Privates

This morning during independent reading one of my little ones motioned me to his desk.  I hurried over and he looked up at me with his baby blue sparklers.  This kid is darling, impish, but darling.  He’s always asking the best questions.  Plus his hobbies include playing football, reading and sewing.  How could I not love a kid like that?  There’s never a dull moment with this little one and I like that he keeps me on my toes with his inquisitive mind.

This morning he called me over and said “Mrs. McCauley, girl privates…”  He paused for a moment and I braced myself for impact.

Lord in Heaven, I hoped it would be a relatively innocuous question.  I took a deep breath, leaning down by his desk so that whatever came next could be quietly discussed.

He continued. “Girl privates have to stay in the helicopters during missions, but boy privates can get out of the helicopters.”  He held up a page of his book for me to see.  My face flooded with relief when I realized he was reading a book on the military.

I laughed and said “I’m so glad to hear you say that.”

“You are?”

“Extremely.”

“I don’t think you should be glad because it doesn’t seem fair that girl privates don’t get to do all the stuff boy privates do.”  He was indignant.

“Kiddo, you don’t know how right you are.”  I laughed and then walked away so I could compose myself.

You just can’t make this stuff up.

Conversations from Room 8

The last couple of days have been extra sweet in Room 8.  My little ones are happy to see each other, happy to be back at school, just happy in general.  Here are some of my favorite conversations from the last couple of days.

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Me: You remember how to do this.  You use your fingers to partner up the number to see if it’s even or odd.

Little One with Autism: I know it’s in my head somewhere, but I can’t find it.

Me: I know the feeling.

Little One: Can you help me find it?

Me: Sure.  Let me show you on your hand.

Little One: My hand will help my brain find the answer?

Me: Yep, I think so.

Little One: Oh good.

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Mother of a Little One: How’s my daughter doing?  Is there anything else we should work on at home?

Me: She’s doing great.  She’s reading well and doing well in math and writing.  And she seemed really happy to return to school yesterday.

Mother: Oh yes, she was very happy.  After three days of  vacation she said ‘Mommy, it’s time for me to go back to school because I can’t remember the sound of my teacher and I don’t want to forget her.”

And then my heart melted into a huge puddle.

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Little One: “Mrs. McCauley, I found my happy place.”

Me: “I didn’t know you’d  lost it.  Where did you find it?”

Little One: “It was in the box of pastels.”

Me: “Wow!  Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re doing art today.”

Little One: “I think I have art in my heart.”

Me: I’m sure of it.

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Little One: “Martin Luther King, Jr. was really brave.  It took a lot of courage for him to talk to all of those people about his dreams.”

Me: “I agree.”

Little One: “Especially since not everyone agreed with him.”

Me: “Especially.  I bet you can be courageous like him, too.”

Little One: “Maybe now I can.”

Me: “Why now?”

Little One: “Because you put his words in my head and I have his big dreams in my heart.”

Sometimes being a teacher is staggeringly beautiful.  And in case you need his words in your head and big dreams in your heart, here’s Martin Luther King, Jr. himself.  I get chills every time I hear this speech.

Letters to Little Ones: Coming Back

Dear Little One,

Sometimes you make me want to tear my hair out.  Not all of it, but some of it.  Not all of the time, but some of the time.  I have a feeling you feel like tearing your hair out some of the time, too, because navigating the world with autism is tough.  I know that and surely you do, too.  This is why instead of tearing my hair out, I breathe and you breathe and then we breathe together until we figure out a way to get from one thing to the next.

Disclaimer: This is a stock photo.

Lately you’ve been yelling at me.  Strike that.  You’ve been yelling at me all the time.  It’s partly because anger is one of two emotions you understand, but also because you don’t have a firm grasp on voice modulation.  When I point out that you’re yelling and that you may not realize it, you shift into a somewhat calmer voice for a sentence or two until you forget and start yelling again.  And then I remind you again.  And so our dance goes, a halting two sentence two-step.

Little One, the occasions when you’ve spoken softly of your own volition are a rarity I can count on one hand.  And I do count them because every little success matters.  You speak in whispers when you’re afraid, like when you slipped your hand into mine at the field trip where we watched dancers, white like angels, and you told me you were afraid that the devil was going to come out next.  Scary stuff worthy of your whisper for sure.

Today I reminded you that you’d have a guest teacher for the next couple of days and that we’d see each other again after Thanksgiving vacation.  You misunderstood and when we hugged goodbye, you whispered “You’re leaving?  I’m not going to see you again?”

My heart broke into brittle pieces, Little One, because you are so afraid of your loved ones leaving you.  I assured you I’d be back and we’d see each other again in a few days and you whispered “I don’t like this.”  I could hear the fear in your voice.

Little One, I’m not leaving you.  Even when you make me want to pull my hair out, I will come back.  Even when I have to take deep breath after deep breath, I will come back.  Even when you spend the whole day learning not to yell, I will come back.  When you come to me with anger, or frustration, or fear, I will do my best to come back with patience, consistency and love.

Know this, Little One, you are worth coming back for.

It breaks my heart that someone you love doesn’t think so.  And it tears me to bits that you associate loving with leaving.

And so I will spend the rest of our time together this year proving that I will always come back to you.  I will always come back for you.

Little One, I will always come back because of you.

Love,

Mrs. McCauley

Moments from the Pumpkin Patch

Today I made my annual trek to the pumpkin patch with 26 giddy six-year-olds in tow.  Not to mention their parents and a smattering of younger siblings.  The weather was perfect, sunny without a drop of rain.  The sky was so blue, it can only be described as piercing.  We had a great day watching pig races, bouncing in the bounce house, picking pumpkins, firing corn cannons and just enjoying the pleasure of being outside together.  Here are some of the best lines from the day:

1) On the bus ride to the pumpkin patch, two little ones in the seat behind me were singing “Old MacDonald” and decided to make up a verse about pumpkins that went like this:

Little girl: “Old MacDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O.  And on his farm he had a pumpkin, E-I-E-I-O.  With a…with a…what kind of noise do pumpkins make?”

