Kindergarteners don't speak English

Kindergarteners don’t speak English. True, they do know many English words. The fact that they know many English words is misleading, so misleading as to fool the novice into thinking they have communicated with a Kindergartener. Anyone who has ever attempted to give a group of Kindergarteners directions knows that plain English will not be heard, comprehended or acted upon. One has to speak Kindergartenese.

For example, let’s suppose you would like your class to sit close to the movie screen. Now suppose there is a student sitting too far away. The uninitiated might say something like, “Johnny, please move up.” Johnny might just as well be deaf. He isn’t exactly sure where “up” is, but he has an inkling, and he does know he can’t fly.

One might try, “Move forward,” “Please move closer to the screen,” or even “Stand up, walk that way (pointing) and sit down.” All of these will be met with a blank stare, if indeed you can manage eye contact.

First of all, Kindergartenese has no prepositions. In, over, forward, sideways, behind, next to, up, down – none of these words mean anything to a Kindergartener.

Second of all, Johnny is sitting right next to an autoharp. He has never before seen an autoharp, but he is sure that messing with this baby would be a lot more fun than whatever you are going to show on that screen. He has already translated your intentions by non-verbal means and he knows exactly what you want him to do, but speaking to him in plain English will never get that child more than 6 inches away from that autoharp.

Plain English is impotent in such a moment. You have to speak Johnny’s language. First, get eye contact. Second put your hand within one foot of the exact spot you want him to be, point firmly to it, and speak these words, “Johnny, sit here – NOW!”

This he understands.

Just because they don’t speak English doesn’t mean they aren’t smart.

Heaven or Hell?

Yesterday, while curled up in a fetal position on the floor waiting for my body to stop screaming at me, I thought the worst was over.

Then Susan took me to the orchestra.

Their second “piece” was one of those chorus and orchestra combinations. This one by Poulenc. I suppose I’m just not smart enough to understand it. From my chair it sounded pretty much like 100 angry, despondent people shouting a hopeless, anguished diatribe. And no wonder they were upset. There was no melody to be found, only a string of strident, harsh notes accompanied by aimless harmony in search of forward movement but never leading anywhere. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it repeated over and over, stomping it’s musical feet demanding that the listener give in and just feel crappy to the bone. I have no idea what the text was, but it must have been something like, “LIFE SUCKS! YOU SUCK! LOOK AT ME!!!! YOU ONLY IMAGINE YOU ARE HAPPY!!! IT’S ALL AN ILLUSION!!!! LOOK AT ME!!!! YOU! IN THE FOURTH ROW, PAY ATTENTION!!!!! DON’T YOU KNOW THERE IS NO MEANING TO ANYTHING???!?!?!!? I HHHHAAATTTEEE EEEVVVEEEERRRRYYYYTHHHINNNNGGG!!!

Six movements.

I started to wish I was running again because that did suck but at least I was getting in shape.

But then, after intermission, they played Tchaikovsky’s Symphony Number 4, in F minor. Like a huge eraser, it wiped out all the ugly. In turns thrilling, beautiful, exciting, magnificent, I clung to every note with all I was worth. It was so beautiful that ever since it stopped the whole earth seems beautiful too.

The irony is that Tchaikovsky’s life sort of did suck. I suppose, in a way, our lives are like a concert to the people around us. We have a choice to make others feel like dieing or feel like living.

18 Miles and Girl Scout Cookies

I had to run 18 miles last Saturday. When you run longer than 75 minutes or so your body has used all available food energy and you have to eat something. I was out of the packets of “Goo” that runners eat on long runs so I took some “Thin Mints.” They worked like a charm – I felt great the entire run.

Then I went to the periodontal surgeon on Tuesday who drilled a hole in my jaw and inserted a big metal screw. When I returned to consciousness the nurse told me I couldn’t run for two weeks.

Like that was going to happen.

But she was convincing enough that I didn’t run all week until a 5 miler Friday. Today (Saturday) I was scheduled for 20 miles. What the heck. I loaded up my thin mints and took off.

Yikes.

I ran the first hour realizing that this run was going to get ugly. I ran the second hour with increasingly heavy legs, and the last hour was very, very ugly. I have hurt that bad but I don’t remember when.

I will, however, come hell or high water, be ready for the Boston Marathon.

Snow in Dallas

March 4

Up and down our block you could see people out taking pictures of the snow. I was right there with them. We received a modest 2 or 3 inches here, which is 2 or 3 more than I had seen since coming to Dallas 3 years ago. You would have thought it was a foot.

My 6^th graders begged to go outside to play in it. Poor little deprived Texans. Who knows, I thought, when they will see snow again. So out we went for 10 minutes at the end of class. We all ran around and threw snowballs like a bunch of kids who had never seen snow before. Some of them were. Kids. Who had never seen snow. Ten minutes was long enough to get good and cold and wet.

I wonder when I’ll stop feeling like a kid when it snows. Maybe it was me who really wanted to go outside….

Feb 20

Post t-shirt incident, I have committed further clothing faux pas this week. I am told by my loving wife, that my favorite pants are made of, “Summer weight” material. Who knew? Last I heard, it was only the females whose wardrobe was dictated to by fashion designers. You know, no white shoes before Easter and all that. Apparently wearing the said pants out of season is actually rather offensive - to the female sub-set. This becomes problematic when your workplace is all women.

Now I have a moral dilemma. Before, while I was ignorant, I could wear my cozy linen pants whenever I wanted to, completely oblivious to my fashion sin. Now I am conscious of the “law” and, therefore, knowingly fashion-offensive to some clothing-rule-sensitive people.

It sucks being a person who cares what people think.

In the end, the pants win – at least in Dallas. After all, we don’t really have winter here, just varying shades of summer. They remain in the rotation all year-‘round summer.

Feb 11

I made another T-shirt faux pas. Rats. Life at an elementary school is complicated. There are so many shirts to keep track of. Wednesday is the black one, Monday is the “Team” shirt, and Friday is Spirit Wear. I leave them all at school, so I don’t have to remember before I leave the house. Crickey! I can’t even remember what month it is, let alone which Shirt-day.

Then there are the special weeks, like homecoming and drug week (or is that don’t do drugs week?) and holidays. Elementary teachers have a jillion excuses to put on jeans and a t-shirt. Or slippers, sweats, or pajamas.

Well, I missed an entire t-shirt event this week. Somehow didn’t get in on ordering the shirt, planning to wear it, and wearing it.

There’s no place to hide when you miss a t-shirt day. There I am, slacks and blue dress shirt in the midst of a see of brown crew-necks. Of course, elementary students and teachers have no problem pointing this out: “Where’s your _______ t-shirt Mr. Fuchtman?”

However, the truly dreaded clothing event at an elementary school is dress up day. I have faced mountains, rivers, and oceans with less trepidation than seeing a kindergarten class traipsing my way in cowboy hats, boots, and bandanas. You have no idea what a 5 year old can do to a lesson plan with his bare hands and a cute little cowboy hat.

Just you wait, St. Patrick’s Day is coming up. I’ll be ready.

Feb 4

I travel east in the morning to school. When I ride or bike I see the sunrise developing but I never see the sun. In mid-winter I left my house in the dark, and, if running, arrived just as the sky was waking up. Lately it is brighter.

I am often reminded of CS Lewis who once wrote that faith in God is like pre-dawn. We know there is a sun, not because we see it, but because we see the world around us more clearly.