21 June 2004
61
R. Linda:
I meant to send this the day it all transpired, but got behind in me packing. Better late than never though.
Oh so appropriate for Father's Day it be. I became one on last Monday sort of a stand-in-dad. I took a friend's child to school since she was at home sick and I was off from work to pack. The lad's teacher, a Ms. Roth, asked me and another parent, a Mrs. Marlborough, if we would like to observe the first hour of class. Mrs. M and I were the only two "parents" there, the others having either dropped off their charges, or the wee ones walked from homes not far away.
We both said we would (I mean how would it look I say no and tried to explain I wasn't related to the young lad?) and so Ms. R asked us to take seats and we could watch. That would be fine, but being 6' 3" has a drawback when the chairs are almost on the floor and the tabletops reach me ankles (almost). Seeing the dilemma right off, Ms. R offered me an adult chair and than ran next door for another for Mrs. M. I was grateful because I thought to meself, if I sit down, I'll never get up. Be embarrassing having to call for help and I'd never hear the end of it, since news travels fast here.
Donnie, the young lad, has seven classmates, three are boys the rest wee lasses. Typical lads they stick together, and the girls are like three wallflowers, each eyeing the lads, but none will go near them. That soon changed because they got their dolls and began playing pretend cooking and the lads had toy lorries to play with, and before you knew it they were all together. That starts the first twenty minutes for which Ms. R observes the children to watch their interaction, or lack of. She had got another adult chair and was sitting next to us telling us about each child and how they interacted with others.
All very informative, especially when she got around to Donnie lad. He, she said, is curious, not afraid to be the first to try something, and has no qualms about expressing his opinion if he doesn't like being told he cannot do something. I was of course, shocked. He seemed well mannered to me from what I knew of him. Thinking like I was his father, I thought, not me son, he wouldn't do that! Then promptly blamed that fault on his mother. After mumbling that, both women grinned at me. I was really getting into this father thing.
Mrs. M's little girl, a Wendy by name, we were told is a very gregarious child, likes all things sparkly and is a chatty one. Matter of fact, she talks over teacher. Mrs. M blamed her husband for that fault and Ms. R and I grinned back at her.
Ms. R didn't say much about the faults and qualities of the others, only small comments about how they all got on with each other.
It was then time for the alphabet and counting to ten. They did this in unison and we were asked to join in. I looked at Mrs. M who rolled her eyes at me, and got caught by Ms. R. Ms. R asked her to lead us off with the first four letters and because I smiled, I got asked to count to four as the class took over on five and so on. But not before they questioned my pronunciation of the number three, which I pronounce as 'tree.' Then individually each child got up and told about a story that was read on Friday last. This was to test memory skills and comprehension. They all did well, except "my son" pointed out to wee Ruthie that the Wizard Colman did not point his wand at the cat, he waved it. I whispered to Mrs. M, that his mother corrects everyone too and what an awful habit it seems to be. She told me that Ruthie's mother was as forgetful as the day was long and that got us looks from Ms. R to not whisper in class. I know I was being a pratt and getting Donnie's mother in a shite load of trouble for bad parenting. I thought for a minute there Mrs. M and I would be sitting in a corner facing the wall.
We were treated to home-made butter pecan ice cream that was a treat and a half. Wee Ruthie turned her nose up at the taste and demanded Cookie Dough ice cream, and having none in sight, she had to settle for graham crackers and a wee carton of milk. Which was unfortunate because she proceeded to blow air down the straw and the bubbles kept rising and "me son" had never seen this done and wanted a carton of milk and a straw as well. This started the rest of the lads to asking for the same and before long there was a chorus of gurgling children. I made like I didn't know who Donnie was. No, never seen him before in me life.
I thought if you were sitting in Mrs. M's place we'd be for sure sitting in a corner, facing the wall with tall dunce caps on for being unruly. It was rather awful behaviour on both Mrs. M and me parts, but the children were doing their thing. Teacher, is one of those 20 somethings, fresh out of university with all these grandiose ideas and here she is teaching in a classroom of 7 pre-schoolers the Montessorie method of fine education. I did congadulate her on her efforts (and I meant it sincerely, because you can see they are paying off and besides the children love her). I said I was sorry if we were cutting up a wee bit, and she said we were a joy and that she hoped to have all the parents come sit in before the year is up, she learned so much from the parents. I bet she does. I blamed it all on me lack of sleep and being somewhat punch drunk. Mrs. M had no excuse and well . . . she stood their bitting her lip trying to think of an excuse for her behaviour but couldn't come up with anything feasible.
Good luck with that, I thought, after Ms. R said she wanted every parent to visit. Most of them work and that's the reason their children are even attending pre-school. Free babysitting!
I was asked about Ireland by both ladies (the accent, I suppose), and was asked if I'd come back on St. Patrick's Day to tell the children how we celebrate that in Ireland. Now Linda, if I told her how I really celebrate it by going out drinking and listening to me friend recite dirty limericks, I don't think she'd ask me back to you? But to pretend I'm a good Catholic and loving it, is another matter entirely. I was flummoxed and so nodded I would, all the time thinking, she can't be asking me this.
How do I get meself into these things? Ask Donnie what St. Patty's Day is and he'll answer with the question, "What's that?" Which is exactly what he did in a big loud voice. The two women looked at me and I smiled and shrugged. Me "own flesh and blood" turning on me. Oh the tragedy of it.
Here I be back at home, thanking me lucky stars you were not with me, because I know we'd be looking for a new school for Donnie boy and Mrs. Donnie would be after me with a broom and a barrel of tar, AFTER you and I wrote a hundred times on the chalk board I WILL BE GOOD IN CLASS.
