Train up a child in the way he should go...

Ten years ago I taught the most amazing group of kindergarteners in the history of the world.(But isn't that what all teachers think about every class that they have?)

I remember S, who came in the room one day with a purposeful look in eyes. He went straight to his cubby, pulled out his scissors and glue. (Sometimes I watch because I am curious about what could be going on in those little minds. That day I showed a serious lapse in judgement.) He proceeded to pull the orange cap off. He looked at the white spout that remained at the top of the Elmer's bottle. Then he quickly snipped it off, turned the bottle upside-down and squeezed. Hard. Glue poured all over his little table and he triumphantly crowed, "I KNEW IT!" (He did not know, however, how long it would take him to clean all that glue up.)

There was J, who kept squirming and squirming during quiet time one day. After lunch, I played classical music for about five minutes and the students were to keep their heads quietly on their desks to transition to afternoon activities. J never sat still, but this day he was especially jumpy. Finally, he yelled out "AHA!" and held a trophy up for the entire class to see. Somehow, he had managed to cut the waistband off his underwear while they were still inside his jeans.

(I pause here to consider that I should have kept the scissors in a locked drawer. Even those blunt ones that can barely cut paper, but seem able to cut glue bottles and Underoo elastic. And hair. Lots of hair that year...)

I loved D, who was a runner. He did not want to go to school, so every morning his Mom would drop him off. Another appointed mom would put him in the room and hold the door shut so he could not escape. He would usually settle down after an hour... or so. But he would not talk to me. About the second week of school he actually said something. One of the little girls stood on her chair and yelled, "HE CAN TALK! HE CAN TALK!" (And may I add, he never stopped talking after that!)

I remember E, who made up her own rules. One of my rules was that when I was in the bathroom attached to the classroom (yes, teachers have to go, too), no one was to knock on the door or talk to me through the door unless it was an emergency. So, of course, E regularly knocked on the door when I was in there. "But it's an EMERGENCY! R has the GREEN PLAYDOH and it's MY TURN for the GREEN PLAYDOH." (We worked on the definition of "emergency" for a year. An entire year.)

And I continued to work with C, who left out 'w' every time she said the alphabet. Every time. One day she finally looked at me and asked with huge exasperation, "Are you SURE that letter is supposed to be in there?"

Of course, the list could go on and on. And after 10 years I still remember the stories and the children, and they are all so precious to me.

And the young man pictured above? At five, H gelled his hair until it stood up in spikes. He loved trains and gave me a birdfeeder that still hangs in my backyard. He told me that if someone was making trouble it was his job to "get as far away from trouble as possible." He sent me notes and drew me pictures and brought his dad for show and tell. Because his dad was his favorite person in "de whole, wide world". He is about to be a tenth grader and towers over me at almost six feet. And on a hot summer day this week, he showed up, unasked, to cut my yard because he knew my husband was no longer able to cut it. I don't know everything that H got from kindergaten that year. But I do know we are now even. In fact, H, I owe you some. You own a place in my heart. Forever.