She showed up unannounced.
I was absorbed in the task of putting the Magic Tree House
to rights after an exceptionally messy day. I grabbed a stack of papers and was just about to run up the
stairs from the Dungeon when I nearly ran over her. Dear me. It
would never do to plow down the mayor’s wife in cold-blooded abandon. The building was nearly empty. At least there would be no witnesses.
I greeted her warmly and wrapped my arms around her (I am a
chronic hugger). She is a lovely
woman, the First Lady of our fair town.
Lovely AND a patron of the Magic Tree House. She once showed up at our classroom door, her arms loaded
with goodies for our prize box.
God bless Mrs. Mayor.
I inquired as to what brought her to my classroom so late in
the afternoon. She gave me her
unique warm smile that makes a person feel showered with golden shafts of sunlight. “I just wanted to see if you have done
anything to your classroom lately.”
Another beam of light from her perfect smile. “You know,” she confided conspiratorially. “I tell everyone that this is the
greatest classroom in the world.”
Wow. I thanked her
profusely for her generous praise and kind words.
We chatted amiably about this and that and she inquired
about how my school year was going, how our daughters think so highly of one
another, and whatever other trivial crumbs of inanity women find to discuss and
men scratch their heads over. Our
conversation drifted to a nature walk I had taken the Darlings on a few days
prior. “I almost took them into
your yard to play in your leaves,” I confessed. “I have students who admitted they have never jumped into a
pile of leaves! Imagine that!” My face reflected my incredulosity (do
not panic or feel stupid. This is
another one of my endless made-up words).
Her sky-blue eyes were suddenly backlit. “Bring them over! I’ll leave rakes out on the back patio
and you can jump to your hearts’ content.
And feel free to use the swing set. It just sits there unused anymore. I would LOVE for you to get some use out of it.” She ended with another luminous smile
and I gladly received its sparkling shower of starry constellations.
The hamster that turns the wheel in my brain had just drunk
a Red Bull and was spinning that wheel like crazy. I couldn’t just spirit them away from the building for the sheer
fun of it. There would have to be
purpose and meaning behind it.
Somehow it would have to have a tie-in to my educational goals (darn
standards!) Like Lucy Ricardo
scheming with Ethel, I considered my options. “OK, here’s what I’ll do. Next Tuesday we’ll have our science lesson outside in your
yard. Then we can jump in leaves
for awhile.” We grinned at one
another like we had just hatched the greatest caper of all time. She sealed the deal with, “I’ll let my
husband know too, so if I’m not there he’ll be prepared for the sight of our
backyard full of kids!” The mayor
himself. I was enormously pleased
with our little scheme.
The day of the Great Escape dawned brilliant and
unseasonably warm. It was
forecasted to hit the 80’s in the afternoon; simply unbelievable weather for October. I smiled smugly about it all morning. I waited until late morning before announcing my afternoon
surprise. Oh, the cheers were
deafening. They just could not
believe their amazing luck to get to participate in such a grand fall ritual.
When I finally had them to myself after lunch, recess, and
Needs Based Instruction block, I herded them out the door and into the warm
sunshine. It was undoubtedly scripted
by the good Lord himself. I lead
my charges like a mama duck waddling her babies to the pond. They were jubilant beyond
description. They hopped and
jumped and whooped and hollered.
Their six-year-old feet barely touched the ground, so happy were they to
be out where children should be found on such a perfect day.
I had made a big deal out of going to play in the Mayor’s
yard. They were dutifully
impressed. They kept asking if we
would get to see the mayor. I did
not know. He was probably off
doing mayoral things, or working his day job (did I mention this is a really
small town?), or hunting pheasants, or something else equally common.
As we trudged across the playground, past the ancient teeter
totters, the famous Puke Machine, and swings that were probably installed the same
year FDR was sworn in, we cut west towards the houses that butted up against
the school property.
As we got closer to our destination, one of my more
theatrical boys pointed excitedly to the house next to the mayor’s. “Hey,” he yelled enthusiastically. “That’s MY house! That’s my house, Mrs. Dahl!” I smiled. “We’re almost there, boys and girls!” Mr. I-Live-Next-To-The School was still
beaming over his notoriety. I was
listening to his babble behind my right shoulder, his finger still pointing to
the back door of his house.
“That’s my house!” he repeated.
“Hey, everybody! Did you
know that’s my house? That’s my…
HEY! Wait a minute. I live next to the MAYOR????” He nearly hyperventilated. “Mrs. Dahl, the mayor is MY
neighbor??” It was like the first
time Lisa Marie Presley understood her father was a big deal. “Yes, you certainly do live next door
to the mayor.” I could feel the
dawning admiration from his classmates being laid at his metaphoric feet. He was suddenly something of a
celebrity and enjoying it enormously.
