It was a dark and stormy night.
Tree branches hanging low against the outer walls scraped
the windows like giant claws trying to rip open the wall and gain access to the
interior. The low moan of the
wind, first nearly imperceptible, then screaming and angry added tension to the
already spooked huddled group. The
only light in the oppressive room came from the occasional flash of lightning
that blinded from the tiny window, creating evil shadows that danced on the
gray walls. Would this night and
its infernal blackness never end?
Where was daybreak and the relief that would dispel the gloom? The human mind can only endure so much
horror and tension before it breaks and imagines things that are not
there. Such was the scene before
my weary eyes. It was a nightmare
from which there would be no awakening.
We were plunged into blackness, and with it, deep despair…
Okay, OKAY, it wasn’t quite that bad. Here’s what REALLY happened…
As this overcast day began, I was quite certain that my
principal would be popping in during some portion of my reading block for an
evaluation. There were the usual
rumors and stirrings of teachers in the workroom reporting that he was on the
prowl and actively visiting classrooms.
To that end, I carefully prepared for the day and felt confident in my
lesson plans. Bring it on, Mr.
Principal!
The children arrived and we began our day in the usual
fashion. I had just taken my first
steps into the reading block (with an eye on the door for The Man), when
suddenly the room was plunged into blackness. All activity in the room ceased. Please remember that my classroom is in the basement of
our ancient school building. I
affectionately refer to my room as The Dungeon for a reason. I have two very small windows in my
room, but one is filled with a window air conditioner, so any natural light
that happens to stumble into my kingdom is pathetic at best. On a brilliantly sunny day, we get a
tiny patch to enjoy (it sounds like a prison cell), and when it is dark and
overcast, I am thankful for bright artificial lighting. So when the lights go out… it is pretty
darn dark down there. The hallway
beyond our door has no window whatsoever.
It is REALLY dark out there.
I was aware that all eyes were on me to guide them into a
non-panic mode. I was silent for
the first few moments waiting to see if it was a blip on the grid that would
immediately correct itself. No
lights reappeared…. still dark…. still dark…. “OKAY, children,” I said warmly,
“it’s fine. We’ll just keep going
with our day.” I knew it was
coming and yet I did not invite it.
“I’m scared,” a small voice trembled. Time to get proactive, Mrs. Dahl. “Everyone come here,” I urged. I knew they needed to feel another human being at that
moment, and so I had them gather in a small circle. I reassured quietly, but firmly, and told them that we would
do reading time the best that we could, using the paltry light from the window
to read by. I knew the act of
familiar routine would help dissolve their fears. With my reassurances ringing in their quaking ears, they
moved to grab their reading baskets.
Just then my tardy principal appeared like an apparition at
the darkened door. He looked a
little frazzled, I thought. He
commanded me to keep going instructionally and I smiled inwardly. That was exactly what we were
doing. He nodded once, then was
swallowed by the blackness of the hall as he left to “reassure” other teachers
and classrooms of nervous students.
The same trembling voice that had admitted fear of the dark now had a
new and even larger dilemma. “Mrs.
Dahl,” came the tortured voice. “I
really have to go to the bathroom.”
A pause. “… and I’m afraid
to go by myself.” This was quite
an admission as this overwrought child was of the male variety and asking your
female teacher to accompany you the to bathroom is unthinkable when you are an
all-grown-up first grade boy.
“I’ll stand in the hall just outside the door,” I assured him. He did his business,
grateful for my presence, and we continued our day.
Gathering my charges in a circle by the light-bearing
window, we lay on our stomachs and popcorn-read our story out of our reading
textbooks. I had each child take
the hand of the person on either side of them before we began. “Remember, boys and girls, if you start
to feel afraid, there is another person close enough to touch right beside
you. We are all here together and
we are fine.” They smiled and
exhaled with relief. I thought we
should have a Reading in the Dark party, so I dug cheese puffs out of the
closet and we read and munched and got orange splotches on our textbooks from
our cheesy fingers. I began to
hear giggles and knew we had turned an emotional corner. Fear had given way to adventure.
Mr. Calm appeared again with a flashlight in hand and handed
it to me “just in case anyone needed to use the bathroom.” Great timing.
We were well past the ninety-minute mark of our Egyptian
Plague. Obviously flashlights had been delivered all around for the blackened hallway was now filled with beams of moving light as adventurous kids moved to the bathrooms en mass. It was like a spelunking party out there.
I decided to forge ahead and
administer a short quiz. I was
reading the first question to them when suddenly the fluorescent fixtures
buzzed back to life. It was a
little blinding and a lot surprising.
“Darn,” one disappointed cherub exclaimed. I was surprised.
‘You LIKE the dark?”
“Yeah!” they all cheered. A
pint-sized problem-solver suggested we turn the lights back off. I arched an eyebrow. “Wait… you want it to be dark
again??” I was incredulous. Another cheer. I nodded and little Sally Sue ran to
the wall switch.
And so, with the power back on and our reintroduction into
the 21st century, we sat on the floor and took our reading quiz in
the dark. These kids kill me. And I love it with all of my
middle-aged heart.
We had ourselves an adventure today.
And next year, I am requisitioning miner’s hats…
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