Inside the Schoolhouse: Hallowed Ground #3

I am with my kindergarteners

for 6 hours a day. 

Most of them have been on this planet,

for about 60 months. 

I am sensitive

to the transition,

from daycare, or home, or preschool,

small class size, low student to teacher ratio,

shorter days,

more self-directed activities,

to being in kindergarten.

To being in a room,

where 70% of the room,

is occupied by desks and chairs.

This is where they spend,

95% of their time. 

And during that 95%,

they are listening to me,

working at their desk,

following directions,

probably daydreaming,

trying to listen,

doing their best,

to learn how to hold a pencil,

shape their letters between the lines,

remember all there is to remember,

about what to do with the book in

their hands,

or the paper in front of them,

or the math story I just asked them to solve. 

They are earnest,

defying their wild and curious nature,

and being loyal,

to me and my teaching,

and they are doing their best,

to grow up,

at five years-old.

But today,

they weren’t having it. 

I could not get them to settle down,

so I said,

“Alright, we’re going out to play.”

We went down to the yard.

Towering trees bordering the playground,

chaparral hillside in the background,

soft Los Angeles, January breeze

carrying the monarch that was fluttering

around us. 

The children were unleashed,

on the concrete pavement. 

Suddenly, they were puppies and kitties,

crawling on all fours, pretending to purr and cuddle.

The boys became ninjas, wielding imaginary

swords, jumping at each other,

and crouching like tigers.

The tether ball game,

whose rules they don’t know,

was a gathering place,

for swinging the ball,

and ten kids falling over each other,

to try and catch it. 

Two girls were telling a secret,

in the shade of the pepper tree,

while a group of boys and girls,

were teasing each other and squealing,

in that old-fashioned game of tag. 

Others were hiding from zombies,

while a line of girls were calling out like sheep,

to a few girls on the other side of the yard,

and with some invisible cue,

they all started to run,

at the same time,

in different directions,

screaming from the top of their lungs. 

I don’t disparage, the mostly academic work,

that I dedicate my life to everyday.

I am a mother, of children who attend public school,

with the same curriculum and the same limited physical play,

that makes up my own students’ day.  

I am not interested in paying some inordinate amount of money,

for my kids to spend most of their day playing,

instead of doing academic work. 

I am interested in public policy that honors

children’s need to play and imagine. 

But I’m honestly not working on that.

So I’ll just mind my own,

public school teacher business. 

Sometimes, when I’m encouraging my students

to engage and pay attention,

I tell them that home, is where they can be wild,

and themselves, and do all of their shenanigans.

School is where they need to collect themselves,

pull themselves together, and control themselves.

But this afternoon,

with the warm winter sun shining on us,

and with our laughter and joy,

riding on the wind,

I couldn’t help but think,

that I’d like to say to them,

“School is where you can be wild,

and yourself, and we welcome,

all of your shenanigans.”

Let the children play…

Dejen que jueguen los niños...