Just to make myself clear before I start, no, I hadn't taken any strange cold medication nor had I eaten something weird the night before this happened. It was as simple as this; I woke up in the middle of the night with the thought, Gee, anyone who eats salad must be quite flexible. And by flexible I don't mean Nadia Comaneci flexible, I mean psychologically and emotionally flexible.
Look, I don't pretend to be a profound dreamer like the Biblical Joseph. But who could possibly ignore such a propetic message? Ok, so most people can...but I couldn't. Over and over again in the middle of the night I promised myself I would remember my salad thought when I woke up. I was sure there was something my brain was trying to tell me, other than I needed to buy lettuce and possibly to go get a life.
Luckily for me, this message came to me on a Saturday night, so I had all of Sunday to think about this while avoiding everything of substance that I needed to do. This seemingly cryptic clue became crystal clear when I thought about my students.
If you've ever watched children eat, as I have my own at home, or in my classroom or in the lunchroom at school, you might observe that generally, children have a uniform way of eating. They'll eat all of one food, then move to the next, and then to the next, until they have finished everything (or thrown it out, but those are stories for another posting). There's rarely any variation of a theme; no, let's try a little bit of this, and then a little bit of that, and then back to some more of this (Seinfeld fans, I purposely avoided using the words, this, that and...the other).
A salad, as we all know, is made up of a variety of different ingredients. Every forkful of salad brings a unique combination of flavours to the tongue. A person is never guaranteed that he or she will get the same taste sensation twice (sorry Gump fans), hence my late night thought that anyone who eats salad must be someone who can deal with a lot of different things being thrown at them at once, thereby making them flexible.
But here's my question: are salad eaters missing something by eating their ingredients all mixed together, by being so flexible? What can we learn by children's eating habits? And yes, I'm going somewhere with this.
Let's think about this. The mixture of foods in a salad, although a tasty treat, doesn't give the taster the enjoyment of tasting individual flavours, because so many tastes are bombarding the mouth at the same time. When children eat one food at a time, they learn each food's distinct flavour and characteristics. They learn how a food feels on the tongue, if it's chewy or crunchy, sweet or salty. They learn the individuality of food. They appreciate each for its own merit and begin to learn to discern which flavours they like or dislike. That way, they'll know which tastes to avoid and which specific ones to savour.
To me, the average day is like a salad. A million things happen, but something always sticks out to claim that one adjective that will describe the entire day. Think about how, when you're tired after a day at work or working around the house, and someone asks you how your day was, you're able to reply with one word. It was 'great'. It was 'lousy'. It was 'frustrating'. It was...'okay'. How is it that we're able to take an entire day and condense it into one word...in essence, one memory? When we dig in and pull out one forkful to remember and discuss, how often do we choose a positive one, one that 'tastes good'? And why can one piece of soggy lettuce have the power to deem the entire salad to be terrible?
Let's be honest. Isn't finding that nasty, gritty piece of lettuce and talking about it a lot more interesting than relating a story about a great salad? 'I had a great salad' is a five word story, and a yawner at that. The story about how a delicious salad turned horrible is far more interesting, garners more attention and has a lot more staying power in a conversation. It can be reused and recycled at any time, especially after someone else tells a story about their bad experience with salad. 'I had a great salad' just sits there like a limp leaf of lettuce.
I admit that when it comes to relating stories about my day, I have to fight the urge to tell the one that will get me the most bang for my buck... and more often than not, it's a story with a less than positive message or outcome. In my salad of life, I know that there are many forkfulls (and bowlfulls) that are downright vile. Maybe we can all learn from the children; savour the individual, delicious ingredients of each day, so that when our salad is tossed with things that are not so good, we can rely on the tasty forkfulls to get us through the day.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
We're all so cold blooded
Have you ever considered that we humans might not be mammals, but might in fact be fish or reptiles? I had to wonder as I read the following note from a parent I received years ago and kept because, well, you'll see:
Dear Ms. A.,
I would like my daughter to stay inside during recess. We just came back from the warm climate and she needs time to adjust to cold weather, so she would not get sick again. Thank you.
Just to add a cherry to this ice cream of amusement, the girl handed me the note when she came into the class after recess. That note gave me a chuckle then, and has every time I've looked at it since.
I admit that I've kept the note on the side of my fridge in an inconspicuous spot. Over time, I noticed it less and less, until the only times I paid any attention to it were when I cleaned. Finally, a few weeks ago, I decided that maybe I didn't need it on the fridge anymore. I put the note in my hands preparing to stash it somewhere, but decided to read it one more time. This time, I didn't laugh. Something very different resounded in me.
