gods, God, and crayons

We seem to be having a slight problem in my first grade class. The children, all sweet, wonderful, caring students, seem to be very, very religious. This isn't the problem, but of course they all have different religions, and they all like to talk about them.
The devil has come up when discussing thunder storms and just because. Debates over whose name is actually in the Bible have occurred. Of course, just like with all religions- that are different, but not actually all that different- many of them share common theories and ethics despite their belief in different gods. As Thanksgiving comes up and we get ready to teach about why the pilgrims came to the new world religion only promises to become a more prevalent conversation piece.

The religion major in me loves this. My senior thesis was on how Indian 6th and 7th grade text books discuss the history of Hindus and Muslims relations. The interpretation of different religions and how they interact fascinates me (clearly, if I chose to spend a year writing about it). Of course, like the Indian textbooks I studied in my thesis, we are suppose to be a completely secular school- where gods or God remains on the outside. (Then again, in Virginia we have to hang signs in our schools that read "In God we trust" but that's another story for another day.) So, talking about religion in our first grade classroom when we are really trying to learn how to read seems like a great way to get every parent in the class angry with us.

My first year teaching I had children from just about every religion out there. I had a little girl from North Carolina whose mother had just remarried a man from India, so had just converted to Islam. I had a Muslim from India, a Hindu from India, a Christin from India, Catholics from South America, a boy from Argentina who claimed he was Jewish, and a Southern Baptist. If we'd been in a bar it would have been a bad joke.

Religion came up frequently because being six they don't discriminate between what's a school topic and a not school topic. The division of church and state means nothing to them. They were encouraged to ask questions about why it rained, why the e is silent at the end of some words, and how we add, so why couldn't they ask questions about gods? It felt wrong to say, "we can't talk about that." so instead I listened. We talked about how we can listen to one another even if we don't agree, that we can all be friends even though we have different religions, and how cool it is that we can learn about one another's religions since we're friends.

As they asked questions and listened to one another's question our classroom community grew stronger. Sure, there was the day that my newly converted Muslim slammed her hand down on the table and claimed that Halloween was dirty, Jesus was dirty, and boys were dirty. The Catholic boy sitting beside her just about had a heart attack that she'd called Jesus dirty. But again, a conversation about how we are all different- just like we all have different ways to learn, we all have different beliefs and that is OK. So maybe we wont say Jesus is dirty in school, and saying boys are dirty may hurt someone's feelings.

There was the argument that broke out between the Indian Christian and the Hindu. "But why just love Jesus?" the Hindu asked, "Why are you ignoring all the other gods, like Krishna and Vishnu?"
"I don't just love Jesus" he explained, "I love 3 gods- the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. and Jesus"

or the day I was having such a terrible hair day that one little boy shouted out, "How are you even going to find a husband if your hair looks like that?"
"It's easy!" a boy from India announced, "Just ask your parents!"

Of course I didn't stop and explain religion to any of them. I didn't say, "Actually, friend, those 4 you just listed, they are all one God"
I didn't explain to the Muslim girl that in her religion Jesus is a prophet just like Allah so therefore isn't dirty. We focused on respecting each other even though we were different. And of course, a lot of, "Wow- you learned that at church/mosque/temple? I'm not sure about that- Ask your parents" but, really, encouraging children to talk to their parents- that's not a bad thing either.

This year's religious discussions make me a little more nervous because there is such a stronger presence of Christians than Muslims or Hindus. The religion major in me likes all religions to be represented so we can have a real discussion on comparative religions. Of course, the want-to-be lawyer in me knows exactly where religion belongs- outside the school doors. And the teacher in me sees the teachable-moment of teaching respect for differences, which really is the largest life skill anyone can learn to be successful in this world.

What are your suggestions? Keep religion out of the public school classroom? Tell them to talk to their parents? How can we have a responsive classroom class meeting about why we don't talk about religion in school?

everything i need to know i learned in kindergarten

I have the bad habit of taking on the characteristics of the children I teach each year. Since I teach kindergartners and first graders with special needs this isn't something I brag about.

About 5 years ago I had a little girl who snorted whenever she was mad. After months of watching her huff, puff, and snort around the classroom, throw her body dramatically onto chairs, cross her arms and huff I must have picked up on it because whenever I was upset I had to fight the instinct to snort. In fact, sometimes, with my beloved husband (he wasn't my husband then- but he still married me, which says something) I wouldn't hold back on the snorting and huffing- it would come out in wordless frustration as I pouted like a small child until his laughing snapped me out of it.

