Teaching kindergarten in Term 1 is scary.
Teaching kindergarten for the first time EVER, in Term 1 is terrifying.
Teaching kindergarten for the first time EVER, on my second day of teaching EVER, in Term 1 was downright paralyzing.
Throw into the mix the heaviest rainfall Sydney has seen in five years and the end result has all the makings of a comedic tragedy.
Impossibly tiny children had begun to arrive well before the bell, rollicking into the hallways in a blur of damp frizzled hair, raincoats that sprayed droplets of water everywhere and squeals of horror (i.e. pure joy at the novelty of being drenched at school).
The collective, pragmatic voice of my University lecturers resounded in my brain: "Teaching Kindergarten is not easy." I had long ago abandoned the image of teaching that so many people continue to hold: teaching is NOT twenty angelic faces smiling up at the teacher with a glow of youthful wonder at her enlightening tutelage. However I was still disarmed by my less than welcoming introduction to a Kindergartner.
"WHY are you here? You're not my teacher."
And so the day had begun. Soaking shoes and socks were discarded in a haphazard pile in front of the door while children ran barefoot across the carpet. My mind was in overdrive as I had premonitions of thumb tacks in heels, waxy crayons jammed between toes and carpet burns covering entire bodies. With a knowing smile that said 'I have lived through hundreds of school floods' an older teacher stuck her head in the doorway and reminded me not to worry.
I am thrilled to report that when 9:10am actually rolled around, I was quickly reminded as to why I am a teacher. Because I am awesome at it. My lessons ran smoothly and I had no major problems. I was however, in a state of continuous bewilderment at the 20 little people in front of me.
I taught a simple lesson on 2D shapes - squares, circles and triangles. I asked volunteers to draw one of these shapes on the IWB.
A small boy stood before the imposing whiteboard with his finger poised, ready to draw.
"Miss, I've never drawn a triangle before. I don't know how."
A heartbeat of a silence belied my shock at this confession.
"That's OK darling, that's why you come to school. I'll help you." And so I helped him draw his first ever triangle. Wow.
My sublime reverie at our accomplishments was shattered a few minutes later with a simple sentence that can send a Kindergarten teacher crazy.
"I need to go to the toilet."
My eyes drifted in slow horror to the windows facing the playground. Walls of water were cascading in brutal torrents from not just the sky, but from SIDEWAYS. An impossible moat had formed around the infants stage area and doorway, marooning all inside.
"Can you hold it?"
"NO, I'm sooooooooo busting!" At this, a chorus, twenty strong, erupted in anguished cries. Apparently the whole crotch grabbing class was SOOOOOOO busting. Lunch was still forty five minutes away. I couldn't possibly deny them all for that long.
"Children! Everybody get your raincoats on!"
Except raincoats have buttons. And were inside out from this morning. And were soaking wet. And don't have name tags. I individually dressed each child in their waterproof armor while the rest ran riot. An exhausting fifteen minutes later, I had twenty raincoat clad bodies in a gaggle.
"What about our shoes?"
Oh God. I'm not even going to go into great detail. This says it all.
- 40 shoes.
- 40 socks.
- 5 year olds do not know the difference between left and right.
- Laces.
- Buckles.
- Shoes do not have name tags either.
"I don't need to wee."
"Get. In. There. Now. Push something out... sweetheart."
The children who finished quickly searched for the spot underneath the gutter that produced the heaviest cascade to stand under while the slower ones were hurried along by my shouts of encouragement. Eventually, we barreled back towards the classroom, jumped the moat and skidded to a slippery stop.
The dressing process was repeated in reverse as raincoats, shoes and socks were removed and lumped together in another giant pile.
At last the class was back inside. Just in time to hear the bell for lunch ring.
We were all inside for wet weather anyway, so this divine tidbit of irony wasn't actually that potent.
My first day of teaching Kindergarten was nearing its conclusion - I had only to survive the afternoon session. However, it shouldn't have been my survival that I was concerned about.
At 2:20pm a little boy ran into my arms in fitful sobs while unchecked tears cascaded down his pink face just as strong as the rain had cascaded from the sky.
"What's wrong darling?!" I asked in alarm.
"...I'm...(hic)...so...(hic)...TIRED!!"
And I don't think he could have put it any better.
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