Samhain Publishing Ltd Weblog

Into the fray...

Earlier this week I stepped out of my comfort zone and I’m only just recovering. Put me in a room with twenty adult learners and all is well, but when a colleague asked me to stand in for her this week, and I stepped into a classroom to find the same number of children eyeing me with wicked curiosity, I admit I crumpled.

My work with adults in community education has placed me in a fair number of tricky situations in the past, but let me tell you those two hours go down as some of the longest I’ve endured in living memory. It wasn’t that the children were monsters … well, okay, maybe some of them were, but even so there was a certain cuteness about them. It wasn’t even the fact that kids seem to get everywhere. At one stage I could swear that twenty children had morphed into forty in the blink of any eye. What’s that about? Can they instantly clone themselves and trace from one side of the room to under my feet in the blink of an eye?

All that aside, it was the barrage of questions that threw me for a loop. Those kids wanted to know everything. And I do mean, everything. What made hair turn grey? one asked me, narrowing his eyes as he peered at my locks (okay, so I’m due for a visit to the hairdresser), and why did some bread come already cut and other bread didn’t? I stuttered and stammered my way through such questions, like an unprepared applicant undergoing a job interview.

Before you wonder about my previous experience with the little folk, let me tell you I have none. Well, maybe a little, but it’s limited. While I have copious amounts of godchildren, I don’t have children of my own, so this was all virgin territory to me. But when I agreed to step into the fray, I asked myself how hard can it be? We were teaching them about healthy lunchboxes and the importance of good nutrition—what could possibly be difficult about that?

I know all the mothers out there are probably peeing themselves laughing right about now, but in my little ivory tower where adult learners sit still for more than fifteen seconds at a time and slip quietly from the classroom if they need to relieve themselves, it was a revelation. I was “Miss-ed” until my ears rang. “Miss, can I go to the toilet?” “Miss, he keeps on pushing me!” “Miss, I don’t like lettuce.” “Miss, you’ve got tomato on your skirt.” And so it went on, for two loooooooong hours. By the time the proverbial bell rang I was close to weeping with relief.

But then something amazing happened. A group of children started helping me clear things away, all the while chattering about what they had learned and how you have to try new things without being frightened. One little chap said he’d actually eaten some raw carrot and, while he made an appropriately disgusted face, admitted it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. As they helped me, they talked about their favourite classes. One liked reading class, one liked testing things(?), while another liked to learn about flowers and how they grow. One little girl, a pixie faced cutie with amazing blue eyes, told me she liked writing best. “What is it about writing you like?” I asked. She replied, “Because you can go on adventures that you make up in your head, and they don’t have to be anyone else’s adventures.” Then she told me, “I got a prize for writing the best story.” Hmm. maybe one day she’ll join the ranks of Samhain authors and I’ll be able to say I knew her when she was this high.

I arrived back in the office with a thumping headache and an aching back. But as I relayed my own real-life adventure to colleagues, I realised I’d left a little bit of my heart back in that classroom. For all the noise, perpetual motion and constant questioning, I actually enjoyed myself. Not that I intend repeating the experience anytime soon. My nerves wouldn’t stand it. So, I’ll just finish by saying…elementary schoolteachers of the world, I salute you.

Tricia
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