One year I realized I'd started beginning every sentence with "even" like my English language learners. (As in, "Even I want to go to the store today!") I was aware my whole class began every sentence with "even" but as I was trying to break them of the habit apparently I started doing it myself when I was really tired, or trying to make an important point. ("Even I told you teachers should be given more respect!" right. )

Today we were at the mall- a horrible experience I dread with a passion. Not that I don't like shopping, I just don't really like doing it at the mall. So I was already not a happy camper, but then I had to go to the bathroom. No big deal, right. But the bathroom we found was closed for cleaning. So we trekked across the mall to the other bathroom. Also closed for cleaning. But I really had to go and really did not want to deal with all the crowds standing between me whatever bathroom was open. So, I pretended I couldn't read, marched into the bathroom (I mean, I can technically still use the bathroom when it's being cleaned, right?) where I was quickly stopped by a bathroom attendant. Without thinking (I'm not proud of this) I:

1) pretended I didn't speak English- "que? que?" I asked as she tried to tell me to leave.
2) crossed my legs, stuck my lip out, bent down and acted like it was an emergency. Yes- as a grown woman I apparently did the pee-pee dance.

SO not proud of myself.

Anyone who works with five and six year olds knows that kids are incredible actors when it comes to the bathroom. You say, "nope, no bathroom now, wait a few minutes" and they automatically cross their legs, scrunch their faces up, hop up and down, and say, "but it's an emergency" in their most pathetic voices. New teachers all fall for this once or twice before they wise up and realize that just because their students can't read doesn't mean they can't fake a good emergency.

The woman cleaning the bathroom clearly was not a new teacher. "Sorry" she said, pointed to the door, and went back to mopping.

I walked out, ashamed of myself and my pathetic 5 year old attempt to get my way. Maybe I need to hang around adults more often so I learn better coping skills.

impulse control

Early this morning (after I was already running behind but before I stood under a waterspout and was drenched by cold rain water) one of my third grade readers handed me a silver gift bag with a soft smile, "I have something for you" she said.

Inside sat a box of cordial cherries.

I was surprised- there was no need to give me a gift- no occasion. We just started reading club so it's not a thank you present. It's not a "nice to meet you" present since we read together when she was in first grade two years ago. She is the one who gave me large chocolate lips on valentines day because she thought my name was Mrs. Lipstick. Perhaps she thinks of me and thinks chocolates. But on days like today I know not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Did she somehow know that today I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, feeling the world was against me, and that my day would only continue to get worse and worse? Did she know that I have a secret passion for dollar store cordial cherries? That at different times during the day when I was feeling behind, flustered, sick, or lost I would need to grab a bite of chocolate-covered-syrup in order to clear my mind?

So now, 10 and a half hours after I arrived at school this morning, I nibble, one by one, realizing a large portion of them are gone, and that I have a stomachache. Perhaps when the kindergartners practice their impulse control I should be right there with them...

the teacher i wasn't

the teacher i was today was not patient, kind, or nurturing.
the teacher i was today did not give specific praise,
did not celebrate wrong answers because they showed smart thinking,
did not listen to explanations.

the teacher i was today did not take time to explain
did not say,
"what can you do to solve that problem yourself?",
did not break down tasks into smaller pieces to make children successful.

the teacher i was today bit her lip during guided reading
because three readers sat, staring at a word
without trying anything.

the teacher i wasn't would have said,
"what can you do to figure out that word?"
instead
the teacher i was sighed,
"i told you that word during the book introduction!
can't you remember?"
"no- stop sounding out words- is that going to help you? no! look at the picture".

the teacher i wasn't would have said,
"wow, great job listening to those sounds.
but that's still not helping- what else can you do?"

the teacher i wasn't would have knelt down
eye to eye with a wiggly friend
to give a quiet but firm reminder that we don't talk during the fire drill.

the teacher i was snapped her fingers
and pointed at a spot away from the group.
"i said no talking" the teacher i was sighed,
rudely, showing no respect for the child.
the teacher i wasn't wouldn't have cared
that other teachers may see this rude little boy
and judge
- the teacher i wasn't would have modeled the right thing to do,
praised him for doing part of it right,
and firmly, but respectfully insisted that he show us how to do it.

i hope the teacher i wasn't will come back tomorrow.
the one i love- the one who gets results-
who sees small steps to take to help reach children-
who has patience for struggling readers.

i hope the teacher i was will go to bed early,
relax, read a book, and slowly turn back into the teacher i wasn't.
because this job is too hard
to be the teacher i was.

strength & patience

There was no reason for me to be in a hurry- but I was. Writing workshop was over and I was trying to hustle and bustle the group I was working with into cleaning up fast- get to the carpet quickly- because that's what we do in kindergarten- move as a group from one activity to another. I reached out to put her papers into her folder when I heard her small voice,
"Please, Mrs. Lipstick, let me do it myself"

Using the limited muscle movement in her hands and arms she set about putting her writing workshop papers into her folder. Opening her folder and slowly trying to slide the paper inside the flap- by herself. An act her friends had all done quickly, without giving it a second thought, and then flew to the carpet to hear the next part of the lesson.

