"THERE'S NO BEST IN KINDERGARTEN"

When Noah began kindergarten, dutiful parent that I was, I went around every Friday to work out with him and his cohort. I could see why people thought his teacher was thought to be the best in the school.

She could get instant attention simply by counting out loud; “One two three,” and the children would freeze. (The school used the same tactic to round up the students when recess ended: A blaring horn blew, and the kids would freeze. I mean no matter what position they were in when the horn blew, they froze--standing on one leg, leaning forward with arms outspread, you name it. And they held the position until the horn blasted again, and then ran off to take their places in their classrooms' lines.)

Noah's teacher ran a tight ship, strictly no nonsense, never having to raise her voice. No child was idle; no one out of line. I imagined a banner over her classroom door: “A place for every child, and every child in his place.”

She was friendly but not warm, with an inscrutable reserve that left me wondering what she was really thinking and feeling. She never touched the children; no stroking or patting or hugging, and quite formal when she said “good morning” and “goodbye.”

From the moment they entered the room the kids went to work on their basics. My job was to help them through the drills
set for them. It wasn’t the sort of thing I had hoped I might do.

One day the teacher assigned me to walk the kids from the classroom to the playground and back. They immediately began testing me; I think they suspected a softie. They were right, soon running all over the place. I was a lousy disciplinarian, and sensed teacher’s quiet disapproval.

But those kids found another weakness: I would touch them, pick them up, let them sit on my lap, and they made the most of it. When it was time to be read to, or to watch films, I sat on the floor and they vied to see who would sit on my lap. I had to set up a waiting line; even Noah had to take his turn, which he didn’t particularly like.

Those children hungered for that kind of attention. I had to peel them off so the others could have their turn. Kids came out
of their shells as they climbed and hung on me. I could see a part of them that the curriculum excluded. They were just normal youngsters who liked to be touched and held and picked up and bounced around.

One boy, big for his age, ordinarily withdrawn, was first in line every morning. He reeked of urine and sour sweat, and his clothes looked like the hand-me-downs I wore during the Depression. I almost gagged when he first snuggled up, but after a time he didn’t stink so much--or I got used to it.

If all I did was allow those kids some physical de-compressing from their regular regimen, I thought, I could make a significant contribution. But the activity was becoming disruptive. I had become an attractive nuisance, a subversive insidiously undermining what was going down in that classroom in the name of education.

Along about November the teacher quietly told me she was concerned about my picking up kids, fearing they could be hurt, and the school district would have to pay.

“I haven’t dropped one yet,” I cheerily replied, not yet sure she was serious.

“I know,” she firmly replied, “but it could happen and then someone would sue.”

“Gee, I wish there was some way I could pick them up. They so much want to be held, and don’t seem to ever get enough.” (I was using my new non-authoritarian problem-solving skills; avoiding "you" statements, that sort of thing.)

“Well,” she said after thinking about it a bit, “perhaps if you just kneel down when you pick them up, and don’t do it out on the playground.”

It was a deal.

But Teacher’s concern had gotten to me, and I began soft-pedaling, holding off the kids, restraining them--and myself. I wondered if what I was doing was unseemly to her. The kids became even more clamorous for my attention.

I began to see why Noah, when I asked him what he liked best about kindergarten, sourly replied, "There's no best in kindergarten."

"Well," I responded, careful not to be judgmental, "what do you do in kindergarten that you'd like to do more of?" Right away his reply was, "Go outside!"

Noah's teacher might have thought I was as much trouble as help.

Given her agenda, I think I was.