Making total use of the fifth-grade gross-out factor

For any of you who might have known me in the fifth grade, I apologize. My 10-year-old self was a sweaty mess of big words, dubious ideas and bad manners.

On any given day, my priorities ran in this order: acquire sweets (candy, cookies, ice cream, sugar cubes, stick butter, jelly by the spoonful); get school over with; and get outside to go fishing, ride my bike, shoot my BB gun or just roll over rocks to find gross stuff. Anything or anyone that slowed my pursuit of those priorities was considered the enemy. Again, to my teachers in particular, I apologize.

One of the great pleasures of my day job with Soil & Water is being able to spend time with a broad range of folks from all sorts of different backgrounds and age groups. School kids are a particular joy to work with — even the fifth-graders. Because I vividly remember what it was like to be held captive inside the brick and mortar of their day-to-day existence, I feel it’s my duty to offer the kids a brief reprieve.

Last week we seemed to be up to our ears in fifth-graders, first on a field day at a wonderful local dairy farm and later in the week with a different group at a suburban nature preserve.

The latter, the walk and talk through the woods, was a breeze. It was a beautiful, sunny, 75 F day, and the kids were jazzed just to be outside. The forest was filled with stories of life, competition, survival, death and decomposition. (I have found that among fifth-graders “decomposition” is a runaway favorite topic.)

The farm was a bit more challenging — not because the place wasn’t filled with a million cool and interesting things, but because my teaching partner and I were merely 1-of-5 different learning stations. How does one compete with a newborn calf, for goodness’ sakes?

Furthermore, our particular topic of concentration was “outdoor safety.” Though of the utmost importance to grown-ups who conjure curriculum, such lessons can be a tough sell to a crowd of kids distracted by small cows coming out of larger cows.

It was clear our lessons on the importance of applying sunscreen, avoiding poison ivy and wearing close-toed shoes in the woods required a shot of adrenaline if we were to keep the crowd. That’s where bug vomit came in. Merely whisper the word “vomit,” and you’re going to turn fifth-grade heads.

“So kids, you know when a mosquito bites you and you get that little lump?” I asked. “Were you aware that the lump comes from the bug sort of vomiting up saliva under your skin to keep the blood flowing?”

A hush fell over the crowd. Heads turned, pupils dilated and hands reflexively swatted at bare forearms.

“Wait, what?” they cried. “Mosquitoes puke in you?”

“OK, well maybe not so much puke as spit,” I said. “They’ve got to do something to keep your blood from clotting and clogging up their little soda-straw noses. Otherwise it would be like drinking bubble tea with a juice box straw.”

The “eeeews” and “icks” flew in every direction, and I knew instantly our station would get at least a mention on the bus ride home. We would be remembered. Mission accomplished!

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John atjlorson@alonovus.com.