by Shane Dunphy
‘I’m not going to do that,’ Tristan said.
‘Why the hell not?’ I asked. ‘I’m handing you my resignation!’
‘And I’m not accepting it,’ Tristan said. ‘You’re finding the job much tougher than you expected. You’ve discovered that working alongside Lonnie and seeing him flourish and spread his wings is difficult too. Drumlin offers a protective bubble – the challenges of running a busy crèche can magnify existing problems.’
‘That’s for bloody sure,’ I said sulkily.
‘And have you considered that your jealousy or resentment is not necessarily just because Lonnie’s doing well but because others are seeing him as you have – as a person – and you’re protective of that? You and Lonnie have a bond. Sometimes it’s intrusive to let other people in on that.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Maybe.’
Tristan nodded sagely. ‘Go into work today,’ he said. ‘I know you have plenty of ideas as to how you can sort out the issues in Little Scamps. Put a couple into action. Be proactive.’
‘I’ve tried to be. I’m just alienating the staff and driving the kids to distraction.’
‘Grow up, Shane,’ Tristan said. ‘Talk to your people. Ask them, don’t tell them. If something you’ve tried doesn’t work, adjust your technique. Look to the individual needs of the children, then try to respond to them. Come on, man, you’ve been doing this work a long time. You’re getting a bit long in the tooth to be throwing temper tantrums.’
‘Well, thanks for your sensitivity and understanding,’ I said.
‘Shane, I am very, very fond of you,’ Tristan said, grabbing me in a bear hug. ‘But sometimes, you can get just a little caught up in navel-gazing.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I think.’
19
I arrived at the crèche early and spent an hour rearranging furniture in the main playroom. Everything had been taken out to facilitate the painting project, and for the past two days we had lived in the kitchen and the outdoor area. Now I felt we needed somewhere as a central operating point again. Anyway, we didn’t require quite so much space to work on the murals – they didn’t pose such a risk of paint-splatter and spillage.
On my way to work I had stopped at a twenty-four-hour supermarket and bought a couple of boxes of good breakfast cereal, some bread and a few cartons of juice. I also picked up some card, sticky tape and markers. I was ready for the day, and felt slightly better about myself – at least I was being proactive.
I explained my plans to Susan, Tush and Lonnie when they arrived, and they all agreed to give my ideas a go. While yesterday’s débâcle had presented us with some challenges, they were not so great we hadn’t been able to deal with them – Susan said I deserved a chance to redeem myself. And, of course, my latest scheme posed no threat to life or limb.
When the bus pulled up outside, the tables had been set for breakfast. A large brightly coloured box with a slot in the top and a pile of brightly coloured cards sat in the middle among the plates of toast and jars of jam and marmalade.
The kids stood in their tight cluster when they came in, faced for the third day running with a major change. We had discussed as a staff group that we could not keep presenting them with such overwhelming upheavals – the stress would do more harm than good. I assured my colleagues that this would be the last. And I had a very good reason for it, anyway.
‘Tammy gets no lunch, other than the one we provide,’ I said, ‘and she’s not getting breakfast either. That means the first food she’s consuming every day is around twelve thirty in the afternoon. How can we possibly expect her to learn anything when she doesn’t know where the next meal is going to come from?’
‘She knows we’ll feed her,’ Tush said. ‘We always do.’
‘Have you ever talked to her about it?’ I asked. ‘Reassured her?’
‘No. I didn’t want to embarrass her or anything.’
‘I know you didn’t,’ I said. ‘Look, you’ve been doing a great job – the food you’re giving the child is probably what’s keeping her going. I just think we need to formalize it a little. And it’s not just Tammy who has problems with food.’
‘Rufus,’ Susan said. ‘He steals food from the other kids now and again. And I know he comes in hungry a lot. Particularly on Mondays.’
‘Then there’s Mitzi,’ Lonnie said. ‘Although her difficulties with food are of a slightly different nature.’
I nodded.
‘There’s something to be said for teaching her a little bit about sharing,’ Tush said.
