Fairy Tales, Alligator Tears, and a Random Penguin

After concluding my semester as a preschool Theatre teacher, I moved on to my older kids in a foggier area of town for my Presenting a Play class in the Outer Sunset.

This class consists of ages ranging from 5-8 and kids who have elected to take the class because of a genuine theatrical interest. Or because their parents thought the class would be a good outlet for their outspoken child. Or somewhere in the middle.

Presenting a Play is designed to meet it's title. We, as a class, construct a play based on characters the kids have picked to be and spend the course rehearsing it so that we can present it to their families. Our current play is a spin off of several fairy tales coming together. We have the two stepsisters from Cinderella, the three pigs and their wolf (only, in our version, it's the three rodents and their alligator), and a penguin. Yeah, just a random, non fairy taled penguin.

While in rehearsal, one of my younger boys suffered a fairly routine meltdown. Which tends to happen when he's feeling cranky, or hungry, or just in the mood to openly weep in front of class. Today's problem? Well, it seems another student took a pillow that he had set up for the scene and moved it. The result? Full on kicking, screaming, and wailing. A real impassioned nightmare.



The other kids looked at me like, "oh, man, what are you going to do about this?!"

I looked at them like, "oh, man, what am I going to do about this?!"

Well, not really. I clenched my fists and took a moment and then gave the kids a break so that I could talk my little guy off of his emotional ledge of despair. We sat down on some blankets and I watched his lip quiver and his blue eyes leak with tears as he explained that the pillow (and it's placement) was very important to him. I then brought over the student who caused the meltdown. I sat in the middle of the two boys and we talked about words we could use to explain how we feel and how to avoid further crying and yelling matches. And we returned to rehearsal and the boys managed to finish the class without any more tears or shouts.

The real beauty of the class though came at the end when we met in a circle and I asked the group if they wanted to say anything about our play or mention anyone who they felt had done a good job. Both boys eagerly waved their hands before my face and beamed explaining how proud they were of the other for their ability to work together and properly communicate. And how much they thought it helped our play.

Not going to lie, guys, I put my personally high-fived hand to my heart and smiled. Hoping with that whole heart that within today's Theatre lesson I had helped the boys with a little life lesson.

Sure, I know it's not the end of afternoon meltdowns or future fights, but I like to believe it's a start. At least until they discover the potential wars existing in blankets...

The Right to Bite

Last day in the foggy Richmond. Last official day of preschool teaching for the semester.

I had hoped for a parade, fireworks, perhaps a party with one of those bouncy castles. Instead I got a bite.

In the middle of playing one final game, a student became very involved in acting as a tiger and came over to bite my leg. (Interestingly enough, it wasn't the same student who bit my leg at this school earlier in the year.) The bite was pretty innocent, as far as bites go, and my pant leg probably suffered the most damage. We finished the game and the students and I made our goodbyes.

I walked out of the school after being soaked in hugs and almost immediately tripped on the sidewalk.

The fall was completely unrelated to class. Or to my bitten leg. But I mention it because it was yet another reminder that even when you think you've reached an end, there will always be something else that humbles you and forces you to pick yourself back up again.

I'm also pretty clumsy. And that's probably not going to change. Even without leg bites.

Final Cheers

Another day. Another goodbye.

Today I had to wave farewell to the group I've come to love (how could one not fall in love with being cheered every time you enter the room to do theatre?) and enjoy one last class in the Mission.

I spent it with the youngest students and I tried to fill the day with some of their favorite games and activities. We constructed a magic boat to take us to the beach, we read and acted out "Where The Wild Things Are", and took turns picking new animals to become.

At the end of our time I sighed and thanked them for the fun class. Suddenly, they all turned into little adults. One tiny little girl said, "Teacher Ashley, that was a very enjoyable class. I'm sad it's over." and another small boy plainly piped in, "Aw. I will really miss you this summer." My heart expanded to the point of bursting and then they returned to their silly wiggly ways. I brought them back to their teachers as they continued to be dinosaurs. As I walked out, I promised myself that if I found myself feeling sad I simply need to remember my Mission T-Rex cheerleaders as their strength to restore my spirits will never be extinct. Take that dinosaurs.

Squeaks and Sunshine

Yesterday, I made goodbyes to my two Tuesday preschools. The adorable laughing small faces in SOMA and the heartwarming tiny hands in the Tenderloin. The morning was nothing spectacular or too out of the ordinary. It consisted of familiar games, books, and giggles but in the air was a sense of conclusion. Which, always makes me feel a little sad.

