Sunday, February 13, 2011

It Could Have Been a Hallmark Commercial

When I tell people that I teach Kindergarten I usually get mixed reactions.  The marks vary from, "Oh, that's so cute!" to, "WHY?  That would drive me crazy!" and, my personal (least) favorite: "That's just like glorified babysitting, right?"  (I always invite people who make the last comment to spend five minutes in my classroom. Fools.)

The truth is that Kindergarten is a little mixture of everything.  Cute?  Yes.  Crazy?  Sometimes.  And every so often there are these moments where my students completely blow me away with their kindness and love.  I was lucky enough to have one of those moments on Friday.

My students are required to participate in Writer's Workshop everyday.  During this time they can "write" about whatever they would like, but I try to get them to write personal narratives about past experiences.  I mean, in a perfect world my five year olds are writing personal narratives on past experiences.  In reality, I spend a lot of time saying things like, "Did you really go to the park with Spiderman?" and "You are copying the story that I gave as an example.  You didn't go to Grass Valley to visit my mom and dad.  That's what I did."  But, whatever, we try.

During Friday's Writer's Workshop one of my students came up to me and told me she really needed to share her story with me.  I looked down at her picture, which was kind of hard to decipher (remember, five years old) But I could make out a person lying on the ground with Xs on her eyes, and three other characters with sad faces standing over her and yelling, indicated by some crude attempts at speech bubbles.

She started to tell me the story of her mother's death, one that I had heard before.  She periodically brings it up, usually out of nowhere, and she and I share a hug and I remind her that is OK to be sad about it, and that she is so lucky to have a dad and a brother who love her so much.

When she was finished describing her picture to me she said, "I think I need to tell everyone about this."  I asked if she meant all of the other kids, and she told me she did.  It's not typical to share at the end of Writer's Workshop, but I made everyone stop what they were doing and come to the carpet so that she could tell them her story.

I told the students that *Katie (*different name) wanted to share a difficult story with everyone, and that it was really important that everyone listen because it was a hard story to tell.  Sensing the seriousness of my voice, everyone sat down without a peep (UNHEARD OF) and gave all their attention to their classmate.

They curiously looked at her as she held up her picture and began to recount how her mother had a blood clot that traveled to her heart and gave her a heart attack.  *Katie had found her on the ground, and called for her brother, who started screaming for her dad.  Her dad called and ambulance and they took her away on the "laying down thing."  She never saw her again.  It was Christmas Eve.

There was a moment of stunned silence when she was finished.  The rest of the kids sat and considered what their lives would be like if their moms died.  For a five year old, there is nothing more horrific than the thought of losing your mother.  What does someone do without a mom?

I desperately searched for something comforting to say.  As I looked at all of the concerned little faces sitting before me I noticed one of my students slowly getting up from her space on the carpet.  She walked towards Katie, and without saying a word, she threw her arms around her and gave her one of the biggest, most sincere embraces I have ever seen.  As she went to sit back down, another student stood up to hug Katie, and then another.  One by one, every student in my class stood up to put their arms around Katie, and no one said a single word.

There was no reason to say anything.  They completely understood the gravity of what she said, and the pain that she was in.  Again, how does anyone, let alone a five year old little girl, cope without her mom?

As I blinked back tears I thanked the class for being so nice to Katie and for listening to her while she shared something that was so difficult to say.

Of course, moments like this are always fleeting, and as the last hugger took his seat back on the carpet Katie held up her picture again and said, "Hey, did you see how funny my dad's beard is!?" and all the kids howled with laughter.  Facial hair is really funny in Kindergarten.

The moment continued to diffuse as another student raised her hand and wanted to share a (I'm pretty sure) made up story about her pet chicken that fell off of a curb and died while trying to lay an egg.

Cute? Yes.
Crazy? Sometimes
Sweet moments? Every so often.
Hilarious?  Always.

And then on the drive home I cried in my car.  
I can't believe what good kids they are.

1 comment:

Erin said...

Such a sweet story. Crying on my couch right now. Thank god for those moments, They make up for so many others.

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