Published in The Fauquier Times Democrat (Weekend Edition) on Dec. 2, 2011
A few years ago, when my youngest daughter was in Mrs. Stright’s kindergarten class at C.M. Bradley Elementary School, I did several stupid things. Fortunately, my daughter was able to pass the course despite being handicapped by parental ineptitude. Mrs. Mary Stright and her wonderful aide Mrs. June Penn continue to talk to me. In exchange for all the empty containers of oatmeal that my husband eats through for his heart-healthy breakfasts for them to use in their kindergarten craft projects, they smile kindly at me and never mention “those” episodes.
In case your child hasn’t had the privilege of being taught by someone who is so perfectly suited to his or her profession, I should let you know that Mrs. Stright runs a very academic and focused classroom. In spite of that, though, these two amazing ladies fill that room and “their” children with love and warmth and compassion, right along with those weekly book reports, weather reports, and homework.
Like any good parent, when we went to the Meet the Teacher night, I had paid attention to all the important details. Was my child dressed adorably? Check. Did my child look adorable? Check. Were the charm and cuteness factors conspicuously present? Check. Fine, we were ready to trot down to the school, where I would shake hands, stroll about the classroom and look importantly at everything. Then, I would ask a few pressing questions about phonics versus whole language learning to camouflage the real concerns on my checklist. (I wasn’t this way with the first, experimental child we had, but this was my fifth, my baby girl.)
When I collected all the papers and forms, I plopped them onto the pile of forms that were required for the other four children who were also in Fauquier County Schools that year. Something about signing all those forms makes me feel like an old Soviet bureaucrat. At any rate, when you are filling up forms for multiple children, you begin to feel old. I usually save those forms for the first few days of school, right after I have dashed about collecting obscure art and stationery supplies that teachers specifically request only after classes begin. This would be just after you’ve canvassed every discount and department store for the mountain of generic items that ARE on the list.
The night before school, the children were exceptionally excited, and ultra-prepared. Their lunches were packed; their clothes were picked out, and they had even gone to bed at some decent hour so the next morning you won’t experience what you will every other school day morning: As if you are trying to resurrect the dead, whose alarm clocks, right next to their heads, blare and beep incessantly until they disturb you, the non-school-aged adult, from your own desperately needed repose.
Amazingly, the obnoxious alarm clock does nothing to even suggest to one teen that he needs to wake up. Where these clocks get the audacity to add “alarm” to their names, I don’t know. I think all we have in this boy’s room is a Might-you-like-to-wake-up-now-your-royal-highness? Suggestion Clock. It never wakes His Majesty up, but it does manage to beckon the servant, yours truly, from down the hall to come running into the room to blast on the lights and demand that he silence the clock. Where repetitive auditory suggestions fail, visual assaults (in the form of bright lights) usually prevail.
I know of alarm clocks with clever designs that eject some sort of key. The alarmee is forced to arise, retrieve the piece, and then fit it back into the clock in some complicated way before the darned thing will shut off its alarm. That is fine for the advanced waker, the type who leaps out of bed, hurriedly shuts off the alarm, and then slumps back into bed to catch a few more minutes (or, oops, hours) of unintended shut-eye. Such a device is no good for the child who is failing Awakening 101. This child needs remediation to get to the point of acknowledging the existence of the alarm.
Now that I’m completely off topic, here’s my gift idea for this young man. It’s an alarm clock that includes a spinning and flashing disco ball suspended in a block-and-tackle arrangement. The disco ball will begin to descend (slowly and gently, of course – this IS my precious child we’re talking about), directly over the child’s head. Let’s incorporate some advanced, military heat-seeking device to make sure the disco ball finds its mark. In addition, this alarm clock needs to include searchlights that locate and aim directly at the eyelids while the ball descends. Surely, we have the biotechnology to do this. If these won’t do the trick, it should release a lovely, laminar flow of ice water. That way, every school day after the first exciting one, it will bring forth a message filled with lights and not exactly warm, but flowing feelings that say, “Merry Christmas, with love, from Mom. Now, WAKE UP!”
May I get back to kindergarten next week? Thanks – I’ll set my alarm as a reminder.
No comments:
Post a Comment