Youthful Introspection

With the last day of school looming, the first-graders turned introspective. Their two-part assignment called for an honest self-appraisal in which they were asked to list (1) their strengths and (2) areas in need of improvement. Their priorities revealed an emphasis on sports and an overall blithe innocence.

Things I’m Good At:

Speling

Resling

Rok climeing

Soker

Holding breth in water

Drawing picktchurs

Resuling

Hoolahoopeing

Boling

Telling time

Jumpropeing

Hopping

Base boll

Twrling

Things I Need to Work On:

Wrasling

Han spring

Counting money

Hooiopeng

Gymnaskx

Redeing books

Playing tag

Making cupcakes

Reeding

Helping cook

Blowing bubbles with gum

Bacin cucese [baking cookies]

Sokr

Lisuning

Lost in Translation

Subbing for the Spanish teacher at the elementary school, I played “Stuart Little 2,” as instructed. There was some initial complaining from the students when they realized that the movie was neither in English nor included English subtitles. So, to make it interesting, I assigned them to write down as many Spanish words as they could identify, with the corresponding English translation alongside.

“But they talk too fast,” said Mackenzie.

Do the best you can, I told them. You know more than you think. As an incentive, I offered a prize to the student who recognized the most Spanish words.

“What’s the prize?”

A hundred dollars.

“What?” This was too much for Anastasia, who came to the front of the room to verify for herself what she had just heard.

“Really?”

No, I don’t have that much money with me, I confessed.

“What’s the prize then?

How about a pen?

“Can we see it?” asked Daniel.

Sure, I said, extracting a TD Bank ballpoint. It’s practically brand-new, I said. That was true. Good enough. More than half of the students started paying close attention to the soundtrack.

At one point early in the movie, the husband (Hugh Laurie) and wife (Geena Davis) kiss at breakfast. It drew a predictable response from third graders: “Ew, gross!”

Mairead was having none of that. “Uh, you’ll have to do that some day when you’re married,” she advised her classmates, giving them perhaps their first hint of matrimonial bliss but for now seeing the kiss more as obligation than desire.

Fast forward to the end of the period. We tallied up the recognizable Spanish words, and the pen went to Daniel, who listed an impressive 92 words in about 30 minutes.

Second Grade but First-Rate

Second-grader Sean told me this morning, “If I knew you were going to be here today, I would have worn my ‘Dude’ T-shirt.”

Too bad for me, I said. I wish I could have seen that.

“I have two of them: one long sleeve and one short sleeve.”

The short-sleeved one is to show off the guns, right? 

“Oh, yeah!” he said, flexing.

“Mr. K., I’m drawing a picture of you,” announced his classmate Anthony. “You can have it when I’m done.”

How flattering, I thought. And then I saw the drawing. Do I really bear such a strong resemblance to SpongeBob SquarePants, I wondered.

“I’m giving you a six-pack,” said Anthony, joyfully pointing to his illustration’s abdomen. O.K., that is about as close to six-pack abs as I’m ever going to have. And as Anthony proceeded to add details to his composition that enhanced the value of the artwork, he unremorsefully reconsidered his pledge. “Take a picture of it, Mr. K,” he said. “I’m going to give it to my father next week.”

I regret that I did not have a camera to record for posterity the finished product, which was inscribed “To Dad: Happy farthers day. From: Anthony”

Baseball Candy

Today’s Major League Baseball draft brought back memories for me of the only MLB draft that had any personal significance. Forty years ago my old friend and boyhood teammate John Candelaria was taken by the Pittsburgh Pirates in the second round.

Candy was in a league of his own as a kid pitcher, competing up one division because he was so overpowering for his own 10- 11-year-old age group in 1963. A terrific all-round player, he was our switch-hitting No. 3 batter. During one stretch, Candy threw three consecutive no-hitters. One day in seventh grade he brought to school a note he received from the St. Louis Cardinals. We knew it was the real thing because it was on the team’s letterhead. The message: We’ve heard about you. Keep working hard in school and at baseball.

There was no Little League in our Brooklyn neighborhood, so we played on one team all summer in two different leagues: CYO and the Parade Grounds League. That was in the day before scheduled play dates, micromanaging parents, video games and texting, branding, one-sport specialists, and pitch counts.

We didn’t pre-arrange any activities. We woke up, ate a quick breakfast, and met on the city street or in the Parade Grounds, where we played until reluctantly called home (and not via cell phone) for dinner. Dads were too busy working at least one full-time job to supervise our impromptu games and moms did not coach. We read the Hardy Boys and Chip Hilton and comic books.

There was no Gatorade, Powerade, vitaminwater, bottled water, or even garden hoses to quench our thirst. No one went to camp, wore designer sneakers, had personal coaches and trainers, or concentrated on one sport. The rotator cuff and oblique muscle had not yet been discovered, and if your arm ached from throwing a ball all day every day, you ignored the pain. The alternative was worse: no play.

Candy was no one-sport athlete. An all-city 6-7 forward at La Salle high school in Manhattan, he set a state record for rebounds and had numerous high-profile college basketball coaches recruiting him, including Al McGuire, who tried to entice Candy with a Marquette blazer and NIT watch.

After the 1972 draft, the Pirates sent Danny Murtaugh, who had managed the team to a World Series championship the previous season, to Brooklyn to sign Candy. He was accompanied by Pirates legend and future Hall of Famer Roberto Clemente, like Candy’s parents a native of Puerto Rico. It was thought by management that Clemente could convince the prize prospect to sign quickly. During the discussion, however, Clemente, in Spanish, successfully advised the Candelarias to hold out for more money.

Candelaria did sign and went on to play 19 seasons, mostly with Pittsburgh, including an auspicious 14-strikeout game as a rookie vs. Cincinnati’s Big Red Machine during the 1975 playoffs. He threw a no-hitter the following year and then went 20-5 in 1977, leading the National League in ERA (2.34) and winning percentage. He retired in 1993, having won 177 games for nine teams, including his hometown New York Mets and Yankees.

The Best Way to Make Children Good...

“The best way to make children good is to make them happy,” wrote Oscar Wilde. I try to keep that in mind whenever I’m fortunate to be a substitute teacher in a nearby elementary school. The rewards of working with the children are great. Take today, for example.

Are you learning a lot this year? I asked the kindergarten class, anticipating an unpredictable answer. I was not disappointed.

“Not really,” said one guileless little boy matter-of-factly.

Really?

“School’s almost over, so we’re relaxing now,” he explained.

I see. We started to watch a sing-along music video.

“I’ve seen this a hundred thousand times,” said Hailie.

“I’ve seen it a hundred million times,” countered Aidan.

One-upmanship already at their age? I wondered.

Despite her professed familiarity with the content, Hailie would turn repeatedly to me and ask, “Can we dance?”

Let’s wait until the end of the video, I said, unwilling to risk losing my tenuous grip on classroom decorum.

With about five minutes remaining until lunch, Hailey asked again. Recalling Wilde’s wise words, I relented and gave Hailey the O.K. to dance. But the moment she rose and began to move, one of the three class aides barked, “Who said you could get up!”

“He did,” Hailie said, hooking her thumb at me as I tried to affect an unabashed look.

Wait, why did I feel guilty? I probably felt more of a kinship at that moment with the children. After all, they appeared quite happy and their behavior was admirable.