Pride

I really don’t know what it is about the Elementary school’s “Pride” song that gets me so worked up, but I get teary every time. The chorus goes like this:

“I am proud of who I am
proud of where I’m going
proud of what I’m doing.
My life is my life,
I have the power to be.
I can reach my own brass ring,
and pull it for me.”

Forgetting the fact that most kids probably don’t understand the brass ring reference without it being explained, this is powerful stuff. WHY, I always wonder, through my tears, does it get me so much? Is it the fact that these affirmations are ones I am only beginning to truly believe at the age of 36? The fact that my schooling, especially my elementary years, installed the exact opposite belief in me? The interrelatedness of these two facts?

There is something so earnest, so honest, so immediate and present about elementary school. I am only beginning to really appreciate it, to accept the kids’ hugs and the open hearts from whence they come. Teaching elementary school has cured me of some of my cynicism; not all, mind you, but some. It’s hard to be cynical when a wide-eyed 6-year-old refugee student runs at you with a hug every morning. It’s easy to get used to that hug.

I have the power to be. I hope that my time with them has conveyed to my students that I believe in their power to be.

Nine and a Half Days

Nine and a half school days left, not that anyone, student or teacher, is counting. It’s the time of year when the local 20-year-olds are home from college and substitute teaching; their first couple of days they wear ties and real shoes and school looks like it’s been overrun by Jehovah’s Witnesses. It’s the time of year when progress is measured and thank yous, said.

One class I spend a lot of time in is taught by an old-school teacher, the kind who believes in respect and politeness and saying thank you. Three days ago I went into her room and was asked to return in five minutes; as I left I saw a flash of green construction paper out of the corner of my eye. My suspicion that something was happening was confirmed when I was later asked to join the class Friday at 10.

It’s lovely when a surprise is truly that. Sure, I knew that something was going on. But did I expect what occurred? Absolutely not. Thank you cards from construction paper, adorned with feathers, and pom poms? I might have guessed. A puppet show of nursery rhymes? I would never have suspected. And for the snacks, well, why does anyone bother to write fiction?

“Gorp,” the teacher had announced to the class, and each had brought a contribution, all of which were combined in the old fashion. So from blue paper cups bearing a national soft-drink logo, we feasted on a combination of the following:

Chocolate chips
Colored candy-covered chocolate chips
Mini marshmallows
Fruit Loops cereal
Another puffy, sweet cereal
Shredded coconut
Smartfood cheesey popcorn
Cashew pieces
Raisins
A salty pretzel/bagel chip/etc snack mix

Truly a culinary wonderment. It was the best surprise I’d had all year. Kids want to do the right thing, and this teacher has taught them, all year long, that kindness and gratitude are always the right thing. It was a pleasure to benefit from this wonderful lesson.