Sports Day... Field Day... Sporting Field Day

It's Sports Day at my little school so we have an afternoon free of education. Trust me, the teachers are crowing about it just as much as the pupils. I've been teaching in Scottish schools for nearly six and a half years and I can still mistakenly refer to Sports Day by the name I called it in the US: Field Day. Sometimes, I get so muddled, I can't remember which is the right one to say.

Today I am in charge of the Egg and spoon race for the P4 and P5 pupils (third and fourth graders), and I have been for the past four years. We get the same game every year because the DHT (depute head teacher; the vice/assistant principal, USers) says some people like the routine of the same game every year. No - total lies. It's for ease of his life. Every year when Sports Day nears, he goes to his computer, clicks open the Sports Day Word document he created when time began, changes the date at the top, then sends it out to teachers - voila! Then he goes back to strumming his guitar... or woteva people do when they are months from retirement.

All these years of being in charge of the ol' E & S does have an advantage. I have my explanation of the dos and don'ts of game down to a efficient art, somehow being able to express myself thoroughly, succinctly, and amusingly. V unlike my real life. Shit, it only took me four years to figure it how to do this, so I guess there's hope for me in real life. But if only I can have the same convo for the next four years. But hey - that's what marriage is about innit? Oooo, SNAP!

Anyway, the disadvantage of years with the E & S is that I have clearly thought waaaaaay too much about it. Don't know if you know this about me, but gather round for a secret about lil ol' me. Ready?

*I have a overpowering need for justice*
Phew - it's out. I know you're wondering: how exactly does that relate to the E & S? Well, every year, the DHT puts out the equipment for us for each game, so when I reach my location, spoons from the staffroom and golf balls are already there for me. Grand. However, and here is the shocking bit: the spoons are not uniform! So some of them are better at cradling the egg than others. The clever cookies know to run to the spoons, peruse them quickly and grab the best one, thereby gaining the advantage. The not-so-bright bulbs (i.e., nearly every kid I work with in the school) gets the shitty spoons and lose.

Well not this year my friend! Ho no! For I have brought my own spoons from home. Seven spoons, exactly the same so no one has an advantage. I can't guarantee my little numpties will win now, but at least my little move has made an even playing field... day.

Candyland

Candyland, UKers, is children's game and one of the first board games that children in the US will learn to play. How to play: pick a card that features a colour and move your pawn to that colour. Yes, that is all. Yes, the game is that slack, but rightly so: the only nuance 2- to 4-year-olds can really appreciate is colour differentiation. For some overplayed parents, the mere shriek of the word 'Candyland' strikes terror in hearts for the game's soul-deadening dullness. Candyland does not have the same stranglehold on British toddlers as it does their American counterparts, so I was pretty surprised to have been able to buy one at a car boot sale here.

While I mock Candyland's completely transparent simplicity, it's a rather good game for a teacher like me to have. I work with struggling learners across the school. Struggling Primary 1 (P1; kindergarten in the US) pupils often lack skills of self-regulation. This is, in essence, a good memory, the ability to pay attention and the ability to control inhibitions. Simple board games, with their insistence on turn taking, strengthen these weak skills.

That being said, my Candyland game is currently being monopolised by a P6 child (a fifth grader). He borrows it and takes it to play with his best pal in class, every day. My Learning Assistant (LA) and I have to structure his lessons around the game: every time he gets an answer right, he gets to pick a card. After about her 800th game, my LA pulled me close to her side today.

"See if we don't play Candyland," she muttered murderously in my ear, "That's it: the day's a right-off." She glared at me and I'm awfully sure she made a throat slashing motion at me. Well, she did point right at me after she did it, just in case I wasn't sure.

Don't I know it how right she is! Perhaps this is foolishness though, but I'd rather paralyse a few million brain cells then deal with a non-Candyland lesson with his kid. I'm pretty sure I'll have to send the game up to high school with him, so I only have one more year of having to play this game. But for now, my LA said it right: we're being held hostage by *fucking* Candyland.