Diego and Power Tools: Don't Forget.

Like most teachers, I work hard to plan classroom activities that promote learning in many curricular areas. Literacy is first and foremost, but I can integrate it with science most days of the week. Then there is math, something we do every day because the kids need to develop number sense so they won't get taken advantage of by eMail SPAM and sneaky mortgage broker scams.

Every morning, after we complete our morning business and I determine that most of them still have no idea how many days there are in a week, I briefly explain what we will do during group time. Group Time is my favorite part of the day. It is a series of open-ended learning experiences that engage the kids and allow me to assess their progress.

Today, I begin explaining what we are doing. Diego, who has been practicing a triple back-flip on the rug, leaps up quickly on his knees and asks, with very wide, smiling eyes and much enthusiasm, "What about woodshop?"

I am speechless for a moment or two. I've yet to discuss wood-working with them in any way. In fact, I am 100% certain the subject has never come up. Not even in a story. So his question surprises me.

I do remember, though, that earlier in the week, Diego had asked for a piece of wood. I tried to steer him towards the blocks but this just annoyed him more. What he wanted was a PIECE OF WOOD so he could BUILD A CAR.

So, maintaining my professionalism, I repeat his question.

"Woodshop?" I ask, maintaining a straight and very quizzical teacher-face.

"Yeah.. you know. Where you... you... where you.... build things like book cases and drawers and things."

"Well, Diego.... I don't think we can do woodshop today," I reply.

"Why?" he asks. He is completely guileless, in his own world most of the time but sharp as a tack on most academic measures. He just doesn't understand some things - like the failure of his classmates to hand over their snacks at recess, or their general unwillingness to give him anything of theirs that he happens to want. That just boggles his mind.

"Gosh, Diego," I say, "I didn't bring the power tools."

"Oh," he says and then sinks back down onto the rug. I am half afraid he will ask me why. But he doesn't and this avoids a circular conversation that I can't get out of unless I use a teacherism or change the subject very quickly and get all excited about it.

During writing time, I model for the children how writers make lists and then show them how I make one when I want to remember things.

"Good," he says, while using his journal as a waving-palm fan and warming up for a triple somersault with a twist.

"Yes, Diego.. it IS good. This way we don't forget things."

The children proceed to write and I wander around, looking and listening.

A minute later he yells to me from across the room.

"TEACHER!"

"Yes, Diego?" I answer, deciding if I should admonish him for shouting across the room when he is supposed to be writing.

"Don't forget."

"Don't forget what, Diego?" I ask.

"Don't forget. You have to write it."

I am busy trying to redirect two boys who are mistaking their journals for medieval weaponry.

"Write WHAT, Diego?" I ask, hissing to the dueling knights and tossing each journal to a different location in the room.

"Don't forget. The POWER TOOLS!"