The Secret Garden

I was helping out at Lilly's class yesterday, the teacher likes to plant things in the garden and that sounded fun, but then I ended up having to supervise the writing that's going on at the outdoor picnic benches while they're waiting to plant stuff, so I didn't get to get my hands all dirty which is what I'd rather do.

Instead I had to cheerlead and basically cajole them into writing when what they'd rather do is:

jam their pencil into a hole in the dirt til it breaks the tip
look for roly poly bugs and put them on their paper
go through the gardening supplies
in fact do anything other than rewrite what the teacher
wants them to write about Ben Franklin

I don't blame them for not wanting to do the work. It looked really boring. How is this teaching excitement about writing? Even Ben Franklin who invented a new kind of glasses and a new kind of stove, by the way. The kids were surprised that Ben Franklin was already dead.

I guess all writing is pretty much chaining yourself to the desk, and these kids were like sliding off the bench, like it was physically impossible to sit down when the garden in the morning is all blooming around them and there is dirt to be felt.

The best part are the "reviews" I get from the students, to let me know how my work is as a leader. I point out that Rose, 6 yrs old, needs to add an "and" in her sentence, and she says to me: "Are your arms fat?"

It didn't help that I ate like a viking at a birthday dinner the other night and have felt really gross ever since. Her review, was in fact, right on the nose.

"Yes, thank you, Rose. I will try to improve. Now how bout you sit your *@@@*king @ss down in the seat and get some f**king Ben Franklin learning done."

NO ONE can sit down. Lilly would rather talk about her Starburst chapsticks and bargain with her friends about who gets to hold one of them until lunch. One little boy desperately wants a purple Princess crown. He's drawing bunnies with tutus on them, and I'm sincerely hoping he has an understanding father at home.

Basically, it's chaos, with a little bit of writing. I stare longingly over at Mr. B who is teaching the kids about roots and water and my heart feels a little softer because there is someone in their lives who is connecting them to the Earth. Even if I have to sit on the outskirts of dirt, over here by the paper and pen, with the group of outlaws, the Secret Garden in my mind.