I've Created a Monster...

I've got a little student named Roberto. It's so fun to roll off of your tongue--Rob-errrrr-to. His mother says that she also calls him Robert and we could too. But how much fun is Rob-ert when you can say Rob-errrrr-to? Little Roberto lives in a small world all his own where the planet rotates at quicker speeds. Like an insect who has a short life span, he seems to pack twice as much into every moment as his purely-human counterparts. Try to grab him and his smooth, 2 year-old skin slips right out of you hands. And getting him to sit in a chair for more than 2 minutes at a time? Good Luck. (We used to have trouble with 30 seconds at a time and we are very proud of the improvement!). If you want me to be simple about it, he's hyperactive like a hummingbird in Pampers.

Roberto's speech is also improving by leaps and bounds, which often happens when children get exposed to other children and to the learning environment. He now wants to know the word for everything--in English as he also speaks Spanish at home. When he asks, over and over, this question comes out as "Whadat? Whadat?" I don't think the boy has enough time to put a space between his words.

"Whadat?"
"It's a fish."
"Ish. Whadat?"
"A Seahorse."
"Orse. Whadat?"
"The wall, Roberto. It's the wall."

My epiphany yesterday, however, was that I was the person who taught him this. O yes, it was me. Mea culpa. I must say sorry especially to his mother, who must deal with this anomoly daily, and to ear drums everywhere. When I lead the academic portion of the day, which we call "circle time" (yes, yes, you can laugh), I often pose that question to the kids. It is very important to involve the kids in the books you are reading, for one, and also to have them identify shapes, colors, etc. with their own words. So I often point to Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? and say, "What's this? A bear. A brown bear." I often grab my cardboard circle, triangle, square, etc and hold it up, call on a child, and ask them to identify it by saying, what else, "What's this?"

Little Roberto. Little, fast-paced, hummingbird of boy. I wonder how long it would take, or if it is even possible, to teach you to say, "Excuse me, teacher, but could you explain to me what this object is? I would appreciate it." But I don't even think that I could say that many words to the boy, in a row, to teach him without at least one interuption of "Whadat? Whadat?"

"Whadat?"
"It's a tree, Roberto."
"Tree. Whadat?"
"That's your friend, Natalia."
"Talyah. Whadat?"
"Yo no sey, miho. Por favor, no mas!" says Teacher Gnomey in her halting, white girl Spanish.