The Happy Cluckers Are Named

nourishncherish

May 31

I pinned the Volunteer badge proudly to my chest and walked into the son's classroom. There, on the board, was a list. The teacher was busy adding to the list and I was flummoxed. There was no categorization. I mean this was not a grocery list, not an author list, not a mailing list, it didn't look like ice cream flavors either. This list had no theme.

A sample:

Caramel
King Cluck III
Nathan Drake
Westerpoolch
McFlurry
Lee

I must've looked quizzical, for the moment the teacher saw me, she said somewhat sheepishly. "Well, we are coming with a list of names for the chicks in Science class. Say what you will about my job, it is never dull!"

I laughed agreeing heartily. The son had told me about the chicks they were raising in Science class. I just hadn't realized all the background work that went into raising them.

I have the greatest admiration for teachers as regular readers know: their job is the hardest (but also the most gratifying as the father likes to remind me. He was a teacher for 40 years and is still happy to teach when he can.)

Once the class had settled down, I set about reading a story I had written : Father's Day in the Jungle, followed by an article Space Racers - Together the Fun Begins, and the saying on the Pale Blue Dot by Carl Sagan.

The children were a marvelous audience as usual. They were curious, wanted to know about how we got the images of our planet, and how it came to be called the Pale Blue Dot. There is always a moment of awe as I imagine the Voyager II spacecraft turning around just before exiting the solar system to take that picture of Earth - the picture immortalized in Carl Sagan's words as the Pale Blue Dot. I hope a little of that awe was captured by the children in class that day.

The innocence, intelligence and joy in an elementary school classroom was more keenly acute this time so close on the heels of another meaningless gun shooting incident in America.

I am always grateful to the children's teachers who allow me to come and read to the children, for the experience is extremely satisfying, and the energy of the young children is like a tonic of sorts.

That evening, I asked the son whether the chicks had names yet, and he said happily. "Yeah! The voting was intense. But Caramel and Westerpoolch are happy cluck-ers ma!"

I was reminded of Miss Read in the book, Emily Davis:

"Life went on. No matter what happened, life went on, inexorably, callously, it might seem, to those in grief. But somehow, in this continuity, there were the seeds of comfort."

Miss Read, Emily Davis

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