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Thursday, April 25, 1996     Page: 3A

Starting lives right
   
By the time I finished breakfast Tuesday, I had eaten a bowl of
strawberries,
    French toast with a huge slab of butter, regular toast, a bowl of ice cream
with four or five scoops, a big pot of cereal, milk, orange juice, several
milkshakes, two fried eggs, a container of raw eggs, several whole oranges, a
couple of apples and a lemon”If I eat all this stuff my stomach will hurt,” I
had said as my breakfast buddies prepared to serve me.
   
“Here, drink this,” said one of my new friends, pouring me a cup of tea.
“You’ll feel better. When my friend gets sick, her mother gives her tea.”
   
“Thank you very much,” I said, truly meaning it.
   
Caring enough to share healthful advice is part of being nice. Friendships
are built on such concern.
   
So I took the cup and acted like I was drinking my imaginary tea.
   
All the food was rubber or plastic.
   
We were just pretending, playing and having fun.
   
Most important, though, is that we played nice, learning that even
strangers can get along.
   
Until I walked into the Beekman Street classroom, I was just a
6-foot-220-pound middle-aged outsider with a beard and long hair.
   
“You’re old,” said Danielle, who told me to call her Nicole, and whose
friends call her “Danny.”
   
“I’m `good’ old, though,” I said.
   
By the time I left, however, I was just another happy 4-year-old thrilled
with being part of Sue George’s Head Start class.
   
Despite their reputation for rambunctiousness, the children treated me with
real kindness.
   
Nicole even let me hold her baby — one of three dolls she cuddled, making
sure they wore blankets and sweaters even on a warm spring day.
   
“Watch her while I get ready for work,” she said.
   
“What kind of work do you do?” I asked.
   
“I work for Santa,” she said, stepping into a pair of black dress shoes
about 10 sizes too big as I nestled the black baby doll in the crook of my
arm.
   
Across the room, a boy in a huge sport coat and a girl wearing a veil
linked arms and giggled their way across the floor.
   
“We’re getting married,” he said.
   
“If I’m able to finish my breakfast, I’ll try to make it to the reception,”
I said.
   
Seated on the floor with my steel-toe work boots stretched under the table,
I balanced a little girl on my left leg and a little boy on my right.
   
It felt good knowing that the kids trusted me.
   
Trust is a delicate thing.
   
That’s why Head Start programs have succeeded for more than 30 years.
   
Children from low-income families have found friendship, hope, nutrition
and more in this government program.
   
Lives are nurtured there.
   
Give me a Head Start program over a new prison any day.
   
Because without Head Start, rest assured that we’ll need new prisons. And
battered women’s shelters. And longer unemployment lines. And worse.
   
Ten Head Start centers serve Luzerne County, a place that could easily
accommodate 20 or 30, for that matter.
   
In addition to caring for the most vulnerable children, the centers also
help mothers and fathers continue their high school education and learn basic
parenting that no one ever taught them.
   
Humans learn behavior.
   
Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes it’s bad.
   
Helping, not hurting, is the Head Start message.
   
Hopefully, Republican meanies who advocate cutting funds for this program
will take heed.
   
Fighting the urge to lead the kiddies in a “No More Newts” chant, I helped
put away the breakfast dishes and clean the table. My little playmates with
faces as sweet as chocolate and vanilla milkshakes showed me where things
went.
   
Because of their training, they had an advantage.
   
So they helped me along.
   
Sometimes, if only just a little one, we all need a head start.
   
Steve Corbett’s column appears Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday.