Talking in front of any group of people is nerve-racking, but it can be even worse in front of a group of fourth graders.

I was recently asked to be a guest lecturer at the fourth grade talented and gifted class at St. George’s. I’m pretty sure that this was a con job orchestrated by my granddaughter, Amelia, who is a student in the class. She knows she can pretty much ask Papa and me for anything and the answer is a predictable “Yes, of course.”

The thought of standing in front of a bunch of lower schoolers discussing journalism struck fear in my heart. During my senior year of college, I student taught journalism to high school students in Arkansas, and loved that semester of feeling cool and in charge. Lower school is a totally different experience.

Many years ago, I was asked to teach a writing class to a bunch of 9 year olds at another private school. Like the naïve doofus that I was, I walked in like Mary Poppins, all bright and enthusiastic, anticipating that the kids were itching to learn writing techniques. Wrong. Within 15 minutes, all hell broke loose. The kids were jumping out of their chairs, throwing things at each other and making a racket that caused the lower school principal to open the door, fold her arms, and give the kids that blazing, silent teacher look we all fear. “Children, children, children. Stop this right now,” she said. I think I was more afraid than the kids. I felt like an utter failure.

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More recently, a co-worker and I spoke to a college journalism class. We felt totally in charge of the subject matter and couldn’t wait to share our experiences — until we got there. The class was scheduled for 4 p.m. on a Friday. It was the same Friday of the school’s big, wild, university-wide party weekend. The students (many of whom had already started the party long before class) stared at us with glazed eyes, checking their watches for the time and cell phones for texts. I’ve never seen students bolt out of a room quicker than when the bell rang. Timing really is everything.

And so I decided that I’d approach the fourth grade St. George’s class differently. This time, my main goal was to not embarrass Amelia. I created a lesson plan with some pretty sophisticated journalistic principles that I thought would interest them. I brought each of the 10 students his and her own reporter’s notebooks and brand new ball point pens. I would engage them from the beginning. And I’d hope and pray I wouldn’t screw up.

And it worked.

The fourth graders listened as I spoke and fired off questions that would make a White House press conference look dull. They were interested, involved, curious. We created a mock news staff with each student taking an area that interested him or her. One volunteered to be the sports reporter. Another weather. Another health. Another fashion. When I asked who would write editorial opinions, one eager reporter said, “Can I write about the government shut down?” I was blown away. The kids took notes on their new-found reporter’s notebooks and the hour flew by.

In the end, I gave each a copy of Nola Family magazine. One boy asked the teacher if he could read the magazine for homework. I almost levitated with joy. As the class ended, Amelia came over to me beaming. She threw her arms around me and said, “Thanks, Lollie. That was fun.”

My favorite therapist (I’ve had a bunch) used to say that all people really want in life is to be loved and appreciated. At that moment, one little granddaughter gave me all I needed.

Class dismissed.

Laura Claverie is Nola Family’s Hip Grannie. She is a local mother, grandmother, and writer.