Time Traveling

I'm once again coaching Cassie's Odyssey of the Mind team team.  This is a competitive activity in which teams come up with creative solutions to given problems.  Our team is creating a drama about a group of school kids who do good deeds.  The kids must write, edit and memorize a script; design and paint scenery and props; and make costumes.  A key component of the Odyssey program is the requirement that the children do everything themselves.  Adults may teach them how to sew, use power tools, paint, etc.  But, the actual work for the competition must be done by the kids.

You're probably thinking I'm crazy for giving up my almost, non-existent free time to be a coach.  Actually, I don't have any free time, unless sleeping counts.  And, the state of my sanity has crossed my own mind multple times.  But, if you read on, you'll come to understand why I'm happy to be a part of Odyssey.

Teamwork is central to success in Odyssey so we begin our sessions by sitting in a circle and socializing.   The kids talk about home and school.  They tell me about arguments they have had with their siblings and about teachers who they think act inappropriately.  The kids have tried to define "fairness" in the context of school.  They have discussed life and death and asked me questions about heaven.  I love these moments, when the kids are sharing their innermost ramblings with me, unhindered by email or texts.  Early in our Odyssey journey, the kids spent a lot of time discussing the feasibility of time travel. It wasn't surprising that time traveling became the basis of their storyline.   


We have only five weeks left before the competition, so we've begun meeting twice a week.  I've started thinking about time traveling, wondering if we could go back in time a little, to give us more time to prepare.  On Thursday, five team members came home with Cassie after school - four boys and one girl.  As the kids wolfed down a snack, we discussed our goals for the afternoon: to continue editing the script, paint primer on the cardboard scenery, and work on costumes.  The girls settled in with the costumes, quietly chatting with soft music in the background. 


I took the boys out to the driveway to paint, where the flattened refrigerator box awaited them.  We removed jackets and tied plastic bags over shoes.  


"Start in the center, " I advised, "so that you don't paint yourselves in."  Yes, I know that I'm not supposed to help them.  But, as the coach, it's my job to keep them safe.


"Whoa!  I've got paint on my shoes!" yelled one child.  I grabbed his shoes and headed for the kitchen sink.

"Hey! Watch out!" yelled another boy as airborne paint went flying.  I  ran faster.


"Look," yelled someone, "He's got paint on his jacket!"


"Now how did that happen?" I queried.  "Never mind.  Give me your jacket."  I leapt out of the way of more flying paint as I made my way back to the kitchen sink.


We decided to let one coat dry and work on the script.  We made progress amidst stories of farts and belches.  I then decided to leave two boys writing and let only two apply the second coat of paint. 


"Well, we're supposed to be genius kids," began one, "So, how would we react at the beginning of Scene Two?"


"Well," said the other child, "We'd either be super excited that our time machine actually worked. Or, we'd be worrying that our parents would be missing us."  


I got outside just in time to hear one boy yell, "Look!  He's painting your neighbor's grass."  As I went to round up the two boys, another came outside yelling, "Mrs. Minihan!  Come quick!!  My friend got his arms stuck in the rungs of the chair!!"  Right about now I started thinking about time traveling again, wondering if this time I could maybe make the clock go a little faster.

The girls took a break from the costumes and squeezed in around the table with the boys to continue working on the script.  "The humor in our dialog is really good," began one girl.  "But, we need to be careful that sarcasm doesn't detract from our storyline.  You know, we're supposed to be kids who care about helping other people."

"Yes.  We really need to clean up the dialog," added the other girl.  "Did anyone notice how many times we've used the word 'well?'"

I left the room to clean up the fabric scraps left behind by the young seamstresses.  When I returned, the kids were going through my recycling bin.  Within minutes, they had used trash to create a "pet" for the homeless hobo who appears in Scene Three.  And, so, we continued until parents began arriving and the children reluctantly left their masterpiece in progress.

"Mrs. Minihan," asked one.  "Do you think we could get together over the summer and create a sequel?"

"We'll see."  I promised.

Now, I'm scrubbing paint off my shoes and surveying my house.  The kitchen table is covered with pencils, erasers, and scripts. The table has been pushed aside to make space for piles of fabric, lace and ribbons.  There is a six-foot tall stack of boxes leaning against the front closet and about three dozen bottles of acryllic paint are sitting nearby.  The beginnings of a time machine are in the living room.  There is glitter embedded in the floor of every room of the house.   As I scrub away, I realize that I've come to believe in time traveling.  The future sits around my table every week, laughing, creating, negotiating and dreaming.   How lucky I am to be a part of it all.

"Ms. Mittens"