" D O N 'T   W O R R Y
T H A T   C H I L D R E N
N E V E R   L I S T E N   T O   Y O U,
W O R R Y   T H A T   T H E Y
A R E   A L W A Y S
W A T C H I N G   Y O U "
Robert Fulghum

" T H E R E   I S   A
G A R D E N   I N   E V E R Y
C H I L D H O O D,
A N   E N C H A N T E D   P L A C E
W H E R E   C O L O U R S
A R E   B R I G H T E R,
T H E   A I R   S O F T E R,
A N D   T H E   M O R N I N G
M O R E   F R A G R A N T
T H A N   E V E R   B E F O R E "
Elizabeth Lawrence

" O N E   T E S T   O F   T H E
C O R R E C T N E S S   O F
A N   E D U C A T I O N A L
M E T H O D   I S   T H E
H A P P I N E S S
O F   T H E
C H I L D "
Maria Montessori

"Grandpa, will you come with me on my field trip?" my granddaughter in kindergarten asked. I said "yes, of course," without asking where we were going. It was a request requiring unconditional acceptance. You just have to take your chances.

I looked forward to spending some warm and fuzzy quality grandpa time with her. When I arrived at her school I quickly realized that I was a part of the "parent support" team. I would actually have four little girls in my care.

I was given a list of their names. Clearly, their parents had spent nine months coming up with unique names that were multisyllabic and pronounced differently than they were spelled.

I found that out quickly as I called out their names from my list so that I could stick nametags on them. I was corrected instantly and fearlessly, with looks of doubt about this person who would be their leader.

Before I could begin to associate names with bright little faces, they put on jackets over their nametags and started out the door toward the bus. They had done this many times before. I was a rookie being initiated.

I raced after them as they went speeding down the hall. I called out the names on my list and watched carefully to see who looked back over her shoulder. I caught up with them as they stood in line waiting to board the bus.

My granddaughter sat with two of the little girls, leaving me to sit with the fourth one who looked at me like I was the booby prize. "I want to sit by the window," she said, eyeing me sitting by the window.

"Alright," I said cheerfully, thinking this was an opportunity to bond.

She spent the trip asking me how to make numbers like 20,000 by drawing them with finger movements on the back of the bus seat. I thought she was seeking my help and wisdom until she started drawing out numbers and asking me what they were. I have never had my math skills tested by a kindergarten girl.

The field trip, as I learned along the way, was a music concert of children's songs by a family entertainer. In recognition of the French immersion classes in attendance, all the songs were in French, a wonderful language that I do not speak or understand.

I managed to herd the little girls from the bus into the building, down the hall and into the auditorium. It was full of little children, teachers and other parent support. The din from the chirping of hundreds of little voices sounded like a very large flock of birds.

The little girls filed into the back row, as if they knew that was my favourite place to sit. It was actually their favourite place. The only teacher close by sat with her back to them in the next row. My granddaughter was actually a model of good behavior that, unfortunately, had no impact on the two girls sitting by me.

I decided upon a strategy of "containment." As long as they did not bounce too high on their seats, tickle each other too much, talk too loud, make too many faces at each other or muss each other's hair too much, I was fine with it.

The teacher was not impressed. She did not say anything directly to me, but simply passed on the message through her reprimands to the girls as she turned to give them her stern teacher stare.

The performer, in the meantime, was moving through her various routines with a practiced perkiness that wears on you pretty fast. She could have done the show in her sleep to an empty auditorium.

"I want my mother," the little girl next to me said, looking at me with expectant eyes as if I could magically produce her.

"Listen to all the fun music, " I said, yawning.

"When is it over?" she asked.

"Soon," I said hopefully.

"I'm bored," she said.

I nodded. "I know," I said.

When as last, the performer bid us farewell, the little girls and I, along with an auditorium full of children, spilled out of the building and headed for the line-up of buses. I managed to keep up with the little girls and follow them into our bus where they scattered into four different seats. I was fine with that. They were contained.

My granddaughter sat in the front seat behind the driver. She patted the seat so I naturally thought she wanted me to sit by her. She waved me off and said that her teacher, just behind me, would be sitting there. So I got a seat all to myself on the other side. I sat by the window.

We arrived back at the school in time for dismissal. The teacher sitting near us in the auditorium saw me about to leave the building.

"Thank you for your help," she said politely.

"Oh, it was nothing," I replied.

She nodded.