I remember the night before. I was a bit nervous, not really knowing what to expect. I was volunteering at one of the Elementary Schools in the city where I lived with the highest number of immigrant and homeless children. I had been assigned to two kindergarten classes, two students from each class. I would spend 15 minutes with each of them doing what, it did not say. It only gave me the day, time, names of the teachers and the four students.
So here I was, pulling up to the school. Walking up to grab a door handle, I saw an intercom on the side with a red button to push. The sign next to it read “Ring the bell and state your business”. I rang the buzzer and when asked, stated; “I’m a volunteer.” I heard the lock mechanism shift and opened up the door. As I passed through the foyer and into the lobby, there was a security guard at the desk, holding a watchful eye on me now and probably way before I even got near the intercom. “License please.” I fumbled through my purse and handed him my ID as he asked me where I was going. I pulled out the email and read the assignment to him. By mid year, Steve would already be unlocking the door as I reached for the buzzer, greet me by name, know exactly where I was going and had my badge ready for me after I presented my ID.
I was logged in, given a photo badge to adhere to my person and told it must be worn and visible at all times while I was in the school. I couldn’t help thinking how things had changed since I went to school; locked doors, security guard in the lobby, monitored wherever you go. In my day, there were no security personnel nor anyone in the hallways unless it was between periods. You could leave or enter the school through any door, so cutting class was pretty easy. I was directed down to the wing to the right where all of the kindergarten classes were. My first class was all the way at the end of the hall. The door was open, the lights out, and the classroom deserted except for the telltale signs that little people had been there. There were little jackets and sweaters on the backs of tiny chairs, little desks, paper and writing utensils, action figure and unicorn book bags lining the front of the closet, simple sayings and rudimentary pictures of crayon on the walls and just a scattered disarray of order that let you know just who was occupying that space. I smiled. Two thoughts entered my mind; “It looks like the faerie realm” and “Was I ever that little?”
A young woman was sitting at a half round table at the front working on a laptop so I knocked softly. I met Mrs. ‘D’; soft spoken, deep in thought, looked like she was 15 and was genuinely happy I was there. She explained that the kids would be coming back from PE shortly and then handed me two cards with letters and pictures and explained the lesson I would be working on with them for today. They were to sound out each of the three letters until they could put it all together as a word on the one card and then identify the picture shown with the letter on the other. I was to help them with sounding everything out to get them there and help with the picture if they didn’t know what it was in English or Spanish, depending on the student. Ok, pretty easy. Or so I thought.
And so I stood outside the classroom, against the wall, looking down the hall waiting for them. And within a few minutes, I watched as a single file of very small and animated beings skipped, sauntered and ambled down the hall towards me, hugging the wall or attempting to, while their escort – who I found out later was the second teacher for their class - was walking with them, watching them, giving them instructions and correcting them if they stepped out of line - literally. It was so cute. They were so cute. I watched two classes come down the corridor and then circle across the hallway to enter the room while the teacher stood at the door and asked them to take their seats and to start x activity. And then came my class.
The second teacher greeted me as she monitored the kids entering the classroom. As the children passed by, they looked at me with curiosity, smiles and some actually waved. Wow. Was not expecting that. But it made me smile, so sweet. And then I met my first charge, Miss ‘F’. She was very animated, very chatty. We were given two little chairs to sit in the hallway and do our work. I thought it odd to be sitting in the hall but it must be for a good reason.
‘F’ indicated which chair was mine and for me to sit down – Oh boy. I looked down at the chair she was pointing at and had to laugh to myself; there was no way even half of my thigh was going to fit on that chair. But I dutifully took my seat the best I could, from this pursed lipped, take charge, sweet child who couldn’t tell me about all sorts of things fast enough while firmly directing me to the task at hand. I spent the next fifteen minutes thinking carefully on how to rein her in from wherever her imagination or thought of the moment grabbed hold and diverted her to. This also included jumping up at any given moment and running down the hall to the water fountain or lying on the floor and rolling around and then asking me to help her up, extending her hand out to me. She always said please, even if it was very exaggerated and accompanied by lots of giggles. Oh, so this is why we only had fifteen minutes……… It felt like I was on a game show, trying to beat the clock in completing the assignment. I won’t lie, sometimes there was begging. Other times I just went with it and joined their shenanigans.
When her time was up, I walked her to the door to send her in and ask for ‘J’, but the door was locked. We had to knock and be visible in the narrow window so that the teacher would open the door. We did a student exchange, ‘F’ for ‘J’, but it felt more like a sort of prison exchange.
