We always want what’s best for kids. Sometimes that means certain kids not sitting by certain classmates. Maybe together they talk too much, or giggle too loudly, or get on each other’s nerves. This is a regular occurrence and just a fact of school life (sometimes adult life, too).

So yesterday at lunch, a second grade girl raised her hand and told me “I’m not allowed to sit by most beans.”

Conflict Management! I was on the case! I looked around the table, quickly assessing who she needed to stay away from. Which student does she have a conflict with? Who can she sit by? My eyes scanned the faces…But somewhere in the back of my mind something wasn’t right. I paused, and I asked her to repeat herself.

“I’m not allowed to sit by most beans,” she said. “They make me sick.”

“Beans” is not a student in her class. “Beans” = legumes. She is allergic to legumes.

That’s OK! This I can do! I was back on the case! I have a strategy to keep the peace, an easy fix to avoid any conflict! I found her a beanless table. I do wish they were all that easy.

Every morning I welcome kids as they enter the building. I’m always encouraged when I see their young selves ready to begin a new day, young minds eager to inquire.

With a salute and a wave, I’m usually trying to hurry the kids along (quietly) and get them on to class (without running). I’m always telling them how important it is to be seated and ready when their teacher begins. In response, I get smiles, a lot of “Good Mornings” and “Hellos” and even an occasional quick hug.

But the best greeting ever was from Victor. He was a little late one day, and I figured I must hurry him (without running). But he stopped me in the hall, patted me on the arm, looked up at me and inquired “How’s my library teacher?” And the best part of the whole encounter was that he wanted an answer. He held my arm; he wasn’t moving until I responded. I guess sometimes it’s more important to make human contact, to show someone you care. Thanks to Victor, I now hurry a little slower.

A first grade student informed me that his mom watches “so poppers.”
I was afraid I didn’t hear him clearly, so I asked him to repeat himself.
“So Poppers.”
Nope. Maybe he needed to say it louder…
“So Poppers.”
I still didn’t understand. (As I sit here writing the words, it seems very obvious, and you’re probably reading this and wondering how I could be so dense…Well let me tell you, I can be very dense sometimes, I admit it.) So I asked him clarifying questions…nothing. Eventually I had to just smile and nod, feeling a little like an idiot.

Days passed (yes, days) and suddenly it hit me that his mom watches soap operas.
Soap Operas.

My convictions about reading were renewed as I was reminded that language can so easily sound just like noise. Sometimes it’s a noise you understand, but on occasion it’s a noise that’s incomprehensible, like the voice of an adult in a Charlie Brown show.

For me, the experience epitomized the inexorable connection between language and the written word. His mom said “Soap Operas,” but he heard something different. He never read the words “Soap Operas” or saw anything in writing; the communication was completely oral, and he passed on what he thought he heard. Like playing the game telephone. Had he seen the words on paper, he might have understood what he was hearing and passed on Soap Operas.

And I, in turn, could have smiled at him and said “Mine does, too!”

Act One: Scene One: A school hallway.

(At rise, we see an empty hallway. Sounds of children happily learning can be heard off stage right. Enter Kindergartner, age five or six, from stage right. Enter Ms. Brugmann, no need to mention age, from stage left.)

Kindergartner: “Can you tie my shoes for me?”

Ms. Brugmann (perplexed): “Why are they untied?”

Kindergartner (self assured and excited): “I was running so fast in P.E. that they came untied.”

(Ms. Brugmann smiles. She bends over to tie shoes as lights fade to black.)

End of Scene One.

She wears a pink skirt, pink Mary Jane shoes, and a shirt with pink flowers emblazoned from sleeve to sleeve.

“I’m taking gymnastics now!” She tells me with a huge smile from ear to ear. “Guess what I’m going to be when I grow up…”

When kids ask me to guess, I don’t want to spoil it, so I often postulate way off base. This allows them to smile and reveal their dreams with pride.

I look at her and think about her kind manner, sweet smile, and pink clothes and something flashes through my mind. Olympic Gold.

