Cinderella for a Day

Last week was an incredible affirmation of my hard work in reaching my teaching goals.  The university that was blind enough (OOPS, I meant to say, FORWARD THINKING enough) to award a diploma to this 49 year-old chick, has been generous in its praise of my accomplishments.  Last week I attended not one, but two awards dinners recognizing my efforts.  I didn’t make Who’s Who my first time around the college block, but I got ‘er done this time!  But the award that really punches my accelerator to the floor is my award as the Outstanding Elementary Education Student.  Each North Dakota teacher’s college picks one, and unbelievably, this middle-aged, mother of four got the nod.  I am so honored, proud, humbled and amazed simultaneously.

Those accolades are heady stuff, to be sure.  But I had a different sort of goal-reaching moment this week as well.  One that I think was even more rewarding than the first.  Thursday afternoon we were busy with the usual stuff – phonics, grammar, Daily 5 activities, etc., when I suddenly had a moment of brilliant clarity.  It was like I was standing back observing my classroom as a third party observer, and I nearly burst with happiness.  I became acutely aware of my classroom environment and the low hum of activity that buzzed and swirled around me.  My students were busy with their assigned tasks.  There was a certain amount of verbal exchange happening in small groups around the room, but it was controlled and centered around guided discovery.  I noticed the life that our classroom was host to.  Up on a shelf by my desk (set up high so that seven rambunctious first graders don’t send them into cardiac arrest) are ten Painted Lady caterpillars gorging themselves in preparation for The Magnificent Event. 

Just to the left of our class critters is a window shelf  with an assortment of containers housing a variety of plants.  In salvaged gallon milk jugs and pop bottles we are growing lettuce, radishes, and carrots for our coming Salad Celebration.  We also have a 2 liter bottle cut in half that is simply titled, “Mattie’s Orange Seed,” the seed scavenged from a lunch by its owner, begging if we could grow our own orange tree.  Well, why not?  There is definitely something growing in that container, whether it is an actual orange tree seedling, I have my doubts.  But we are junior scientist and we learn by doing.  So my young charges are convinced we will be picking fresh oranges right in our classroom within weeks.  Whenever we plant anything, we always hypothesize how long it will take for the seeds to sprout.  We have guessed anywhere from 2 days to 2000 days.  I never let on if they are on the mark or not.  They will learn by observing.  I LOVE it that they are interested enough to ask questions and try things in the name of science.  This morning’s snack of watermelon wedges left behind dozens of seeds for future planting.  They don’t ask if we can anymore.  They know I’m game.  I may have to find a grant for a school green house.  My little window shelf is getting crowded.

On the shelf below my window garden is a plastic container with holes punched in the lid.  It houses yet another caterpillar.  This poor sap was found in the yard of one of my darlings and stuck in her pocket to bring to me.  Unbelievably, the hardy soul was still alive!  We quickly created a home for it, stuck a leftover banana peel in there for nourishment (which it seemed to enjoy immensely), and very democratically voted on a name.  He is simply “junior” in honor of his rescuer.

After my watershed moment, I went back through my files and found my teaching philosophy that I had penned near the beginning of my education courses.  I read my own words with a satisfied smile:

Somewhere, in the course of my educational journey, I found a quote that said something like, “the classroom should be a place of discovery, where the air is filled with the hum of students in quiet discovery, and science experiments mix with art projects on every available surface.”  This is the type of classroom I want to foster.  I want my students to wake up on school mornings with a sense of expectancy and excitement for what their day will hold.  I want them to feel challenged and capable simultaneously. 

The plaque will grow dusty and the certificates will yellow with age, but knowing I am successfully creating the classroom environment I had envisioned will have farther-reaching consequences than anything else.  My kids care about my awards about as much as how much the school electric bill costs each month.  “You got an award???  No offense, but who really cares, Mrs. Dahl?  Oh, and by the way, we’re about out of potting soil…”

Our Gallon Garden