Stupid Questions, Part 2

Today I took small groups of the afternoon kids outside to splatter white paint on black paper. The finished product will be a page in their Wonderful World book, which they will present and sing at Kindergarten Graduation next month. This page depicts the "dark sacred night" and is always a hit. Not only do the kids get to splatter paint, they get to add glitter when they bring the masterpiece back inside.

I take the time to model for the kids how to do a Jackson Pollack and splatter the white paint all over the black paper so that it looks like the night sky. I use words like 'constellation' and 'orion' and 'nebulas' and the kids just can't WAIT to get their hands on that paintbrush.

I have learned through experience it is best to stand back (way back) before they let loose. And they splatter. They splatter white paint all over the place - the grass, the sidewalk, their friends, their clothing, and often - their paper and their friend's paper.

Most of the children do not want to stop. The fact that the night sky is just perfect matters not at all. The experience is the thing. After all, how often does anyone REALLY get a chance to splatter paint? Gleefully? Gloriously? All over the place with wild abandon?

Most of them are good listeners and will stop when I say something about how marvelous their night sky has turned out and when I say something about the glitter on the table in the classroom, well - they pick up their masterpiece and head inside.

But some children simply can't stop. It is almost a physical need. They never get to do this kind of stuff.

I was ready to wrap the activity up for the day but Clemente was just not wanting to stop splattering. His paper looked quite good and I told him so. But he wanted more.

I poked my head inside the room to check on the glitterers - because a little glitter is never enough. MORE glitter is much better. This is a Kindergarten Rule. More is Better.

I glance back at Clemente to see him sitting down on the paint splattered grass. He has both paint brushes now and is wildly splattering all over what was once a nice little green patch of lawn. The paint in the cup is long gone but no matter - Clemente is clearly lost in the moment, sitting on the grass, eyes half closed, wildly pummeling two paintbrushes up and down and all around.

And along comes Stupid Question #2 for the day.

"Clemente," I ask with as much calm and patience as I can - after all, his blue jeans are now looking mysteriously, uh - splattered. His shoes, shirt, hands, legs, and arms - splattered. He looks like a professional house painter after a long day of vaulted ceilings.

"Clemente, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Clemente stops and looks at me as one might view a much adored but truly unhinged elderly relative. His jaw slightly drops and he looks truly, truly, sorry for me.

"Drumming," he replies, before going back to the task at hand.

"Of course you are," I say, "OF COURSE you are!"

How silly of me.