Confessions of an Old-School Kindergarten Teacher - Number 3

At first I was revolted. As an assistant, I'd watch a teacher dole out Skittles or Gummy Bears or Starburst to reward a small student for finishing an assignment. The delirious child would munch away on a sugar-high while the teacher slipped herself a sweet snack or two--all at 9:30 in the morning! In covert disgust, I'd wonder how an adult educator could sleep at night knowing she'd indulged in kid candy so early in the morning. Any self-respecting grown-up would choose chocolate covered espresso beans, Milano cookies or pita chips--and would do so with her afternoon coffee or La Croix.

Then I took my own kindergarten class. It was hard to instill the desire to finish their phonics page or focus on their computer program or take a simple test. They wrote sloppy and didn't care. They tore books, stuck pencils in perfectly good Pink Pearl erasers, peeled the paper off their crayons and snapped them in half, cut everything including hair with their blunt scissors. They scribbled daily on their desks, under their desks and on the wall by the 'safe spot' where they were often sentenced for misbehaving. They stole from the Friday Treasure Box when I wasn't looking.

It was a disaster. Where was Arnold Schwarzenegger (aka Kindergarten Cop) when I needed him? They ate breakfast over the floor, poured syrup on the table, forgot to wash their hands and didn't flush. (Was I their mother?)

All they cared about was recess, snack time and who was or wasn't their friend for the day. Or whose shoes sparkled most or flashed the brightest LED patterns.

My superiors said it was my job to figure out what would motivate my kids. I had to get them to achieve, come hurricanes or storm surge. My own evaluation and job security depended on it. "Bribe them," they said.

So I stocked up on Goldfish, Cheez-its, Blow Pops and every form of sticky substance that 7-11 sells.  I dangled the coveted treats in front of those wide-eyed 6-year-olds at math time, social studies, reading and rug-time.

For some of them the glucose enticements worked. For others it was sidewalk chalk at recess, a visited from Officer Timmy or Go-Noodle videos.

Teaching was a bit more successful. What I didn't expect was my diffused disdain toward the candy trove. On tired afternoons, I began to eye the bags of Starburst affectionately.

Then one day it happened. The Gummy Bears were talking to me. LOUD! I reached in, took a handful and popped them into my mouth.

How I hate to admit it, but

Confession #3:

I've come to like Gummy Bears  

Photo credit - Amazon.com