Field trips are fun. Field trips are stressful.
After a trip to Foster Island–which was sunny and beautiful, thankfully–we got back on the bus. I’m such a nerd, I have to sit in the front of the bus, facing forward or else I get horribly bus sick. I was accompanied by three other kids while the rest of the class sat in the back of the bus with the Lead Teacher. One of the kids was my Screecher, who actually screamed at one point during our hike: “I hate this field trip! I wish we had never gone here! I HAVE TO GO POTTY!” Well, there was no potty available, so my responsibility was to distract her from going Number Two in her pants. The other two boys were just ready to be separated from the group. We waited for twenty minutes inside the bus while it remained parked, waiting for the other class; I pulled out all the stops. I created an impromptu puppet show with Mr. and Mrs. Hand. (Sometimes I can’t believe the length I go to in order to keep the peace). Mr. Hand was naively talking about ‘his hair’ with Mrs. Hand who kept telling him: “But, you don’t have any hair!” The three kids thought this was hilarious.

Finally, the rest of the student body made it onto their respective buses, journals and snacks and jackets intact. The bus made the slow trip up 15th Ave., passing the University of Washington. There were students milling about everywhere, the sun was shining, everything fresh and alive was coming off the campus. “Look, “I said, “College kids.” My three students peered out the window, clamoring about Husky games and parents that are alumni. I’m not sure if someone asked or if it became clear that none of them really knew what ‘college’ meant so I volunteered this analogy: “Imagine if each class in our school had its own building, that wouldn’t even come close to how big the University of Washington is.” The three kindergarteners mulled this over. Finally, one of them asked a pressing question: “Do they have Reading Buddies?” Priceless.
The best part was having to answer the question. I think I said something akin to, “Well, I would imagine the English Department has Reading Buddies, although college is for kids 18 and over…so maybe they’re reading on their own…I’m not sure, I’ll have to ask someone who goes to the school and find out if they have Reading Buddies or not.” This lead to the discussion of Kris B., the one person I know who goes to the U.W. The great thing is that many of these kids know a “Chris” or a “Kris” of some sort, so they all started clamoring: “I KNOW him! I know Kris!” I was skeptical: “Really? You know my friend, Kris?” “Yes! Yes!” They insisted. Slowly they realized that no, it wasn’t the same person, not the same Chris after all. All except one boy, who absolutely insisted he knew Kris B. (What am I going to do, call the kid a liar?) I thought it was great that he was so confident about his knowledge regarding “Kris with the dark hair! He has dark hair, right?” “Well, yes, he does have dark hair.” “Oh,” The Sceecher was crestfallen, “The Chris I know has blond hair.” At this point I was starting to feel bus sick. The kids and I relaxed in our seats and they enjoyed the rest of the ride.