Trying to teach a kindergarten Phy. Ed. Class makes me appreciate kindergarten teachers more and more. It could be a comedy sketch. It always begins with the standard comment about my hair. This time it was without the Elsa remark. Which I have now come to learn is a standard compliment/suck up technique for all 3, 4, and 5 year olds. It’s not always Elsa, but I think that the phrase, “You look like ______________ (fill in blank with Disney princess)” is the usual template.
Interestingly enough, it’s usually a boy who notices my hair. Maybe the girls know better? Here’s the scenario: Boy blurts out, “Do you dye your hair?”
I can’t resist answering him, “No, why?”
Boy responds, “Because it’s white.” To be honest, the the white is only streaks in my mostly dark blond hair.
I think I prefer the time when that comment came with a comparison to Elsa, even though she is an ice princess. I can’t resist answering him, “I’m just really, really old.” If any adults were in the room with me, I know they would be stifling a laugh right now. The little ones just stare at me open-mouthed with what I will interpret as awe. They have never seen someone so old. I am 47.
Gearing into teacher mode, I promptly thank the students who are sitting at their exercise spots quietly and remembering to raise their hands and be called on before they speak. Immediately, 7 hands go up and I ignore them because I have a suspicion that now everyone wants to tell me about how old their grandmas, grandpas, moms, dads, and big brothers and sisters are.
Instead of calling on anyone, I say, “Does anyone want to play a game?” The kids forget their comments and shout as one, “Yeah!!!!!!”
“Okay,” I respond in a voice just above a whisper as I lean down and act like I have a secret to share. “Show me how you can be good listeners, and I will tell you what game we are going to play.”
Immediately, two or three students blurt out suggestions as if I have asked them to guess. I forget, they are five years old, and listening is something they forget about when they are excited and/or have yet to learn. I fold my arms and wait. They continue talking amongst themselves when suddenly, one of the more advanced students realizes that I am waiting for them to be quiet, and there will be no playing of any games until they are quiet. She immediately tries to quiet the others, “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Which now a few more of them start doing. Suddenly, the gym sounds as if it is filled with snakes. This sound is, for me, like nails scratching down a chalkboard annoying, and I am forced to do something that I try not to do and raise my voice an octave, “Friends, PLEASE STOP!” (Elementary school teachers call their students “friends”. Middle and high school teachers call their students “people” - most of the time)
It has an immediate and satisfying effect of silencing the snakes and one very disturbing effect. The shyest little one in the back looks at me as if she is about to cry. I smile at her which seems to help a little, and I proceed to explain to the class that there are quiet ways to tell others to be quiet. They immediately hold up their hands, making an open circle with their thumb and fingers. I am relieved that they have learned something and secretly amused because my middle school teacher brain is thinking how close this hand gesture is to calling me an asshole.
This thought amuses me which makes my smile more genuine-seeming. I know this because little shy one finally smiles back at me. Kids have instincts. They know when your smile is real. And now my smile is even more purely motivated because of all the sweethearts like her in this class who amuse me. Maybe I can do this? But still, I know, I couldn’t teach them all day. One great thing about teaching middle and high school is that every class period brings a different group.
Fifteen minutes later, I have explained the game we will be playing. The kids are sitting on the black line criss-cross applesauce (which in my day was called – Indian style – see, I AM old), facing me, and I am trying to pick a small group of kids to be the “Oscars” in the “trashcan,” a big circle of exercise mats standing up on their long edges Velcro-ed together in the middle of the gym.
I decide to use a random grouping technique that I saw the other Phy. Ed. Teacher use with the second graders. “Raise your hand if your birthday is in January,” I say. Immediately, about 20 of the 23 hands go up, and I am suspicious. I tell them to all put their hands down, and I decide to try a different tactic. I tell them that I am going to ask them one by one what month their birthdays are, and one boy blurts out, “Mine is in October!” I ignore him and purposely start at the end of the line farthest away from him. I get to the third student in line and ask her when her birthday is, and she says with a cute little smile, “I don’t know when my birthday is.”
Okay, I stop the one-by-one questioning and decide to try something different. I think that I will just assign the little cutie a birthday month and put her with the group that has the least number of students. I ask the class again, “Raise your hands if your birthday is in December.” I figure that they all know December because it’s a big month for the holiday season, but again, 20 of the 23 hands go up, including “October” kid and “I don’t know when my birthday is” girl. I give up on the birth month idea and just pick six kids which causes one girl to frown and go sit out in the “take a break spot” and several others to cry out, “That’s not fair!” I get the cooperation of all but the “take a break” girl by yelling, “OK, everyone who is not an “Oscar” go get a ball!” For once, I am thankful for how easily distracted they are.
I am also thankful that I am not an Elementary school teacher full time, even though my future as someone who works with students and teachers at all levels is slowly becoming a possibility in my mind. I am not sure in what capacity that will be, but I consider this subbing experience like student teaching, preparing me for this still unsure future role.
Later, I am talking with my friend, the school guidance counselor, at the “Girls on the Run” practice after school, and she compliments me on how amazed she was as she walked by the gym to see the kindergarten class standing so quietly on the line. I don’t tell her that we spent most of the class period standing or sitting quietly on the line, and I feel like a failure as a Phy. Ed. teacher because I didn’t get them running more. I just accept her compliment and think that maybe I’m being too hard on myself and setting the bar too high – another pitfall of a teacher who is used to older students. I have to remember it’s the little moments that matter the most when working with the little ones. Still, I am thankful that this is not my full-time job. This too, shall pass.
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