What I’ve Learned From First Graders

My heart breaks for the parents of the first-grade children killed in Newtown, Connecticut, a week ago and for the devastating loss to their community of so much innocent and vibrant young life. It’s an unimaginable nightmare for every family. How does anyone begin to cope with such inconsolable grief? 

Just the day before the senseless tragedy I had taught a class of first graders in New Jersey. I thought about them when the terrible news broke. I’ve been lucky enough to have stepped in from time to time over the past three years as a substitute teacher for that grade. It is an assignment I always eagerly anticipated because it never failed to be educational while charmingly unpredictable. Here are some of the things those children taught me:

• First graders will animatedly raise their hands when a question is posed, but after being called upon they will invariably have no answer or have forgotten what they were going to say.

• First graders are supremely confident about their abilities, whether it is sports, academics, or the arts, claiming to be the best, the fastest, the strongest, smartest, and most talented in every area of interest.

• It’s toxic to stand behind first graders after lunch.

• First graders will interrupt the teacher’s lesson or read-aloud story to interject some personal comment unrelated to anything they have just heard.

• First graders never complain about the weather.

• If they know a sticker is the reward for good work, first graders will rededicate their efforts.

• First graders do not let correct spelling or punctuation get in the way of their writing.

• First graders consider themselves to be much more sophisticated and mature than kindergartners, whom they call “babies.”

• To hear them tell it, first graders are experts in anything you can name.

• First graders are unblinkingly honest when evaluating others’ appearances but indifferent about their own.

• On the hottest days in June, first graders will become uncontrollably manic during recess and then ask why it is so hot in the classroom.

• First graders will enthusiastically greet you every single time they see you in the course of the day.

• First graders are incapable of walking quietly in single file down a school hallway. Their preferred mode of locomotion is to skip noisily while nudging one another from point A to point B.

• If there is a puddle, first graders will walk through it rather than around it.

• First graders laugh whenever they hear the word “underwear” and consider “shut up” and “stupid” to be bad words.

• When asked if they have any questions, first graders will launch into unrelated anecdotes.

• First graders cannot wait to be a year older (or half a year older) but have no concept of an adult’s age.

• Upon completing some written assignment, first graders love to ask, “Can we color it now?”

• First graders are prone to hyperbolic one-upmanship.

• I have been invited by first graders to go bike riding and fishing with them, to babysit, watch a movie, and accompany them to their T-ball and soccer games.

• First graders will volunteer secrets about their parents that would mortify the parents if they had any inkling that such intimate information was being disseminated so offhandedly.

• Despite all evidence to the contrary, first graders will never admit to being tired.

• First graders believe anything you tell them.

Reading Comprehension

Subbing for the first-grade teacher, I was able to fulfill my favorite part of working with the children: reading a story aloud to them. This time, it was a cherished book: “The True Story of the Three Little Pigs,” by A. Wolf (as told to children’s author Jon Scieszka and illustrator Lane Smith). It’s a retelling of the fairy tale from the point of view of the incarcerated wolf, who attempts to set the record straight after being unfairly maligned since the story was first told.

“My name is Alexander T. Wolf,” he begins in the first paragraph, “but you can call me ‘Al.’”

A hand went up. A question already?

Yes, Angie?

“My daddy’s name is Al.”

More hands were raised.

Let’s continue, I decided, anticipating a protracted interruption for a recitation of other familiarly known people named Al.

A few additional non sequiturs later, we had finished the story. The assignment for the students was to choose which version (the original or this retelling) they liked better and why, in at least two complete sentences. 

My favorite response, again from Angie, was this: “I liked the new version because the fox was in jail.”

What fox?

“The fox in the book.”

You mean the big bad wolf, who told the story?

“I thought it was a fox.”

Show and Tell

Third-grader Remi was concluding the day with her “Star of the Week” presentation. It’s a prolonged show-and-tell in which the children take turns revealing themselves to their classmates via poster, photographs, drawings, and personal artifacts.

There were photos of Remi as a baby and others at various ages, with family members, and at different vacation spots.

“This is my dog,” Remi said, pulling a stuffed animal out of a tote bag. “And look, she has puppies,” unzipping four smaller stuffed animals from the mother dog’s stomach. Remi also talked about a purple plush carry-all bought for her in Italy by her musician father.

“And here is my favorite,” she said, holding up a locket on a ribbon. “It was my great grandma’s.” She opened the locket. “This is a spot for a small photo of me, but I didn’t put one in yet.”

I was standing next to Athan, one of her classmates, during this part of the presentation. He motioned for me to lean over so that he could say something. When I did, he whispered conspiratorially, “Sometimes when two people are in love, they put photos of each other in the locket.”   

Kid Stuff

One five-year-old little boy, in the course of one unforgettable day in kindergarten, asked or told me the following:

• Where’s [the regular teacher] Mrs. B?

• I like baseball because you get really cool trophies.
• What’s your first name?
• I just don’t like reading.
• Mr. Jerry, when’s recess?
• I’m talented at climbing.
• How old are you?
• “W” is for “whale” or “what’s happenin’”
• My pants are falling down.
• What’s the name of your elf?
• I love to write art. I’m a great artist.
• You can’t have all that paper [to his classmates]. You’re wasting trees.
• I didn’t wear a coat today because when I got up, the sky was white.
• Guess what? My dad bites his nails. I bite my nails, too.

Childish Behavior

Working for nearly 35 years as an editor provided valuable experience in dealing with childish behavior. But how could I have known then that the sometimes Sisyphean effort required to push against professional writers’ whining, excuses, immaturity, recalcitrance, and incoherence would come back into play and serve me well a generation later teaching kindergarten?

I remember one writer, tripped up and caught first by a fact-checker and then by a copy editor, who nevertheless wanted his essay published, uncorrected, as he had written it. Figuratively stamping his foot and holding his breath, he insisted that the piece was fine just as it was and the statement one he wanted to make.

When reason and courtesy could not prevail against such intransigence I coldly laid out three options for the writer and his copy:

1. You rewrite it

2. I rewrite it
3. I kill it

He chose option No. 1.

Kindergartners, similarly self-absorbed, at times fail to see, and thus choose, options that are clearly in their best interests. The counterstrategy against their obduracy is not nearly so cold-blooded. Today, for example, I told one five-year-old boy to get down before he fell from the high teacher's stool he was perched on.

He reassured me of his prowess. "I'm talented at climbing," he blithely said by way of ignoring the directive. When I told him he was going to get me in trouble with the principal, he complied. Was that empathy for a co-conspirator, or a first sign of maturity?