I am going to write of the first grader Young Boris before I
introduce Honeybrook’s first grade class. The temperament of the Honeybrook
First Grade populous is a story unto itself, filled with the intricacies of a
moving car’s engine or Infinity Gauntlet saga. Characters and pivotal role
players sprint the narrative of the first graders’ present legacy, bending the will
of the school building into a multitude of stories. No other grade in
Honeybrook wields the power to do this. The first graders alone are the only
students that can manipulate the school’s direction from straight to cyclical,
and more powerfully while the older 4 grades above them commit to a singular
story, the first graders have mastered the art of directing multiple stories
all at once.
On this particular Tuesday, the paras and I decided to throw
a medallion hunt for each grade during recess. We hid the medallion in five
different places, and read them a clue at lunch before they went out hunting.
Young Boris sat at a table with a red cup atop it. The red cup
means your table is last to go out to recess, indicating some means of
punishment or restrain applied to the students. From simple observation, you
can see the public shaming of the red cup in the joints and gestures of the
students that actually apply meaning to it, and then there are the others. The
students that look at the red cup with the same stare they would give a green
cup, the good cup. The color of the cup, the depth of the punishment, the weight
and tone of an adult’s voice moves them none. They are the brightest, most intelligent
students in the building as they have mastered the observation of emotion, and are
able to bend even the strongest will of a teacher with a sleight of hand and misdirection.
Young Boris, no stranger to observation of emotion, gave negative f---- for the
red cup, and ate his lunch contently.
Upon reading the first clue for the medallion, I noticed
Young Boris’ eyes light up with the subtlety of switchblade being drawn in the dark.
My surface attention only noticed it for a moment, and thought nothing of it.
Perhaps, a jolt of competitive spirit overtook him, or maybe he was putting on
for the rest of the table. Aye, it was neither. Looking back on it now, Young
Boris’ eyes had lit with the blueprint of his plan to break recess.
Recess had begun, the first graders bolted to the field,
then the playground, then the blacktop, then to the hill in urgent search of
the medallion. If found, the student would receive a prize from the carnival
and a small prize for their entire home classroom. Ms. L and I stood on the black
top where we maintained a view of the entire recess sprawl.
The erratic speed and direction of the search groups spun
off like bats swirling amongst trees. Again, the first grade is a plethora of
individuals all following their own narrative, and shooting from the hip
whenever they feel like it. Time, space, gravity- the first graders laughed at
these concepts. Suddenly, the speed and direction stopped. It was as if someone
had freeze tagged the entire grade and left them standing. Young Boris walked
from the playground to the hill. “Sweet Baby Josiah, what did he do?” I thought
to myself. As an adult, my ego immediately shouted “Hey, he can’t do that”, and
then the rest of me answered, “Hell yes he can, and we will grab popcorn and
watch”.
Young Boris ascended the hill, now running with perfect
form, and on his command, jilted the entire (all 100+) first grade student body
to chase him up the hill. The first graders formed like a disorganized Voltron
and swarmed toward him.
The kids lacking cardio fell first. Their inability to keep
up with every single student in the first grade class, taking nothing away from
them, easily separated them from the herd. The quicker students now reached the
top of the hill only to find Young Boris making a dash for the smaller hill.
Screams of excitement and “He’s got the medallion!!!” streamed through the cold
air. Young Boris, now descending the small hill toward the blacktop, was in
full stride until… he slowed and was caught.
The grade surrounded him to what looked almost to be a
soap-box sermon gone wrong. Ms. L walked toward the commotion, as I stay
standing on the blacktop wondering just what the hell happened. Did he have the medallion? All the other
students that found the medallion, just brought it to us paras. Why would he
take it and run?
Questions of logic could not be applied to Young Boris. He
was several dance moves ahead of even the choreographers.
Young Boris broke away. The grade, now in hot pursuit once
again, was lead to the field and then back to the playground. Several students,
who had now given up, came to me exclaiming, “Boris has the medallion! He won’t
tell us where it is!” Dear lord, he’s broken the game. Young Boris didn’t have
the medallion, he had an appetite for entertainment and he damn sure took his
fill.
The free time soon expired, and the grade retired to the
building. After watching all the other grades glom together in organized search
parties and find the medallion, Young Boris had no interest in the game
provided. He desired breaking the game and watching the grade and staff dance
at his will.
That is the kind of kid who will change things.
Although, there is massive potential in each student, Young Boris possesses a
creative mind hovering just above all of us.
Arriving for literacy and classroom support, an episode of
The Magic School Bus played on a white screen in Ms. Zelda’s classroom. It was
snack time, usually the time I check in with a few students and talk about
dogs, what we ate for breakfast, and favorite colors.
Pulling up a seat next to Young Boris in the dimly lit room to
avert the students’ gaze toward Ms. Frizzle playing on the wall, he kept his
eyes forward paying no attention to me.
“You know why I did that?” he said.
“I don’t even know what you did?” I sarcastically replied. I don’t usually hand out sarcasm to 6 and 7
year-olds, however Young Boris is an exception… because he gets it.
“I told everyone I had the medallion, but I didn’t.
Honestly, I just wanted to get a work out and have them chase me while I did
it.” He continued.
“Well then, Boris. You definitely got a good workout in” I
agreed with him.
“Got a great workout” He one upped.
Hot skittles, this kid belongs in Xavier’s school for the
gifted. We’re gonna have to raise our game if we’re to operate anywhere near
this kid’s level.
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