As a Kindergarten boy checked out his book, he leaned real close to me and said “Ms. Brugmann, I have a gift for you.” And he handed me an invisible something. He mimed holding something, and I took it very carefully from him.
“What is it?” I asked. A little wary of the answer.
“It’s an invisible shelf marker. See it has a heart on it just for you.” He said. (Shelf markers are paint sticks the students use as they browse the shelves to make sure books stay in proper order.)
“Oh thank you!” I replied.

One week later, that same boy came back to check out a new book. “Member me, I got you the present,” he said. And he asked if I still had it. I admit I was stumped at first and then felt ashamed. Here was the sweet little boy who gave me my first invisible gift, and I had almost forgotten. “Yes, here it is,” I said. And I showed it to him. An invisible shelf marker with a heart on it just for me.

Teaching and interacting with Kindergartners is something special. You really never know what you’re going to get, ever. Teaching Kindergartners check out procedures and book care is always precarious at best. Having twenty little ones walk, use quiet voices, and handle shelf markers is quite a site. As they search, some take ten minutes while others take only ten seconds to find that perfect book. The first book they check out from West Lincoln. Oh what pleasure they have when they walk (excitedly too fast) to my desk with a book in their hand and smile on their face.

As one of our new Kindergartners approached, I asked him for his name. He proudly told me it was Andy. Andy. A good name; a solid, two syllable, good name to spell for a five year old fellow. And then I asked for his last name. Andy looked at me with a squinty expression… “Last name?” he asked. “I don’t have a last name. Just Andy.”

I told him Andy was his first name and that he had a last name, but he assured me that he did not have a second name. He was just Andy.

I looked at my list of Kindergartners, I found Andy and yes, he had a last name. I asked him if he knew the name H. “Oh yes,” he said. “Sometimes my mom says the name H.” Whew. Well, I said, that’s your last name.

“And my first name’s Andy,” said Andy.

As school draws to a close, I begin to feel nostalgic and reminisce about the year’s events. Today, as I mused in my mind, I recalled a most humbling interaction with a 3rd grade girl. She came into the library asking for poetry books…of which we have hundreds. Beautiful, imaginative, moving, descriptive poetry. I was confident and satisfied. I smiled and led her to the shelves. I waved my arms wide and proclaimed, “All these books on these shelves are poetry books!” I walked away, giving her space and time to explore the many titles. I felt content, happy even. I expected her to, no I was certain, she would search and find that perfect tome. Ahhh…

After a few minutes, I headed back to check on my fellow verse enthusiast. The little girl met me with a confused, sad look. “You didn’t find anything?” I asked.

“No,” she replied, “I mean poetry like
the sky is blue
the grass is green stuff.”

Oh…I had to step back, rethink. In the end, together we found her a poem. A simple poem about nature. And I was reminded how wonderful, joyful and unexpected life can be. I guess Joyce Kilmer was right. Poems are made (and read) by fools like me. (see Joyce Kilmer’s poem Trees @ http://www.bartleby.com/104/119.html)

Kindergartners always amaze me. At this point in my life, I can’t imagine being five years old and immersed in a world that’s so big and so confusing. As I read the book Abe Lincoln Crosses a Creek to a kindergarten class, I was struck dumb and reminded that they didn’t have the background knowledge to fully enjoy and comprehend the story. A story that ends with the question “And without Abraham Lincoln, where would we be?” And I was faced with the daunting task of explaining slavery and the Civil War to 5 year olds. It was a very simplified version, of course, but I think they understood some of the gravity of race relations.

When I asked if there were any questions, and with kindergartners there always are, one little boy raised his hand and stumbled with words saying, “I don’t really know about his name, his full name, but you know, our president now, President Bama…Obacca…Chewbacca; he would like Abe.” I smiled and agreed.

Recess duty has been brutal this week. I know, it’s Nebraska in December, but knowing that doesn’t make the cold any easier to handle. I now spend the afternoon with staticy, stocking cap hair, but I guess there are worse things.

Today at recess, as I walked and talked with 2nd graders, Cynthia said “Can I ask you a question?” I panicked at first because, let’s face it, you never know what the next words out of the mouths of babes might be. “Of course,” I replied and she proceeded to ask me how long it takes to get to Mexico. I told her I didn’t know; I wasn’t sure. I expected that to be the end of the discussion…it wasn’t.

It turns out Cynthia has been to Mexico; she’s been many times. It seems this was a trick question. She looked up at me with her bright, young, sweet eyes and informed me “Ms. Brugmann, these are easy questions.” I now know it takes 2 days by car and 4 days by bus to get to Mexico from Nebraska. Good stuff to know.

The last day of school is always…well, always a little sad and a little joyful at the same time. The students are excited and anxious for summer and what they consider “freedom.” I am excited that I will now have time to tend to both my garden and pile of unread books.

On the other hand, some students are sad to leave school, where they feel safe and comfortable. And every year teachers leave, too. Teachers are people. People who move, get married, have babies, and pursue other endeavors outside of teaching. The end of the school year marks the end of some relationships. Good, solid relationships. Relationships between people who have had a common goal for the past nine months: to teach our West Lincoln kids. We always say “keep in touch,” but the truth of the matter is that we don’t often follow through.

So I leave today knowing that in mid August the same kids will be back (with a few new additions, no doubt). And the same issues will rule our thinking and planning, but a few fellow professionals will be absent. And their absence will be obvious, and they will be missed.