No Loitering

Six year olds are busy little people. From the moment I get to school to the second I step off campus at 4:30 or 5, I am pummeled with questions and comments and stories and tears and smiles and hugs and band-aid requests. One should not underestimate the power of a superhero or Disney Princess band-aid on the knee or arm of a child.

When my band-aid stock was running low in the spring, I knew I needed to call for back up. I needed more band-aids, and I needed them fast. We all have those people in our lives that we can call, anytime, for anything, so that’s what I did. I sent my tribe of friends from college a desperate SOS: SEND BAND-AIDS. Pretty soon I was opening envelopes overflowing with precious, tiny band-aids – Disney Princess, Clifford, glitter, superhero, sports. I continue to experience the magical power of those band-aids everyday, and I relish the small joy of opening the band-aid wrapper and seeing the look of pure delight on a student’s face. I have enough band-aids to last me this entire year, all because of that one SOS I sent to five friends. If my service here has taught me anything, it’s that sometimes, you just need to ask for help.

Besides band-aid requests, the other request I get most often is “Teacher, can I clean?” Pohnpeians love to keep things neat and tidy and students are always re-organizing our glues and scissors after we finish a project. After school is no different, but the cast of characters who want to clean the classroom includes 1^st, 2^nd, 3^rd, and 4^th graders. Lots of little bodies with the greatest of intentions.

Honestly, some days I’m tired. After school I just want to get my work done, and I want to get it done alone. On those days, I get this urge to slap a “NO LOITERING” sign on my door, turn the lock, and get all my work done in productive peace and quiet. But that peace and quiet rarely happens because I am somewhat of a mystery to the school. Random students walk into my classroom throughout the day, look around at everything on the walls, whisper to their friends, and walk out. If they notice me watching them they’ll give a sheepish smile or a “I like your classroom, Teacher Emily” or just walk out. Combine these surprise visitors with my current class and the 2^nd graders who often visit and I never have a moment to myself.

But if I’ve learned anything while here, I’ve learned about hospitality and generosity and being with people. And if I know anything about God, he calls us to community and togetherness and love in action. He also really loves little kids.

So after school when sweaty students come sliding into my room and ask if they can clean, I put them to work and play some music, grateful to have seven or eight little bodies do all the work I would rather not do. I delegate like a drill sergeant and the work gets done: someone cleans the chalkboard, two others sweep, one holds the dustpan, another two put stars on behavior charts, another takes out the trash. We laugh and talk and belt out our best versions of Frozen’s “Let it Go.” In 15 minutes the classroom is spotless, everyone chooses a sticker, and they skip outside to wait for their ride. I have relationships with older students purely from this cleaning time; those tiny 15 minutes when I would rather hang a “No Loitering” sign on the door have built community and relationships. Their tendency to loiter is an opportunity for me to love. It is a chance for me to show them that I care, that they are loved and helpful and they have value. 

I’ve learned my lesson. 

I’m glad I never put that “No Loitering” sign on my door.

Part of the afternoon cleaning crew