For many of my kids, I've come to learn their home lives and have been entertained with tales from treasured family weekends and various city adventures. But for many of the children in the Tenderloin, their time away from their school can be quite unpredictable. Several technically belong to the state of California and are ushered from foster home to foster home. They may also disappear from school without any trace of a goodbye or return after an absence shadowed in darker secrets that I'll sadly never know.

It's my first year at this location and when I was first prepped for it I was gently advised to try and "bring sunshine to their darker backgrounds." Each day with them is always unique and changes based upon class attendance. Yesterday's group had a combination of faces from my very first class and a handful of newer kids who I met over the last few weeks. After reading to a small group that craved cuddles and stories, many of the kids "performed" some pieces they had been working on. All of which were from the "Chipmunks II: The Squeakquel". And consisted of them dancing and singing with a CD of popular songs sung by crazy high voices. So obviously, it was awesome.

Though when I made my final goodbyes, a part of me struggled to hold back tears. I don't know if I 'll ever see any of these children again. I'm not sure what the summer holds for them or how much longer they'll be in San Francisco. I wanted to hold their small sticky hands and look into their big eyes and tell them to hang in there. That someone is thinking about them and routing for them. That I will continue to do so. And to thank them for the laughs. The hugs. For being stronger than I am. They may have darker home issues but those kids carry their own sunshine and I'm honored to have felt the warmth of it.

Luckily, the other part of me was able to applaud their brilliant Squeakquel acts and smile one last smile before I left. Leave it to cartoon chipmunks to help me pull it together.

The Letter P

Preschool Teacher: Who can tell me what sound the letter P makes?

Preschool Student: It's the sound you make when you really have to pee!

And so concluded my year at FranDelja.

After the hour and a half commutes (each way) and the walks in some less than friendly streets, today marked my final day of the semester in the Bayview. It's been a trying year over at this location as many of the personalities of the children are reflections of their harsher home lives. But a time of a lot of laughter and enjoyment as well. While their favorite activity will always be pretending to be different animals with the sole goal of covering me in "mud" (because they love when I pretend to be upset about it), we've also shared some wonderful educational moments as well. Today before my theatre class I had the privilege of overhearing the conversation above. After my own personal laugh, I chimed in, "and another word that starts with 'P' is play!"

Strawberry Ambitions

After the excitement of Saint Patrick's Day, my preschoolers and I started off our days in a similar pattern. Sleepy. Them because of vivid dreams of gold, leprechauns, and green gleams; me because of late nights and Irish inspired beverages. Anyway, as always, we were a charming match.

Along with learning today that leprechauns are purple in real life and disappear if you blink, the children shared their hopes for the future. The best came from one of my favorite kids. A tiny tomboy of a little girl who delights me with her unexpected comments. Today, she gave me this treasure: "when I grow up I want to be a strawberry gummy bear." She later told me that there was a snake in the room that wanted to bite me, take me back to his house, and read him a story. (And I was like, "ugh, really snake? Are you going to buy me dinner first or what?" Nah, just kidding. I don't date snakes.)

Well, to me, this gal is as sweet as candy and small so she's practically achieved the big goal. But it's a lovely aspiration to strive to, isn't it? And just like a leprechaun, the idea may be gone in a blink... So on the day after the day we praised Patrick for ridding Ireland of snakes (though they clearly probably left in search of a nice gal who could read to them...) I've learned once again to hold on tight to your hopes for yourself. Let them be delicious and plentiful and don't stop until they've at least given you a sugar high.

From Seeds To Trees

It appears like the addition of new classes to my schedule has unfortunately paused my writing about all of my many teaching adventures each day. It's something I hope to correct. In any case, it's a new day with a new lesson! Daylight Savings may have taken away an hour of time but it certainly didn't take the spring out of the steps of my students.

This afternoon, while doing a cool down, I had the kids make their bodies into seeds and then stretch into trees. One replied, once she had grown, "I'm a cuddle tree and I'm here to cuddle you!" All of the kids yelled, "me too!" and proceeded to wrap their tiny arms around my legs. It was nothing short of pure magic. Upon smiling and soaking up their love, I started to wonder if life's cruelest joke is that we are born to grow up. How complicated the world can seem once we start to "branch out" and abandon the simplicities of our small seeds. We often intertwine ourselves in serious matters knowing we're rooted and unable to move away with the humor and youthful grace of our past. It's so easy to lose the easiness.

Luckily though, I suppose, it's possible to grow up in good company. Fine fellow trees to make your acquaintance and help you to reach for that next thing. And fortunately for me, I'm in a forest with little cuddle trees. Who help remind me that while I had to get older I still have the ability to come down for additional lessons on how to grow.