Kindergarten Baby: A Novel (22 page)

After a quick break, the third presenter of the day, Frances Garcia, from Texas, was up. Because most of the mandated teaching materials didn’t meet the needs of all her students, she wrote adaptations. For example, Frances wrote an adaptation of the social studies textbook so that it contained the same information but at a lower reading level, and she translated the most important facts to Spanish to ensure all her English Language Learners were successful, too.

As Lindsey watched these imaginative and noteworthy presenters, she became increasingly nervous. The other women were so polished and well rehearsed‌—‌so
professional
. The more she thought about her presentation, the more she worried.

“Our next presenter is Lindsey Sommerfield. Come on up, Ms. Sommerfield,” announced Elisabeth.

Lindsey stood slowly and approached the presentation platform, trying to disguise her terror. She felt wobbly both in her stomach and in her knees, her palms were slick with sweat, and the inside of her mouth felt as if it was packed with cotton balls. How would she be able to talk?
What have I gotten myself into? Please, please don’t let me make a total fool of myself,
she prayed.

Elisabeth was waiting for her at the microphone. Lindsey pressed her notes against her body, trying to make them stop shaking.

Elisabeth smiled warmly, then addressed the audience. “Teachers, I’d like to tell you a little inside information about Lindsey. You all had over three months to prepare for your participation in this program, including arranging your travel and guest teachers.” Her smile grew. “Poor Lindsey knew nothing of this award or conference‌—‌let alone the prospect of making a presentation‌—‌until just three days ago.”

There was an appreciative gasp from the audience, and Lindsey managed to give them a weak smile.

Elisabeth went on. “Not only that, but due to the last minute travel arrangements, Lindsey had to fly in directly to Rugby. Some of you know what that means.” She turned to Lindsey, a twinkle in her eye. “How was your flight, Lindsey?”

With no idea of how to answer, Lindsey decided to stick with the truth. “It was a lot like a nightmare,” she tried to say, certain her words came out sounding like she was holding her own tongue as she spoke. To her delighted surprise, her brief response roused smiles and laughter from the audience.

“Today Lindsey will tell us all about teaching kindergarten children to write through the use of her own innovation which she calls Art Journals. Let’s get her started. You know what to do,” encouraged Elisabeth.

As the audience applauded, Lindsey centered herself in front of the microphone and began to speak. The first few minutes seemed to last forever, as she struggled to regain normal levels of moisture in her mouth and recover her full voice. Her knees still shook, and she wondered how she would make it through her presentation without falling down. She’d barely begun when a hand went up from the audience. It was her new friend, Shelley, wearing a questioning frown.

“I always thought an art journal was simply a book where an individual drew, painted, or whatever. Anything they felt like making, without any rules,” stated Shelley. “Am I wrong?”

After a brief second of worry—
are they turning on me already?
—the teacher in Lindsey jumped into action. After all, she knew her topic inside and out.

“Absolutely not, Shelley. You are not wrong. You have described a common type of art journal. My art journal is slightly different. It’s a vehicle that produces enjoyable writing practice for very young students. In a nutshell, my art journal is an individual student’s collection of art‌—‌that is often created during a guided drawing lesson‌—‌and a specific type of writing to accompany that art. The writing often reflects recent learning. This will all become clear by the end of my forty-five minutes. And thanks, Shelley, for your comment, because it has brought to my attention that my art journal, my innovation, is unique and needs a more descriptive or definitive name. Perhaps you all can help me with that.”

The ice was broken, or at least cracked a little, and Lindsey forgot all about the nervous state of her mouth and knees. She was on her way, discussing her innovation and sharing specific lessons and student work resulting from those lessons. The time flew by.

A hand went up, and Lindsey smiled, encouraging the other teacher. “Like you, Lindsey, I teach kinder, and after seeing your student samples I have to say that I really doubt my kids could do what your kids have done.” Her statement was backed by numerous nodding heads.

