Trivia Time

Everyday we meet in the main commons area for announcements. Our director tells the kids about upcoming events—days off from school, field trips, art classes—and gives stern warnings about pulling the nets off the soccer goals, flushing plastic cups down the toilet, and so on. Then she dismisses the kids by group for homework. Most days she does this with a trivia game based on the children’s t-shirts.
For example, she calls a boy up who is wearing a Pokemon t-shirt. She asks if anyone in the group can identify the Pokemon pictured on the shirt. The child who successfully does this gets dismissed with his group to homework. It’s a small thing, but it gives them a feeling of accomplishment.
The other day my director was off, and I did announcements. When the time came to dismiss I tried the trivia game. I looked out on the sea of children with their hands up, half of them making an eager hooting noise and coming up off the ground onto their knees, so desperately did they want their t-shirt to be chosen. I looked them over, desperate for something I could make trivia of.
My eyes lit on a particularly well-behaved girl, and picked her. She’s a good kid, and it made me happy to see her face light up when I called her name.
Her shirt had the word “Gymnast” written across it.
I thought as everyone waited for my question. Nothing came to mind.
“Who…, uhm, who…, who can name a famous gymnast?” It was the best I could think of, and I instantly wished I’d done better. What adult can name a famous gymnast, let alone a bunch of elementary aged children? Still, maybe someone would luck out and remember Mary Lou Retton.
“Trevor?” I called, and Trevor put his hand down and a look came over his face that I recognized as the look of someone who wanted the spotlight but had nothing to say. After a few seconds I called another named.
“Balance beam?” queried a little girl.
“No, I’m sorry, I meant a person not an event,” I explained.
Hands were dropping as kids realized the question was too hard, the opportunity for success unmasked as an opportunity for embarrassment. I began thinking of how to change questions gracefully, but a kindergarten girl raised her hand and I called on her.
“Abraham Lincoln,” she said confidently.
I thanked her for trying, and ended up letting her group go for sitting nicely. You’ve got to take what you can get.