We are all familiar with the French author, Francois de la Rochefoucauld's famous words, "The only thing constant in life is change". Funny thing about that line, nobody ever quotes it over something good. You never hear someone at a wedding saying to the bride and groom, 'Mazal tov! Now don't forget, the only thing constant in life is change. So, chew on that a while and then go start your life together!' No, that line is sort of a 'comforting-the-mourner' thing to say. It works well when someone has lost a job, lost a loved one, got a divorce, or the last kid has flown the nest. It's always followed by the recipient of the phrase casting his or her eyes down to the ground (or up to the sky), shrugging his or her shoulders and uttering an imperceptible, 'yeah'. The message is crystal clear-change sucks. So, if everyone knows that change is constant, why don't we expect it, why don't we look forward to it, why don't we embrace it?
As the weather begins to get nicer outside, about mid-April-when Spring is in the air, the trees begin to blossom, the birds sing their love songs and you can actually feel the sun's warm rays on your back through your woolen coat, all should seem right with the world. In the staff room, however, the looming panic of change sets in, as we begin to wonder what each of us will be asked to teach the following year. Will we teach the same grade? Will we have the same colleagues? Will we have to move rooms? We all look at each other and ask the questions, (a) So, what do you think? (brilliant, eh?) and (b) Have you heard anything? Everyone then speculates, and then the rumours fly. The spectre of change haunts as the tulips bloom.
And therein lies the problem I have with change. It's not always the change itself that is troublesome, but it's the anticipation of change that causes the struggle. It's the what if's. What if I have to change grades? What if I can't meet my payments? What if the tests come back positive?
I think that Mel Brooks as the 2000 Year Old Man said it best. When Carl Reiner asked him how people got around all those years ago, how they were transported, he answered, "Mostly fear (and a few seconds later)...Fear would be the main propulsion". Sure, it's easy to chant, 'the only thing we have to fear is fear itself' or sing (and yes, I've done this), 'Whenever I feel afraid, I hold my head erect, and whistle a happy tune, so no one will suspect I'm afraid', but how easy is it to believe it? Moreover, what can we do to combat those menacing thoughts that bring about the doom known as 'change'?
Some changes that occur in life are beyond our control. What we can control, however, is how we choose to accept the changes. In an extreme example, the passengers on the fated United 93 flight on September 11, 2001 knew that they were the target of terrorists. They knew that the chances of them getting out of that plane alive were slim to none. They knew their fate, yet they chose to take control of themselves, even when the situation was not in their control.
Not all change is bad. Moving to a new house, winning a lottery (please may it happen to me), landing that dream job, welcoming a new baby, falling in love, and getting married (or in my case, making a wedding for my firstborn) are all great changes. Still, these changes affect us and those around us. Even good changes cause stress.
Rochefoucauld was right; change is unavoidable. That girl in my class was simply going to have to get used to the idea that it's cold here in Canada in the winter. Luckily, that's an easy one; an extra sweater under a winter coat, warm hat, mitts and snow boots would suffice in making the adjustment to the frigid temperatures bearable.
Oh, and speaking of winter, well, that's a change that will soon be upon us. Believe it or not, the conversation in the staff room has already switched to sales on winter coats, and who knows which boots are the warmest.
And maybe that's the answer as to how to combat the fear of change. I've been a participating member of a group of clucking hens, all voicing concerns. Those conversations only help to escalate matters. Only when we share concerns and brainstorm solutions in a constructive manner does facing change become more palatable. Taking control of the change, good or bad, is what its all about.
Change causes us to challenge ourselves to reach new goals and conquer old fears. As for me, I'm going to go into my closet and find my winter coat.
Dear Ms. A.,
I would like my daughter to stay inside during recess. We just came back from the warm climate and she needs time to adjust to cold weather, so she would not get sick again. Thank you.
Just to add a cherry to this ice cream of amusement, the girl handed me the note when she came into the class after recess. That note gave me a chuckle then, and has every time I've looked at it since.
I admit that I've kept the note on the side of my fridge in an inconspicuous spot. Over time, I noticed it less and less, until the only times I paid any attention to it were when I cleaned. Finally, a few weeks ago, I decided that maybe I didn't need it on the fridge anymore. I put the note in my hands preparing to stash it somewhere, but decided to read it one more time. This time, I didn't laugh. Something very different resounded in me.
