Back to Kindergarten

This morning, Karsten and I scarfed down some oatmeal, put on our jackets, and set off into the crisp autumn air to walk to school.  When we arrived, we hung our gear on a shared coat hook and entered the classroom together.  No, I wasn't being the over-protective parent -- I was there on official business.  It was my first stint as a kindergarten parent-volunteer.


Following Kinder-custom, Karst' immediately picked out a book, found a vacant carpet square on the floor, and began reading quietly to himself.  When everyone was settled (which is a relative term for a room full of 5- and 6-year olds), his teacher announced that the class had a "daddy helper" to help them make some hand paintings.  She emphasized the "daddy" part, which I interpreted to mean the kids were accustomed to female "mommy" volunteers.  This is understandable, since not all daddies work part of the week from home.  I consider myself fortunate.

I set up a corner of the classroom with brushes, paint, and paper and called the kids over two-by-two.  I explained that I would be applying the paint to their hands, but that they could pick any color combination they wanted.  I told them I would carefully place their painted hand palm-down on paper and let them see the result.  The technicolor hand prints would then be saved on a special drying rack, where they would later undergo a complex preservation process that I don't completely understand.  I'm just a caveman lawyer.  Perhaps one of the "mommy" helpers can figure it out.  Ultimately, the hand prints will be presented to parents later in the year.

I pondered the palms of 18 children with the solemnity of a gypsy fortune teller.  The children considered custom color schemes and told me exactly what they wanted.  Some kids asked for monochromatic fingers with a contrasting palm design.  Others requested alternating finger colors and palm striping.  Whatever they came up with, I would nod approvingly and compliment their aesthetic sense.

A couple of pony-tailed girls requested that I paint pink hearts and yellow flowers on their palms.  I sighed deeply and warned that I didn't have very much experience painting such things.  One of them just smiled and responded, "I think you will paint a beautiful flower."  I did my best, which was apparently good enough for my young art patrons.  No, I don't plan on quitting my day job.

After two hours, it was time to shut down my hand painting operation and return to the pile of work awaiting me in my home office.  Before leaving, I happened to overhear one of Karst's classmates thank him for sharing his dad with the class.  That pretty much confirmed my suspicion that Kindergartners are pretty darn awesome.