Homework for Monday

I mentioned before that teaching kindergarten at the beginning of a school year is a lot like giving birth. You swear to goodness you will never, ever, EVER do that again, but then you forget. And you do it again.

I have also mentioned that teaching kindergarten at the beginning of a school year is a lot like herding cats. Cats on meth, lacking ears, and possessing the loudest of caterwauling capabilities. This was proven yesterday when Brandy entered the classroom, after having been called to come inside more than once or twice, and screamed at the top of her lungs just because she felt like it.

So what I want to reiterate is the fact that many young kindergarten children entering school for the first time are feral.

Yes, feral. They are wild, undisciplined, and clearly living only for the moment and to grasp any and all things in the world that will interest them for that particular nonosecond in time. This includes bodily functions, the drinking of water, the making of noises, the extreme movement of any and all protruding body parts, and the use of much scented soap. (In one week, 3/4 of the first bottle of scented hand soap is gone.)

This week has been hellacious. My old room partner called me last night and said, "Remember. It takes you a few weeks to bond with your kids." She does this because she watched my shell-shocked reaction for many years over the course of numerous "first days" and "first weeks." She, for some reason, doesn't forget how hellacious it is. Go figure.

Last night I made a list. It was a list of the 9 children I like in this class. This morning I added another one. Then I remembered that he kicked Haylie in the head, and acted the victim when I asked him to apologize. So I erased him. Which means I like almost half my class right now.

Yesterday I considered tethering some of them to trees so that I could actually teach the nine I like. These are the kids who sit still and listen and act like they truly enjoy what I am telling them. They raise their little hands and they treat every new activity with excitement and dedication.

These are the kids trained by their parents to LISTEN. They are taught to be kind to others (most of the time) and to pee INTO the toilet and not AROUND it or on the seat.

After dealing with temper tantrums, pushing, shoving, running, leaving the instructional area, and extreme kick boxing yesterday, I fantasized about a nice little job in an antique store or book shop.

When Raymond left the bus line to stand, scowling, with crossed arms, in the middle of the lawn, I was tempted to leave him there. I started thinking about what might happen if he didn't get on the bus to go home. If his parental units had to drive to school and remove his ramrod stiff body from the lawn and heave him into the car. Would they be mad at him? Would they teach him that standing in line is civil and polite and that we don't shove our way into the front just because we think we deserve it by virtue of being "Raymond?" "Raymond the Center of the Universe Who Must Always Be Allowed to Do What He Wants?"

My principal already had to peel him off the cafeteria floor once (because I was "mean to him" and didn't let him slide across the newly polished floor when he was supposed to be eating.) So when she ordered Raymond to get back in line and HE DIDN'T DO IT, she shouldn't have expressed surprise. In fact, when she ordered all of the feral cats back into line and to stand in one place, she shouldn't have acted surprised at all. Especially when they looked at her, told her about their latest video game, and continued playing "swing the backpack as far as you can" instead of actually LISTENING to her.

"OH MY GAAAWD," she squealed into my ear. "OH MY GAWWWWD!"

So on Monday, I will send homework. It is an assignment that asks parents to discuss 'civility' with their children and to discuss why it is important to stand in line. Examples and suggestions are given - like, 'talk to your child about courtesy and waiting in line WHILE you are doing so in the market or the bank.'

And here is what will probably happen. Nine papers will be returned with copious notes written by nine parents about the discussion they had with their child about standing in line. I will proudly post them while Raymond unties his shoes again and Brandy screams because she feels like it.

The rest of the parents will be calling the office to either complain about the leash marks around Junior's neck or ask where they might find one for home.