We are all familiar with the French author, Francois de la Rochefoucauld's famous words, "The only thing constant in life is change". Funny thing about that line, nobody ever quotes it over something good. You never hear someone at a wedding saying to the bride and groom, 'Mazal tov! Now don't forget, the only thing constant in life is change. So, chew on that a while and then go start your life together!' No, that line is sort of a 'comforting-the-mourner' thing to say. It works well when someone has lost a job, lost a loved one, got a divorce, or the last kid has flown the nest. It's always followed by the recipient of the phrase casting his or her eyes down to the ground (or up to the sky), shrugging his or her shoulders and uttering an imperceptible, 'yeah'. The message is crystal clear-change sucks. So, if everyone knows that change is constant, why don't we expect it, why don't we look forward to it, why don't we embrace it?
As the weather begins to get nicer outside, about mid-April-when Spring is in the air, the trees begin to blossom, the birds sing their love songs and you can actually feel the sun's warm rays on your back through your woolen coat, all should seem right with the world. In the staff room, however, the looming panic of change sets in, as we begin to wonder what each of us will be asked to teach the following year. Will we teach the same grade? Will we have the same colleagues? Will we have to move rooms? We all look at each other and ask the questions, (a) So, what do you think? (brilliant, eh?) and (b) Have you heard anything? Everyone then speculates, and then the rumours fly. The spectre of change haunts as the tulips bloom.
And therein lies the problem I have with change. It's not always the change itself that is troublesome, but it's the anticipation of change that causes the struggle. It's the what if's. What if I have to change grades? What if I can't meet my payments? What if the tests come back positive?
I think that Mel Brooks as the 2000 Year Old Man said it best. When Carl Reiner asked him how people got around all those years ago, how they were transported, he answered, "Mostly fear (and a few seconds later)...Fear would be the main propulsion". Sure, it's easy to chant, 'the only thing we have to fear is fear itself' or sing (and yes, I've done this), 'Whenever I feel afraid, I hold my head erect, and whistle a happy tune, so no one will suspect I'm afraid', but how easy is it to believe it? Moreover, what can we do to combat those menacing thoughts that bring about the doom known as 'change'?
Some changes that occur in life are beyond our control. What we can control, however, is how we choose to accept the changes. In an extreme example, the passengers on the fated United 93 flight on September 11, 2001 knew that they were the target of terrorists. They knew that the chances of them getting out of that plane alive were slim to none. They knew their fate, yet they chose to take control of themselves, even when the situation was not in their control.
Not all change is bad. Moving to a new house, winning a lottery (please may it happen to me), landing that dream job, welcoming a new baby, falling in love, and getting married (or in my case, making a wedding for my firstborn) are all great changes. Still, these changes affect us and those around us. Even good changes cause stress.
Rochefoucauld was right; change is unavoidable. That girl in my class was simply going to have to get used to the idea that it's cold here in Canada in the winter. Luckily, that's an easy one; an extra sweater under a winter coat, warm hat, mitts and snow boots would suffice in making the adjustment to the frigid temperatures bearable.
Oh, and speaking of winter, well, that's a change that will soon be upon us. Believe it or not, the conversation in the staff room has already switched to sales on winter coats, and who knows which boots are the warmest.
And maybe that's the answer as to how to combat the fear of change. I've been a participating member of a group of clucking hens, all voicing concerns. Those conversations only help to escalate matters. Only when we share concerns and brainstorm solutions in a constructive manner does facing change become more palatable. Taking control of the change, good or bad, is what its all about.
Change causes us to challenge ourselves to reach new goals and conquer old fears. As for me, I'm going to go into my closet and find my winter coat.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Sign on the dotted line
I do not hold the monopoly on great stories. This one was related to me by my colleague the other day, while sitting over lunch.
My colleague is a Resource teacher. In layman's terms, she works as a Remedial teacher, to boost reading and other learning skills. It's a tough job. A Resource teacher has to have a bag of strategies miles deep in order to keep the children engaged and interested. Sometimes she works in the class with small groups of children. Other times, children are withdrawn from class in order to enjoy more intense learning in the quieter environment of the Resource Room.
One day, Resource teacher went to pick up the little boy from his Grade 2 class. The walk down the hall was uneventful and they reached their destination without incident. The two sat down together, ready to learn. The teacher pulled out the books and activities and placed them on the desk for both of them to see. It was then that the boy stopped, turned his head to look up at her and queried, "Who signed me up for this?"
I've always found it ironic that all those instructional books on child rearing seem to stop when the baby arrives at his fifth birthday. Up until then, you can track every little aspect of a baby's growth using these books. The specialists tell you when the baby is supposed to sleep through the night, when he should be learning to crawl or walk, or eat independently, or become toilet trained. It's all neatly laid out...until the baby turns five. And then, out of nowhere, the advice stops cold. It's like the experts are saying, 'Ok, you know what to do. Now, Skedaddle!' From that moment on, raising a child becomes a mystery. You're suddenly on your own. Bookless.
