Last Thursday, I was asked to fill in for one of the usual teachers at Friendship Montessori School. I was initially reluctant. What do I know about educating tomorrow’s leaders? The stakes seemed too high, the possibility of misstep too great.

And yet, I felt compelled to say yes. It is, after all, in the Montessori philosophy to pitch in. And so I showed up at the appointed time (three minutes late, actually) and humbly requested my marching orders.

I was assigned to the art table, a huge responsibility to be sure. The children were stringing necklaces. It was my job to advise on such critical aspects as bead selection, proper threading technique, the importance of using a square knot to tie off the loose ends.

There were no major disasters, but I could not shake the feeling that I was being silently judged. The person I was subbing for, Kelly, is, after all, a seasoned professional. As minutes passed, I could feel the collective weight of inadequacy building. Fortunately, necklace stringing time was declared officially over, and I was asked to help prepare for “circle time.”

The children told me that preparations included moving this table from the circle area to another part of the room. I stood by proudly as my little charges took matters into their own hands.

It was only too late that I realized the children are not supposed to move the table themselves, that this is a job reserved for teachers. I was ready to turn in my resignation when circle time began. Suddenly, I was presented with a task I understand well.

By which I mean, jumping around like a lunatic. I thrived in this capacity and won back some of my lost confidence.

Suddenly, my ears perked up as I was reminded that…

The children were excited. Circle time behind us, it was time for the good stuff. By which I mean the exchange of Valentines. Each kid had prepared a loot bag in advance. This young lady agreed to pose with hers.

There was a pervasive enthusiasm. Many of my teaching errors were covered up by the fact that everyone’s attention was directed elsewhere.

I was asked to help keep the peace as the distribution of Valentines proceeded. I am proud to say that no children were injured and nobody cried.

I was impressed with the quality of the Valentines. James’ “I’ve Got My Eye on You” magnifying glasses were a big hit.

After the melee, it was time for the party. Anticipation was high.

I was in charge of trying to convince the children to eat carrots, broccoli, and other healthy things before the cookies and cupcakes were produced. I succeeded only slightly.

Full of sugar and good cheer, the children lined up to go outside.

We jumped and we wiggled and we ran and even shouted (just a little).

And when we were done, we lined back up to come inside again.

Just as we came back inside, Kelly returned. The children were overjoyed to see her. They seemed to understand that only by the narrowest of margins had they survived my tenure in their midst.

I was touched to be asked, as a parting gesture, to be the day’s book reader. Whether the glee in the children’s eyes was a function of my reading skills or an indication of their excitement that I would soon be departing, I may never know.

I choose to think that perhaps I didn’t do such a bad job after all.