i try to spend lunchtime with bella and alex once a week. alex has lunch first. then recess. then bella has lunch. and then her recess. how they are spaced out is kind of lucky for me in that i get to visit with each of them separately but it does make for a pretty long lunch routine, even for me.

depending on the weather and my clothes and how much time before i need to be back at work, we may play ogre at the recess. ogre essentially consists of me chasing forty plus kids around the playground for twenty minutes while they dash and dart and scream wildly knocking into playground equipment, each other and me. the game's end is marked by a loud hand-held whistle blown by a recess attendant. this sends the kids dutifully racing to a numbered paw print painted on the ground to line up for their return to class. the rapidity in which these children switch gears, especially leaving something they're enjoying, is impressive. i slowly amble over to the head of the line and wait for them to begin the march back inside. as they pass i give them high-fives thanking them for playing ogre and telling them to do good in class. they eagerly ask if i'll be back tomorrow and that i didn't tag them and i'm too slow and they're too smart. i laughingly tell them that i can't play tomorrow but will try to come back next week.

my first few visits to the lunch table each year is met with rabid enthusiasm and intrigue. once the newness wears off, it's as if i'm just another student unexcitedly nibbling at a four-hour old pb and j. recently at bella's table our group experienced multiple bouts of silence, some lasting two or three minutes. full silence among five or six kids and one adult in a raucous cafeteria doesn't happen much, based on my experience, so when something of the like occurs i'm intrigued and i study the faces of each child trying to see what they are thinking. last week, one boy broke the lull by pointing across the table and starting the following conversation.

i've seen isacc cry.

well, i've seen you cry. i've seen amit cry too.

i've seen bella cry. and you. and you.

i've seen george cry, a lot.

uhhm, i haven't seen chris cry, but he's new, but i have seen isaac and bella and amit cry.

after gleefully taking this in and waiting for everyone to go, i interrupted the confessions

so if i'm hearing this correct, it pretty much seems like everyone here has seen everyone else cry, except for chris and that is only because he is new.

the kids looked around and nodded in agreement. what struck me most about the round robin was that there was no agenda at hand. no one was trying to make anyone else feel badly. there was no accusing or mocking tone. it was just a group of children announcing statements of fact. i repeatedly looked at chris the new kid during this confessional. while this discussion bounced around the table chris sat there with long rangy curls of blonde hair, his eyes darting from speaker to speaker. the whole time he had a natural smile which was partially blocked by the sandwich triangle he was holding with both hands just in front of his mouth. his smile was so easy, so natural, it seemed like there was nowhere he'd rather be. and as i took stock of his mood and the quirky community i was in the midst of, if asked, i think i may have agreed with his sentiment.