When Do I Get To Teach?

I Remember the Child So Well...

I remember the child so well. He would enter the preschool classroom almost every morning like a storm and some mornings you could even smell the storm. Other children would scatter as they knew those who remained in his way risked being pushed out of the path as he would make his way to his cubby each morning. His tense dusty face displayed hurt, often disguised as anger. Only one thing was found to help calm his upsets and calm our mornings. It was the rocking chair. I had my husband’s grandfather’s old wooden rocker in my classroom. Morning after morning, we would rock together and I would sing “Jesus Loves Me”. While rocking, the anger and hurt would seem to dissipate. We would rock until his dusty, grimace face was calm and even sometimes streaming with tears. Sometimes while rocking, I would think of the other children, wondering “when do I get to teach”. Thinking of the new big book that I just couldn’t wait to share or the pumpkin recipe I couldn’t wait to try during the morning circle time. Morning after morning, circle time was often interrupted in this way.  As days went on, our trips to the rocking chair became fewer and fewer, and some days I wasn’t needed in the rocking chair at all. This sometimes grimace faced child had learned to regulate his own emotions by going to the rocking chair to rock and calm his upsets on his own. It was then I realized in those moments that I had rocked and rocked, I had indeed been teaching. I was teaching more than that of any big book or circle time activity. The other children too had learned how to calm and self-regulate as they saw first hand an upset child who was calmed each day.

I also learned that before the needs of this child could be met, I had to find out his story, and we all have a story. He was living in very impoverished circumstances. His hurting manifested itself as anger and resentment. With no running water at home, his physical needs were not being met. As I modeled compassion and empathy for the child, the other children quickly joined in. As arrangements through a local church were made to meet the child's physical needs, his emotional needs were being attended in the classroom.

One day soon after, I heard a knock at the classroom door. As I opened the door, there stood the child’s parents, both mom and dad. They had come to personally offer thanks. Their visit came as a surprise to me as transportation wasn't easily accessible for the family. After that visit, I never saw the parents again. Time not wasted. Lessons not forgotten.

An Open Letter to Heroes Unsung

 An Open Letter to Heroes Unsung

The headlines read: “New light is shed on early childhood educators, a reverence for a new respect.”, “Early childhood educators are the new front line workers”, “Early childhood educators keep doors open”. 

The news’ headlines brought forth heroes who had for so long been hidden beneath the ordinary “day to day” happenings of our communities. For so long the pillar of our economy and the free world has been a faithful silent foundation, the ones caring, nurturing, teaching our children today, and preparing futures of tomorrows. Remaining faithful and committed to your calling, you held the hands of little ones and kept children close, maintaining normalcy during  the year when the world stopped turning.

Bravely, you entered an invisible war zone of a fearless pandemic. Each day you walked into the unknown prepared with a face mask, temperature check, hand sanitizer and prayers that didn’t cease. When everyone said “stay home”, your heart said go! While there were great victories along the way, some battles were simply lost. All day long you stared death in the face while the faces of the children looked at you without any hesitation, without any reservation and even full of joy. Parents looked to you with most confidence not only as a caregiver for their child but as a source of strength and assurity. There is no test, no assessment tool that can ever measure how much our children learned this year. What our children learned is unfathomable, too great to measure. There is no teacher evaluation tool to measure your valor, your strength, or your courage.  As children lost grandparents, either to quarantine or to the grave, and locks were placed on playgrounds, churches and school doors closed, you remained constant and unwavering. When your classroom doors had to close, you opened your homes to the world sharing cooking experiences, art projects, story times and even videos to model how to dress warmly in the newly fallen snow.

In total awe, I have watched you, not sure if I could have walked in your shoes myself. 

As the world begins to turn again and waken from the nightmare, you will continue to be the pillar of strength, the sparrow’s song just as you always have been. May you stand a little taller, a little braver, displaying proudly your warrior heart.