He called me a tattletale!

     I chose junior high education due to my experiences as a bus driver. In the early days, before I got a route of my own, I was a pool driver-waiting in the break room each morning to cover absences. With 100 drivers based out of my transportation hub, there was always someone out, so I got to cover all three types of school. Elementary. Junior high. High school. Although I enjoyed both my elementary and high school passengers, it was junior high students that proved to be my tribe.

    

    But elementary students were mighty entertaining.

     One of my most entertaining students was also one of my youngest and smallest. His initials were CJ, which was what he preferred to be called. A kindergartner in 2013. And a typical kindergartner, energetic and emotional and impulsive. 

    His seatmate and best friend was my most mature kindergartner, maybe the most mature kindergarter I have ever known. He spoke three languages, had hundreds of followers on social media where he created videos about robotics, and knew the Latin names of all the dinosaurs. His name was Aiden, and he is probably in a premed or pre-engineering program at Harvard right now. Not exaggerating.

    So these two were seatmates and fast friends. A normal high-energy little kid, and a middle-aged professor hidden in a 6-year-old body. They got along despite obvious differences. Usually.

    

    Until the day that Aiden brought a new dinosaur book on the bus. A coffee-table book, full color with glossy illustrations and crammed with scholarly articles on the differences between saurischians and  

ornithischians. All in tiny 8-point font. Aiden, of course, was studying it in silence, head bowed close to the page as we jumbled over the bumps on Westheimer Parkway.

    I guess CJ had been asking to see the new book and was frustrated at being told no, because he finally appealed to me in frustration: "Mr. Barber, Aiden won't let me look at his book."

    Well, I know that sharing is a big big lesson taught in kindergarten, but enshrined in our Constitution is the right to property. So, as kindly as I could, I explained to CJ that Aiden did not have to share his book with anyone, but maybe he would later, given enough time to look at it himself. 

    There was some hasty conversation between the two, with a sharp comment from Aiden at the end of it. Consideration from CJ, then another appeal to my authority as el Capitan of the Bus. 

    "Mr. Barber, Aiden said I'm a tattletale."

    Well, that is a fine kettle of fish to intervene in. Encourage kids to protect their rights by speaking up. But also leading them to realize that there is a difference between protecting those rights and--well, tattling. Snitching. 

    This is one of the challenges of teaching elementary kids, teaching them about tattling while also making sure they speak up when appropiate. By junior high, most kids have learned the difference. 

    So how was I to negotiate this minefield between two fast friends? Respect feelings but also acknowledge that this report was not covered under safety or fairness?

    CJ solved this problem for me, thankfully. His next question, as I threaded the bus between parked cars, came while I composed a considered and scientific reponse.

    "Mr. Barber, what is a tattletale?"

       

    A snort from Aiden, nose still in an ankylosaurus' thagomizer (credit to Gary Larson, there). 

    Ahh, here was an escape. If I spent enough time sociologically and philosophically defining the unknown term, maybe I could blunt the impact on CJ's feelings. So I explained at length the most accepted definition of the word

    

    someone who tells a teacher or parent that someone else has done something bad, in order to get them in trouble

    For a few moments, silence. Educators call this processing time. Not the time it takes to return your passport, but the time it takes a student to understand the nuances of newly presented information and internalize it. Fit it in with other facts.

    Maybe 30 seconds later, CJ erupted into a forlorn wail. Gouts of hot tears on his cheeks, face red and flushed. 

    "Mr. Barber, I AM a tattletale!" This moaned in agony of self-realization. Never an overly sensitive student, CJ now proved himself to be keenly aware. And miserable.

    Well, although I had to keep my eyes firmly on the road as I kept from breaking out in laughter, his outburst had a happy outcome. Aiden raised his face from his obsession, shoved the book over with a grunt, and turned his face resignedly to the window. CJ wiped ribbons of snot from wet cheeks with the back of his hand and forgot his emotional torment in the mysteries of the sauropods. 

    And I was thankful that I was spared a big discussion about whether or not it is the right thing to do to tell on someone. At their best, kids are good about making their own decisions about their behavior.