Shaking the Cream

I was a classroom volunteer for Aidan's class on Monday. My job was to assist the kiddies with the creation of their Thanksgiving Day feast. The teacher divided up the class by gender. I was assigned the boy table, with the assistance of a volunteer dad.

Our first assignment was to make butter. The teacher gave the girls an electric beater and told them to take turns beating cream until it became butter. She then gave our table a plastic shaker filled with cream and told the boys to take turns shaking it until it became butter. It was a contest to see which group finished first.

This teacher knows her boys. Truly. She has three of her own. I watched, giggling, as my table of ten boys guffawed, burped and went crazy shaking the hell out of that plastic shaker. It was pure mayhem. They were loud, enthusiastic and almost insane as they tried to one up the person next to them with their shaking antics.

After a few minutes, I looked up laughing and noticed the girl table. The girls were lined up, in a single formation, patiently waiting their turn for a chance to hold on to the electric beater. There was no yelling or posturing. A few quietly sang songs or giggled behind hands as they waited. The comparison between the two tables was incredible.

I caught the eye of one of the other mothers, grinned and said to her with a shrug, "I guess this is why I have three boys."

She laughed, shook her head at the chaos in front of me and replied, "I guess this is why I have three girls."