Does anybody out there remember his or her first grade teacher? I do, her name was Mrs. Fiskin and she wore her brown hair in a bun everyday. I wanted my mom to do my hair in a bun, too. I was in the red reading group, the Late Birds, and loved to play on the bars at recess. At lunch, I threw away my apple and ate my Ding Dong instead (don’t tell my mom!). From my earliest memories, I’ve been friends with boys. Ford liked to hang upside down on the bars and go on the rings with me. Evan and I played with the blocks, building roads and ramps for the Hot Wheels cars. I had/have red hair, was called “Carrot Top,” “Red,” and “Freckle Face” by the “big” kids. My mom said they were just jealous, but I, in all my 6 year old wisdom, knew she was wrong.
I’m now a first grade teacher, and have been for 14 years. I’m about to start my 10th year at a school in the Sierra Nevada foothills in California. California is a beautiful state full of diverse landscapes and diverse people from all walks of life. I love it here and hope to never leave. I consider my classroom a microcosm of sorts, full of diversity in terms of learning ablilities, learning styles, reading levels, behaviors, boys, girls, socio-economic statuses, religions, languages, and personalities. I love it, and hope I never have to leave.
First Grade is different now compared to my first grade experience of the 70′s. Back then, there weren’t any state standards. Schools were funded and life was good, at least according to me. All I knew was that when the bell rang it was time to stop what you were doing and do something else. And there was always someone in charge, who knew what to do. We had time to practice our printing, to read leisurely, to work on our projects, and to play. I had my own desk, the kind you can prop up with your pencil like the hood of a car. I used to hide my head under that hood and organize. When I was in first grade, school seemed easy. We were expected to learn to read with Dick and Jane, to learn to add and subtract, and to learn to get along with each other. We didn’t have homework.
Today's First Graders have a long list of concepts they must learn in 10 short months. They have homework. Blegh! But many of them also have to deal with divorce, autism, obesity, diabetes, ADD, ADHD, drug abuse, alcoholism, bullying, abandonment, depression, anxiety, and a whole slough of issues a lot of adults can't handle. More than ever, children need us adults to be there for them, to be compassionate and empathic, and show them a way to solve their problems.
Yet children are still children. They say and do really funny things. In my blog, I hope to preserve some of that, and, hopefully, preserve my own belief in childhood. Teaching and being around children keeps me young at heart and light-hearted, yet it keeps me grounded and ever-mindful of what’s important in life: do what makes you happy, whether that’s painting a picture or writing a novel, drawing on the sidewalk with chalk or throwing a ball.
A student of mine from 2 years ago reminds me of this. I’m changing his name for this blog, although that’s a shame since his name is such an important part of him. I’ll call him Frank. Frank has blond hair and brown eyes (which are always smiling). He has autism, he is high-functioning, which means he is social and talks and plays with other kids. He likes to “move it-move it” while walking in line. He tried in class, but being much less mature than the others, was constantly distracting them. All he wanted to do was play. This made me crazy some days, but it’s also what I loved about him. He got lots of services of which speech therapy was one. He learned how to respond when someone says hello to him. He was to practice his /l/ sounds, which he pronounced as /w/. I think you know where I’m going with this story…
For the rest of this story, you need to know the lunch procedures at my school. The kids play first, then eat. That means they have to put their lunches in a designated spot on the playground and when they leave the classroom, I also leave. And lock the door. Occasionally, kids would be so wrapped up in getting to recess, they'd forget their lunch (in spite of multiple reminders from me), which meant I invariably had to stop eating and walk all the way back to let them in. I made it clear to the students that I did not like this, and for the most part, they were very good about remembering what to do.
But one day, Frank left his lunch in the room.
