In the name of God, Most Merciful, Most Kind,
* * *
"Yellow line, yellow line, yellow line is calling," sings one little boy, the song weaving its way around his friends, falling over each other as they put away books and toys in the li'l corner that is a respite from the routine of the day.
The children, some dressed in uniform, others in bright clothing, their hair well-groomed (well, the girls, anyway), squirm as they try to still limbs to sit correctly on a yellow line that creates a square at the front of the bright room. In front of them, the white board boasts flashcards showing pictures that start with "C","A", and "O", as well as clear pictorials on what to do or not to do in Kindergarten.
As the class settles down, the usual interruptions erupt.
"Teacher, teacher, bathroom."
"Teacher, teacher, howa darabni," (he hit me, in Arabic)
"Teacher, ma ha nafa'al?" (what are we going to do?)
My colleague is a dedicated educator with little experience but a determination to transform these runny-nosed, fidgety, Arabic-only-speaking kids into refined pencil-holders who, at the very least, understand "go to your cubbyhole; get your bag for going home."
We've made incredible progress.
At least two boys who had probably never seen other children had finally learned to interact with people their size - the first used to poke others, put his finger in their hair, and start fights - now he is as docile as a cat in the sun, and just as adorable. The other, a slow and clearly underdeveloped boy who's grip on a pencil is softer then a paralyzed mouse, at least follows the other children into the line-up and knows when to go the bathroom.
Is this a place for development or for catching up?
The stronger kids, physically and mentally, are the ones whose parents obviously show some interest in them. They are the ones with confidence, drawing swirly lines, firm lines, filling up photocopied stars with their certainty. The others don't want to fill in the star on a personality test - or their lines are cautious, even scared.
Who these people will one day become is being shaped before our very eyes. The angry little boy, whose mother admitted comes from an area where tempers constantly flare, will learn to keep his emotions under control here, and not fly at his companion for taking the horsey.
The girls with the overprotective mother, aunt, will learn that no one will feed them here; that they needn't wait for anyone to do their work for them. It's the law of the jungle - okay, okay. A baby zoo.
The children are oblivious to the bell that interrupts an impromptu puppet show about sharing. The kids don't notice, but soon they are cut off from the activity and herded off to the bathroom, and then snack, another unscripted moment that lets them be themselves. The remainder of the time, they are colouring and tracing and sometimes trying to write letters that are really, really hard for their inexperienced hands.
And, as one peers up helplessly at me, the same one that gets angry real quick, and says, "Miss, I can't do this," I wonder whether throwing in all these children into one place and asking them to walk the same pace, to the same finishing line, is really the best way to teach them anything.
My own daughter's attention span has shrunk considerably, but is that my fault? Is it the daily videos she watches when I need my break -- seven hours with over two dozen 4-year-olds needs some kind of rejuvenation -- or is it that activities don't finish naturally, that -as John Taylor Gatto, a public school teacher and author notes in his book 'Dumbing us down' - the school bell creates artificial interruptions and creates disjointed individuals who never really think what they are doing is worth finishing.
And what about her English - not improving in a room full of ESL students? What about the kids in my class who understand the language but have to speak in snippets so the other children understand - if they bother to speak at all? What about the fact that everyone moves at the same pace, even if some have long outpaced the crowd? What about the children who obviously need one on one coaching but will never get it - because it is impossible? And their parents are usually the least interested in their children's immediate needs - they put them in school, didn't they? Their responsible parents, aren't they? What more can a parent do?
And on the other side of the class, the homeschooling option gleams, and deep down inside, I pray I'll have it in me to one day take over the education of a child that needs to move beyond four walls, no matter how honourable the intentions.
