Today we are walking to the park. The sun is out, the sky is clear, and the temperatures are not as low as they were yesterday. As we near the apartments for disabled and elderly persons, my German speaker spies another thrill, a worker and his truck, which I explain is a glass repair or replacement truck. The worker is fussing with things in his truck, cigarette dangling from his mouth. The children have initiated a new favorite version of the name song. The spanish/english/german speaker is singing proudly, “My name is Poopy, Poopy, Poopy. My name is Poopy. I like Poop.”

Then the english speaker follows up, giggling, “My name is Pee-Pee, Pee-Pee, Pee-Pee. My name is Pee-Pee. I like Pee.”

I am wondering what to say, know extinguishing such songs is a challenge in a group of twos almost threes. I also wonder what the worker will think, wonder what the disabled and elderly persons will think. I smile at the worker as he walks from van to building beside us, sure he has overheard what I think of as our fresh talk. “They all love those words,”  I say, smiling.

“You have the best job in the world”, he replies, huge grin on his face.

And I am reminded, and reply, “It is a good job.”

Face saved, critique of children’s behavior avoided.  The children naturally move on to wondering about the owl that is resting on the veranda of an upstairs apartment, fixture of every trip we’ve taken to the park this year, and then about our friend, who they refer to as the Hi-Ho man, name passed down through generations of day care kids since the man we adults know as Michael used to sing to us from his balcony three floors up, or pop out of a door to serenade us on the sidewalk, “Hi Ho Hi Ho its’ off to the park we go”, or some variation on that Disney Snow White and the Seven Dwarves theme, who hasn’t sung that in quite awhile as far as I remember, but who keeps his name. And so we talk about the Hi Ho man, wonder what he might be up to today, off to a store, reading the newspaper, talking on the phone, watching tv, until I come to going on a bus adventure, which the German/English/Spanish speaker likes a lot, says, “Yeah, riding a bus.” And then we arrive at the park, where we are on our own for the hour, are visited by the mother of a late arrival, play in the sand and sun and wind, until it is time to go home again.

It’s a typical day in our world, and I wonder if the man who believes it’s the best job in the world had such loving care when he was a child, if he remembers it and is glad we are giving it to our children, or if he didn’t and wishes he did. Our presence in the world serves as a reminder of how our society ought to treat the children, of how childhood should be lived and revered. Not bad for inspiration from a repairmen on the sidewalk by his van.

Early this morning, I read an article from The Washington Post shared with me by two fellow providers, including a letter written by a Cambridge Public School teacher resigning her post due to not being able to live the life she believes in with the children in her classroom and school. I’ll share it here. We at WFDC are indeed lucky to have the freedom we have to live life with our children in the way we do. No tests, minimal data, all children, all the time. Lucky indeed.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/answer-sheet/wp/2014/03/23/kindergarten-teacher-my-job-is-now-about-tests-and-data-not-children-i-quit/

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