Well, at the beginning of the year, I dreaded the cute7 year olds. I approached the little ones like a mailman approaching a house with a vicious dog, laden with fear. I was disgusted (and confused) by their pleasure in farting...loudly. I didn't understand why they crawled on the floor or why they didn't love my crazy reading voices.
After some games, relationship building, and fair appropriate amounts of bribery, my second graders and I managed to make it through our hour long periods without tears or huge frustrations.
Recently, though, I've felt a special affinity for the little ones. When we're reading together, I want to hug them. When they listen, I feel like dancing. Today, I realized my absolute love for them, though.
They filed quietly into my room and I noticed one of them was obviously sick. Her eyes were droopy and red and her winter coat drown her and her shivers. I nestled her into a spot on the couch and situated the other kids for story time.
After read aloud, the kids dispersed on the carpet with their own books. I joined the sick little one on the couch. I couldn't help it. She looked so...needy, so....innocent. I almost felt motherly. She chose a story and another little guy joined us, perching his head on my shoulder, and the three of us read The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.
While we read, I thought, this is love. Fear of sickness was negated. The only thing that mattered was the comfort of those little kids.
I wanted to ensure that they felt cared for, loved.
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