This is my students’ raffle prize bin.
You think I’m kidding.
Okay, I am. But only a little.
It started on a lazy Friday afternoon, the time for desk clean-outs, and the room was buzzing with activity:
“Oh there’s my homework… HERE’S MY HOMEWORK!”
“Too late.”
Slumped shoulders, more papers into the overflowing recycle bin.
Gleeful volunteers stomping down on the engorged trash cans.
Messy students working at a snail’s pace, emptying the contents of their desks everywhere. Organized students trying to help them.
Last week’s half-eaten sandwich emerging from the depths.
Lost raffle tickets uncovered: “See, I TOLD YOU I DIDN’T TAKE YOURS! IT’S. RIGHT. THERE.”
“…oh.”
The lemony scent of disinfecting wipes as I walk around inspecting desks. Students nervously showing me their organized desks. “Nope. Loose papers. Take care of them.” Sloppy desk = no wipe. And everybody wants a wipe, for that disgusting but satisfying grey hand print that emerges after a few swipes across the surfaces of their grimy desks. It was just another Friday afternoon.
Finally, the crushing of papers was finished, the books and folders were neatly stacked, and the students sat quietly in their seats, awaiting the next activity. That’s how we rolled. Five minutes left til the weekend, and still these 9-year olds were ready, waiting, expectant. Like they really thought I had more to teach right now. But I liked it that way. I liked that they actually thought I was still going to squeeze focus, attention, and brainpower from them, even now.
I wasn’t. As I picked up the empty tube of wipes, I was trying to decide which short game I would play with them to end the day. Just as I was about to toss it into the garbage can, Kevin* suddenly piped up, “WAIT!!! Are you going to throw that away?!”
“…Yes,” I said, eyebrow raised, “Why? Do you… want it?”
“Uh, sure!” he replied.
Immediately, ten more hands shot up in the air, “I WANT IT! I WANT IT!”
Oh, kids. All it takes is one. The grass is greener. Kids. They can be so silly. But I wanted to see where this would go.
“Whaaaaat?? Are you kidding me?” I said with exaggerated surprise, “Guys. C’mon now. This is my TRASH. I’m about to THROW IT away. What could you possibly want it for?”
More hands flew into the air, straight as flagpoles. They were really getting into this.
“Well, since Kevin asked for MY TRASH first,” I said, “I guess he can have it–”
“Raffle it off!” One kid cried. The others nodded vigorously in agreement.
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. I looked at Kevin. He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, Sure, why not? I mean, we gotta be fair about these things. You know. The giving away of trash.
“You want me to raffle it off?!” I asked slowly, genuinely doubtful, giving my best, You have got to be kidding me-look.
Raffle off my trash? Like it was a prize. I entertained the idea for a second, then laughed at how ridiculous it was. I could see it already. A parent stalking into the room, holding this empty tube of disinfecting wipes, “You tricked my kid into taking THIS home. This is JUNK. How can you call this a RAFFLE PRIZE?!” I would be labelled the cheapest of all cheap teachers. Or maybe it would go the other way– parents would start sending in raffle prizes out of pity that this poor teacher had to resort to sending home garbage.
“Wait, wait. You’re telling me that you would want to trade in one of your hard-earned raffle tickets for this EMPTY–” knock knock, for emphasis, “–cylinder?” (Might as well throw in some math vocabulary while we’re at it, right?).
They nodded gleefully, fully enjoying this round of silliness with me.
“…Why? What are you going to do with it?” I asked, my eyes narrowing with suspicion. Then I looked straight at Kevin, awaiting his answer.
“…I dunno. Recycle it,” he shrugged.
“Huh. So if you won this piece of trash in the raffle, you’d just drop it in the recycle bin. What’s the point of that?”
“Or… I could fill it up with rice and make a shaker. Or I could use it as a drum!” he offered.
I nodded approvingly. These were great ideas! Reduce, reuse, recycle. It was getting through to them.
“Okay,” I started, gesturing to the many raised hands, full of spectacular ideas, “turn to the person next to you and tell them what YOU would want to do with it.”
Ideas flew and the volume grew. They were getting sincerely excited about this, and I could tell it wasn’t a silly joke anymore. They wanted my tube.
The bell rang, so I only chose a couple of students to share their ideas, but it was clear that the precious prize I held was pregnant with potential. In the end, I did end up raffling it off. I can’t remember who got it, but they sure felt like a winner that day. And I was a winner for the rest of the year: every time I had some extra paper scraps, a used-up roll of butcher paper, a bare paper towel tube, a cardboard box, it was offered up as a “random raffle” item. I really pushed my luck at times– leftover dirt from a science lesson? Really?? And yet there were always takers. Students always had the option to decline, and to leave their ticket in the mix for the “real” raffle prizes, but for the most part, these were the most exciting giveaways that happened that year.
For a while, I thought it was just for the fun of saying, “Yah-HUH I DO want your trash!” to a disbelieving teacher.
Then I thought it was just for the joy of winning. Something. Anything. Having your name pulled out of a raffle– that’s always nice, right?
But then I saw that it was also more than a little genuine. When I held up paper towel tubes, they saw tunnels for their pet hamster. Where I saw paper scraps, they saw colorful decorations for Mommy’s birthday card. Shoeboxes became desk organizers, and random containers were decorated and transformed into treasure boxes, housing cool rocks and twigs gathered during recess. Pieces of junk inspired imagination and Pinterest-worthy creativity.
That year, I learned that it is not about the cool toys. I had been getting worked up about buying cool raffle prizes, but through this unexpected event, I saw that, if given the chance, kids can make a treasure out of almost anything. A shell, a rock, a jar. I relished in seeing their imaginations work and was genuinely impressed to see how they transformed simple, everyday rubbish into fun pieces that they displayed proudly on their desks.
I can’t help but wonder what implications this has for my own children. Right now, my daughter’s closet is stocked with toys that will last her for the next two years. I imagine that as birthdays and holidays pass, she’ll get even more. But I wonder if that’s necessary. I guess we’ll see, but I’ve started saving up empty containers and tissue boxes just in case.
*Not his real name.
8 responses to “It’s Not About the Cool Toys”
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you can totally save these – if we had more room, i would save ours! I’ve seen friends use them as building blocks!!
Yah we got the idea when we heard that Wendy’s dad saved them and they played with them as building blocks! Such a good idea!
No one can attest to the “trash is treasure,” more than me. My 5 year old currently has a Costco sized box as a pet bed for his stuffed animals (After my initial Costco trip he had a full house setup going…but the boxes began to disappear one-by-one. Odd, huh? 😉 , a rock collection from the sandbox that he swears was made by Native Americans, and a “lucky” leaf in my car. Kids are awesome!
love it! rock collections are the best. SO CUTE!
Love, love what you’ve done with this blog. I wish I had discovered it a few weeks ago when I stared at my Medela manual. 😉 I’ll be checking back often! Thanks again for sharing your new found knowledge in a digestible, fun way!
Aw BUMMER! I made those videos eXACTLY for moms like you! I’m sure you figured it out in no time, though :).
Such an awesome story. And it makes me want to scheme to get our kids into your classroom someday. Will you ever go back? 😛
Awww like like like!! Thanks Marilyn! Yes, I do hope to go back someday. Probably not for a while, though, depending on how many children we are able to have. Warm fuzzied :]