The Best Little Program Notes Ever

Greetings, Matt Smith.

How was your day? Good? Want to hear about mine? Great.

Wrote this as "program notes" for our classes today at the daycare center, and it made its rounds around the Artistic Staff Office.
Yeah. I wrote them.
And yes. They're true.


Program Notes
West St. Paul, MN
October 22, 2004
Sivie and Meredith

One of the interesting things about preschools and
day care centers that is hard to notice at first is
that they'll try anything once. It really doesn't
matter who comes in to their center/school to present,
or what they're presenting, just so long as the people
who work there get a break in their day. And for good
reason: they have a difficult job. Working with
toddlers and infants is a trying job, day in and day
out. Communication is difficult. Working with
children of that age and trying to communicate with
them all day creates this weird… vibe. They get so
comfortable communicating with toddlers that
communication with adults now seems awkward.

Perhaps that awkwardness is to blame for today's
difficulties.

If there were a magic wand that could instantly erase
the problems of today, the world would be a better
place. Today's program site was a perfect example of
why we have restrictions on programming (such as the
number and age of students in the classroom).
Frankly, it's difficult to create programming for
children who don't speak. No. It's more than
difficult. It's near to impossible. Why, you ask?
Because they can't speak. Much like a dog. Or a
gopher. Or a watermelon.

But, on to the matter at hand: Today's program site
went through a myriad of stages in their communication
with us at CLIMB. First, the contact
(Julie) believed we were clowns, coming in to
entertain the children. ("You guys are a bunch of
clowns, right?" Sure, Julie. We're clowns.
CLIMB Clowns.) Then, once corrected, we were told
that we'd be working with a group of kids who were 2.5
to 3.5 years old, then a group of kids who were 3.5 to
4.5 years old, and finally a group of school-aged kids
(mostly kindergartners with a few older kids thrown in
for good measure)… and was it okay to combine a class
so that there would be one class of about 42 kids?
(No, Julie Casby. It isn't.)

Once all that was straightened out and we understood a
little more of what the kids' level of comprehension
was, we settled in to what seemed to be a fine line of
thought towards programming. The suggestion from Tiny
Tots was that we "read a story" to the youngest group
-- leaving us wondering why we were presenting
something to them at all. We opted for a fabulous
little book on sharing called That Toad is Mine!
(which, while teaching a valuable lesson on why toads
can't be cut in half, also included the line, "A
hoptoad needs ONE place to be"), followed by a
"sharing" version of "Green Ball, Thank You," brought
down to the level of
pass-the-ball-and-say-thank-you-when-you-get-it.

After we had some help from the teachers at getting
the tiny tots settled ("These nice people are going to
be showing us a PUPPET show!" Um. What? Where were
they getting this information?), we were on our way.

This should have been brilliant.

Unfortunately, we were interrupted mid-picture-book by
a woman who seemed to be bringing a group of 1-year
olds in to our class. (Yes, Constant Reader, these
would be the kids who can't talk.) So, after our
initial shock at this new arrangement, we restarted
the story -- and even finished it -- amidst runny
noses, children falling on the floor, and the fact
that children who can't speak also can't answer any
questions.

And that was just the first class. (Although the rest
of the day, even with the scheduling snafus and
miscommunication, seemed a breeze.)
The 3 and 4-year olds were so much more perceptive --
which really isn't saying much -- but they were still
a relief after the stresses of the first class. The
Little Tykes version of "Joey/Lulu and Mom" was
somewhat of a hit, although when questioned about
things like Raising Your Hand and When It's OK to Ask
Questions, kids still came up with answers like, "Say
excuse me when you want to tie your shoes" or "Wipe
the dirt off your face with a paper towel." (Okay…
sure. Those… those are things you can do… when… um…
you… well… never mind.) But, they got the idea that
you're supposed to say you're sorry when you hit
someone or yell at them. And the
Thank-You-for-the-Ball game spoke to them. Somehow.

Regular programming began with "Chuck and the Cheeto
Challenge" and the wonderful return of school-aged
children who understand questions when they're asked
(when they're not playing with the dirt from the
bottom of some other little girl's shoe). The kids
thought we were funny, and they were able to "get"
that sometimes you have to do things you don't really
want to do.

The moral of the story?

Kids who can't talk should be taught by people trained
to talk to them, toads can't be cut in half (but kids
can act like toads REALLY well), people should use
their magic words (please, thank you, I'm sorry,
excuse me), and dirt is often more interesting than a
troll and a goat.