What I Learned and What I Felt
When I was in fourth grade, my family bought a new house across town, and I had to change schools in the middle of the year. I was already grappling with peter pan syndrome, mourning the loss of my rapidly disappearing childhood as girls around me were eagerly racing toward adolescence. So moving out of the home that had very strong associations with childhood was problematic. For months, years even, I blamed every hiccup in my life on the fact that I had been forced to leave my beloved childhood home. I was certain that if we hadn't moved, my life would have had no troubles.
For all the distress moving caused my wretched 10 year old heart, there was a sliver lining. On the first day of school, I walked into a classroom that I will always remember. Mrs. Phillips was warm and welcoming. And the best part was that her affable nature was genuine, not just a presentation for new students or first days of school. Her class was cozy but flowing, and I recall feeling unfettered as we transitioned from one station to the next in small groups. Mrs. Phillips was keen on Howard Gardner's work, and prioritized finding her students' strengths. The implications of that attitude were far-reaching. It was during that year of school that I became a voracious reader, begging my parents to take me to the bookstore, longing for a glorious personal library in my bedroom.
One reason that I can recall Mrs. Phillips' classroom so vividly is because of what a stark contrast it was to the classroom from which I came. The fourth grade teacher at my previous school was an authoritarian, concerned with straight desks and sharpened pencils. A vague sense of dread washed over me just thinking of entering his classroom. I remember him being stiff and agitated. I recall the straight lines of desks and the ocean of space between his work space and ours. It was probably a near perfect picture of what most people imagine when they think of an elementary classroom. It wasn't, however, very conducive to growth and active engagement.
Looking back on that year, I can't tell you exactly what I learned in each of those classes, be it multiplication or simile. The most vivid memories of that year are how I felt in each class. The disparity was significant and so, I think, were the results.
As an educator, I enter the building each day knowing that if I can make a child feel cared for and welcome, then he will be much more likely to succeed in learning that day. It is the charge of every adult on campus to help foster that environment. The challenges that teachers face everyday can cloud that priority, but looking back on my own childhood is an excellent reminder to keep connection in the forefront. Because connection matters more than compliance, more than productivity, more than anything.
For all the distress moving caused my wretched 10 year old heart, there was a sliver lining. On the first day of school, I walked into a classroom that I will always remember. Mrs. Phillips was warm and welcoming. And the best part was that her affable nature was genuine, not just a presentation for new students or first days of school. Her class was cozy but flowing, and I recall feeling unfettered as we transitioned from one station to the next in small groups. Mrs. Phillips was keen on Howard Gardner's work, and prioritized finding her students' strengths. The implications of that attitude were far-reaching. It was during that year of school that I became a voracious reader, begging my parents to take me to the bookstore, longing for a glorious personal library in my bedroom.
One reason that I can recall Mrs. Phillips' classroom so vividly is because of what a stark contrast it was to the classroom from which I came. The fourth grade teacher at my previous school was an authoritarian, concerned with straight desks and sharpened pencils. A vague sense of dread washed over me just thinking of entering his classroom. I remember him being stiff and agitated. I recall the straight lines of desks and the ocean of space between his work space and ours. It was probably a near perfect picture of what most people imagine when they think of an elementary classroom. It wasn't, however, very conducive to growth and active engagement.
Looking back on that year, I can't tell you exactly what I learned in each of those classes, be it multiplication or simile. The most vivid memories of that year are how I felt in each class. The disparity was significant and so, I think, were the results.
As an educator, I enter the building each day knowing that if I can make a child feel cared for and welcome, then he will be much more likely to succeed in learning that day. It is the charge of every adult on campus to help foster that environment. The challenges that teachers face everyday can cloud that priority, but looking back on my own childhood is an excellent reminder to keep connection in the forefront. Because connection matters more than compliance, more than productivity, more than anything.
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