Lindsey disagreed. “I guarantee your students will be successful at some level. Here. Look at these three drawings of a pig. The first little pig looks just like a pig; the second little pig looks like a pig that an average five-year-old might draw; the third little pig, well, he cried
wee-wee-wee
all the way home.” The group laughed, and Lindsey paused enjoying the moment. “Each student took part in the same lesson and participated at their current ability level. All the pigs had two ears, two eyes, a nose, a mouth, and they were all pink. Each child was successful in his or her own way. I also guarantee they will be so proud of their work they will want to do more. And, come parent conference time, or portfolio conference time, each student’s art journal will be a treasured piece of work in the eyes of both students and parents. Each child’s growth and maturity will be obvious as the year progresses.”

Questions and comments kept coming. “I can’t draw,” one teacher said. “I could never lead students in a guided art lesson.”

Lindsey thought for a moment, then asked, “Elisabeth, can I take fifteen minutes more?” She got the nod and proceeded to lead the entire group, step-by-step, through one of the lessons she had already completed with her students called,
The Frog’s Story
.

At the end of the fifteen minutes, Elisabeth returned to the microphone. “It seems you’ve captured everyone’s interest, but we need to move on now.”

The room echoed with applause, and Lindsey smiled at everyone, drinking in the first positive energy she’d felt in a long, long time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The group excursion after lunch was to the Prairie Village Museum. The bus pulled up outside the barn and, since the ground was still a bit icy, the driver gave each woman a hand up.

“Hi, there,” the bus driver said to Lindsey as he took her hand. “I thought you might be in Rugby for this conference.

She stared at him, startled. Then she smiled. “Hey, bathroom guy!”

She settled into her seat beside her new friend. “You know him?” Shelley asked.

“Not really.” Lindsey shrugged lightly. “We kind of met by the bathroom at the Rugby airport. I guess he’s my bathroom/bus driver buddy.”

Shelley raised one dark eyebrow. “He’s a tall, good-looking, friendly, cowboy kind of guy, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“And? You’re single, aren’t you? I’m married, so I don’t—”

Lindsey laughed out loud. “No way! I’ve had it with men, at least for now. Besides, he drives a bus in Rugby. That’s a heck of a long way from Tucson.”

They both looked up as the bus pulled into the museum parking area. The main building of the complex housed wildlife displays, antique guns, items that pioneers used to make their homes, and many Native American and Eskimo artifacts. Lindsey thought the bus driver might also guide them through the various buildings at the Prairie Village Museum, but he was nowhere to be seen. Lindsey and Shelley, who were becoming great friends, stuck together, visiting the old-time dress shop, the Old Norwegian house, every building and display, the jail, the livery, and the blacksmith shop. By four o’clock everyone was back on the bus. The temperature had dropped from the midday forty-seven degrees down to thirty-five, according to their driver.

“Be sure to dress even warmer tomorrow,” he suggested to the ladies. “We’ll be outside for much of the time, and the weather will be cold.”

The next day the bus took them to a place called the Northern Lights Tower, but they had no idea what that was about. As they exited the bus, the driver instructed them to gather around the tall steel structure that stood before them.

“Not much to it,” Shelley whispered.

“There must be something to it, or we wouldn’t be here,” replied Lindsey. “The colorful metallic paint looks nice.”

Their driver stepped forward with a clipboard and began to read information about the structure‌—‌in a flat monotone. It did little to grasp the interest of most of the onlookers.

“This is the Northern Lights Tower. It is 88 feet tall, and as you can see, it is painted with many colors. It lights up at night, and it is supposed to replicate the actual Northern Lights, otherwise known as the Aurora Borealis. Any questions?”

The silence stretched until he spoke again. “March and September are the best months to see the Aurora Borealis in this area because of mild weather and dark skies. Also because the Earth’s orbit is in a zone of maximum solar activity during March and September.”

No one said anything. The driver cleared his throat. “The old St. Paul’s Episcopal Church is something you might like to see. It’s over a hundred years old.” The group was still fairly quiet and unresponsive. “It was closed in 1978, deconsecrated in 1991, and today it is a Victorian Dress Museum.” Suddenly they were listening enthusiastically.