‘This could turn into an all-out massacre,’ Lonnie said, looking at the laden table. ‘Mitzi seems to feel it’s her duty to cram as much into herself as she possibly can in as short a time as is humanly possible. And God help anyone who gets in the way.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘But Tammy and Rufus have a right not to be hungry. I don’t think it’s fair to single them out, and the only way to prevent that is to extend breakfast to everyone, regardless. I have no doubt in my mind that Mitzi eats a hearty meal before she gets on the bus in the morning, and in a way we’re only compounding her obesity by presenting her with more food. But I don’t know how to get around that, just now. Maybe we could think about it, and see if we can’t come up with some ideas.’
We shepherded the children to the table and sat them down.
‘From now on, we’re going to start the day with breakfast,’ Susan said. ‘And while we eat, we’ll have a chat about any news we have, about what we’re going to do during the day, and anything else anyone would like to talk about.’
‘Mealtime is all about coming together, talking and sharing,’ Lonnie said. ‘So – who would like cereal?’
To my delight the children took to the idea enthusiastically. Soon we were all happily eating, there was an easy hum of conversation, nobody was punching or puking on anyone else and I waited for somebody to notice the second part of my plan. It didn’t take long. Gus, his mouth full of cornflakes, suddenly pointed with his spoon at the gaudily decorated cardboard box with its accompanying cards.
‘What’s dat ting dere?’
‘Ah, that’s something very special,’ I said, winking at him. ‘I think you’re going to like it.’
‘Whassit for?’ Ross asked, standing up and jabbing at the item with a crutch, thumping Tammy’s head accidentally as he did so.
‘Let Shane explain,’ Susan said, carefully manoeuvring Ross’s appendage back down and shushing Tammy, who was looking at her unwitting attacker with balled fists.
‘All right, then,’ I said. ‘Everyone needs to listen to this because it affects all of you. That box is what I call a “Kindness Box”.’
‘A what?’ Milandra said. ‘That sure sounds like a goddam stupid pussy box to me!’
‘What does it do?’ Gilbert asked. ‘Is it a magic box?’
‘Maybe there is kindness inside it,’ Mitzi said, as Tush wrestled a jar of jam from her hand – she had been scooping the contents out with her fingers and noisily sucking them clean.
‘Mitzi’s sort of right,’ I said. ‘There will be kindness inside it, and we are going to put it there.’
That caused some bewilderment, which was expressed in the children’s chatter: what could Shane possibly mean? Could something like kindness be put in a cardboard box? I decided that the subject was worth exploring, so I raised my hand.
‘All right, all right,’ I called, trying to be heard above the din. ‘One person at a time, please. I want to hear what everybody has to say.’
Despite my best efforts, this caused an even greater clamour, as every child in the group (even those who were technically non-verbal) strove to be the first person to speak. I was at a complete loss as to how to get any kind of control without resorting to all-out shouting. Once again, Lonnie rescued me. He had come prepared, and as the group descended into its by now familiar chaos, he produced an old metal tray from beneath the table and struck it with a spoon. It made a fine old noise. Every
mouth in the room closed, and every head in the room turned to look at him.
Lonnie stopped. ‘When everyone talks together, that’s sort of what it sounds like to me,’ he said, giving another couple of raps on the tray. Arga put her hands over her ears. ‘It’s not a nice sound, is it, Arga?’ Lonnie asked, rolling her r perfectly. ‘I bet you don’t like it either, Jeff, do you?’ Jeffrey shook his head. ‘I think it would be much kinder to everyone if I didn’t make this sound again. Wouldn’t you all say?’ Nods came from almost all quarters. Milandra and Mitzi were the two withholders of agreement. I wondered if they actually enjoyed discord so much that they had liked Lonnie’s clanging. Lonnie, however, chose to ignore them and talk to the rest of the gang. ‘If you think about it, isn’t it so much better if we take it in turns to talk? Then everyone gets heard and understood.’
There were murmurs of agreement.
