This is the time of year when parents experience one of the true mysteries of life – a sort of U.S. version of the Changing of the Guard – known as Sending the Kids Back to School. Finally accustomed to the semi-constant company of their offspring since early June, parents suddenly find themselves handing over their little munchkins to complete and total strangers dubiously described as “teachers,” who were, I rationalized, secret agents employed by the CIA bent on molding our progeny into future taxpayers or even scarier – members of Congress.
Now don’t get me wrong. I love teachers; in fact, our older daughter is a teacher. I have several good friends who are teachers. And I have the utmost respect and admiration for teachers, which is how I happened to find myself in Southern California last week with a pair of extra-large scissors in one hand and a glue stick in the other.
Like you, I thought all of those adorably-decorated classrooms we took for granted when our kids were in elementary school came pretty much fully pre-assembled. You know, a kind of Classroom-In-A-Box sort of thing. Thumb-tack a few cut-outs here and there, scribble some words on the blackboard, and you were good to go. Thus, when Daughter Number One invited us down to help her put together her second grade classroom for the upcoming school year, I thought, “Sure. No problem. Piece of cake.”
So my spouse and I tossed a couple of suitcases in our vehicle and drove south. My daughter and her husband presented us with a wonderful home-cooked dinner upon our arrival and a full breakfast the next morning, which should have been a tip-off. Still innocently oblivious, although the light was suspiciously beginning to dawn, we hauled mysterious bags and boxes of classroom supplies to our SUV, filling it to the brim, and then headed off to our daughter’s school in Santa Ana.
Now let me tell you that I’ve never in my life seen a primary grade classroom look so … bare. Or so big. In a vast stretch of empty space stood 20 lonely little desks and chairs and a slightly larger desk and chair, which I correctly assumed to be the teacher’s desk. That was it. You could have hollered, “Helloooooo…” and your echoing voice would have bounced around in there for days.
“So!! Are you ready?” my daughter asked brightly.
I’m sure prisoners of war have been known to show more hope written on their faces than I displayed at that moment. Nervously I glanced toward the door. No escape route there – the exit was blocked by several large cartons containing who knows what. It appeared I was there for the duration. So my daughter, the second grade teacher, showed me the inside secret of that true mystery of life – how a big, barren expanse of empty walls and floor space is totally transformed into a magical wonderland of learning called a classroom.
But first there is something you need to know about my daughter. She is utterly and completely obsessed with laminating. I honestly feel she may need to eventually seek some therapy. And I shudder to think that one day I may arrive at her house to find her spouse encased in laminating wrap, stuck to a wall in their living room. But I admit that I was beginning to enjoy this laminating thing. Yes; I, too, heard the siren’s call of the big machine. There we were, my daughter and I, laminating up a storm, which meant that we then needed to cut, tape, glue, paste and staple any and every laminated thing to each available square inch of wall space within the classroom. But that wasn’t all.
My brilliant prodigy had saved the Big Kahuna of classroom assembling fun for last: the great die cutting machine. Oh, this baby rocked! Slap a few sheets of (laminated) paper inside its sturdy iron jaws along with a large wooden block containing cool-looking letters or designs, press down on the big lever and Voila! Out popped perfect, professional-looking (laminated) designs for stapling onto other (laminated) objects until finally – there it was! The bright and cheery primary grade classroom utopia you’re accustomed to finding on that wondrous day the kids go back to school.
The longer we worked – and mind you, we’re talking multiple days here – the more I found to do. In no time, I was affixing labels, collating folders, designing free-form stars, and assembling colorful two-dimensional rocket ships. I was even meeting her new second grade students who arrived individually for their Early Start reading exams, all shined up in spiffy new school clothes, smiling ear-to-ear (albeit shyly) at their friendly new teacher.
So there at last, up close and personal, was the habitat for early childhood education. I loved it. And when my daughter shared with me that her good friend, Maggie, was stressing out about the trauma of sending her son from kindergarten to first grade this year, I wanted to reach out to Maggie, pat her arm reassuringly, and ask compassionately,
“Are you nuts?” Because this is a really great place for kids to be. Back at school. Back to reading, writing, and arithmetic. And back for another year with a most dedicated group of America’s best: their teachers.
Gale Hammond is a 23-year Morgan Hill resident. Reach her at
Ga*********@ao*.com
.
