I’ve been at a bit of a loss as to what to do lately. My students are the chummiest bunch… they really are. They enjoy one another so very much. Laughter and chit-chat abound. There is always so much to say to one another and so much “catching up” to do. The problem lies in the fact that this “visiting ‘round the table” usually occurs during math (or reading, or science, or any other subject matter). It happens during music, and spelling tests, and most predictably, during any time at all that they are supposed to be quiet.
The quasi-hippie has had to readjust her love, peace, and groovy energy vibes just a wee bit. Well, more than a bit. I have turned into Colonial Klink from Hogan’s Heroes.
I knew things were going to have to get drastic and painful, at least for a season. (“Trust me kids… this hurts me more than it hurts you”). Only painful consequences would grab their attention. I knew I was going to have to act in a grand fashion. I had a card up my sleeve that I have been saving for the apocalyptic end of the world, or this very scenario, either one. Yes, that’s right. Mrs. Dahl kept her Little Darlings in for an entire lunch recess (first graders the world over are gasping in horror).
The cruelty, the inhumanity,
The genius…
I began giving fair warning last week, like shots over the bow. “If Monday morning does not go well, the entire class will stay inside for lunch recess and we will WORK the entire time.” I actively practiced putting on my most menacing face while emphasizing the word, “WORK.” It seemed to be a fairly effective tactic in striking fear into little six-year-old hearts. Or so their widened eyes seemed to say anyway.
I dismissed them Friday with the same dire warning. Shape up or ELSE. They filed out somberly and were filled with resolve to save their precious recess. I hoped so. I am the eternal optimist.
Monday dawned late as it was the first day of Daylight Savings time. I was tired and a little crotchety. I despise “springing ahead,” don’t you? But I do like sitting on the porch at 10:30 p.m. in June with a ribbon of light still on the horizon. I guess I can’t have it all.
The children were tired and a little crotchety as well. I think we should have all just slept until fifteen minutes before the bell, come in our pajamas, and watched cartoons until we were awake and ready for the day.
My hopes of lesson learned and well-behaved Stepford children were not to be realized. Holy cow, they were CHATTY with a capital CHAT!! I must have warned them 47 times that morning. I kept pulling the “missed recess” card out of the basket of cruel teacher tricks, but it did not seem to matter. Every time I stopped to do something, or finished speaking, they were right back visiting with one another like old geezers drinking coffee at Hardees.
Finally it was time to line up for lunch and time for Judge Judy to deliver the verdict. I managed to get their attention and paused for effect. “Weeellllll,” I said in my best Missouri drawl, “I can see no reason you should be allowed to go to recess today. We have not had a good morning and I warned you many times that missing recess was a real possibility.” NOW I had their attention. Every last bit of air had suddenly been sucked out of the room. It became deadly still as all eyes pivoted towards me, the very face of evil. I literally saw cherubic faces go pale.
As truth soaked lunch-hungry brains and synapses began firing, the weight of my words began to churn the minds of The Magic Tree House inhabitants. Seconds passed with not one sound emitted. Finally a brave knight asked tentatively, “Do you mean EVERYONE?” I looked into eyes the color of the sky and wanted to take back my words and declare a Governor’s reprieve for all convicts, but knew it would be the end of any last shred of classroom management I possessed. Steeling my resolve, I confirmed their worst fears. “Yes, that means everyone.” Protests began erupting, but I held up my dictator’s hand to silence them.
Friends and Loved Ones, you have never seen such forlorn misery in all of your lives. They filed quietly out like they were headed to the gallows. Little sniffling sounds came from here and there in the line. Eyes downcast, arms hanging limply at sides… it was Sorrow itself walking the hall.
Lunch was something of a condemned prisoner’s last meal. They barely spoke to one another and looked longingly at schoolmates as the Clock of Doom ticked relentlessly towards the magical moment of dismissal for recess. Today they did not hurry through their hamburger hot dish and tapioca pudding. They were in slow motion as they dreaded their fate. I had to suppress more than one smile. Life is so incredibly boiled down when you are six. The success or failure of a day can hinge on things like shared Jello cups and lost birthday invitations.
