This week I played with kindergarteners in the mornings. There was no regular school for them, so Lunch Bunch was revived to fill the vacuum. Monday we rode a bus to the Pennypack and explored the woods. Some of the kids bolted across a field from the sheer joy of running. I knew my limits and asked my co-teacher to catch them, since she is
still in her twenties. When she brought them back she was winded. I never would have made it. We threw rocks in the water and ate our apples on a quilt. Tuesday we went to a local creamery for ice cream and licked the drips as fast as we could. Wednesday we went to a playground and climbed the structures as if they were the Appalachians. Thursday I brought in my newborn chicks for snuggling, and we trooped off to the thrift store to spend a dollar each. One boy felt lucky to have found a yellow
plastic truck. A girl wanted a magnet set and a stuffed animal, which she discovered were bargain priced so she could buy both. Treasures in hand we raced back to the slides for more climbing and a few stories about a little girl who made silly wishes on her birthday.
What I noticed when it was over was that I was flattened. I slept for twelve hours. I didn't even brush my teeth. My co teacher was not. In fact she coached lacrosse in the late
afternoons.
Thirty five years ago I was her age. I taught third grade in Illinois and had no trouble catching my nine year olds when they ran across the yard. We ice skated on a frozen pond, and they crammed into my '65 Mustang for field trips. (There were no seat belts in the seventies.) I had the energy to match theirs. But I lacked experience. The woman I taught next to was my mentor, and helped me fudge my way into a marginally professional state of
proficiency. But what I lacked in maturity I made up for in gusto.
Sometimes women whine to me about their husbands. They want them to be young enough to be vibrant, yet old enough to be patient. Youthful enough to have thick, dark hair, yet grey enough to listen as you talk about your day.
I am not sure whether the two extremes are mutually exclusive, like solitude and crowds, or if there is a different strategy in God seeming to divide
wisdom and youth. Maybe He just wants us to develop gratitude, and offering us one blessing at a time sharpens the skill.