‘Thank you, Lonnie,’ I said. ‘Now, I think Mitzi was speaking.’
‘Yes, you should all listen to me, children,’ Mitzi gushed.
‘What did you want to say about the Kindness Box?’ Tush said.
‘I think it’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘I could go and take kindness any time I wanted. All for me.’
‘But can you put kindness in a box like that?’ Susan asked.
Rufus put his hand up timidly.
‘Go ahead, Ru.’ She nodded at him.
‘Kindness is doing something nice for somebody else,’ he said. ‘Like having a nice breakfast for us when we come in. That’s kind.’
I’m not ashamed to admit that I felt a warm glow. It’s one of the things I love about child- and social-care work: just when you think you’ve messed up badly, something small happens to lift you off the ground again. That morning, I needed all the back-patting I could get.
‘Yes, it is,’ Susan said, smiling at me. ‘So, how do you think we might put something like that in the box?’
‘Maybe ideas of how we could be kind to one another,’ Ross said.
‘Mmm,’ Lonnie agreed. ‘But see, if I told you how to be kind to me, gave you ideas for things I liked – well, is that as good as when you think things up yourself?’
Arga whispered something to Lonnie, who listened carefully and nodded.
‘Arga says that being kind is when you do something for someone else without being asked to do it,’ he shared with the group.
‘Will I tell you how the Kindness Box works?’ I asked everyone.
I’d stolen the idea wholesale from another childcare worker and writer, the brilliant Torey Hayden. I have adapted it a little bit to suit Irish children (Torey was working in America when she invented the concept), but the principle is exactly the same.
‘Here’s the deal,’ I said. ‘I’m going to be watching very carefully from now on to see how kind you all are to each other. Every time I see somebody doing something kind for another person, I’m going to write down what I see and put it in this box. But I know that you’re all very kind people, and there will be lots and lots of kind things going on, so I’m going to need your help. If you see one of the group being kind, I want you to come and tell me or Lonnie or Sue or Tush. I know some of you can write a little, and if you want to write down what you see, well, you do that and put it in the box, or if you need help, any of us will give you a hand to write down your little bit of kindness.’
‘We’re going to fill this old box right up with kindness,’ Tush added.
‘Every day we’ll open the box before we go home and see what’s in there,’ I said. ‘Every person who has some kindness in the box gets a prize.’
‘Yeah!’
‘Cool!’
‘I’m gonna put loads of things in that box!’
Expressions of excitement and approval abounded. I held up my hand again. The chatter continued. Lonnie picked up the tray. Silence. He didn’t even have to hit it.
‘Very good,’ I said. ‘Now, I’m really pleased you like the idea of the Kindness Box, but there’s just one rule and it’s an important one.’
All faces were rapt and attentive. I couldn’t help smiling. The box was working its magic already, and not one single message had been put in there yet.
‘The rule is this,’ I said. ‘No one can put in an act of kindness they did themselves.’
‘What?’ Gus asked, puzzled.
‘You can only put in kind things other people did,’ Lonnie clarified.
There were moans and groans from one end of the table to the other.
‘That’s the rule,’ I said. ‘The thing is, everyone is going to have to be really kind to their friends to make sure they get into the box.’
‘Yeah,’ Ross grumbled. ‘Now I’m gonna have to be really nice to everyone.’
After the previous day’s disastrous events, I was fascinated to see how this new development would work. I hoped we had hit on something that would harness the spirit I knew these youngsters had buried deep inside – and that maybe some of that kindness might infect me, too.
20
At three o’clock that afternoon I was in the office sifting through a mountain of notes the staff, and indeed some of the children, had written and placed in the Kindness Box – Tush had started referring to it midway through the morning as ‘the KB’ and it had stuck. I was utterly amazed at what had happened in Little Scamps that day. The box had proved powerful when I’d used it previously, but I’d held out no great hope for these children. I figured it might keep them going for perhaps a morning before they got bored and returned to all-out aggression. I had suspected some of them might behave themselves when one of the adults was close by, but continue their reign of terror when they thought no one was looking.