When the executioner (me), summoned them back to the classroom, a black cloud of gloom hung just above their slouched shoulders. True to my word, I settled them into their seats and pulled out Social Studies. Much to their surprise, the time passed rather quickly, although the sounds of happy voices just outside our window helped my cause immensely. And despite the almost sure assumption on their part that a certain middle-aged, soon-to-be-fifty-year-old teacher took just a little pleasure in holding them against their will, it killed me to miss my break too. Those few quiet moments are an island of rejuvenation in an otherwise chaotic day. I too listened longingly to happy voices outside and wished my students’ voices were among them.
Beyond the selfishness of my desires, I have strong beliefs about what a child needs to thrive. Some teachers feel that that extra twenty minutes is valuable work catch-up time. I think having the chance to run around and fill their little lungs with fresh air and give their brains a rest is a far better use of those precious minutes. I think I am getting more productivity out them by letting them out of the cage of the classroom for a bit. Maybe I will change my tune down the road. For now I will grasp at every other option before forcing a child to stay indoors.
And so… we worked, we listened to the cacophony of The Free, and we thought long and hard about how to keep from repeating our mistakes (hey, a teacher can hope…).
Tuesday was a different day. I felt it from the first arrival of students. They were determined to be quieter and desperate to appease the gods of Recess. Really, it was too funny. The compliments laid at my feet were numerous. I was the nicest, bestest ever, coolest teacher in the whole, wide universe! Mrs. Dahl is the best, the bravest, the most generous of any teacher anywhere and at any time! There was major sucking up going on and I saw through it like Superman’s X-ray vision.
They were good, and not because of the shameless pandering. They truly were quieter. They would shush each other if things tended towards the noisy and looked at me with wide “I-am-interested-in-every-word-that-comes-from-your-mouth, Mrs. Dahl,” eyes. It was beautiful.
I would like to report that they are consistently quiet now and I never have to reprimand. Of course I cannot. They are children, for goodness sakes!! Although I am now part of the educational “establishment,” I have some fundamental problems with our modern model of expectations. We ask our children to act like anything but children. We demand they instead be small adults, and behave completely antithetical to their natures. Let’s just listen to ourselves for a moment. “Walk, don’t run.” “Do not speak or make noise of any measurable sort.” “Sit still for endless hours.” “Play for a whopping twenty minutes a day.” Children are wired to run and skip and shout for joy. Good thing we adults are so very good at driving that nonsense out of them.
I will surely be censured, blackballed, and/or have a brick with a veiled threat taped to it thrown through my home window for my radical thinking, but I cannot help but think that we grind the “child” out of them daily, then wonder why they hate school. I can’t help but feel there must be a better way. I doubt those changes will happen in my lifetime, but I do ponder these great questions, and wonder what the solutions might be. Trevor thinks I should be Secretary of Education. Maybe I should. Do you love it that I’ve been a teacher for a whopping year and already have the answers to all of education’s dilemmas? It’s sort of like childless couples telling parents what they are doing wrong…
ANYHOW, Thursday is here and tomorrow our spring break gives us a day to ourselves. I am very much looking forward to a forecasted eighty degree day. Yes, you read that right. EIGHTY DEGREES in North Dakota mid-March!!! I am hoping that the long weekend will reset the minds and behaviors of my Little Darlings. I very much dislike being the ugly, green Wicked Witch of the West. But I have been a mother long enough to have some perspective on that as well. I am not gunning to be their pal or favorite anything. Enforcing rules and holding boundaries is part of the package and they will like me just fine even when I do my job as I should.
And I really don’t have any answers to education’s problems, just lots and lots of questions. But I guess answers begin with asking the right questions. If the President needs an official Question-Asker on the cabinet, then I’m the gal for the job. Otherwise, I’ll stay where I am and keep shushing jubilant first graders and forcing them to walk in the halls when they’d rather run and shout.
Maybe our President would get more out of his leaders if they were allowed to tap into their inner child. I think going outside for recess everyday would be a good start…
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