Little boy: “Ummmm, BOOM BOOM?”

Little girl: “Yeah, that’s a good one.  Let’s sing it.”

Both: “With a BOOM BOOM here and a BOOM BOOM there, here a BOOM, there a BOOM, everywhere a BOOM BOOM.  Old MacDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O.”

Then they high-fived their musical genius.  Boom, boom indeed.

2) Also on the bus ride over, I sat near one of my autistic little ones.  He was a little uneasy.

Little One: “I feel scared in my heart.”

Me: “What are you scared of.”

Little One: “I’ve never been to a farm before.”

Me: “Do you remember all the things we talked about seeing?”

Little One: “Yes, but I’m still scared in my heart.”

Me: “It’s okay to be nervous about something new.”

Little One: “Will you stay with me?”

Me: “The whole time.”

Little One: “Until I’m old?”

Me: “How about until you go home on the bus this afternoon?”

Little One: “Okay.  But I’ll miss you when I’m old.”

Me: “Me, too.”

I’m pretty sure I will miss this little one long before I’m old.

3) While walking by the goat house where the goats where children were using a hand crank to send a conveyor belt of food to the goats, one of my little ones was deep in thought.

Little One: “Mrs. McCauley, what are those goats doing?”

Me: “Eating the food those children are sending up to them.”

Little One: “What do you think the goats are thinking?”

Me: “I’m not sure.  What do you think they’re thinking?”

Little One: “I think they’re thinking ‘Mmmm, room service is niiice.'”

Room service is niiice, even in the form of grain shuttled up in a cup on a conveyor belt.

4) All week long we’ve been studying how pumpkins grow and my little ones were especially interested in learning that only the female pumpkin plants produce pumpkins.  I’d showed them how to look under the yellow flowers to see if the plants were male or female.  Out in the pumpkin patch I heard a little one explaining it to his dad like this:

Little One: “Dad, this one is a girl pumpkin plant.”

Dad: “Plants aren’t boys and girls.  They’re just plants.”

Little One: “Nuh-uh, Mrs. McCauley read us a book about how to tell if they’re boys or girls and this one has a baby pumpkin growing under the flower.  That means the bees visited a boy pumpkin flower and got yellow pollen on their legs and brought it over to the girl flower so she could make a baby pumpkin.  Then this baby pumpkin will grow up to be a mommy or daddy pumpkin and it will make a flower and everything will start all over again.”

Dad: “Really?”

Little One: “Really.  But the sad part is that the pumpkins die, but don’t cry because their seeds go back to live in the Earth to make new pumpkins.  So, it’s sorta like they come back to life.  It’s like a secret pumpkin super-power.”

I just love how their minds work.  And I agree, returning to life after dying is an awesome secret pumpkin super-power.

5) Back at school we parked our pumpkins on the nametags on our desks.  Also on our nametags are clear cups of pumpkin seeds that we took scooped out of a pumpkin and planted a couple of weeks ago.  The seeds are starting to send roots down and grow root hairs.  When we got back to class, a Little One put her pumpkin on her desk and squealed when she saw one of the seeds in her cup.

Little One: “Look, Mrs. McCauley, it’s taking off its seed coat.”

Me: “That’s awesome.  Can you see the seed leaves yet?”

Little One: “Yep, they’re coming out to hug the mommy pumpkin I picked.”

Me: “I bet your seed leaves will be poking out of the soil when we come back to school on Monday.”

Little One: “Should I leave the mommy pumpkin here to help them?”

Me: “No, I don’t think so because pumpkin seeds know how grow all by themselves.”

Little One: “Wow, pumpkin sprouts are really smart.”

I’m pretty lucky because I’ve got 26 of my own smart little sprouts.

What It Means to Give

Image courtesy of flickrhivemind.com

Dear Little One,

Today the girls stepped in the classroom, twirling in fancy dresses.  The boys showed off their stiff, spiky, gelled haircuts.  It was Picture Day and, Little One, I have to admit I was surprised when you showed up with your thick, black hair cut short.  Your hair was so long and gorgeous.  Your new haircut frames your face and your deep, brown eyes stand out even more than before.

During Morning News, I commented that your haircut looked great and, Little One, your response stole my heart.  You looked at me, with eyes so pure, so earnest, and said,

“I gave my hair away.”

I felt my jaw drop as the words sunk in.

“I gave my hair away.”

This baffled the other kids sitting on the rug with you.  Their questions came rapid-fire.

“What?!?”

“You gave your hair away?”

“Who did you give it to?”

“Why did you give it away?”

“What do you mean you gave your hair away???”

I motioned you to the front of the rug to explain.  With a grin that stretched across your entire face you told how your mom braided your hair after school yesterday and then a hairdresser cut it off.  You gave your thick, shiny braid to the hairdresser.

As you spoke, the class stared at you, 25 sets of eyebrows wrinkled in confusion.  You continued, explaining that your braid of hair would now be made into a wig for a sick child who didn’t have any hair.

I hugged you tight and told you that you’d given a beautiful gift.  One of your friends summed it up even better when she said, “I think that was the best gift you ever could give.”

She’s right, Little One.  I know you loved your long hair, but you love helping others even more.  That is your gift to the world.  You give, even when giving requires sacrifice.

Every time I see your pixie cut, I’ll remember the day you gave away your beautiful braid. I’ll remember the day you taught me what it means to really give.

Love,

Your Teacher