Captain's Log: Can't Trust Kids with Glue

I started off this week's wacky science class with great expectations. First class failed to meet them because of both parties failing to realize kids will be kids and you can't trust them - at all - with gorilla glue.

The big project was hovercrafts, which sounds fun and really is if you can make the actual product. One needs a CD, a water bottle cap (the one that you have to pull up to drink through and push down when you're done), and good, effective, quick glue.

The instructions for gorilla glue say to apply pressure and wait for a period of about forty-five seconds to twenty-four hours. After trial and error and watching an instructions video all the way through, I glued the cap to the CD and layered the edges with another ring of glue to make it airtight. Then I waited.

I was watching an episode of one of my favorite shows while I waited, so it wasn't exactly a minute that passed but it was more than forty-five seconds. I tested the cap, expecting it to be stuck fast to the CD like the instructions video promised.

It was not. Ok, so I have to wait for about two minutes.

Nope, that didn't work either.

Five minutes? It was nearing midnight so I prayed it would work in five minutes and got the supplies in a bag to store in my car.

Now, I was given the safety talk about gorilla glue when I was a kid. It's not a toy, it's something that should only be used by an adult, and don't get it on your skin because it's a hell of a struggle getting it off. I never messed with the glue, committing this safety talk to heart.

However, I have my dumb moments. When I was using the glue for my hovercraft, did I wear gloves? No, I didn't. Even though gloves were nearby. Surgical gloves, specifically for these purposes. Did I get glue on my fingers? Yes, yes I did.

I showed these fingers to the kids when I gave them the safety talk, telling them that I forget I had gloves like a dummy and that they could only use the glue if they had gloves on.

Yes, you read that right. I thought if I entrusted the more responsible kids in the class with these small tubes of glue so I could do the classroom monitoring as a teacher should, the chances of chaos were minimal.

They were not minimal.

Before I decided that I would be the only one handling the glue, kids had already gotten it on their fingers. One kid hid a tube of the glue so they could stick rhinestones on their CD - decorating their hovercraft - in peace. I would understand, but I said several times in a loud very clear voice to give all the gorilla glue tubes to me.

Then, as I was glueing caps to CD's for the kids, I told each and every one of them to wait a couple minutes, keeping constant pressure on the cap. They also got a balloon and a straw to help blow up the balloon.

Did they listen? I'm suspecting they didn't, because they kept complaining that the caps weren't sticking to the CD and the hovercrafts weren't working. They also kept complaining that they couldn't blow up their balloon, which is more fair because that's a challenging skill.

In the end, they were mostly playing with the balloons and complaining that this lesson sucked. What could I do?

Well, I asked them what I could do to make next lesson better. They gave a surprisingly mature answer and said to not involve adult chemicals (the gorilla glue), and to have the next lesson's experiment actually work. I looked them in the eyes and said as sincerely as I could, "I heard you, and I'll keep that in mind for next time". Because if I can't build up fun with them, I certainly was going to try to build up their respect and trust in me. As their teacher, I needed it.

Monday's class can be seen as the trial class for the next day, because I often see what I need to say or do for the older kids tomorrow. One big thing this time was to keep the glue in the classroom to a minimum, such as making the hovercrafts for the kids the day before. So at eleven at night, I glued and made more than twelve hovercrafts for those kids, allowing them to cure while I slept so they'd be nice and working by the time I arrived at the school.

I kept up my traditional advertisement of the class by demonstrating my hovercraft to the kids once they were released from class and got their snacks. I got a few stragglers from the other enrichment classes, which is only good for my future popularity.

Explaining the science, talking about differences in friction and size of balloon and how that made the CD more or less able to move around, made me feel like a magician performing for the kids. It was fun and rewarding, seeing their entire faces light up with amazement.

If I could do this kind of thing at museums, I think I'd have a fun time at it.

Once my students were collected and I shepherded them to the classroom, I gave my safety talk once again. This time, mentioning that the hovercrafts could be fragile so be careful with them, how the glue isn't perfect so don't try to pull the entire cap off the CD, and how if my cool metallic-looking balloons weren't doing the job to use my smaller bag of normal balloons. I would solely handled the glue.

And I did when it came to adding decorations, like the rhinestones. I donned gloves like a smart person (this time) and dapped bit of glue on the spot the kid gestured to and landed the rhinestone. Kids were happy, I was happy; all was good in that regard.

Then some kids came to me with CD's and bottle caps disconnected. They swear they hadn't done anything, but I don't know how much to trust these kids. Good thing I prepared for this scenario, but I'd stressed one hovercraft per person. And gave them the lecture. And warned them multiple times.

Why can't kids just listen?

Things became more troubling when the older kids got bored of just playing with their hovercrafts. About fifteen or so minutes into the class, after they'd been hollering and hooting with joy, they spotted the sink that was in the classroom.

Sink plus balloons equals 'Oh No!'

I told them no. I told them to just keep playing with the hovercrafts and balloons. There's a kid who especially wanted to fill theirs with water, and it was a constant stream of No's his way to keep that from happening.

But after class last week when I'd asked them what I could do to make the next lesson better, the kids had requested a period of free time before class ended. So, I had to implement free time in a (I thought) manageable way. The kids had to clean the classroom first, then they could do whatever they wanted.

That kid obviously still wanted to make water balloons. I made them promise to keep the water in the sink, but honestly why I even bothered with that tactic I don't know. I should have said to bring a stack of paper towels to the sink for the inevitable spill instead. Expect the chaos and prepare beforehand. The smart thing.

Instead, as the helpful kids were listening to me and cleaning up the classroom and stacking chairs, the big spill was made. I ordered the kids to get paper towels and clean it up, and most of them did. I suspect their version of cleaning up involves just putting the towels on the floor before walking away.

The kids got to keep their hovercrafts, the nice and polite ones that actually listened to me got extra balloons, and in the end I asked them once more what I could do to make next class better.

To my relief, they had no complaints. Just joy. "This was the best lesson ever!"

But I had to be the disciplinarian at the end, and said that next class would not involve using the sink for anything fun. Some kids complained, of course, but I said that it didn't matter who did or did not make the spill, they had to enforce among themselves the policy if they wanted to play with the sink next time. Hopefully this works to an extent.

Did the kids learn? I suspect they did. Did they have fun? Yes, definitely. Did I feel like I accomplished something? Absolutely.

I also learned I can't trust kids with gorilla glue (no matter what), that I needed to prepare for the big disasters beforehand with an abundant supply of paper towels, and that for anything about a project that makes it harder, I have to do the night before.

This may sound very, very familiar with parents already. But keep in mind: I'm doing this - learning how to be a good teacher for these kids - the hard way. I've made good progress so far, and that's what's important.