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
I meant to send this the day it all transpired, but got behind in me packing. Better late than never though.
Oh so appropriate for Father's Day it be. I became one on last Monday sort of a stand-in-dad. I took a friend's child to school since she was at home sick and I was off from work to pack. The lad's teacher, a Ms. Roth, asked me and another parent, a Mrs. Marlborough, if we would like to observe the first hour of class. Mrs. M and I were the only two "parents" there, the others having either dropped off their charges, or the wee ones walked from homes not far away.
We both said we would (I mean how would it look I say no and tried to explain I wasn't related to the young lad?) and so Ms. R asked us to take seats and we could watch. That would be fine, but being 6' 3" has a drawback when the chairs are almost on the floor and the tabletops reach me ankles (almost). Seeing the dilemma right off, Ms. R offered me an adult chair and than ran next door for another for Mrs. M. I was grateful because I thought to meself, if I sit down, I'll never get up. Be embarrassing having to call for help and I'd never hear the end of it, since news travels fast here.
Donnie, the young lad, has seven classmates, three are boys the rest wee lasses. Typical lads they stick together, and the girls are like three wallflowers, each eyeing the lads, but none will go near them. That soon changed because they got their dolls and began playing pretend cooking and the lads had toy lorries to play with, and before you knew it they were all together. That starts the first twenty minutes for which Ms. R observes the children to watch their interaction, or lack of. She had got another adult chair and was sitting next to us telling us about each child and how they interacted with others.
All very informative, especially when she got around to Donnie lad. He, she said, is curious, not afraid to be the first to try something, and has no qualms about expressing his opinion if he doesn't like being told he cannot do something. I was of course, shocked. He seemed well mannered to me from what I knew of him. Thinking like I was his father, I thought, not me son, he wouldn't do that! Then promptly blamed that fault on his mother. After mumbling that, both women grinned at me. I was really getting into this father thing.
Mrs. M's little girl, a Wendy by name, we were told is a very gregarious child, likes all things sparkly and is a chatty one. Matter of fact, she talks over teacher. Mrs. M blamed her husband for that fault and Ms. R and I grinned back at her.
Ms. R didn't say much about the faults and qualities of the others, only small comments about how they all got on with each other.
It was then time for the alphabet and counting to ten. They did this in unison and we were asked to join in. I looked at Mrs. M who rolled her eyes at me, and got caught by Ms. R. Ms. R asked her to lead us off with the first four letters and because I smiled, I got asked to count to four as the class took over on five and so on. But not before they questioned my pronunciation of the number three, which I pronounce as 'tree.' Then individually each child got up and told about a story that was read on Friday last. This was to test memory skills and comprehension. They all did well, except "my son" pointed out to wee Ruthie that the Wizard Colman did not point his wand at the cat, he waved it. I whispered to Mrs. M, that his mother corrects everyone too and what an awful habit it seems to be. She told me that Ruthie's mother was as forgetful as the day was long and that got us looks from Ms. R to not whisper in class. I know I was being a pratt and getting Donnie's mother in a shite load of trouble for bad parenting. I thought for a minute there Mrs. M and I would be sitting in a corner facing the wall.
We were treated to home-made butter pecan ice cream that was a treat and a half. Wee Ruthie turned her nose up at the taste and demanded Cookie Dough ice cream, and having none in sight, she had to settle for graham crackers and a wee carton of milk. Which was unfortunate because she proceeded to blow air down the straw and the bubbles kept rising and "me son" had never seen this done and wanted a carton of milk and a straw as well. This started the rest of the lads to asking for the same and before long there was a chorus of gurgling children. I made like I didn't know who Donnie was. No, never seen him before in me life.
I thought if you were sitting in Mrs. M's place we'd be for sure sitting in a corner, facing the wall with tall dunce caps on for being unruly. It was rather awful behaviour on both Mrs. M and me parts, but the children were doing their thing. Teacher, is one of those 20 somethings, fresh out of university with all these grandiose ideas and here she is teaching in a classroom of 7 pre-schoolers the Montessorie method of fine education. I did congadulate her on her efforts (and I meant it sincerely, because you can see they are paying off and besides the children love her). I said I was sorry if we were cutting up a wee bit, and she said we were a joy and that she hoped to have all the parents come sit in before the year is up, she learned so much from the parents. I bet she does. I blamed it all on me lack of sleep and being somewhat punch drunk. Mrs. M had no excuse and well . . . she stood their bitting her lip trying to think of an excuse for her behaviour but couldn't come up with anything feasible.
Good luck with that, I thought, after Ms. R said she wanted every parent to visit. Most of them work and that's the reason their children are even attending pre-school. Free babysitting!
I was asked about Ireland by both ladies (the accent, I suppose), and was asked if I'd come back on St. Patrick's Day to tell the children how we celebrate that in Ireland. Now Linda, if I told her how I really celebrate it by going out drinking and listening to me friend recite dirty limericks, I don't think she'd ask me back to you? But to pretend I'm a good Catholic and loving it, is another matter entirely. I was flummoxed and so nodded I would, all the time thinking, she can't be asking me this.
How do I get meself into these things? Ask Donnie what St. Patty's Day is and he'll answer with the question, "What's that?" Which is exactly what he did in a big loud voice. The two women looked at me and I smiled and shrugged. Me "own flesh and blood" turning on me. Oh the tragedy of it.
Here I be back at home, thanking me lucky stars you were not with me, because I know we'd be looking for a new school for Donnie boy and Mrs. Donnie would be after me with a broom and a barrel of tar, AFTER you and I wrote a hundred times on the chalk board I WILL BE GOOD IN CLASS.
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
