanksgiving dinner. What I do know is that for those two short days, the Jaguars were a team. They encouraged, they fought together for a common cause (albeit a movie day and free popcorn), and they won me over. I know there are still going to be plenty of days when I could strangle the lot of them and walk away whistling Dixie, but now I've seen what they can be, and I know what role I can play, and now I know that every time, we will win.