I've always considered that whole child raising issue a conspiracy. I think it's done purposely, so that we parents don't get scared. A book will give you step by step instructions on how to cure bedwetting, but no one tells us how to prepare a child for going on a first date, or (Heaven forbid) help us deal with the shock of it (hint: copious amounts of liquor). No child rearing books tell us how to get a teenager to pick his (or her...I've experienced both) stuff off the floor. We are told how to cope with Whooping Cough (now called the hundred day cough...and I've counted it...and it really lasts exactly one hundred days, each one a glorious nightmare), but not what to do when our first...or our last child enters university.... and there's NO child rearing book that deals with helping us get through the first child getting married (hint: copious amounts of liquor). It's all a well kept military secret, designed so that no one will ask early on, Who signed me up for this?
No one tells us that parents die, that young people get sick, that the rich get richer (that really sucks!), that life is filled with disappointments, and that sometimes, from seemingly nowhere, just when everything seems to be going right, something happens to make it go terribly wrong. It makes one ask, Who signed me up for this?
That little boy asks a really good question. It's a question that stems from confusion, from a point where it seems that there's a lack of fairness going on. This child sees that he's been chosen, but like Tevye, asks the question, "...once in a while, can't You choose someone else?" As adults who have 'been there', we chuckle with empathy.
What that child doesn't realize is that because he is 'signed up' for this class, his life in school might just happen to change dramatically for the better. Someone noticed that the child needed an extra boost to get him on track, advocated for him and did something about it to make things right. With some hard work, time and support from all sides (teacher, student and parents) this student just might eventually thank those who 'signed him up', because he will not feel as lost in the scary land known as school.
There's a great Yiddish phrase that goes, kleine kinder, kleine tzuris...grosse kinder, grosse tsuris (little children, little problems...big children, big problems). We big children live with the big problems in life, as well as the little ones. Dealing with our issues can be difficult, especially when we're mired in the problem. That's where our little friend comes in to help teach an invaluable lesson.
Whereas children often need someone to advocate for them, I've learned that I need to advocate for myself. Recognizing that there is a problem in the first place is difficult enough, but just knowing that it exists is not sufficient. It's important to work to find a way to muddle through whatever it is that life throws my way. I need time. I need to do the hard work. And I need support from the right people in our life. Without a doubt, I get by with a little help from my friends. Some problems can't be solved completely, but with the right tools, and with the right friends, I might not feel as lost in the scary place called life.
And neither will you.
My colleague is a Resource teacher. In layman's terms, she works as a Remedial teacher, to boost reading and other learning skills. It's a tough job. A Resource teacher has to have a bag of strategies miles deep in order to keep the children engaged and interested. Sometimes she works in the class with small groups of children. Other times, children are withdrawn from class in order to enjoy more intense learning in the quieter environment of the Resource Room.
One day, Resource teacher went to pick up the little boy from his Grade 2 class. The walk down the hall was uneventful and they reached their destination without incident. The two sat down together, ready to learn. The teacher pulled out the books and activities and placed them on the desk for both of them to see. It was then that the boy stopped, turned his head to look up at her and queried, "Who signed me up for this?"
I've always found it ironic that all those instructional books on child rearing seem to stop when the baby arrives at his fifth birthday. Up until then, you can track every little aspect of a baby's growth using these books. The specialists tell you when the baby is supposed to sleep through the night, when he should be learning to crawl or walk, or eat independently, or become toilet trained. It's all neatly laid out...until the baby turns five. And then, out of nowhere, the advice stops cold. It's like the experts are saying, 'Ok, you know what to do. Now, Skedaddle!' From that moment on, raising a child becomes a mystery. You're suddenly on your own. Bookless.
I've always considered that whole child raising issue a conspiracy. I think it's done purposely, so that we parents don't get scared. A book will give you step by step instructions on how to cure bedwetting, but no one tells us how to prepare a child for going on a first date, or (Heaven forbid) help us deal with the shock of it (hint: copious amounts of liquor). No child rearing books tell us how to get a teenager to pick his (or her...I've experienced both) stuff off the floor. We are told how to cope with Whooping Cough (now called the hundred day cough...and I've counted it...and it really lasts exactly one hundred days, each one a glorious nightmare), but not what to do when our first...or our last child enters university.... and there's NO child rearing book that deals with helping us get through the first child getting married (hint: copious amounts of liquor). It's all a well kept military secret, designed so that no one will ask early on, Who signed me up for this?
