Show and Tell

1/2/13

Warren found a snake skin today. Arriving at school before the rest of the pupils, he generally plays outside while I check my email. At one point he came rushing in, breathless, grinning. "Teacher Paul!"

"What's up, Warren?" Mildly annoyed at the disturbance.

"Look!" He holds up a good-size snake skin.

"Oh wow!" I coo, inwardly alarmed. It's about 9 hours since I last heard a story of a near brush with slithery death, and my nerves are keyed. Especially with a school yard full of five-year-olds. "Show me."

He leads me outside to our Jeep-sized water container in the playground. He points underneath. I kneel and peer at the narrow space, potentially a great hiding place for a small snake. The skin he showed me is at least a meter long, and thick enough to be a puff adder. Or it could be a fat rat snake. Can't really tell from the pale, dry skin. Either way, the snake probably just stopped nearby to shed its skin and lap up some leak water before moving on.

"Okay, Warren," I tell him, palming his tow head. "Just be really careful around here, and tell me if you see it." He nods excitedly. I explain to him the idea of show-and-tell. "When the rest of the kids get here, you can show them all what you found."

Over the next twenty minutes, I'm summoned to the area at least a half-dozen times, as each pupil arrives for Warren's animated recounting of his discovery. Each kid thinks he or she is the one to see the snake. I warn each student in turn, and they all give a wide-ish berth to the spot, all eagerly hoping to spot the slithery bugger.

By the time Warren stands in front of the class for his show-and-tell, the story is old news, and I can barely keep their attention for ten minutes with descriptions of molting and scales and snake bites. As I move on to the next lesson, the snake is long forgotten, and I heave a silent sigh of relief.