Kindergarten

Given the choice during this past school year between teaching (as a substitute) kindergarten or high school, I opted for kindergarten every time. I’ll take the youthful enthusiasm and innate curiosity of five year olds over the grim indifference and monosyllabic inarticulateness of so many teenagers. And with five kindergarten classes in the district, there were numerous opportunities to work with the children.

As an editor, I thought my 35 years’ experience with childish behavior—albeit never with 20 or more writers and artists at the same time all day—would serve me well with kindergartners. At times this year, though, I felt more like a shepherd than an instructor, trying to maintain at least a sense of order and collaboration within the group while staying alert to any individuals tending to wander off (physically and emotionally). 

I am blessed to have what is a tiny role in an elementary school among so many intelligent, compassionate, and dedicated teachers and staff members. Kindergarten teachers, however, are a special breed, with deep reserves of patience and cool. For most of the children, kindergarten represents their first full day of structure. And it is a very long day for them, especially at the start of the fall semester.

 

Not once did I ever witness a kindergarten teacher lose her composure, even under the most trying circumstances. And not a day went by that I was not asked by another kindergarten teacher or aide if I needed anything: assistance, a break, advice, etc. There were times when one of them walked past the open door to my class and laughed. It must have been the shell-shocked expression on my face.

Every day that I subbed in kindergarten brought wonderful and unpredictable surprises from the children. For example:

• While I was bending low to explain something to the bespectacled Anthony, he suddenly looked me in the eye and said, “I think you must like me.” How would that not melt the coldest heart!

• One morning, apropos of nothing, Giovanni started crying. “I miss my mom and dad,” he told me. Shortly after I had calmed him down, he announced, “Mr. K, look—I’m not crying anymore.” For the rest of the day he periodically alternated those two pronouncements.
• “Being bullied is like getting an injury, only your body doesn’t hurt,” said future philosopher William.
• The same William, when asked in June what was the most important thing he learned in kindergarten, told me, “Girls don’t like boys who use potty words.”
• Nathan interrupted a lesson to ask me, “Mr. K, what was your name when you were a kid?” When I told him “Jerry,” he said, “Then why did you change it to Mr. K.?” 
• I asked Nathan, whom I called “Nate the Great,” if anyone else referred to him by that nickname. “Mommy,” he said.

Other unanticipated questions and unsolicited opinions:
• “Do you know how to say ‘ten’ in Japanese?”
• “How old are you?”
• “One time, I got a stye.”
• “You rock!”
• “Whenever I look at a bright, shiny light I get a headache.”
• “What’s your elf’s name?”
• “It’s sad when people die, right? Well, everybody dies—even me”
• “My baby sister is zero [years old].”
• “Blue and red are my brother’s favorite colors.”
• “You know what’s super weird? My grandma gave my mom and dad chocolate candy coal [for Christmas].”
• “I can clap my hands behind my back.”
• “Can I go to the nurse, because I stabbed myself.”
• “It’s not lying; it’s changing your mind.”
• “My dad bites his nails.”
• “Why do you have a ring on your finger?”
• “Who are you married to?”
• “Where’s Mrs. K?”

As the children counted down the remaining days on the June calendar, I had one thought: I wish the school year was not coming to an end.

 

That’s easy for me to say. I never have to create lesson plans; I merely attempt to implement those left for me by the real teacher. I am not accountable to any state board for the progress (or perceived lack thereof) of the students. Nor do I meet with the parents, principal, superintendent, or director of curriculum. But the rewards are great.