This past week brought about a new school year, and for some of a tender age, the entry into the most German of American educational experiences – Kindergarten.
This is our daughter’s ninth year in Kindergarten. Of course, the first time (see picture) was a couple of dozen years ago, when she was facing the teacher along with a bunch of other 5 year olds. Whatever happened that year apparently resonated with her—enough to grow up with the desire – and now with 8 years of experience – to be the one facing an ever increasing number of kids in her classroom. The current count is 22, but others are expected to show up after Labor Day when their “traditional” parent(s) think that’s when school really starts. [Side thought: I know there will be those who might argue with me, but I really think Labor Day exists primarily to recognize our nation’s teachers return to their livelihood.]
I’ve been observing the preparation/tension that precedes the start of each school year for awhile now and can say, honestly, the time frame for foreboding shortens with each passing year – but is no less intense in the final week. In the beginning, my BBL initially volunteered to help prepare the classroom. While I think that characterization still “officially” applies, lately for some reason, it seems more like she’s been drafted!
My arm length involvement is sooo much longer than her mother’s, but my respect and pride of her daily endeavors takes a backseat to no one. There is no doubt that I could NOT do her job -- even if I had two Aggie degrees in Education. And I challenge any school administrator or public official involved in setting teacher compensation to try it for a year. And I know I would fail at the most rudimentary of her tasks – like remembering the kids’ names. Seems like these days most of their first names are distilled from a brew of alphabet soup spiked with vowels. I’m not saying that’s bad (our surname certainly contains a hefty surplus of consonants); just that it’s an indication of my memory limitations.
Along those lines, I regret to admit I don’t remember my own Kindergarten teacher’s name, but I suspect my mother would. Just like the cashier today at our local PETCO store did of her kid’s. I had provided my credit card to her to pay an exorbitant price for some food to feed the Koi (fancy carp) in our pond. The cashier asked if I was related to a certain Kindergarten teacher. After I responded in the affirmative, she told me her daughter had been in my daughter’s class three years ago and had loved the experience.
That absolutely made my day.
This is our daughter’s ninth year in Kindergarten. Of course, the first time (see picture) was a couple of dozen years ago, when she was facing the teacher along with a bunch of other 5 year olds. Whatever happened that year apparently resonated with her—enough to grow up with the desire – and now with 8 years of experience – to be the one facing an ever increasing number of kids in her classroom. The current count is 22, but others are expected to show up after Labor Day when their “traditional” parent(s) think that’s when school really starts. [Side thought: I know there will be those who might argue with me, but I really think Labor Day exists primarily to recognize our nation’s teachers return to their livelihood.]
I’ve been observing the preparation/tension that precedes the start of each school year for awhile now and can say, honestly, the time frame for foreboding shortens with each passing year – but is no less intense in the final week. In the beginning, my BBL initially volunteered to help prepare the classroom. While I think that characterization still “officially” applies, lately for some reason, it seems more like she’s been drafted!
My arm length involvement is sooo much longer than her mother’s, but my respect and pride of her daily endeavors takes a backseat to no one. There is no doubt that I could NOT do her job -- even if I had two Aggie degrees in Education. And I challenge any school administrator or public official involved in setting teacher compensation to try it for a year. And I know I would fail at the most rudimentary of her tasks – like remembering the kids’ names. Seems like these days most of their first names are distilled from a brew of alphabet soup spiked with vowels. I’m not saying that’s bad (our surname certainly contains a hefty surplus of consonants); just that it’s an indication of my memory limitations.
Along those lines, I regret to admit I don’t remember my own Kindergarten teacher’s name, but I suspect my mother would. Just like the cashier today at our local PETCO store did of her kid’s. I had provided my credit card to her to pay an exorbitant price for some food to feed the Koi (fancy carp) in our pond. The cashier asked if I was related to a certain Kindergarten teacher. After I responded in the affirmative, she told me her daughter had been in my daughter’s class three years ago and had loved the experience.
That absolutely made my day.
1 comment:
Katie was so cute her first year of Kinder! She's such a great teacher :)
Post a Comment