It is that time of year again, when we sit down and reflect
on what we are thankful for in our lives. Every year I count my wife and kids
at the top of the list, but this year I am re-thinking that. My wife is still
at the top of the list, no doubt, but the kids? Being home full-time with our
three boys has caused me to examine my feelings toward them. I have been
directly in charge of their care and feeding for a while now, and for the most
part, they seem to do three main things:
1) Rather ungratefully wolf down food that I prepare for
them
2) Make one seemingly never-ending mess with that food, and
their shoes, toys, and clothes
3) Argue with each other and with me
Hmm… Am I really thankful for that? Truth be told, if they
were someone else’s kids, I would have already handed each one of them a twenty
dollar bill, shown them the front door, and wished them the best of luck. Since
that is probably breaking some sort of law or statute when they are your own
kids, I have kept them around. Plus, my wife would notice if any of them were
missing, and she’d be mad.
What am I really thankful for with regard to my boys? I am
thankful that our elementary school hasn’t kicked any of them out yet. I love
our elementary school for that fact. I volunteer there one day a week, and I
have the teachers and staff fooled into thinking I do it because I am just a
nice guy, but I’m really there to keep my ear to the ground and make sure that
I can head off any potential disciplinary problems before they get out of hand.
They think my boys are nice kids, but I’ve seen them at home. I know better. I
know that if any one of my boys ever got kicked out and I had to spend all day
with them, seven days a week, I would not make it. Or they wouldn’t. So, I
trade one day a week to make sure that doesn’t happen.
Since Son Number Three is the biggest wildcard, behaviorally
speaking, I spend the most time volunteering in his kindergarten class. The
other day his teacher asked me to help five of the kids make their “apple
turkeys.” The rest of the class had made them the day before, so I had already
seen Son Number Three’s. It was really cool. They had taken a plain old apple,
and turned it into a big tom turkey using toothpicks and candy. The neck was
made from two mini marshmallows with a full-size marshmallow as the head. He
had raisin eyes, a gumdrop mouth, and a red Swedish fish for a wattle. (You may
now Google either or both of those things if you don’t know what they are). His
tail feathers were made from five toothpicks with three different colored gumdrops
on each one. The only anatomically incorrect aspect was the three toothpicks necessary
for support legs, instead of just two.
His teacher handed me the small plastic tubs with all the
candy and toothpicks, gave me five plain apples and the example finished
product, and said, “Good luck.” (She may have also laughed maniacally under her
breath, or I may have just imagined that.)
About three minutes into the project, I realized something
about myself. I am not mentally or emotionally cut out for managing one five-year-old
with a Thanksgiving food craft/project, let alone a group of them.
I had a broad spectrum of interest levels, crafting skills,
and outright hunger in my little group of angels. One little girl took
immediate initiative with the toothpick tub, turning her apple into a
pincushion. Another little girl was sitting with her hands in her lap,
unwilling to do anything on her own, and constantly saying, “I need help. I
need help.” Over and over and over. And over. Another girl was determined to
make her turkey upside down, and one of the two boys was just sitting at the
table, alternately stuffing gumdrops and mini marshmallows into his mouth. He
probably ate at least four turkeys’ worth.
Nothing was going right, and it wasn’t going right in five
places at once. All the turkeys’ tripod legs broke immediately. None of the
full-size marshmallow heads would stay on. The wattles were falling off. None
of the raisin eyes looked right. Most of the turkeys looked cross-eyed, and one
looked drunk. None of the mouths were right. A whole gumdrop was too big for
the mouth, and the example had a quarter of a gumdrop, but no indication of how
the gumdrop was quartered. It turns out you can’t pull a gumdrop apart with
your fingers and have any pieces remain recognizable enough to be an apple
turkey’s mouth. It also turns out that it is possible to cut gumdrops with kindergarten
scissors, but I doubt you can use the scissors for anything else productive afterward.
Even with scissor-cut gumdrops, the turkeys all looked like they had
collagen-injected lips, and turkeys aren’t even supposed to have lips, let
alone, luscious ones.
Besides my mental back-and-forth about whether or not I
could sneak out of the classroom mid-project and just go home, the other
thought that kept running through my mind was, “I’m shortchanging these five
kids.”
The turkeys looked nothing like the example. They looked
nothing like the one my son brought home the day before. His looked like a cool
tom turkey made from an apple and some assorted candy. The five I had just
helped create looked like the result of a bomb going off near a wooden crate of
apples inside a candy factory.
The kids didn’t know any better. They thought they were
great. But I knew. I knew their parents would have to smile and say, “That’s
really great, sweetie,” all the while thinking, what the hell is this thing supposed to be?
That was my fault. I took what was a fun holiday moment for
my son and me the day before, and turned it into a “just another weird art
project from school” moment for five families. I wanted to send each kid home
with a note apologizing to the parents, and a picture of the example. “This is
what your kid’s apple turkey would have looked like if a professional had been
helping them. I am not a qualified kindergarten teacher. I am only a dad, and I
am sorry for my deficiencies with regard to fruit and candy art.”
I obviously joke about it, but truth be told, I am very
thankful for my boys, although, usually when they are sleeping. This year I am
also very thankful for teachers. Kindergarten teachers, especially. I am
thankful that I am not one, and I am incredibly thankful that there are folks
out there crazy enough to want the job! You’re the best!
Have a happy Thanksgiving, everybody!
See you soon,
-Smidge
Copyright © 2013 Marc Schmatjen
