Recently, as I was having my teeth cleaned—head tilted back, mouth full of dental paraphernalia—Ruthie, my dental hygienist, shared a deep concern: She had been volunteering in a kindergarten classroom, helping out in any way needed, and she had just quit. My eyes widened in surprise. "Why, Ruthie?"
She explained,I just couldn't bear how these young kids sit most of the day—they sit through lessons and worksheets. They have no time to play, laugh, or move around. The straw that broke the camel's back last week was when one little guy was hiding under his table crying and shaking. When I bent down to comfort him, I almost cried myself; he told me he was terrified because he "didn't do it right" on his worksheet. Five years old and crying under the table! I couldn't bear to come in anymore.
With shiny teeth but heavy heart, I arrived home to look at the mail and listen to phone messages. On my answering machine was a long message from my old friend Ted. His message announced that he had prepared a letter of resignation from his kindergarten job. His last words were, "I can't do this anymore. This is not why I went into education."
I dropped everything and called Ted back. How could I persuade this veteran master teacher—someone creative, fun, and dedicated—to change his mind?
Here's what Ted told me:I know you're an optimist. But you can't imagine what's happening to our young children. I do more testing than teaching—assessments; benchmarks; goals; intensive, rigorous instruction. I want to love the kids into learning, not coerce them! It's drill, drill, drill. Our lesson plans are geared to the benchmarks of the day. Document everything. Score everything. Our curriculum is so tight and unrealistic for young children. There's no time for spontaneity.
Most of the children Ted teaches are eligible for free school lunches. Most are Hispanic and have some challenges with English. He'd told me they were active, eager, bright, and capable. Ted expressed frustration that the system—so concerned with reaching goals that are too often impossible to reach—doesn't consider or appreciate these kids' interests or abilities:Guided reading, scripted lessons, everyone on the same page, everything in a time constraint. … What if the kids want to talk about one part of the story? What if they have their own stories to tell? No time for such luxuries. I've never experienced this kind of stress. My health is being affected.
Despite the tears in my eyes, my response was fierce. "Ted, you are a lifeline to these children. … The joyful times [you bring them] are the peaks of their days. The stories you tell and read together, the playful ways you invite them to chant along with the story."
He interrupted, "I do try to inject as much fun as possible in the day, but it's getting harder and harder to do that."
In the end, I wore him down. Ted promised to wait a while before he made any decision about resigning.
A third message about pressure in schools getting out of hand awaited me that day—they say that important things come in threes! This e-mail from a second-year teacher whom I'd recently met at a conference read, in part,School year off to a rough start. Very stressful. All about teaching to the test. Lots of pressure from the higher-ups. I'm teaching young children [in a Title I school]. Principal using scare tactics. … No room for creativity or breathing. I used to love teaching, but this year I'm beginning to wonder what I got myself into.
I wondered if I had words of wisdom to offer. Then a metaphor came to me: Imagine an ice skater spinning without losing her balance; do you know how the spinner accomplishes it? It's called spotting. A skater focuses her eyes on an immovable spot, and as long as her gaze connects to that spot with each turn, she can keep spinning without falling or faltering. But if she takes her eyes off that immovable spot, she'll lose her balance and fall.
I think teachers are spinning and whirling in this dizzying time in public education. How easy to lose the spot we must focus on—the children themselves! The minute we take our eyes, hearts, and minds off that sacred spot—the children—we fall. We get sick. We resign. We sign the letter. We change careers.
Two More Calls
These three pleas from the brink were not the end of that emotional day. That evening I had a lengthy discussion with my friend Dorothy, a retired master kindergarten teacher now subbing at a nearby school. She described the two kindergarten classes in that school, which were different as night and day. In Classroom A, Dorothy explained,Children are regimented to a strict schedule filled with inappropriate practices such as rote memorization of sounds and alphabet letters, writing in upper- and lowercase letters in standard form (didn't children used to learn that in 2nd grade?), and many worksheets. There's hardly time for play. And, "free choice" is not free; children are assigned to rotating centers with tight time limits. The schedule is not based on the rhythms of young children, but on academic goals probably set by people who are rarely among young children. Even oral language is limited to direct instructional teaching. There's very little music and hardly any movement.
Kindergarten Classroom B, according to Dorothy, is totally different. It's taught by a seasoned early childhood professional who zealously protects the sanctity of the children's earliest school experiences. This teacher's classroom abounds with creative learning activities. The students make puzzles out of their names and the names of classmates. They interview one another about their interests and experiences. They "write" and illustrate many books—group books, theme books, books for special events. Music abounds; children pick their favorite songs to sing and are always learning more songs.
The children in Classroom B are totally and actively involved in their learning. Their teacher plans lessons to meet the curriculum's goals but does so through developmentally appropriate practices and through honoring the multiple intelligences of these learners. Dorothy said enthusiastically,The children are learning all the time. They don't even realize it because they are so engrossed in the process. All the children are given support and encouragement, and they love [fun activities like] the surprise bag filled with clues about what will be featured next. One of the bags today held a tea bag, chopsticks, and rice—for a story about China.
Dorothy wasn't ready to quit like Ruthie and Ted, but she was worried. She expressed concern that with all-day kindergarten becoming nearly universal, many upper-grade teachers are now teaching younger children. She worries that these teachers might be helping push for a stronger academic focus with little commitment to protecting children's play.
That day of anecdotal testimonies ended with perhaps the most telling one. My four-year-old great nephew, ready to jump into a bubble bath after a long day at pre-K, announced to his mother with a sigh, "Ah—what a day! Meetings! Paperwork! Seatwork!"
Keep the Light Bright
Perhaps I don't have dramatic words of wisdom to share because many teachers committed to children and progressive education are already aware of the reality my friends were lamenting this particular day. The Buddhist saying applies: "You have come here to find what you already know." But I do have words of exhortation for stressed, saddened educators.
Teachers can make things better for children. Consider that both kindergarten teachers in the school where Dorothy subs face the same pressures, challenges, goals, and benchmarks. Yet they have responded with two different approaches; and because they have, Classroom B is a healthier community than Classroom A. Even in the current climate, teachers who persist in using best practices based on young children's needs make a difference.
Think of teachers throughout history who, despite war, famine, oppression, slavery, and natural disasters, risked their lives to teach. Many worked undercover, teaching behind hedges, in secret rooms, teaching with codes and signals and hidden lessons. Those underground teachers kept the lights of learning bright during the darkest times.
We don't live in such times in the United States. But we live in very stressful and unimaginably absurd times, in which research is ignored even as statistics that reflect test-taking skills or other narrow aspects of learning are revered. Often schools are labeled "failing" or "broken," teachers who help children advance a grade level during the school year are considered incompetent, and developmentally appropriate practices become developmentally inappropriate practices—until 5-year-olds cry under tables because they "didn't get it right." In such times, we must also keep the lights of learning bright.
Let's reach under that table and reassure that frightened kindergartner that the days of grim, joyless seatwork may soon be over. Then it will be safe to come out and discover the joy of lifelong learning!
