I like kids to be just a little naughty. Know what I mean? Not bratty…. no, no, no. Bratty is the result of bad parenting
(did I say that out loud?).
Mischievous is innate. It
comes as part of your original package.
There is something utterly, deliciously endearing about a kid that likes
to shake things up a bit. Kids that are
perfect are a little, well, boring.
I do not say any of this to my students, of course. That would only incite the inmates to violence. No, Mrs. Dahl, Keeper of the Magic Tree House, quasi-hippie and middle-aged new career gal is all about rules and being mindful of the feelings around us. But on the inside, I can’t help but love the kids that can’t seem to remember all the rules and possess that twinkle in their eye that signals the soul of a firecracker.
Maybe it's because I can relate to the just-this-side-of-the-principals-office sort
of kid. When I was a youngun, my
elementary principal moonlighted as my father. Occasionally one of my teachers would screw up the courage
to send me to her boss, my father, for errant behavior. Now that I think about it, it must have
taken a tremendous amount of courage for my teachers to vanquish their boss’
kid to him for punishment. What if
he didn’t believe them and felt they were being unduly harsh with his little
angel? But drat it all, he always
bought into their version of events.
It was mostly for minor infractions of the rules. I never sold prescription meds out of
my Peanuts lunchbox or anything.
Just mostly talked too much and got other kids to do things that were (apparently)
frowned upon, like setting the clock ahead when the sub wasn't looking... that kind of stuff. I once thought I
should cash in on all the note passing going on around me, and set up Vonda’s
Post Office, charging a nickel to pass any note that came across my desk. I made up stamps and everything. I put my own 5th grade
freckled face on each and every stamp and thought they were rather fetching. The funny part to that story is, kids actually
paid me the nickel. My 5th
grade compatriots apparently had questionable business savvy. Or maybe they paid because my dad was the principal.
And then I grew up, got married, and spawned my own Mr.
Mischief. Son #2 was born looking
for ways to cause trouble. As a
preschooler he laid traps for his unsuspecting older brother. At day care he picked on kids twice his
size and age. He was the one that
tried to blame his shenanigans on imaginary friends that lived in the light
bulb. A couple of years ago he
joined a chat room that my husband frequents where political topics are bandied
about. Ryan joined under a
pseudonym and would post comments under his alter ego that he knew would light
a fire in his dad’s belly. As my
husband would sit at the table and rail against the “new guy” in the chat room,
Ryan would sit listening with absolutely no expression on his face, nodding and sympathetic. He played his dad to the hilt. He didn’t admit his double identity for
another year or so. Boy, oh boy,
did we have a good laugh over that one!
(Well, five of us did anyway.
Dad…not so much).
I have a student coming to my classroom in two years. She is the younger sister of one of
last year’s students. According to
her mother, she is quite the irascible imp. Her mother was sleeping in bed not long ago. Her little angel carried an ice cream
bucket half-filled with live lizards and frogs into her mother’s room and
poured the entire bucket on top of her unconscious mother’s head!! My poor friend awoke to slimy,
slithery, hopping reptiles all over her pillow. I mean, can you IMAGINE???!! Nope… my brain will not go there. I would just have to die on the spot.
In the school setting, mischief of any kind is absolutely
frowned upon. I mean, there are
RULES. Order and obedience must be
maintained at all times. Having
fun is for after school or summers.
During my daily reading intervention group, I always begin
with reading aloud some wonderful piece of children’s literature. What better way to motivate kids to read
than to showpiece some captivating story that captures their imaginations? If I don’t show them that I enjoy
reading, then why should they put in the effort to learn?
The book du jour was Horrible Harry in Room 2B by Suzy Kline. Harry is something of a soul mate. I love Harry. The Darlings loved him too. They roared when he pinned Sidney to the ground and made him
shout I LOVE GIRLS!! twice. They
giggled when Harry wanted to play a dead fish for the Thanksgiving Pilgrim
play. But they were absolutely
entranced with his Stub People who would invade Room 2B and bring doom to the room!! I’m not sure why they loved that part
so much, but man, did they ever. They
wanted to look at the pictures and hear certain paragraphs read multiple
times. I obliged. Then I went for the kill. “Boys and girls, when you become rock
star readers, you can actually read this book YOURSELF!” Eyes widened and grins bloomed like
Morning Glories. Read Horrible
Harry any time I want to??? YES!!!
They were pumped.
As teachers sometimes have the brilliance to do, I knew this
was one of those times to extend that enthusiasm off the pages of the book and
into their world for a few moments.
“OK, here’s the deal,” (teachers are always making deals. When I was the mother of young
children, I referred to them as bribes, but bribe is not a smiled upon word in
the education profession). “Let’s
do a funsheet together,” (the word “worksheet” brings a lot of baggage to the
table), “and then you can spend the last ten minutes of class making your very
own Stub People.” My, oh MY. The
roar that went up was thunderous.
They worked like fury to get those darn worksheets, OOPS! I mean FUNsheets
finished. They could not WAIT to
bring doom to our room. While they
scribbled their last messy words on paper, I scrounged for paper clips, tiny
bits of crayon, string, and whatever sort of otherwise useless garbage might
benefit the creation of these horrible, terrifying, monstrous doom-creating aliens.
Turns out they didn’t really need me at all. I think maybe that is why they were so
excited about this spontaneous project.
Kids do need adults for certain things; food, shelter, love, money for
One Direction posters… but they DO NOT need adults when it comes to making
their own fun. Now was such a
time. I could not believe how
quickly they were charging to my desk with their little Frankenstein thinggys. And doggonit, their artwork was cuter
than the ear of a newborn kitten.
We could all feel the doom overtaking our room. It was building with each new Stub
Monster. I kept screaming, “NOOOOO,
THERE IS TOO MUCH DOOM IN THIS ROOM!
MAKE IT STOP!!” Which, of
course, made them laugh villainously and work feverishly on their Stubs
Monsters.
So here’s what I think. I’m pretty sure that adults forget how powerless kids feel
sometimes. We boss them around
like they possess only half a brain and the wits of a watermelon. Sometimes, just for the fun of it, we
should step out of the way and let them soar.
Harry was such a throbbing success because, a. All kids relate to being naughty once
in a while (some of us more than others), and b. There are those in this world that will still like you and
accept you as is, even on your very worst day. And believe me, kids have plenty of horrible days. Anyway, Harry struck a chord, that’s
for sure.
So the Stub People invasion turned out to be something of a
bust. They did not wreak havoc and
did not bring doom to our room. No
rather, they brought the sort of childlike joy that should be present in an
elementary classroom once in a blue moon… or maybe even everyday. Sometimes the walls of ancient school
houses on the great wide prairie in the middle of nowhere should ring with the
laughter of children learning the way children learn best… through creative
outlet and topics that interest them.
They have brains. They know
how to assimilate information.
Teachers should sometimes be guides and sometimes play the role of
facilitator. Knowing when to be
what is the tricky part.
Anyway, Harry was a hit.
I think I’ll dust Horrible Harry off in two years when my
little lizard lovin’ angel officially becomes one of The Darlings. Then I’ll keep an eye peeled for slimy
ice cream pails, check my chair seven times a day for tacks/glue/spiders, and
keep a very close eye on that one.
I can’t wait…