Apparently this realization caused a panic and he rustled up some kids to help him deal with me. All I knew was that one minute I was walking to the teachers’ lunch room, anticipating 30 minutes of time with grown-ups, and the next I was being accosted by a posse of 6 year olds with Frank at the helm exclaiming, “Mrs. B! I wost my wunch!” My heart melted. He was obviously genuinely upset (about the realization that he would starve to death or his guilt over interrupting my lunch, I'll never know). So I walked back to the room with him so he could get his wunch.
I’m now a first grade teacher, and have been for 14 years. I’m about to start my 10th year at a school in the Sierra Nevada foothills in California. California is a beautiful state full of diverse landscapes and diverse people from all walks of life. I love it here and hope to never leave. I consider my classroom a microcosm of sorts, full of diversity in terms of learning ablilities, learning styles, reading levels, behaviors, boys, girls, socio-economic statuses, religions, languages, and personalities. I love it, and hope I never have to leave.
First Grade is different now compared to my first grade experience of the 70′s. Back then, there weren’t any state standards. Schools were funded and life was good, at least according to me. All I knew was that when the bell rang it was time to stop what you were doing and do something else. And there was always someone in charge, who knew what to do. We had time to practice our printing, to read leisurely, to work on our projects, and to play. I had my own desk, the kind you can prop up with your pencil like the hood of a car. I used to hide my head under that hood and organize. When I was in first grade, school seemed easy. We were expected to learn to read with Dick and Jane, to learn to add and subtract, and to learn to get along with each other. We didn’t have homework.
Today's First Graders have a long list of concepts they must learn in 10 short months. They have homework. Blegh! But many of them also have to deal with divorce, autism, obesity, diabetes, ADD, ADHD, drug abuse, alcoholism, bullying, abandonment, depression, anxiety, and a whole slough of issues a lot of adults can't handle. More than ever, children need us adults to be there for them, to be compassionate and empathic, and show them a way to solve their problems.
Yet children are still children. They say and do really funny things. In my blog, I hope to preserve some of that, and, hopefully, preserve my own belief in childhood. Teaching and being around children keeps me young at heart and light-hearted, yet it keeps me grounded and ever-mindful of what’s important in life: do what makes you happy, whether that’s painting a picture or writing a novel, drawing on the sidewalk with chalk or throwing a ball.
A student of mine from 2 years ago reminds me of this. I’m changing his name for this blog, although that’s a shame since his name is such an important part of him. I’ll call him Frank. Frank has blond hair and brown eyes (which are always smiling). He has autism, he is high-functioning, which means he is social and talks and plays with other kids. He likes to “move it-move it” while walking in line. He tried in class, but being much less mature than the others, was constantly distracting them. All he wanted to do was play. This made me crazy some days, but it’s also what I loved about him. He got lots of services of which speech therapy was one. He learned how to respond when someone says hello to him. He was to practice his /l/ sounds, which he pronounced as /w/. I think you know where I’m going with this story…
For the rest of this story, you need to know the lunch procedures at my school. The kids play first, then eat. That means they have to put their lunches in a designated spot on the playground and when they leave the classroom, I also leave. And lock the door. Occasionally, kids would be so wrapped up in getting to recess, they'd forget their lunch (in spite of multiple reminders from me), which meant I invariably had to stop eating and walk all the way back to let them in. I made it clear to the students that I did not like this, and for the most part, they were very good about remembering what to do.
But one day, Frank left his lunch in the room.
Apparently this realization caused a panic and he rustled up some kids to help him deal with me. All I knew was that one minute I was walking to the teachers’ lunch room, anticipating 30 minutes of time with grown-ups, and the next I was being accosted by a posse of 6 year olds with Frank at the helm exclaiming, “Mrs. B! I wost my wunch!” My heart melted. He was obviously genuinely upset (about the realization that he would starve to death or his guilt over interrupting my lunch, I'll never know). So I walked back to the room with him so he could get his wunch.
Yes, I remember my first grade teacher, Mrs. Bushman. She terrified me. The kids are so lucky to have you, Jennifer, especially kids like Frank. I'll be following your blog and the adventures at school.
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