By Esther C. Baird
First published in the Chronicle & Transcript 2/4/2021
I’ve long said I’d wrap our two girls in bubble wrap if they could go to school in person during COVID times. Whatever it takes, I am willing to pitch in; which is how I found myself as a Pre-K substitute aide last week with 11 small people, in masks, sitting on socially distant mats, staring at me as if I had any sort of clue.
I didn’t.
Thankfully one little girl noticed and offered her own idea. “Can you draw a unicorn?”
Under no circumstances could I draw a unicorn.
“Absolutely!” I replied.
She handed me a marker and I began to draw. The only identifying feature I drew was the horn, but to make up for the lack of discernible legs, I gave my unicorn a tail that shot stars off the tip.
“Ooooooohhhh,” the children all exclaimed at my stroke of starry genius.
In between each activity, the children had a bucket of hand sanitizer dumped on them and I used a ghostbuster gun to spray every surface with a mist that glowed blue. I felt like a superhero with my giant COVID laser blaster. Unless a small person had to go to the bathroom … then of course I felt like hiding.
After a complicated morning project that involved far too much glue if you ask me (no one did) it was snack time which took all of 25 seconds, leaving a full half hour to fill. I scanned the room for ideas, as the lead teacher was on ghostbuster duty elsewhere.
The children couldn’t stray from their designated mats and we’d already discussed the weather, the day of the week and used their playdoh kits, which gave me heart palpitations each time little gritty pieces fell to the floor.
Then I saw the children’s book, “Ten Apples Up On Top.” It’s underrated — most parents find it too brain numbing to read. But they are missing, I feel sure, the meta narrative about finding success in life against all odds as represented by the tiger’s ability to balance not just one, but 10 apples on his head.
So I read with gusto. The kids were captivated as I built to the climatic moment.
“Look out! Look out! He has a mop!” I yelled in my most dramatic voice. One little girl raised her hand.
“Yes?” I asked, awaiting her thoughtful insight.
“Last week I saw two kittens!”
Well. There you have it. There were no kittens in the book. There wasn’t even a cat. But, by then the climatic moment had passed and it was time for activity centers.
The centers included childhood classics such as dinosaurs, kitchen, trains and planes, blocks and Polly Pockets. Hold up, Polly Pockets!? The very toy I told our two girls to never bring into our house? Those tiny, rubbery, microscopic, yet still Barbie-like, figured dolls that wore fully formed rubber dresses meant to “slip” on? It was like putting on a bathing suit when you’re wet.
Forget it. I won’t do it. I took the opportunity to teach the class about knowing when a toy is not worth playing with because it makes your parents grumpy.
Finally it was time to go outside for recess. Dressing preschoolers for recess in the winter requires its own column some other time when I can emotionally handle discussing the relationship between mittens and 4-year-olds. Here in our newly minted 2021, where we already have enough problems, is not the time to dip into this fraught topic.
My final contribution of the day was to teach them how to be a train as they walked on their rope line, six feet apart, out of the building. We’d just spent a lifetime getting dressed, recess was almost over and we hadn’t even left the building. We had to get our energy out somehow, so I improvised.
“Boys and girls let’s make our best train choo choo noises and pump our arms as we ring our bells!”
They loved this and we choo-chooed our way out of the building getting stares from teachers as we passed. My friend, the director of fine arts who also happened to be in charge of substitute teachers, was in the hallway as we chugged on by.
“You realize they are supposed to walk quietly,” she said, giving me a knowing look.
Really? Fascinating.
“Let’s all do a big choo-choo for our music teacher, boys and girls!”
The children complied.
“They’re so teachable,” I said grinning back.
It’s possible I will never get called to sub again. But it’s hard, basically impossible work that teachers are doing these days, so I’ll go if I can to help to keep the kids in school. And I’ll bring a few extra, really long books … perhaps, about kittens.