I have snippets of memories as a child in kindergarten: a fish tank, sans water, full of toy dinosaurs; playing on the rug with tiny screwdrivers and getting told to pay attention - to what, I do not recall; a teacher asking (demanding) us kids to be quiet for one whole minute while we watched the clock’s second hand tick painfully around in a circle; the time my friend slid across the room on his knees directly into an easel, requiring stitches.1
I don’t remember hating kindergarten, but, at the same time, I don’t remember it with any particular fondness. I was safe, I probably learned something, and I definitely did a bunch of coloring.
And now, many2 years later, I find myself once again completing kindergarten, this time as a teacher. I remember a lot more as an adult than I did as a child. Not that the year didn’t go by in a blur. It did. But a good amount stayed with me. So many moments spent shepherding what were all too recently pre-K children through an important year of academics and social/emotional growth. Oh, and there were some dance parties too.
There’s something we call marble art. You put a piece of paper into a tray, dip marbles into paint, drop them on top of the paper, and shake it all around. Trying to capture what teaching kindergarten is like can be hard, but that’s it a little bit.
Here are some more examples of what teaching kindergarten is, in a way:
Planting a seed and wondering what type of tree will grow
Training cats to add
Conducting an orchestra full of musicians who were just handed their instruments for the first time
Running uphill backwards
Laughing so much your face hurts
Running downhill backwards
Trying to cheer up a snapping turtle
Singing karaoke with the music or the lyrics, but not both
Solving a Rubik’s Cube with all the colored stickers removed
Watching lightning bugs flicker across the grass
Kindergarten is a whirlwind. I often joke that although my co-teacher and I spend 8 AM to 4 PM in the same classroom, we live completely different lives. As we go, we exchange notes in an attempt to compile a coherent narrative of the day.
How do you say goodbye to a year where so much life happens? Where loose teeth swing like old saloon doors, popping out at the least opportune times. Where baby siblings are born, forcing our students to grapple with a new reality that they now have to share a parent’s love and attention with a tiny creature who fills diapers like it’s their job. Where tears flow like rivers, and the streets are paved with band-aids.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m so happy when summer break finally arrives, but every June I’m still taken by surprise. That’s it? Really? After all that?
As we pack up our classroom, I think about what went well and what could have gone better. I think about how I did what I could and how, for better or worse, it is now out of my hands. I play only a tiny role in the trajectory of my students’ lives, but I still hope that I nudged them in the right direction. I mean, they do say kindergarten is a crucial year, but if that’s true, then why did we have all those dance parties…
For the first week or so of summer break, I still hear tiny voices bouncing around in my head. Slowly, as I ease into the grimy blanketed humidity of July in New York City, those shrill voices fade into the background of my subconscious, waiting for new giggling, sobbing, wondering, voices to take their place.
And you know what? When next year does roll around, you get that new batch of kids, and you almost can’t imagine it any other way. It’s these students, it’s these jokes, it’s these songs, it’s these challenges, it’s these triumphs. And maybe, just maybe, I finally know what I’m doing.
Daily Cartoon: Friday, June 21st
But as I write this, the year has just ended. I’m shaking my head in disbelief. I’m exploring my free time. I’m drinking coffee. Reading. Doodling. Thinking. Trying to figure out who I am all over again, and trying to get the most out of this summer break.
So here’s to another year in Kindergarten. Goodbye! So long! Farewell! I’m going to rest up, because I’m pretty sure I pulled a muscle dancing.
Thanks for reading, have a wonderful summer, and write to you soon!
-Avi
Year later, he explained that he thought he’d be able to make a right turn while sliding across the floor and found out the hard way that five-year-olds are not cars.
many, many, many
Loved the learning curve... so true :D
You for Kindergarten. Lynda Barry for First Grade. Better World.