A Deployment to Kindergarten

Today I went to Sam's school to help with lunch.  Man, there I was thinking I had it all down, even mastering that pesky Capri Sun.  Just try to give me one I can't stab!  Plus there is that marvelous Lunch Lady who has it all down to a science, minute by minute, of what the schedule is for eating, clean up, clapping hands, lining up, etc.  There I was thinking I was in good hands, but nooooo...

Unbeknownst to me, it was the first grade's annual Grandparents Day when the grandparents come to school.  (Hence the name -- Grandparents Day.)  So they needed to use the cafeteria, and the six kindergarten classes were going to eat lunch back in their individual classrooms.  That just means that they needed adults to cover the rooms instead of the cafeteria, right?  No problem.  Well, that was long before realizing that I would be left ALONE with 22 kindergarteners for THIRTY MINUTES.  And you guessed it, the all powerful Lunch Lady was nowhere in sight.

As Sam's sweet teacher left to go eat her own lunch in peace, she handed me a couple of books, mentioning, "If you have extra time, you could read them these."  Oh my, I was barely in charge and already gunning for extra credit.   Gulp.  I really started to sweat, that I'm-taking-the-bar-exam-and-my-life is-on-the-line kind of sweat.

Looking back on my many life experiences, I decided to draw from the Army.  This was kind of like being out in the field, right?  Yes, I was just deployed to a kindergarten class instead of a war zone, and I was on the front lines to boot.  Plus I was both outnumbered and surrounded by Lilliputians.  Most importantly, there were no reinforcements and no walkie-talkies.

Thankfully one of my favorite observations from my Army days (daze?) came to mind.  Here it is:  If you don't what the heck you're doing, act like you do.  Then everyone will think you do know what the heck you're doing.  Perception is everything.  Well, that ploy worked just fine for a while until one little girl (who shall not be named) ratted me out, bellowing, "You were supposed to clap by now, and we were supposed put our heads down!  I WANT TO PUT MY HEAD DOWN!"  Man, you would have thought I had stolen her fruit snacks.

Of course I was tempted to say, "So go put your head down.  No one is stopping you!" Instead I went another route.  "Hey kids, as a special treat just for today, you don't have to put your heads down!"  They looked at me, stunned.  They couldn't decide whether to cheer or be overcome with sadness at the missed opportunity to put their heads down.  I'm sure their mothers would be happy to let them put their heads down at home anytime they want, no questions asked.

Then the kids really wanted me to do the Magic Clap Thing that the Lunch Lady does to tame the masses.  I couldn't pretend that I knew what I was doing on this one since I didn't, so the kids taught me the Magic Clap Thing.  After some coaching and a couple of practice runs, I was up to speed.  Order prevailed.  The kids were happy to have at least one part of their routine restored.

Then it was time to clean-up, put lunch boxes away, and nudge the dawdler who had barely begun to eat his Keebler Fudge Stripes.  And there was still time left for the stories.  How was that possible?  It seemed like I'd been at the helm for hours.  It was time to evacuate, fly a white flag, call for a cease fire -- something!  Prolonging it no longer, though, I asked, "Where do I sit?" The kids replied in union, "IN THE ROCKING CHAIR!"  Oh, that rocking chair.

Halfway through the book, a vision of loveliness appeared in the doorway.  My dream had come true.  The teacher had returned.  My heart flooded with gratitude.

As I floated down the hallway, my endorphins were still pumping.  I gazed at the long line of smiling grandparents running all the way to the lobby.  They looked so relaxed, so happy.  They didn't have to pretend to know what they're doing because they don't have to do anything.  Man, I can't wait be a grandparent.


LibbY