Friday, 06 October 2006 | Crocodile

Last Friday I took the day off for no real reason, which is something I don't think I've done before. It was great; I did some writing, rode my bike, had a long lunch with a friend, ran errands, met some cats (including the winner), and, randomly, I read a story to my friend Barrie's kindergarten class.

I was pretty nervous about kindergarten, honestly, because I don't have much experience with kids (or discipline), and I'm kind of a 'Quiet,' so I'm told. But they were welcoming and seemed immediately curious about me. (Kids are nicely indiscreet, and whispered questions to Barrie right in front of me -- hand cupping mouth, one eye trained on me.)

For story time, they arranged themselves in a rectangle on the carpet, and I read them a story about Lyle the Crocodile. They were observant (one girl astutely noted that the people in the story should actually be frightened by Lyle the Crocodile, rather than be his friend); they were easily distracted (one boy mentioned having once visited a zoo, which led to a cacophany of unrelated zoo stories); and they were very concerned about seeing the pictures in the book as I read. At one point, when Lyle the Crocodile and his friends were depicted wearing Halloween costumes, the kids rushed me and demanded to see the illustrations' intimate details. ("Where's the witch?! I don't see the witch!")

The most remarkable thing about being there, aside from getting to witness Barrie in such a strange and authoritative context, was noticing the kids' distinct personalities. They were already so well formed, I felt like I could see into the future and could tell how each person would be as an adult. (I guess it was no different with me.) Perhaps even weirder than that, was implicitly knowing which of the kids I would be friends with, if I were their age.

After I finished reading, they asked me questions, posed for my camera, and reminded me repeatedly to not forget my Lyle book. When the bell rang, I promptly turned invisible.