No one tells us that parents die, that young people get sick, that the rich get richer (that really sucks!), that life is filled with disappointments, and that sometimes, from seemingly nowhere, just when everything seems to be going right, something happens to make it go terribly wrong. It makes one ask, Who signed me up for this?
That little boy asks a really good question. It's a question that stems from confusion, from a point where it seems that there's a lack of fairness going on. This child sees that he's been chosen, but like Tevye, asks the question, "...once in a while, can't You choose someone else?" As adults who have 'been there', we chuckle with empathy.
What that child doesn't realize is that because he is 'signed up' for this class, his life in school might just happen to change dramatically for the better. Someone noticed that the child needed an extra boost to get him on track, advocated for him and did something about it to make things right. With some hard work, time and support from all sides (teacher, student and parents) this student just might eventually thank those who 'signed him up', because he will not feel as lost in the scary land known as school.
There's a great Yiddish phrase that goes, kleine kinder, kleine tzuris...grosse kinder, grosse tsuris (little children, little problems...big children, big problems). We big children live with the big problems in life, as well as the little ones. Dealing with our issues can be difficult, especially when we're mired in the problem. That's where our little friend comes in to help teach an invaluable lesson.
Whereas children often need someone to advocate for them, I've learned that I need to advocate for myself. Recognizing that there is a problem in the first place is difficult enough, but just knowing that it exists is not sufficient. It's important to work to find a way to muddle through whatever it is that life throws my way. I need time. I need to do the hard work. And I need support from the right people in our life. Without a doubt, I get by with a little help from my friends. Some problems can't be solved completely, but with the right tools, and with the right friends, I might not feel as lost in the scary place called life.
And neither will you.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
The bells are ringing...
Recess. You gotta love it. For teachers not on yard duty, it means that we get to go to the bathroom; an auspicious accomplishment only we teachers can appreciate. If we’re really lucky, we might have time to run (literally) to the staff room, or make copies of the one important thing we forgot to photocopy, or possibly check phone messages. The experienced teacher tries to do a combination of the above, with limited success.
Those fortunate teachers who are not on duty get to gloat while the rest of us head out for the recess yard. In the warm weather, we relish those fleeting moments to soak in some Vitamin D. In the howling winds of winter, however, each second is poison. Fifteen minutes seems like a lifetime. Our watches don’t work fast enough. On those days outside, all bundled up, we stare at the school windows thinking of our lucky colleagues indoors sipping coffee (we forget that all they're really trying to do is to get to the bathroom or the photocopy machine) or else we simply dream of hot chocolate to pass the time. But, enough about me. What is recess about to a child? I’ll bet you think it’s a simple question with a simple answer, but it’s not.
Let’s be honest. For a child, recess is a break from the teacher’s droning. Even in the classroom where the teacher doesn’t drone, recess is a break from the teacher’s droning. The children have been cooped up in a classroom for hours, and they need a change of scenery. Recess provides that opportunity. Recess allows the child to roam around freely, get a drink and go to the washroom. And, oh yes, recess affords the child a chance to play.
One might think that play would have been at the top of my list. Well, it used to be, but I’ve noticed that increasingly, children are losing what I always thought was their instinctive ability to know how to play. It’s not as natural as it used to be, and that saddens and worries me.
Oh, sure, I hear ‘Wanna play?’ chanted repeatedly in the playground. I see groups of children playing tag or going off and shooting baskets or playing ‘four square’ or hopscotch. To the outsider, the untrained eye, everything appears normal, but the truth is that children are actually being taught how to play during school time (often in gym class). Without instruction, some children would feel lost in a playground. While it's wonderful that we can give children the tools to play, I wonder what has happened to cause children to need instruction altogether. I wonder if children are begininning to lose their ability to independently grab a friend and come up with a game to play.
And while I'm ranting, I'll mention another thing that strikes me as odd (and I admit to being old now as I write). Why is it that when a few children huddle over a screen of a ‘system’ game, they consider that as playing ‘together’? How are they playing together when they never look at each other? As I watch all of this unfold on the playground, I worry. If play doesn’t come naturally to children now, what will happen when they get older?
I don’t know what I would do if I weren’t able to play.
One of the reasons I became a teacher was so that I could ‘play’ with my students. ‘Play’ doesn’t necessarily mean getting down on the floor and building masterpieces out of Lego, although that’s perfectly fine and even desirable in my books. Playing means allowing the child in a person to emerge from time to time, in a positive, healthy way.