‘J’ was quiet, introverted, stole glances up at me from time to time but looked down or away most of the time. When he did speak, it was hardly audible and when I could get him to speak up, I could hear his speech impediment. I knew I would have to try harder with him, especially since he had less of an attention span than ‘F’. And so it was, when I finished with ‘J’ and escorted him safely back inside his classroom, I went on to my second class where ‘P’ was a bit shy, drew a lot of pictures for me that were amazingly good, like High School good, cried if she had to try anything with words – even though she could do it – and told me stories about her family, pets, and mystical creatures. And last, there was ‘A’. He was so smart, so self-assured without being aware of it, tried really hard at the task at hand and cut up something awful; his smile stretched from ear to ear. He was definitely a charmer. For the next month, I would work with them and a few others sprinkled here and there, and I would get hugs and smiles, and pictures and stories and I would listen to it all with rapt attention. They were so smart.
It did not escape me one bit that I was in an altered reality with these bright light beings; their wisdom far beyond my years at that age and some of it far beyond me, right now. Sigh. Their genuine care and regard for each other, their innocence that accepted all, no matter the color, language, background, their constant concern to look out for one another. In turn, I was made aware of the fears they held, none of them ashamed or hesitant about sharing them with me, however hushed the tone. And they called me out, immediately and loudly; if my instructions were not exact or if I made any mistake, no matter how slight. Trust me, when those things happened, I owned it and apologized. They weren’t going to have it any other way, just as it was for them.
I also received a real eye opener one day, when sounding out certain vowels to help my first two students, they both guessed the same wrong vowel. When I got to my second class and it happened again, I listened more intently as I was making the sound and to my horror, they guessed right. My accent, compliments of my early life, was distorting my vowel sounds. OMG. No wonder everyone asks me where I’m from. After the initial shock wore off, I thought it was pretty funny but ‘A’ didn’t think so. I had to apologize to him and then feel like I was twisting my tongue to try to say it correctly. The more I tried, the worse it sounded and then it was just a lost cause. I had to resort to pointing at pictures. Then he was laughing.
As the year went on, I was greeted with hugs, with other kids wanting to come out in the hall to practice or talk, curious to see what I was all about. I was waved to by other class students as I watched them coming down the hall and chuckled at who wasn’t looking forward, paying attention, and being spoken to by the teacher. I watched as the kids genuinely would ask if their counterparts were ok or where they were going if they were being accompanied from the classroom or passing by down the hall. They were quite the inquisitors and interrogators.
However, I felt things had risen to a whole ‘nother level when, one afternoon, ‘F’ returned from PE crying. As I watched from my place, the teacher used her breath to calm her down and then asked why she was crying. When she told her, between sobs, that a boy had been mean to her in PE – (apparently they don’t say gym anymore), the teacher then asked her, “Did you use your words? Did you use your words to tell him how you feel?”
She couldn’t speak through the tears, but nodded her head. Wow, of course she did. After assuring her she did the right thing, the teacher asked if she still wanted to work with me. Without hesitation, ‘F’ turned and put her arms around me. Now I was using my breath to try not to cry.
When I was that age, we didn’t have any words to sound out let alone express, we were basically seen but not wanting to be heard by anyone. And feelings, what feelings. In my kindergarten class, which was half a day, we were read to, not taught to read ourselves, we played or made something with sticks, had a snack, napped and then went home. I think I talked once or twice to only one other girl the whole year and never questioned anything.
In this kindergarten, they were using tablets and reading stories on their own, their desks were set up in twos, facing each other, they were interacting and moving about, some standing by the bulletin board, some by the large screen. It looked like a corporate workshop, only fun. Our class was la Casa de Respeto, one of the four houses in the school. They talked and shared their feelings, they learned each others’ languages so that no one was left out, and most of all, they loved all of their classmates and stood up for each other.
When I went in for my last week before the school year ended, I was so upset. This was the last time I would be standing at the end of the hall, waiting for them, hearing this cacophony of noise flood the corridor that I could listen to for hours; bewitching, beguiling, watching their antics and playfulness, seeing their strength, confidence and selflessness. That innocence when you still believe in Santa Claus and Unicorns.
I am not sure if they will remember me if they see me again, next year, sitting in the hall, however, I will never forget them and the world they allowed me to share with a temporary pass.
P.S. I am happy to report that despite my Long Island accent, all of my charges vastly improved and were able to join the level of their classmates and move on to First Grade. I would like to think I had some part in that, albeit just a bit. Sigh.
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