Hamilton Herald Masthead

Editorial


Front Page - Friday, July 22, 2011

Are we there yet?


And the child shall lead



I was the first one to arrive in the classroom so I began taking things out of the bin and trying to look like I had some clue as to what I was doing. Finally some parent arrived with their child and looked at me suspiciously. The last time a mother had looked at me that way was when my daughter Alexis was four and I was picking her up after dance.

I had instructions to also pick up her friend Amy and take her home. We stood outside “Miss Karen’s” Dance Studio, me and the other moms, while the children came out. Alexis saw me and came over. I saw Amy and told her to come on, that I was taking her home. I had known that sweet child all her life, but she had been instructed well. She looked up at Miss Karen while pointing at me and said, in a voice a little louder than I would have preferred – “He’s not my Mom.”

There were about 20 of us standing there on that sidewalk and there was a lot of chatter going on. But when little Amy uttered those four words you could have heard a pin drop. Now all eyes were on me. I could even feel Alexis moving away. What a way to go I thought – ripped to shreds by soccer moms. Somehow I stumbled and stuttered just enough to convince them I was harmless and hurried the girls over to the car.  Back to the present. The other children, about 11 in all, had now arrived. Also there, to my great relief, were two other teachers. Since it was my very first time I focused on the not as difficult tasks of taping paper together and keeping everyone in line as we went up to the gym for story time.

Things went smoothly and it looked as if I was going to get through that first day without any catastrophes. The kids were really precious. Then out of nowhere one of the little girls called me “a big fat noodle head.” I was stunned. The only comeback I could come up with was – “that’s what you are but what am I.” One of the other teachers, Jim Dowden, said,“Let’s not call Mr. Edwards a big fat noodle head.” The incident had only lasted a few seconds but my confidence had been shaken.   

The next week I returned a more determined teacher. I would show them there was much more to me than a head of pasta. I passed by the coffee drinkers and gave them my best kind, but stern, teacher look. I wasn’t sure, but it looked like one of them mouthed, “the poor shmuck.” The lesson in story time was on Jesus feeding the 5,000, and we were to teach the children about sharing. We had a game with little fishing poles, which were small sticks with green yarn and a magnet at the end. As we began to pass them out to the kids the yarn became all tangled.

Only about four of the kids had their poles and the harder I tried untangling, the worse it became. They were getting restless. Then two of the boys began using their poles as num-chucks. It got louder. I suggested this was a perfect opportunity to put Jesus’ message to work and share the poles. They didn’t seem to agree and began booing me. I looked to Martha, the other teacher, for help. She was praying. It was becoming louder. Everything was falling apart. Then I felt a pull on my pants leg and looked down. There, looking up at me stood little Mary Helene Brady. I said, “Yes honey, I am trying to get you a fishing pole.” “No,” she said. “That’s not it. Why don’t we play the quiet game?” Had I heard her right? Did she say “The quiet game?” I had not thought of that old ruse for years. Did it actually still work?

“How do you play?” I asked Mary Helene. She was anxious to tell me but not nearly as anxious as I was to hear about it. “Well, first I come up to the front of the room and then I choose whoever is the quietest. Then that person comes up and they choose next.

I looked down at sweet little Mary Helene as if she had just won the Nobel Prize for her thesis on “The application and effects of the quiet game on juveniles of modern Homo sapiens.” It was brilliant. I excitedly announced to the class that Mary Helene would go first as we played the quiet game. And miraculously, silence filled the room. Martha and I turned our attentions back to our nightmare of the green yarn. But now, thankfully, it was a quiet nightmare.