Every once in a while, when a child is skipping rope or playing with a ‘Skip-it’ (or whatever they call it these days) on the playground, I’ll ask if I can join in. I guess because I’m older, they always oblige. The kids don’t know what to make of it. I think they wonder how someone so old could possibly skip. I think that they think my request makes me a freak of nature. What they don’t realize that grownups need to play (indeed, maybe not Skip-it, although one shouldn't knock it--it's lots of fun). In fact, I believe that we need play desperately in our lives. The problem arises when we put off playing for a long period of time in order to perform our daily duties. We get so mired in our errands (often necessarily), that we forget how much we need to play. Sometimes, we even forget how.
As I deal with my obligations in life, I try to turn the mundane into play. As Mary Poppins so eloquently points out, "In every job that must be done, There is an element of fun, You find the job and snap! The job's a game". So here's some news: I'm not Mary Poppins, and I don't love doing all my chores. However, I often consider cooking as play. If I have all the ingredients and have time on my side, cooking is a combination of being at the play kitchen and the playdough centre. It’s creative and fun, and you get to eat at the end. And with any luck, someone else considers cleaning up as play. Now, that’s striking gold!
Sometimes, I will 'embarrass' my children in public by doing such criminal acts as singing a song out loud in the car with the windows down (with the children cringing inside), spontaneously dancing to the beat of a street player or volunteering for a busker show, to name just a few (I'm sure they could cite long lists of horrors the likes of the above mentioned). After being their mother for so many years, my children are almost used to my behaviour. They know that their mother is a bit 'off the wall'. What they haven't twigged into yet is that all I'm doing is playing.
It's easy to understand how play can quickly become a chore for children. When the recess bell rings and they run outside to an empty yard, children have to quickly assess who is around, ask someone to play and organize an activity. That takes work and skill. But they need it to survive. They need to laugh. It's good for their health. It's good for their soul.
Play needs to be fostered and encouraged. It needs to be practised, like addition or subtraction drills, until it becomes second nature. We need play. It's therapeutic. It breaks up the monotony in the day. At least for me, my sanity depends upon it.
I think the recess bell is about to ring. So go ahead! Go grab your friend and say, "Wanna play?"
Those fortunate teachers who are not on duty get to gloat while the rest of us head out for the recess yard. In the warm weather, we relish those fleeting moments to soak in some Vitamin D. In the howling winds of winter, however, each second is poison. Fifteen minutes seems like a lifetime. Our watches don’t work fast enough. On those days outside, all bundled up, we stare at the school windows thinking of our lucky colleagues indoors sipping coffee (we forget that all they're really trying to do is to get to the bathroom or the photocopy machine) or else we simply dream of hot chocolate to pass the time. But, enough about me. What is recess about to a child? I’ll bet you think it’s a simple question with a simple answer, but it’s not.
Let’s be honest. For a child, recess is a break from the teacher’s droning. Even in the classroom where the teacher doesn’t drone, recess is a break from the teacher’s droning. The children have been cooped up in a classroom for hours, and they need a change of scenery. Recess provides that opportunity. Recess allows the child to roam around freely, get a drink and go to the washroom. And, oh yes, recess affords the child a chance to play.
One might think that play would have been at the top of my list. Well, it used to be, but I’ve noticed that increasingly, children are losing what I always thought was their instinctive ability to know how to play. It’s not as natural as it used to be, and that saddens and worries me.
Oh, sure, I hear ‘Wanna play?’ chanted repeatedly in the playground. I see groups of children playing tag or going off and shooting baskets or playing ‘four square’ or hopscotch. To the outsider, the untrained eye, everything appears normal, but the truth is that children are actually being taught how to play during school time (often in gym class). Without instruction, some children would feel lost in a playground. While it's wonderful that we can give children the tools to play, I wonder what has happened to cause children to need instruction altogether. I wonder if children are begininning to lose their ability to independently grab a friend and come up with a game to play.
And while I'm ranting, I'll mention another thing that strikes me as odd (and I admit to being old now as I write). Why is it that when a few children huddle over a screen of a ‘system’ game, they consider that as playing ‘together’? How are they playing together when they never look at each other? As I watch all of this unfold on the playground, I worry. If play doesn’t come naturally to children now, what will happen when they get older?
I don’t know what I would do if I weren’t able to play.
One of the reasons I became a teacher was so that I could ‘play’ with my students. ‘Play’ doesn’t necessarily mean getting down on the floor and building masterpieces out of Lego, although that’s perfectly fine and even desirable in my books. Playing means allowing the child in a person to emerge from time to time, in a positive, healthy way.