To my absolute shock, none of these things occurred. Instead, almost all of the kids went out of their way to outdo one another in acts of generosity, thoughtfulness and decency. I picked up a page at random. Written in Lonnie’s precise hand I read: Rufus, when he put his fire engine away so Ross didn’t trip on it – Gus. I picked up another. I saw Tammy give the football to Julie so she could have a turn – Arga. Another: Jeffrey could have catched Milandra when we was playing chase, but he letted her go so she could still play. It went on and on. There were at least forty messages. Things had gone off without a hitch. Almost.
For it to work, every child had to be represented in the KB, but this had been a far more challenging proposal than any of us had suspected. While kind acts were coming at Tush, Susan, Lonnie and me thick and fast, there were two individuals who doggedly refused to participate in all this unexpected goodwill: Milandra and Mitzi.
Milandra wasted no time in declaring to all and sundry that she was not going to be kind to no girly-arsed kids, and no one had better try being nice to her either so they could get some shitty prize. This did not dissuade her compatriots, as the notes had shown (although I did wonder if Jeffrey had decided not to catch her out of fear rather than any desire to do her a good turn), and I’d had to be extremely observant to spot any actions that might be suitable for entry in the KB. In the end, I settled on: Milandra went a whole ten minutes without saying a rude word. In fact, it was closer to eight, but I didn’t think rounding the figure up would do any harm.
Mitzi proved even more difficult. She had no argument with kindness in general, but believed all such activity should be directed in her favour – she had no intention of doing anything that benefited anyone else. This meant that her food snatching, sneak bullying and all-round nastiness continued unabated, accompanied, as usual, with a cloying smile. Sporadic monitoring throughout the day produced not one eye-witness account of her doing anything that came within an ass’s roar of basic human courtesy, let alone kindness. Hers was the only name not in the box. I picked up a blank card and a pen. I had to put something in that identified (and, hopefully, encouraged) some kindness in Mitzi. I chewed the end of the Biro, watching her through the glass window. She was sitting at the very far end of the room, an old teddy bear lying face down across her knees
. Everyone else was at the table, drawing pictures of Peter Rabbit, to be copied on to the wall in mural form. Mitzi had refused to join them, looking for someone to carry her over – a demand that was ignored. As I watched, she picked up the bear, looked at it with a dour expression, then gripped it firmly around the neck, clearly intending to rip its head off.
I knew from watching the children play that this worthy old bear was a particular favourite. Other toys had been torn, smashed or mangled but it had somehow been spared the worst viciousness. My heart dropped as Mitzi considered her act of butchery. A toy that managed to be so loved in a place like Little Scamps deserved better.
We sat there, Mitzi and I, she at one end of the room, me at the other, each locked in our private deliberations. Finally, as if she simply decided it wasn’t worth it, Mitzi tossed the bear aside, a look of disgust on her face, and began to pick her nose. Laughing to myself, I took up my pen again: Mitzi: for deciding not to tear Old Man Bear’s head off.
I didn’t know if this was a true act of kindness or an expression of laziness. And for once I didn’t care.
It wasn’t all sweetness and light that day. Mitzi’s desire to continue with her ill will seemed, at some points, almost like a vendetta, and even the children tired of it. I came into the entrance hall, a short passageway between the front door and the main activity room, at around eleven thirty to find Tammy sitting on the floor, Gilbert wrapped in her arms, sobbing loudly.
‘Hey, what happened?’ I asked, kneeling down beside them.
Tammy, of course, was silent. Gilbert finally blurted out: ‘Mitzi hurted me.’
I could see livid marks on his arm, the imprint of someone’s teeth. Mitzi, I knew, was an inveterate biter. ‘Okay, champ,’ I said, rubbing his back. ‘I think you’ll survive. It was a very mean thing to do, though, wasn’t it?’
Tammy continued to cuddle him, and when they finally returned to the group, she watched Mitzi very closely.