Beauty in the day: my counselor/psychologist/bff was in classrooms having the “safe touch” talk. She started out in the 1st grade class, and by necessity (by design, really), used a few anatomical terms for body parts. One tyke thought to “challenge” her choice of vocabulary, so my friend challenged her right back. “All of our body parts have names,” she explained. She pointed to her nose, and the group was able to properly identify it. She pointed to her knee – again, they were on-target. She pointed to her foot, and the little challenger, who was beginning to enjoy this game, shouted out, “Shoe!” My ever-patient friend, rather than correcting her, agreed with her answer, and then decided to give her another opportunity. She removed her shoe, and pointed again. The little one was now at genius levels, and exclaimed, “Sock!”
Beauty in the day: he is the kindergartener who rolls on the floor. Today, in his Guest Teacher-led class, he was, well, a little out of control. I went to the classroom at the teacher’s request for a little help, since the last known “on deck” person was already “on base”. I entered a room filled with – snoring. Nineteen little bodies were sitting at tables with their heads on the tables, giving their very best Oscar-worthy rendition of “Child at Desk in School Taking a Nap”. One little kindergartener, however, was still wide awake. In his determination to give his own Oscar-worthy performance, he was, er, ascending to greater heights. I went over to where he was and got serious. “Eyes on me, Friend.” His eyes found mine. “Please tell me, Friend, what all your classmates are doing.” He was not fooled by this line of questioning, and answered brilliantly.
“They are pretending to have a nap in class. They are doing a sleep, and some of them are snoring.”
“Okay, Friend, and is this what you are also supposed to be doing?”
His answer was about to be less brilliant, but then his brain prompted him (politely, I’m sure) to say, “Yes.”
“Okay, eyes on me, Friend.” He complied. “I want you to show me exactly what you are supposed to be doing in five, four, three…”
His legs walked his body straight to his chair, his spine bent elegantly over his desk, and he expertly laid his head on the desk, punctuating the moment with a well intentioned soft little snore.
We had a talk about how he simply could no longer fool me, because he has, on several occasions, proven how brilliantly his brain worked, and how utterly capable he was at following directions.
The AP got involved then, and a plan was developed for him to earned smiley faces. After 3 smiley faces were earned (this would take 15 minutes), he could come to the office and choose a prize from his illustrious prize box.
15 minutes later, he arrived, classroom aide in tow, with his 3 smiley faces, and ready to claim his prize. But the AP had been called away. I grabbed my camera, and we went together to the prize box. “I will take a picture of you for the AP,” I told him. He looked with dampened desire at the prizes. Something wasn’t right. He looked at the prizes and then at me, uncertainty in his chocolate brown lash-rimmed eyes. “It’s a little bit like stealing,” he mused. I assured him that we would take the picture, and then the AP would be super proud and happy.
“I should pick two, then.”