Every once in a while, when a child is skipping rope or playing with a ‘Skip-it’ (or whatever they call it these days) on the playground, I’ll ask if I can join in. I guess because I’m older, they always oblige. The kids don’t know what to make of it. I think they wonder how someone so old could possibly skip. I think that they think my request makes me a freak of nature. What they don’t realize that grownups need to play (indeed, maybe not Skip-it, although one shouldn't knock it--it's lots of fun). In fact, I believe that we need play desperately in our lives. The problem arises when we put off playing for a long period of time in order to perform our daily duties. We get so mired in our errands (often necessarily), that we forget how much we need to play. Sometimes, we even forget how.
As I deal with my obligations in life, I try to turn the mundane into play. As Mary Poppins so eloquently points out, "In every job that must be done, There is an element of fun, You find the job and snap! The job's a game". So here's some news: I'm not Mary Poppins, and I don't love doing all my chores. However, I often consider cooking as play. If I have all the ingredients and have time on my side, cooking is a combination of being at the play kitchen and the playdough centre. It’s creative and fun, and you get to eat at the end. And with any luck, someone else considers cleaning up as play. Now, that’s striking gold!
Sometimes, I will 'embarrass' my children in public by doing such criminal acts as singing a song out loud in the car with the windows down (with the children cringing inside), spontaneously dancing to the beat of a street player or volunteering for a busker show, to name just a few (I'm sure they could cite long lists of horrors the likes of the above mentioned). After being their mother for so many years, my children are almost used to my behaviour. They know that their mother is a bit 'off the wall'. What they haven't twigged into yet is that all I'm doing is playing.
It's easy to understand how play can quickly become a chore for children. When the recess bell rings and they run outside to an empty yard, children have to quickly assess who is around, ask someone to play and organize an activity. That takes work and skill. But they need it to survive. They need to laugh. It's good for their health. It's good for their soul.
Play needs to be fostered and encouraged. It needs to be practised, like addition or subtraction drills, until it becomes second nature. We need play. It's therapeutic. It breaks up the monotony in the day. At least for me, my sanity depends upon it.
I think the recess bell is about to ring. So go ahead! Go grab your friend and say, "Wanna play?"
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Who are you anyway?
It happened every year in my kindergarten class without fail, somewhere between November and February. It even occurred once in my Grade 3 class. Now, before I let you know what transpired, keep in mind that I teach in a Hebrew Day School. By November, we would have learned about and celebrated four major holidays in two languages, sung a vast number of songs and prayers, stood for Hatikvah every day and learned at least a few dozen words in Hebrew.
Please understand, there would be neither rhyme nor reason as to when or why it happened. It just did.
A group of children would be sitting around a table, busying themselves with an activity, crayons or pencils in hand, when out of nowhere, one child would say to another, “I’m Jewish. Are you Jewish?” The second child would then chime in, “Yeah, I’m Jewish”. Then he would turn to the child next to him and ask, “Are you Jewish?” This little chirping with kippot bobbing would go all around the table, until they would all realize that everyone at the table was indeed, Jewish. It seemed incredulous. How could these children not have realized this before? Why did it seem such a surprise to them? More importantly, why were the children able to claim their identity so easily and succinctly? What do children know about being Jewish that I don't?
The question of ‘who am I’ gets more complicated as the years pass. Our identities become diverse. My own list is very long. I’m a daughter, a sister (and sister-in-law), a mother, a mother-in-law (a new one on my list), an aunt, a teacher and a friend (ooh, and a blogger!), to name just a few. Sometimes I feel that I've become compartmentalized as I travel through life. I'm so pushed and pulled by myself and others within each part of my whole that I begin to forget who the whole ‘me’ is. And I don't think I'm alone. We often fall into a trap of being a mother or father, a sister, brother or teacher, not a blend. When the scale becomes unbalanced because we’re overburdened with our jobs or our families, we begin to lose sight of who we are. It is when these things happen that I look to my students for clarity.
It is fascinating that kindergartners are able to declare their identity while drawing or cutting and pasting; literally without thinking. They are Jewish. Done. Are they able to be so sure about everything because their lives are simple? Do they know who they are only because they haven’t experienced life yet, because they don’t have mortgages to pay, or families to feed or bosses to please?
Perhaps. But I like to give children a bit more credit than that. Because they have not had to deal with the trappings of adulthood they are still ‘pure’. Their innocence allows them to see the world as it could be in a perfect state. If we take a moment to listen to them, we can glean great insight.
So, what does it mean for those children to say that they’re Jewish?
We know now through science that Kohanim share common DNA, so it is safe to extrapolate from that that all Jews carry some genetic marker, thereby branding us as Jews from birth. Being Jewish, therefore, is literally in our blood. We cannot escape it. No matter how one decides to be Jewish, he simply is Jewish.
