Plant Life
by Sue Granzella
In life
science, I had been teaching my third-graders
about seed dispersal. They’d learned about
seeds carried on the wind, and by sticking to
animal fur. I’d read to them about seeds
that float on water, and plants with seeds
embedded inside tasty fruits that tempt animals.
One rainy day, the class traipsed in from recess,
following me to the rug. Once they were seated
before me, I was dismayed to see a large smudge
of mud on the carpet. Irritated that the children
had still not learned to wipe their shoes before
entering the room, I set down my book and adopted
my stern-teacher face.
“It’s December,” I
scolded. “This is our room,
so we all must keep it clean.
You still can’t wipe your shoes? Now the rug
is muddy.”
They hung their heads; a few checked the bottoms
of their shoes. When they looked repentant enough,
I picked up my book, ready to read it to them.
Then I noticed a golden-brown smear of mud on top
of my sneaker. How did it get on the TOP?
Suspicious, I examined the bottom of my other
shoe, spotting the same tell-tale color. I
slipped off both shoes, and tiptoed to the trash
can. As the kids chattered back at the rug, I
sniffed the mud-clump.
Uh-oh.
I returned, announcing: “The good news
is that it wasn’t you. It was me. I’m
sorry. The bad news is –
it’s not mud.”
I watched their faces as truth slowly dawned. For
those not as quick, I pointed to my shoe, holding
my nose.
“NOOOOO! It’s poop! IT’S POOP!” They
squealed and screamed, plugging their noses and
laughing hysterically.
All, that is, except Carlos.
Very soberly, that attentive, science-minded
child said, “I think we should plant it and
see if anything grows.”
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