Lindsey was the last person in their group to leave the old church and the last person to board the bus. As she was getting in, the bathroom/bus driver/tour guide guy stopped her. “Have you ever seen the Northern Lights? I mean,
really
seen them, in person?”

“No, I don’t think so. Tucson skies are anything but dark,” she said.

“Well, here’s a little tip. Go out tonight between 10:30 and 11:30 and stand about halfway between the barn and the house. There will be just a sliver of a moon. The skies should be as clear as a vitreous column and as dark as a hardwood plank painted with creosote. If you look up, there’s a great chance of seeing the Aurora Borealis.” He smiled. “Just thought you might enjoy that experience.”

“Oh,” she replied, not entirely sure of what he’d just said. “Thanks for the tip. I just might do that.”

After a splendid dinner of pumpkin and sausage pasta, Waldorf salad with cabbage, and mocha brownies topped with hazelnut cream, everyone gathered in the meeting area. The room’s ceiling lights were dimmed, the potted evergreens were adorned with shimmering white lights, and the fireplace crackled and glowed a brilliant orange. A hush fell over the group as each participant found a comfortable spot on one of the sofas or chairs, which had been rearranged into several circles rather than half circles.

Elisabeth, Frank, and Cheryl were part of the circles tonight. From her seat, Elisabeth shared her appreciation for everyone’s participation, for each and every innovation, and for the improved and hopeful future of elementary education. Frank spoke briefly about the wide variety of innovations this year and encouraged everyone to take their ideas to the next level, and find ways to share them with their schools, their districts, and even their states. Cheryl handed out the state award plaques, along with envelopes containing certificates of participation that included the number of hours spent at the conference. Teachers would use these hours when it came time to renew their teaching certificates. Lindsey waited, but no one gave her an envelope.

“What’s all the excitement about?” she asked the person sitting beside her.

The smiling woman said nothing but showed her a check for $500.

“We hope these gifts will help you in your quest to share your innovations with others,” Elisabeth said, smiling.

Frank, the only man in the place, put up his hand to get their attention. “Why Rugby? Why is Rugby the meeting place for this conference? Anyone willing to take a guess, share their thoughts?”

One hand went up. “Because there aren’t many distractions here?”

“That is true and also a great reason, but it’s not the one I’m thinking of.”

Another hand. “Because you knew this unique barn/conference center was here?”

Frank glanced around, smiling contentedly. “It is remarkable, isn’t it? But no. It wasn’t here when we first selected this location. I mean, the barn was here, but it was just a barn then, nothing more.”

Three more brave souls took a stab at answering Frank’s question, but no one got it right. He finally took pity on the group.

“Rugby was chosen as the location of our
Innovative Teacher Awards Conference
because…‌it is the Geographical Center of North America.” He paused, then added, “You can decide for yourself what that means to you.”

No one dared to break the silence that followed.

“Isn’t silence wonderful for the act of contemplation?” Elisabeth whispered. “But now, forward we must go. Would all eight participants who gave full, oral presentations please come forward?”

Lindsey bit the inside of her cheek, not wanting anyone to see her hopeful smile. Maybe now she’d receive her certificate and $500 check. She could really use that to start paying off her line of credit loan, thanks to Emmett. While she stood waiting at the front, Frank and Cheryl passed out pieces of paper to everyone still sitting. Then the eight presenters were asked to state their name and the title of their presentation.

“Those of you with ballots, please vote for your three favorite presentations,” instructed Elisabeth.

When the voting was complete, Elisabeth thanked the presenters, and invited them to return to their seats. Lindsey and Shelley exchanged looks of disappointment. Surely they would receive
something
. Or had they already received their reward by being given the honor of making a presentation? An intrinsic reward? How many times had she and the other teachers asked children to be grateful for such a thing?

Frank explained that in the morning they’d have a nice, early continental breakfast to ensure everyone boarded the buses and made it to the appropriate airport in time to catch their flights. Lindsey glanced at her watch, slightly disappointed. She’d hoped to take advantage of the tip she’d received about the Northern Lights earlier, but it was already 10:45 p.m. and the meeting was not quite over.