Our sages and texts instruct us on how to be a good father, mother, sister, brother, teacher, and friend (and maybe blogger, although I haven’t checked). It’s all there to study, to learn and to question. Could it really be as simple as my students claim? Do the children instinctively know that being Jewish is simply part of them, biologically? Do they realize subconsciously that Judaism encompasses every aspect of their life, making their response to that question so immediate? I wonder. Furthermore, what can we learn from all of this?
I’m not the most observant person around by far, but I am religious, spiritual. The more I think about this, the more I realize that the children are trying to teach me that religion in general is important in life. No matter how I practise it, my Judaism acts as a glue that collects all those fragmented pieces of myself in order to assist me in becoming whole. I can be an Orthodox Jew, a pickles and pastrami Jew, a Woody Allen Jew, a BuJew (or JewBu, depending on whether you read right to left or left to right), Reform, Conservative or anywhere in between Jew. Religion gives me the tools to be the sum of my parts.
So, I suppose I can say that I’m a Jewish mother (oy!), a Jewish mother-in-law (bigger oy!), a Jewish sister and sister-in-law, a Jewish teacher, a Jewish friend, and, yes, even a Jewish blogger.
I’m Jewish. Are you Jewish?
Please understand, there would be neither rhyme nor reason as to when or why it happened. It just did.
A group of children would be sitting around a table, busying themselves with an activity, crayons or pencils in hand, when out of nowhere, one child would say to another, “I’m Jewish. Are you Jewish?” The second child would then chime in, “Yeah, I’m Jewish”. Then he would turn to the child next to him and ask, “Are you Jewish?” This little chirping with kippot bobbing would go all around the table, until they would all realize that everyone at the table was indeed, Jewish. It seemed incredulous. How could these children not have realized this before? Why did it seem such a surprise to them? More importantly, why were the children able to claim their identity so easily and succinctly? What do children know about being Jewish that I don't?
The question of ‘who am I’ gets more complicated as the years pass. Our identities become diverse. My own list is very long. I’m a daughter, a sister (and sister-in-law), a mother, a mother-in-law (a new one on my list), an aunt, a teacher and a friend (ooh, and a blogger!), to name just a few. Sometimes I feel that I've become compartmentalized as I travel through life. I'm so pushed and pulled by myself and others within each part of my whole that I begin to forget who the whole ‘me’ is. And I don't think I'm alone. We often fall into a trap of being a mother or father, a sister, brother or teacher, not a blend. When the scale becomes unbalanced because we’re overburdened with our jobs or our families, we begin to lose sight of who we are. It is when these things happen that I look to my students for clarity.
It is fascinating that kindergartners are able to declare their identity while drawing or cutting and pasting; literally without thinking. They are Jewish. Done. Are they able to be so sure about everything because their lives are simple? Do they know who they are only because they haven’t experienced life yet, because they don’t have mortgages to pay, or families to feed or bosses to please?
Perhaps. But I like to give children a bit more credit than that. Because they have not had to deal with the trappings of adulthood they are still ‘pure’. Their innocence allows them to see the world as it could be in a perfect state. If we take a moment to listen to them, we can glean great insight.
So, what does it mean for those children to say that they’re Jewish?
We know now through science that Kohanim share common DNA, so it is safe to extrapolate from that that all Jews carry some genetic marker, thereby branding us as Jews from birth. Being Jewish, therefore, is literally in our blood. We cannot escape it. No matter how one decides to be Jewish, he simply is Jewish.
Our sages and texts instruct us on how to be a good father, mother, sister, brother, teacher, and friend (and maybe blogger, although I haven’t checked). It’s all there to study, to learn and to question. Could it really be as simple as my students claim? Do the children instinctively know that being Jewish is simply part of them, biologically? Do they realize subconsciously that Judaism encompasses every aspect of their life, making their response to that question so immediate? I wonder. Furthermore, what can we learn from all of this?
I’m not the most observant person around by far, but I am religious, spiritual. The more I think about this, the more I realize that the children are trying to teach me that religion in general is important in life. No matter how I practise it, my Judaism acts as a glue that collects all those fragmented pieces of myself in order to assist me in becoming whole. I can be an Orthodox Jew, a pickles and pastrami Jew, a Woody Allen Jew, a BuJew (or JewBu, depending on whether you read right to left or left to right), Reform, Conservative or anywhere in between Jew. Religion gives me the tools to be the sum of my parts.
So, I suppose I can say that I’m a Jewish mother (oy!), a Jewish mother-in-law (bigger oy!), a Jewish sister and sister-in-law, a Jewish teacher, a Jewish friend, and, yes, even a Jewish blogger.
I’m Jewish. Are you Jewish?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)