Welcome to Kindergarten!

Friday afternoon. Spring Break looming. I’ve been called to cover an afternoon French Kindergarten class. I enter the classroom a few minutes late due to a callboard scheduling error. The first thing that I notice as I open the door is the noise level. The children, it seems have brought their outdoor playground voices, inside. The second thing I notice is the classroom teacher – her eyes, and specifically the whites of them. As I approach the friendly looking woman to introduce myself and apologize for being late, I notice she has her coat on and her bag in hand. “I’m sorry,” she says, looking a tad frazzled, “they’ve just had chocolate cupcakes. Kevin’s mom brought them in and we had a little birthday party.” Ok, I think, that explains the racket and possibly why the boys are running around the room chasing each other with blue and yellow Lego guns. “I’ve really got to run. I’ve an appointment that took six months to get and I’m going to be late. I’ve left some notes for you on my desk. Don’t worry if you don’t get through everything– just do whatever you like.” With that she turns on her heel and escapes the din of the classroom. My first thought is to stop the boys and their gun chase, but I realize this distraction might buy me a few minutes as I quickly scan her notes, take off my own coat and settle myself in for the afternoon. It can’t be that bad – I’ve only got two and half hours with these little guys. Should be a breeze. With a quick scan of the day, the plans include completing an assembly and finish a plasticine art project. Looks easy, I think to myself smugly. Now, to tend to the little bunnies.

“Boys!” My voice only a little louder than the noise level from the kids. No response. Louder, and with more authority, “Boys, please stop running around!” One of the troupe quickly glances my way but realizes that his friends are still in hot pursuit so he continues the chase. I’m getting a little annoyed and worried for the safety of the rest of the class. I fill my lungs and really let it go, “Class! Can I have your attention, please!” Everybody stops in their tracks and stares at me. A workable quiet fills the air. Standing in the middle of room, in the centre of the chaos, I revel for just a moment. The quotable, “All the world is a stage” must have been borne in a Kindergarten classroom. I suddenly feel like I’m “on” and what comes out of my mouth next had better be good.

“Hello everybody! My name is Ms.Partridge and I’ll be your teacher this afternoon.”

“Can we call you Ms. P?”

“Did you say Ms. Porridge?”

“No, that’s Ms. Ostrich!”

“She’s speaking English!”

The immediate chatter needs clarification. “My name is Ms. Partridge, but if it easier you can call me Ms.P.” Muffled giggles, “Ms. PeePee!” I choose to ignore that and get on with the next order of business. “Class, I’m sorry but this afternoon I’ll be speaking English. I don’t really speak French.” The girl in the purple princess dress pipes up, “Good, cause we don’t really understand it anyway.” And with that, we are off to a running start. Until we get to the gym for the assembly.

There are some important things to know about a class, especially a Kindergarten class, before they are “assembly-ready”. These little nuggets of knowledge are a precious commodity carried by a select few. The Substitute Teacher is not one of them.

#1 Know the names of all the students, so when they begin poking each other, starfishing out on the floor or talking over the principal’s greeting, you can hiss at them, hoping to catch their eye and give them the appropriate pantomimed instruction

#2 Know who should not sit together

#3 Know which students to place closest to you, thus within immediate range of your maximal control

Being a Substitute Teacher, and not privy to any or all of these rules, is sure to garner a few hostile stares from the other teachers not to mention the complete mental and physical exhaustion of trying to keep the assembly line in quiet and respectful order. After a tortuous hour, the assembly finally ends. There is still 45 minutes to go until the end of the day and a plasticine art project on the roster. The kids, having sat “criss-cross apple sauce” for a full hour on a hard, wooden gymnasium floor, are even squirrellier than when I first entered the room. The boy with one glove on his hand, who has proclaimed himself to be Luke Skywalk, shouts up at me, “Teacher, can we have centres now?” Centres, as any teacher knows, is the god-sent answer and salvation to a primary classroom teacher’s sanity. “Centres, it is, Luke.”

Never again shall I underestimate the energy it takes to run a Kindergarten class!