Not at Home

A happy mom passes me in the hall as she is leaving the dining commons. She has her children in school after years of home-schooling.

“Being here for lunch is a good thing,” she tells me. “First, the teachers need my help at lunch time, but even more,” she continues, apparently thinking of the many spills and piles of crumbs, “it just convinces me that I did the right thing putting my kids in school. It is better to have them here… on your floor, and not mine.”

To Tell the Truth

Our weekly assembly of cross-age student groups spawns some interesting stories. When playing “To Tell the Truth”, the students standing in front were secretly given a strange-but-true event from the life of a classmate. Each student was to say, “My name is [their own name], and once I [whatever story was being guessed about.]” Then the audience was to ask questions of each child in front to see if they could tell which child the story was really about.

As one group stood in front, the lined-up students began to say, “My name is… and once I…” The Leader for that Family Group noticed that one second-grade boy was looking uncomfortable. As it came closer for him to talk, tears began to slide down his face.

The leader knelt by his side to coach him. She asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot,” he said.

“Forgot what?” she asked, thinking the story had been too complex.

“My name!” he quavered.

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In another round, a crafty student tried to get around one of the rules designed to let all students play. He asked, “At the time this happened, were you a boy or a girl?”

You Smell Like a Hotel Room

After every Family Group activity, the Chieftains discuss on how it went. They identify what worked, what didn’t, and whether the activity should be used again, or if it should be changed.

At the beginning of one debriefing, an eighth-grade girl said, “Mr. Weller, one of my youngest members said I smelled like a hotel room!”

I’ve never heard that before, so I asked, “Well, was that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

The girl thought for a moment and said, “Probably a good thing, because she said, ‘You smell pretty… like a hotel room’.”

Heavenly Music

One of the things we enjoy in our new school is space. The entire school can finally assemble together all at once in our own building. We do so every Friday morning.

Today, at the close of Family Groups, I walked back to the office and was met by one of the regular mom volunteers. She and other moms had been listening to the students’ songs of worship as they wafted down the long hall into the lobby.

The mom says, “It was so beautiful… we were nearly in tears.”

I was too. God has blessed us with a school that finally fits our mission.

Is It Contagious?

A first-grade boy bites a sixth-graders finger. It breaks the skin. The older boy is okay with that; I'm not.

I tell the younger boy, “There are two reasons we don’t do that. One, people just don’t go around biting people. Two, your mouth is a germy place. You can cause bad infections.” Then thinking about universal precautions, I add, “If you had HIV, you could give it to your friend.”

The firstgrader's brows knit together for a moment in thought, then he offers helpfully, “Well, I do have dust allergies.”

The Turning Point

This morning we’ve had a grand excursion. All 310 students and teachers and staff walked to the new school several blocks away from our current site. We knelt on the dusty, mid-construction, concrete floors of our classrooms, music rooms, gym, and offices. There on the floor, each individual wrote their favorite Bible verse.

In a few weeks, these precious promises of strength and protection will be covered with carpet and tile and wood. But we will know what’s there, invisible yet present.

Next week we will dip our hands in paint and leave our indelible prints on the walls of the old school. There is a sadness and a joy in leaving one home for another.

[For the “new school” story in pictures, click on the link to “Our New School”. All blogs below this occurred in the old building. All blogs above are set in the new school.]

Good Advice

A fifth- and sixth-grade class created bookmarks to send to El Salvador. They were to draw a picture, quote a Bible text or put on some kind of saying. One child did all three.

There was the picture: a monkey.
There was the saying: “Don’t monkey around.”
There was the Bible passage: the seventh commandment!

Morning Question

Every morning I give announcements over the PA. Each day I ask a question students can answer for “Rogers Dollars.” As I visit a first- and second-grade classroom, a boy suggests a morning announcements question to ask.

With a big smile he enthusiastically says, “Ask them ‘How many teeth are in a dog’s mouth?’”

It’s not unusual for students to suggest questions knowing they’ll be able to answer them and earn easy money. I’m glad this boy knows about dogs, so I ask, “How many teeth are in a dog’s mouth?”

He grins expectantly and says, “I haven’t got a clue!”

What's Missing?

As the day started I was running full-tilt. I’d gotten up early and had already worked several hours before school began. As I hurried out to greet students, I failed to turn on the hallway music. While greeting kids in the hall, I realized that there was a strange quiet in the halls.

The next student to greet me was a second-grade boy. I said, “Hey there, Sonny, what’s missing this morning?”

He shot back, “My tooth! I lost it last night at 9:48 p.m.!”

New Light on the Revolution

Today, a fourth-grader responded to a test question which asked why the Revolutionary War broke out.

His answer: “The colonists were using tea for gunpowder.”

That Other Education

A room mother reports that a second-grade boy confided in her that he knew the worst word in the world! “Oh Honey, I’m sorry to hear that,” she says, “What is it?”

He leaned close, cupped his hands around her ear and whispered, “S-X-E!”

“I told him that sex is a wonderful thing,” she says.

Now I bet he’s really confused.

Coming to School

Our new kindergartner is upset. He’s just starting school and was hoping to be a first-grader. After testing, his mom and I agree that kindergarten will be a better start. He is devastated and refuses to meet his teacher.

“My friends will all laugh at me,” he wails.

“Do they go to this school?” I ask.

“No, but they’ll find out,” he says miserably.

“What grade are they in?”

“Pre-school!” he pouts.

I assure him that school can be fun. He doesn’t have a choice on what grade he’ll be in, but he can choose whether he’ll be happy or grumpy. “School’s a lot more fun when you’re happy,” I assure him. He looks doubtful.

Wednesday is a snow closure, so Thursday is his first day in school. Friday morning with a slack face and sad eyes, he approaches me, “I didn’t have fun yesterday…”

I’m hurting for the little guy and quickly fish around in my brain for some sensitive, yet encouraging thing to say when he finishes up with “… I had a BLAST!”