This past summer, the U.S. Women’s Gymnastic Team took the Olympic Gold Medal. A big deal considering this hasn’t happened since 1996. The team also won two individual Gold (one for the All-Around), one Silver, and one Bronze Medal. And if you missed any TV coverage, you can walk down the cereal aisle at your local grocery store and see their faces on what seems like almost every box (except those no-name generic toasty O’s…why is that?). And in one record breaking hot summer, a beacon of hope and possibility spreads to little girls all over the U.S. who dream of being gymnasts.

So as she begins to tell me, I anticipate her answer “Olympic Gymnast” or I’ll accept just “Gymnast.”
She slowly looks around, motions for me to lean close and whispers in my ear.
What I hear is “Spy.”
My smile freezes as my eyebrows furl a little… “A what?” I ask.
“I want to be a spy. Gymnastics will help me learn the moves I need to be a good spy.”

A spy, did she say she wants to be a spy? Part of me is shocked, part amazed, part overjoyed…but the biggest part ashamed. Come on, what was I thinking? Pink skirt, pink shoes, and a pink flowered shirt does not always a gymnast make.

I step back and take a new look at her. She’s sweet, sneaky, soon to be stealthy, and will make a great spy! I just hope she doesn’t tell too many people.

I recently got my hair cut. Exciting stuff, I know, but kids always notice when you get your hair cut. You may go the entire day and no adult notices or says anything, but every kid in the building, even those you only see once in a while, says “You got your hair cut!”

Sometimes you even get a “Your haircut looks good!” or “Your hair is pretty!” I try not to take these too seriously. Some kids are just sweet, and I don’t want or need a big head. (My luck the haircut would be more expensive.)

But with my new shorter, kinda messy style, I got a “What happened to your hair?” from Fernando.

What happened to my hair? I just came in from recess duty. And it’s windy outside today. And anyway, this from a Kindergartner who sports a mohawk, a shaved head with a thin strip of product spiked hair down the middle of the scalp. Oh the irony!

But I’ve learned one can’t be too thin skinned, so I smiled and told him I was having a bad hair day.

P.S. A few second grade girls were standing nearby, heard the whole conversation, and assured me my hair was beautiful. They were being very, very sweet.

Zippers should be outlawed in elementary schools. The dress code should include: “No Coats, Jackets, or Sweaters with Zippers Allowed”. They constantly get stuck as they catch on that inner lining and refuse to move, either up or down. I help kids with zippers at least every other day. (I do admit it’s getting better now that the weather is warmer, fewer coats, fewer zipper problems.)

But it happened again last week. As the morning bell rang, he found me and asked if I could help him with his jacket zipper. He was a little sheepish about asking, but he clearly needed assistance. He had zipped it all the way up and it caught on that inner lining. He was trapped. It was awkward, his chin in the way, I didn’t want to slip and punch him in the jaw. I struggled for a minute, hoping I wouldn’t have to ask him to pull it up over his head as is so often the case.

I worked that zipper patiently until it finally let loose of the liner and unzipped. He was happy to be free, and I was happy to help.

“Thank you Ms. Brugmann,” he said.

“You’re welcome Mr. M,” I replied. “And don’t be embarrassed, we all need help sometimes…Just for the record though, you are the first teacher I’ve rescued from a jacket.”

He smiled and headed off to find his students.

I realize a lot of my posts about school life focus on Kindergartners, and to be honest, I’m not sure I could do the job of a Kindergarten teacher. But Kindergarten library time is probably my favorite. Reading great children’s literature and watching the kids eagerly find books they are excited about…their bright eyes, the smiles, the innocence, the hunger to learn. It all adds up to a very rewarding experience, with a touch of mayhem. And what kind of an experience would it be with 25 kindergartners and no mayhem?

Recently, as I read to a kindergarten class, I noticed one young fellow kept poking and holding his tummy. I asked him if he was OK, and I realized he was messing with his belly button. I encouraged him not to mess with it.

“But there’s dirt in there!” he announced.

Now, I am more than willing to tie shoes, zip zippers, button coats, secure scarves and mittens, clasp necklaces, and even help with earrings, but belly buttons are out of my comfort zone. Beyond my realm. I didn’t want to seem unsympathetic, which I wasn’t. I understand belly button issues can be frustrating…

I have a suggestion for him: “When you get home today tell your mom and she can help you clean it out.”
Problem solved, I thought.

“But,” he replies looking a bit worried, “it tickles when my mom cleans it!”