DAY THREE

So I want them to give back to me the names of Andrew, Simon, James and John. I had JUST read the calling of the first disciples story... not even 8 minutes before. "Andrew" is the first name tossed out -- a fine start that soon fizzles.
"OK! Anybody remember the OTHER men's names from our story?" I ask.
Twelve hands go up. I bravely call on the most spastic (you know, the kid who shakes his palm and says "ooh! ohh!" while squirming in his/her seat). She has ABSOLUTELY nothing to say after I speak her name. I call on a second waving hand, arm propped up by the owner's other hand while the head engages in conversation with a neighbor.
"Who, me? I don't know."
Hmm... then perhaps waving wasn't your best course of action. A third volunteer, then.
"GOD!"
"Well, not exactly," I say. "I want the human names."
One more child cannot contain himself. He is bouncing and contorting in his chair and possibly having a hernia waiting on me to say his name. Before I can get out one syllable, he bursts.
"BRUCE!"

Oh, Lordy! The children are brain damaged! (Do real teachers think this way? I love them and all, but these are NOT. HARD. QUESTIONS!)

As the day continues, the answers get a better and we begin to generate a list of 5 humans (Zebedee included) without any grave pronouncements and/or charades from me (I acted like a bumble bee and posed as the letter D to get that first group to say "Zebedee.") Funny stuff continues to come out, however.

Me: "You're just missing one name! It starts with a J. Anybody got it?"
Lanky, Tanned Girl: "Um... Is it in Spanish or English? Cause the most common names in Spanish are Juan and Jesus. It could DEFINITELY be one of those."

Me: "The dad of James and John. Who was he?"
(Random cachaphony of sounds... none exactly recognizable.)
Biggest Blondest Kid: "I KNOW! I KNOW! ZAZURUS!"
Me: "That was yesterday. And his name was Lazurus."
Blond Kid: "OK, tell us what it rhymes with today."
Me (too tired to resist): "Leb-e-dee."
BK: "Ooh! Ooh! JEBEDEE!"

Oh, children. Take your pixie sticks and MOVE ALONG. (This attitude sneaks into my head more and more towards the end. I want to be kind to them, to interact with them, to be patient with them. In 30-minute intervals. No more. Then I want them to MOVE ALONG. And, sometimes -- when six of them fold their bodies into the tiny, rectangular cubbies nailed to the wall, when they scuffle at the sink and send sprays of soapy water across the littlest, shriekingest girls, when they play the off-limits piano and when they pretend to WATER SKI with their feet on the paper towels I gave them as napkins, I want them to MOVE-FREAKIN'-ALONG. NOW!)

As always, however, they yank on my heart with the tiniest of tugs.

David of the no-sugar rule has been moved into his brother's group, and he duly hands over his LifeSavers to Stephen as they walk out my door. (Precious brown-eyed people -- they're actually two of three, those boys. TRIPLETS! In our very midst. I have their sister, Amanda, in my Red Hot Chili Peppers group and never noticed that they look that much alike. Stephen later tells me that his mom gets easily confused about their names. "She calls my sister by my name. But that's cause my sister sounds like a boy. Just listen to her! Oh, and she calls David by the dog's name." "That's OK," I tell him. "Your mother has three children so she's allowed. Besides, Indiana was the dog's name!")

Kendall's mom brings him late and asks, nervously while hovering by the door, "Is it OK if he stays? I understand if he can't. I can take him...." I am so confused until I realize she thinks we might be punitive here at the FCC VBS, punishing the kid for arriving at 9:30 instead of 8. "Of course he can stay!" I say. "What would a day at Fiesta be without our Kendall!?" Geez! It's BIBLE school, not Boot Camp. Makes me wonder what kind of thoughtless treatment this woman has received elsewhere. (Or, hey, maybe she's just really, really polite. Anything could be. Again, I shouldn't judge.)

Daniel and Isaiah are making a bit too much noise at the back table, so I head over to shush them. Their heads are leaning in towards each other as they hold up index fingers and try to chant in whispers, accentuating every first and fourth syllable with a little stomp on the stainless steel shelf under their workstation.
"God's NUMBER ONE! Who's NUMBER ONE? ...GOD'S NUMBER ONE!"
"Wow, boys, you're ... chanting! I sure like your enthusiasm. Please don't stomp my tables, but carry on, I guess!"
D: "Say it with us, Ms. Ginger! We'll teach you, because we made that up BY OURSELVES."
Me: "Well.. Way to go!"
I: "Do we get more candy for our cheer?"
Uh-huh. I have officially created a monster.

For all the other great moments, Justin is clearly my catch of the day. Cute, cute, crazy rowdy Justin. I went to Six Flags with a group of kids including Justin last year, and I learned his name when I had to yell at him before we got through the parking lot. "JUSTIN! Don't climb the fence!" Later, it was: "JUSTIN! OUT OF THAT TREE." His name became a kind of shrill, strangled cry on my tongue. "JUSTIN!!" But, then, today, I asked him about fishing. And Justin knows ALL about fishing.
Oh, how his blue eyes shined when I asked him if he catches and releases. Oh, and he once caught a baby shark down at the Gulf. And, of course, he loads his own hooks when he uses live bait.
What a cute, earnest kid as soon as he engages in the material! Disciples, schmiples... but Justin loves to talk about fishing! Maybe, for today, it's enough that he's a fisher of fish. Because who knows? In God's time, Justin might very well become a fisher of men.