We began to grow unsatisfied at our public neighborhood school in LA during S's kindergarten year. I remember thinking from week one, No show and tell? That's weird. I remember seeing samples of student work and thinking - that doesn't sound like my child's voice. But I was gung-ho about this neighborhood school that so many privileged families deserted. When the class was discussing the solar system, I asked S if she wanted to bring in the folder of gorgeous glossy photos of each planet that a grown-up friend brought her from a trip to the space museum in Washington DC. When I picked her up, the photos were in her backpack exactly as they left.
"Didn't you share these with the class?" I asked. She'd been so excited, memorized the names, the order, the relational sizes.
"We're not allowed to do things like that," she said.
Oh the beginning of the blood boil. A burst of fury followed by deep breathing and an appropriate parental response. "Probably Ms R just didn't have time today, so why don't you bring those back?
"I'm not allowed to bring them back."
Not allowed? Not allowed? Not encouraged to share personal experience with the subject at hand? Fans of curiosity not flamed but instantly squelched in the name of more time for practicing the standardized tests? Breathe, breathe.
After a series of events like this, I met with the teacher, brought in some articles about "constructivism" (hands-on learning, eliciting knowledge from the learner and building on their interests...). That was not taken well. In a fit of frustration and bad judgment, I went to see the awful (since-fired) principal who Jon used to say looked like a drunk trombone player, who was biding his time til full-benefitted retirement. He told me he'd handle it. He handled it by calling a meeting of the kinder teachers and parents and fanning the flames of discontent, made it seem like we were "getting them" in trouble. Oh it was ugly.
I think if there was one incident that symbolizes the end of our relationship with the neighborhood school (where to the very end I was writing grants for gardens, bringing in comedy improv assemblies, and volunteering for the fundraising Luau, trying to resuscitate creativity), it was the incident with the dog in the morning. After Spring Break - we're talking at least seven months into the school year - we adopted a puppy. When S came out of school, I asked if she'd told Ms R about it.
"Oh we don't get to tell her things," she said.
By March, I no longer took that as childlike hyperbole. She was serious.
"Did you tell your friends?" I asked.
"We don't really have time when we can share like that."
"How about lunch?"
"We're supposed to whisper at lunch so it's hard to tell a story."
"Oh." (oh shit.) "Does anyone else in your class have a dog?"
"I don't know. We don't talk about things like that."
Okay, that's it. You're in kindergarten and you don't talk about whether you have dogs? You are told to whisper at the lunch tables? You feel uncomfortable sharing personal information with your teacher? And right there was the pinnacle of the "fuck this" that had been building. I called Jon from my office downtown where I was holed up, secretly researching charter schools instead of finishing my client reports.
"You on board with a radical move?"
He was, though he said he'd miss the drunk trombone player.
We found a brand new charter school based on principles of student voice and constructivism (which hadn't even opened its doors yet), we entered a lottery and lucked out. We knew it would change our lives. We didn't know how much.
Yesterday S brought home two pieces of homework from her first day of third grade. One was a big poster that she was to fill out with information about herself - her favorite books, pictures of her family, and of course, how many pets she has. Because her teacher cares about who she is. And she is allowed to talk about her dog. The other piece was an even more detailed survey - What are your hobbies? Who is your favorite singer? What do you do on weekends? S did it independently while I chopped up tons of veggies for taco night. My only input was to challenge the places she put question marks or "I don't know." "Give it a shot," I'd advise, and when she said, "there's too many to fit," I'd suggest, "choose one or two." And she did. Bruno Mars. A Kelly Clarkson song. Boogie Boarding. She's a real third grader.
S said that part of the first day was given over to a show and tell in which the teacher and her co-teacher (special education teacher splits time co-teaching in all the rooms - don't get me started on the wonders of this charter school) showed special objects that let the kids know more about who they are. It's opposite world. See and be seen. Personalize. Open. Share. This is how we learn. We know this. This may not be how we get the highest test scores on bullshit tests. But this is how we embrace school. S woke early yesterday and today, put on her boyish dress code clothes, smiled her toothless smile, and headed happily to school. There are many days when, as a barely freelance writer, an underemployed therapist, a glorified housewife, I feel like I've done nothing right. But the moment I look at my daughter in her red, blue and tan school clothes telling me about how her teacher felt nervous getting back to school and there are things she does to help her get ready and feel less scared, when my daughter leans over her poster so carefully writing why she loves baseball, when she assumes that people will be interested in what she has to say, in those moments I know I've done one thing terribly right.
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