Wednesday is the last day of school for the Montessori folks, so unless I'm called in for the summer, it'll be the last of my school stories as a substitute teaching assistant, until fall. Still, I have a few remaining stories from the spring semester.
After I allowed an older student to climb a short distance into a tree, I noticed she still gravitated to the tree. She repeatedly jumped up, grabbed hanging branches, and systematically collected greenish-looking berries from the tree. Then she stomped on the berries, reducing them to a pulp. I looked at the mess and said, "Well, I suppose you can now make wine from these berries," I said. "You're crazy," she replied, "you make wine from VINES!"
As usual, though, it's the TK and regular kindergartners who make for the most fun stories.
On the way to recess, our group of kindergartners passed through a classroom. A little girl (who seems to have a knack for music) placed her hands over her ears and shouted, "It hurts!" I listened, and, indeed, she was right. The high-pitched shouts of little kids shouting echoed harshly off the cinder block walls, even though the walls were covered with posters and other objects that should have muffled (and probably did help muffle) the harsh sounds. We must have been in some kind of audio node in this part of the room - maybe a whispering corner, or something.
The kids were playing in the playground, and several came up to me. "Teacher, teacher, what is this?" they said. They handed me a silica-gel desiccant packet, probably from a package of food. I looked at it, held it up for all to see, and announced, "It says, 'Do Not Eat!'" The kids all said, "Ah!"
A couple of months ago, there was a problem that I found interesting for what it reveals about schools and their dependence on rules. Teaching assistant staff were managing the kids in the Big Room used for afterschool activities. I noticed one of the kindergartner boys looked distressed. As sometimes happens for kids this young, he had peed his pants. "Would you like to go the bathroom?" He nodded yes, and so I escorted him to the boys' bathroom.
The boy went into the bathroom stall and removed his underwear and pants. Then the problems became apparent. He had no other clothes to replace them with and he didn't want to wear his stained pants. I was beginning to feel uneasy. I had accompanied the little boy into the bathroom, but as unschooled as I am in the rules of the school, I did know that staff members are not supposed to use the same bathrooms that the kids use. I wasn't going to abandon the boy, but still, I wasn't supposed to be there. And we were now stuck.
Then, by good fortune, the little boy's Older Brother came to use the bathroom. We informed him what had happened. Older Brother said it was likely their Mother had placed replacement clothing in the little boy's backpack, which was stored somewhere in the Big Room. "Oh, that's great!" I said. "Can you find that backpack and bring it to us?" To my surprise, Older Brother flatly refused. His teacher had given him permission to use the bathroom, but it would be a few minutes yet before he would have permission to enter the Big Room. Older Brother left.
And so, Little Brother and I had to figure out what to do next. We decided to go to the Big Room together. I placed my jacket around his shoulders to cover his nakedness, and we left the bathroom.
Then Older Brother came up to help. He had just received permission to enter the Big Room. He found the backpack, and Little Brother and I returned to the bathroom with the backpack, in order to search for the clothes.
But, no clothes could be found in the backpack! What to do next? Again, I placed my jacket on Little Brother's shoulders and we started to return to the Big Room.
"This can't be right," I thought. There MUST be some clothes somewhere! We dropped the backpack on the tarmac and began looking harder for clothes. Older Brother finally found some pants, wrapped in a tight ball, and stashed in a side pocket. No underwear, but that's all right. Mother had come through after all! Little Brother went back to the bathroom to put on his pants.
And so, with fresh pants, Little Brother headed off with his backpack for kindergarten recess. I remained behind in the Big Room. I'm thinking the bathroom distress wasn't too traumatic for the boy, since he had never been left alone at any point. It was all a bit traumatic for me, but that's how it goes in substitute teaching-assistant land.
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