You may remember that I have had heart palpitations over my classroom pencil situation. Or rather, my lack-of-pencils-in-the-classroom situation. I instituted a free market economy here in The Magic Tree House wherein students must purchase new pencils from me, the first grade equivalent of Donald Trump. But I am not entirely without empathy for The Peasants. I supply a fresh pile of five pennies for just such a use first thing every Monday morning.
This system has worked refreshingly well. We do not lose nearly as many pencils, and the pencils purchased by my Little Darlings are guarded like the Queen’s Jewels. The frosting on the cake is that they are allowed to keep whatever pennies they have leftover on Friday. This, of course, motivates them to purchase as few pencils as possible and protect their investment to the best of their abilities. (Hmmmm… a little like raising gas prices. We use less of the stuff and the stockpiles remain at healthy levels. Maybe “Big Oil” isn’t so stupid after all…). OK, enough economics preaching.
As you can imagine, they live for Friday afternoons and the “all clear” signal that they may keep their pennies. I have noticed that a few of them hang onto the leftover change and roll them over into the new week. This is a very smart strategy as there may be an unforeseen pencil catastrophe, such as pencil factory workers going on strike, in which case these forward-thinking students will weather the storm quite nicely.
This morning, the true natures of my children were stirred and brought to the surface. The high school FBLA (Future Business Leaders of America) club is fund raising for the March of Dimes. Yesterday, fliers were handed to me by smiling high school girls and a cardboard box for collecting the change was dropped off later. First thing this morning, I explained to the students what the box was for and told them a bit about what the March of Dimes does. I did not spend much time on the topic, I just wanted them to be aware of the money drive and to make sure their parents saw the note being sent home at the end of the day.
But I underestimated these students of mine. They have big hearts and they care deeply about puppies and kitties and yes, human babies. “Do you mean they help babies that are sick, Mrs. Dahl?” I nodded. “Yes, and they help mommies that are going to have babies be healthy so that their babies are healthy too.” They bobbed their heads as if they fully understood the import of such actions.
They are also painfully honest. “I think we should give them money,” one boy asserted firmly. “Cuz we don’t want weird-looking babies all over the place.” I couldn’t think of a teacherly reply fast enough so I just let that one slide.
“…So ask your parents if you can bring some change next week for the March of Dimes and we’ll put it in our box for the babies.” I finished my announcement and prepared to move on to the joys of reading. They sat quietly for a moment as this information sank into their young brains. “Mrs. Dahl?” a little voice ventured. “Would it be alright if we gave our pennies to the babies?”
At first I didn’t follow what he was asking. “Yes, of course you can bring pennies from home. Any sort of change will do.” He pointed to his tub of belongings under the shelf. “No,” he said emphatically. “Our pennies!”
Understanding dawned like daybreak. I was speechless for a moment. I was dumbfounded. I was suddenly and inexplicably on the verge of tears. “You mean,” I began incredulously, “you want to use your pencil pennies for the babies?” He nodded vigorously. “Yeah!” “Well, I… but those are your… are you SURE?” Without another word, he jumped up and ran to retrieve his precious coins, rooted noisily for them, then triumphantly located them and ran to the cardboard box. With a grin the size of Texas, he dropped his coins in and leaned back in a satisfied manner.
I was beaming. I just couldn’t believe what I had witnessed. He hadn’t even had to think about this philanthropy. It had been as innate as drawing a breath. Babies needed his money. Of course he would share.
As I tried to wrap my brain around this astounding act of charity, I became aware of movement just to my left. I glanced over to the table where the rest of the class was seated. As if following a scripted scene, they were rising in unison and making their way to their own tubs and penny stashes. These precious lambs were giving from the deepest parts of their young hearts.
Pennies dropped noisily into the box and then the children made their way to me and my outstretched arms.
If you transcend backwards the life of an adult to their childhood days, you will replace greed with giving, and self-centeredness with sharing. At what point do we big people make life all about us? We generally paint children as the selfish ones, and we use a very broad brush. But I think that is unfair. Children have a glowing orb where resides the black rock in most of we adults. They hold loosely to earthly treasures. If their neighbor needs their toy, or lunch, or favorite book, they find joy in meeting that need. Oh, there are exceptions, of course. And these charitable moods vary from day to day, but the picture painted here holds true for the most part.
Children don’t just love. They ARE love.
I was honored today to be a spectator in a hushed moment heavy with meaning, and pure in its intent. I think saints rejoiced and angels smiled tenderly.
Adults could learn a thing or two…
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