Having arrived at our destination, we lined up at the base of
the ladder leading us to the Fort in the Clouds (or so it seemed to my Little
Peeps), and I took science worksheet-holding clipboards from happy hands, laid
them up on the floor of the fort, and helped short legs climb the steep rungs to
Adventure Ahead Land. The study of
science was (predictably) a complete Forget It. Excited little bodies were fairly vibrating with pure
energy. Their heads were swiveling
everywhere but on their plant parts worksheets. I quickly wrapped up this train wreck and took the lens cap
off my camera. Happy little faces
filled my viewfinder and I snapped with abandon. “Mrs. Dahl, can I take YOUR picture?” Sure. Why not? Eight
little bodies lined up behind the aspiring photographer waiting for their own chance
to hold Mrs. Dahl’s ever present camera.
As the last picture of their favorite quasi-hippie was being
snapped, one owner of a particularly small bladder suddenly announced, “I need
to go to the bathroom!” This was
shades of when I had small children at home. It seemed I would no sooner get tots into snowsuits or car
seats or into the 3-mile long checkout line at Wally World and my cherub would
shout with preschool gusto, “I have to go potty!! NOW!”
I quickly entertained a few options for Patty Pee Pee and
discarded all but one. We
would just have to skeedaddle back to the school. “Children, please line up quickly!” Mass confusion and the threat of an
uprising were etching themselves on impatient faces. We hadn’t even jumped in leaves yet! Mrs. Dahl, are you in the beginning
stages of dementia?? I hastily
filled in the basic information and a few others seemed relieved after admitting
the same need. I assured them we
would quickly be back to finish our adventure.
Hiking my long skirt up in order to make better time, I lead
my ducklings back past the World War II swings, the Puke Machine, the teeter
totters, and down the back stairs into the Tree House and out to the
bathrooms. I have never seen them
use the facilities so quickly. It
was like Superman changing clothes in the phone booth (a WHAT?... my younger
readers are thinking…)
In no time at all we were once again hopping, skipping, jumping,
soaring, and sailing past confused swings, Puke Machines, and teeter
totters. The long skirt was hiked
higher yet as music class was now only ten minutes away.
And then it was time for our Grande Finale.
I ran to the patio to see if Her Majesty had remembered her
promise to leave rakes out for us.
I had to dodge a dog pile.
Well, I guess the mayor’s dog poops just like any old peasant dog. I spied the yard utensils and ran back
to my jumping-bean first graders and showed them how to quickly rake into a
pile. As I pulled a nice pile together,
I suddenly realized that the mayor’s wife is a stinkin’ genius! She finagled an entire class to rake
the leaves in her yard, and had made me believe it would even be fun! Oh, the diabolical genius…
When all had taken a turn with the rake and we had a sizable
pile, I set the rake aside and announced it was time to jump! I suddenly remembered that this moment
should surely be recorded.
“Wait! Not yet! I need to take a picture!” Groans from frustrated jumpers were
heard all arounbd. This sounded
eerily like my children on a Christmas morning before gifts.
With that necessity out of the way, I counted down from
five. At “one” they ran as a pack
and jumped, squealed, and giggled like they had been handed the keys to Toys R
Us. Golden leaves were tossed high
in the air and smiles a mile wide covered every sweet face. I knew that this was a moment that
these precious children would never forget.
And neither would I.
Two happening
today added the epilogue to yesterday’s hatching of our Perfect Day. The first came mid-afternoon. While putting the finishing touches on
a few unfinished projects, a little pixie face suddenly beamed in my
direction. “When I got home
yesterday, I made a big pile of leaves and jumped in! There are leaves EVERYWHERE now,” she added, triumphantly. Now other voices chorused that they had
done the same. The same sweet
grins as I had reveled in yesterday were beaming up at me now. Yeah… it had been well worth the time
and effort and had accomplished what I had hoped.
My pint-sized neighbor-to-the-mayor had gone home after
school the day of our grand adventure and excitedly enlightened his mother that
they live next door to THE MAYOR!
“She already knew,” he confessed in shocked wonder.
The second moment came as I stepped out the door for the day
at 5:30. I stared incredulously
out the windows on the heavy front doors.
It was … snowing!! Some of
the fattest flakes I have ever witnessed were floating downward, covering cars,
grass, and steps. In less than 24
hours, we had left the warm shelter of Autumn and had now entered the cold
corridor of winter. Would there
even be another day perfect for “fort science” and leaf jumping??
It does not matter.
We had drunk the last dregs of summer. We frolicked in fall’s harvest under the bare branches of
near-naked trees, and we laughed and pretended for just a moment that school is
fun. Sometimes learning becomes
less about knowledge and more about wisdom.
I hope…
I hope when I am old and my body frail… I hope I remember
last Tuesday. I hope I can return
in my mind to a warm fall day in early October and envision once again joyous
children tossing golden leaves high into the air. I hope I remember the simple ecstasy splashed on those
precious faces. I hope I can hear
their bubbling laughter and feel once again their little arms wrapped around me
in spontaneous hugs as they thank me for such a fun day. Such will be the accumulated treasures
of my life.
I am satisfied.
 |
| Mrs. Dahl in the "fort" |
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