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?

Vocabulary Lesson

I learned a new word this week from a third-grader, although it’s doubtful whether history’s greatest lexicographer, James Murray, whose life work was editing the Oxford English Dictionary, could vouch for its etymology.

After reading a short story, Molly’s Pilgrim, in which a young girl in a new school is made uncomfortably aware of the physical, cultural, and linguistic differences between her and her classmates, I gave the children three reading comprehension questions. The first, “Why did Molly want to leave her new school?” elicited this from Alli: “Because she was discluded.”

“Discluded?” I asked, wanting to make sure I had deciphered her handwriting correctly.

Yes. Alli confirmed it.

“I didn’t know discluded was a word,” I told her.

It is, Alli insisted with an imperiousness that unmistakably said that she was now the teacher and I the student.

I wonder if that’s how Boswell and Johnson got started.

Columbus Day

The music teacher today reminded the kindergarten class that even though today is the birthday of Christopher Columbus, we celebrated his life earlier in the week, on Monday. That was a holiday for many people but a half-day of school for them. Curious about what the children knew of the explorer, she asked them, "What is Columbus Day?"

"It's a short day," said one student, "and we don't have a lot of time to do our work."

She then gave the children some brief details on the life of Columbus, including the background on his trans-Atlantic voyage and fortuitous discovery of America. Upon completion of her narrative, one student raised his hand. "Wait," he asked, "he was a real person?"   

As part of the day's program, the music teacher taught the children a charming song about Columbus, with a sing-along refrain about "the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria." 

She also prepared a lesson that combined a song about the season with a simple dance step. Before beginning, and as a hint for that choreography, she asked the children what we do with the fallen leaves. "Call the lawn service," suggested one boy. "Get the blowers out," said a classmate. So much for the dance routine that would mimic the act of raking.

Spellbound

Who said spelling has to be dull? Back with the fifth grade yesterday, I gave the students their weekly test in the subject: 18 words, all ending in –able (lovable, likable, usable, etc.), plus three complete sentences, each with another –able word. For added fun, there were to be a couple of bonus words.

Before administering the test, I told the class about my own spellbinding misadventure. Back when I was in the fifth grade, I won a class spelling bee. Any small pride I took in the accomplishment immediately vanished when I learned that my reward was to be entry in a broader community contest at a local VFW post. That second spelling bee required wearing a jacket and tie, and on a Sunday afternoon!

Fast forward to the big day. Peevish about being forced to surrender my free time on the weekend and nervous about the competition, I lined up on the stage with the other children. Here came my first word: “desert.”  The spelling bee’s administrator put it in a sentence: “The desert is a large, dry area of land.”

“Desert,” I repeated. “D-E-S-S-E-R-T. Desert.”

Boing! The rude buzzer loudly proclaimed an incorrect response. Banished from the stage, I had to join the audience of proud parents through the interminable elimination rounds. Speeches praising the winner followed, along with photos of all of the contestants.

I never misspelled that word again, I told the class.

“But how can we remember “desert” and “dessert?” asked Kyle.

You always want a double helping of dessert, I told him, echoing the hint I received too late to be of use to me when I most needed it.

O.K., it was time for their test now. I dictated the 18 words and three sentences. Then, to enliven an expanded bonus round, I asked for volunteers. One-by-one, five different students came to the front of the classroom.  While I held an oversized children’s dictionary, each student in turn, with eyes closed, opened the dictionary and blindly pointed to a spot on the page.

The first bonus word is “eclipse,” I announced.

And so on for several additional words—“planet,” “counter,” “undertone,” and “practice”—stopping twice to veto words I thought too easy for fifth graders: “candy” and “oven.”

“Let’s keep going,” said the class. There was time for just one more—a super bonus word. I would choose. Can you guess the word?

The super bonus word is “dessert,” I said.

All but one student spelled it correctly.