"Just let me know when you need help" I whispered. It would be so, so much faster if I did it for her. Scooped up the papers, gone on with the lesson. In fact, I almost had done it before she could ask to do it herself. If I hadn't heard her soft voice we'd be on the carpet now.

But she worked at the paper, pushing it this way and that, using both hands when she could. When she finally realized she needed help she asked, but gave me a specific direction, "I need help holding up the flap". So I held the flap up as she slowly, carefully slid the papers in.

Right when I thought she was done she wasn't- they weren't in all the way (so few of our kindergartners even wait for their papers to be in all the way...) but she knew she could do it- she would make them perfect. Slowly, slowly she slid the papers to the right and the left- making sure they went down into the folder straight as soldiers- not one corner out of place.

Her eyes met mine and we grinned- knowing what a large accomplishment it was.

I could have been in a hurry- could have done it myself. Could have ended writing workshop and moved on. We'd have been on the carpet faster- her with one less accomplishment for the day, me without having a strong reminder of the importance of listening and watching each individual child in order to meet their needs.

I have never seen such a strong kindergartner.
I have never watched someone so determined to accomplish something so difficult for them when an easier option is available.
If only I had that sort of strength- if we all did? What could we accomplish?

it's not fair

During our fall fun day adventures at the nearby park we let the children have a few minutes of unstructured fun. There are two different playgrounds at the park, which is just about as exciting as you can get when you are 5. Some of the teachers started pushing the leaves into big piles so the children could run and jump in them. If you live in an apartment building, or even in a town home community, you don't often get the chance to dive into big piles of leaves. The children's squeals of delight made shivering in the chilly weather worth it.

While I watched the leaf-pile excitement a few little boys came running over to me. "We want to show you something!" they giggled. And led me over to the second, smaller of the two playgrounds. Where someone, a high schooler perhaps, had taken the time to draw very detailed pictures of male genitalia. pictures plural. And had written all sorts of lovely sayings across the playground. Words that made me thankful that our five year olds can't read yet.

When I first started working at the think tank I was horrified by the state of this park. It's not on school grounds but is a quick walk in the woods between us and the high school. Broken glass littered the ground amongst the leaves, the trees were spray painted with the marks of gangs, and the play equipment itself was covered in different tags. I have pictures of our children sliding down the slide past the horrible gang warnings scrawled below their beautiful smiles.

But a few years later it was cleaned up. A member of our school board got involved, cut down trees to make the park more visible to the police driving by, put in new playground equipment, cleaned up the broken glass, blacked out the gang tags on the trees, and made the park a lovely place to be again.

It's taken two years but the park is returning back to what it was.

Sadly, as I looked at the five year olds giggling over the awful drawings I realized that this probably wasn't the first time they'd seen them. This is their neighborhood. Their parents bring them here to play. This is what they have. Most of them are probably use to this. After seeing this, will their parents bring them back? Is it too far, too much of an unsafe hassle? Will they stay inside with Nintendo and tv instead?

It's not fair to them. It's not fair because in the grand scheme of things, it's just not that big a deal. It's not fair that their famlies have more important things to worry about than the unsafe neighborhood playgrounds. That these pictures are the least of their worries.

**A quick email to my fabulous principal and one of our awesome secretaries was immediately followed by calls to the park authority, who promised to come out soon. If only we could scrub their little lives clean of all these pictures- all these adult words scrawled across their childhoods.

freeze like an ice cube!

Today we spent an hour and a half outside at a nearby park off of school grounds. It's fabulous because although it's a very short walk from school the whole walk is through the woods- which creates an immediate imaginative walk for five year olds.

"There's a crocodile!" they yelled, excitedly pointing at what could have been a small creek during a heavy rain storm.

Our fall adventures were fabulous, but cold. Really cold. After watching my little ones' teeth chatter together as they ran around I suggested that I take a small group of cold children back to school. (If a five year old asks to go inside while playing on an exciting new playground you know they are seriously cold.)

"Little one is freezing!" I said, "Let's go!"

"I'm freezing!" Little one agreed, "Let's go!"

As we walked back to school we kept chatting about how cold we were, but how we could really tell Little One was freezing. One of my little ones full of spunk kept asking, "But why is Little One freezing?" I thought she meant, 'how is she colder than the rest of us?'

Then she stopped walking, grabbed Little One, held her still and said, "Stop! I want to see you freezing!"

Which was when I realized she may be confused about what freezing means.

"Little One is just really, really cold," I started to explain. "Sometimes we say we're freezing when we're really, really cold. It just means we're super-cold- we're not actually freezing."

"Oh" my curious friend sighed, disappointed. "You mean she's not about to freeze like an ice cube?"

Sometimes I forget that my children just learning English may not get all the ins and outs of the language. I can only imagine what she was envisioning in her head- Poor Little One, slowly turning into a frozen-solid five year old right there in the forest.