The Last Day of School is a Welcome Change

 

Here are my boys on the first day of school. Deal was entering first grade, and Bird was starting third grade. They are eager, happy, excited. My boys love school and are razzed about the prospect of learning. They share an interest in learning about other cultures and perspectives so their school is a perfect fit. They also, like me, have an affinity for shiny, new school supplies. This photo represents such possibility, such promise.

Fast forward to today, the last day of school.

My boys are happy, healthy, enriched, and lively. Their curiosity is still on fire, and their zeal for learning is still in tact. But in the days leading up to today, they shared with me their feelings on this past school year. After four years in the public school system at a school we cherish and love, they feel a sense of disappoint and something akin to sadness that they just couldn’t put words to. They told me that the spirit of their school changed this year in ways that left them feeling not as uplifted and joyful as in years past. We’ve had a tenuous year county-wide. We have experienced a change of guard. We have had budget cuts. We have faced standardized testing for the first time. It’s no secret that a testing culture sucks the life out of a classroom. It is far worse than anything I ever imagined (and Bird did great on his tests with nary a stressed bone so I am not referring to my son’s particular experience). Will Pearson and its ilk fall prey to the same public outcry as the tobacco and food giants? It’s no secret that test companies are pocketing obscene amounts of money on the backs of our children. It needs to stop.

But even my first grader who didn’t deal with the testing ordeal told me that school wasn’t fun this year. Hearing this from Deal, who took such a long time to adjust to school last year, breaks my heart. I whole-heartedly believe that school and fun are not mutually exclusive. Learning should be fun. In fact, it is more effective when it is fun. I think Bird and Deal put on their game faces for school but came home with different feelings and were in a safe place to vent, ask questions, and sigh. They might be children but they speak truths we cannot (or do not) as adults and have incredibly insightful and poignant views of their world. Too often we ignore their voices, proclaiming we know best. It’s simply not true, and to discount children’s voices is a disservice.

Our little school has always been a very special community with a warm heart, cheery disposition, tender smile, welcoming embrace, and nurturing spirit. It has been a safe place of comfort for so many families. The vibe, the tone, the aura of the historic old halls emit a profound sense of posterity and warmth, a culture of kindness. We have been graced with outstanding teachers whom I applaud everyday. I stand in awe of what these people do.

These are the words I used to describe our school when Bird started kindergarten in August 2008:

“Cesar Chavez. Jim Henson. John Lennon. Jane Goodall. Albert Einstein. Pablo Picasso. Mahatma Gandhi.

Those are the faces peppering the halls as you enter my son’s school. An international studies magnet school (public! free!) in our homogeneous neck of the woods is a dream. Five foreign languages taught starting in kindergarten. My Bird’s gonna learn French! Curriculum designed to cover a global perspective. Again, a dream, considering my children say the words for grandma and grandpa in three different languages. We are the UN of families, and we are not alone as soon as we walk through the brick corridors of my son’s school.“

Our school was a bouquet of colorful balloons flying high in the sky. There was an innate giddiness that colored our hearts, minds, and perspectives. We soared together. Idealistic? Perhaps. 

And now, those balloons seem to be limp, losing air. They are no longer trailing each other in the wind and dancing on air. They are wilting and sinking with each sigh my boys make. The balloons are not quite lifeless and shriveled in that sad, pathetic way that balloons look when they are wrinkly and deflated. We still gaze at that bouquet of balloons dancing in the air and longingly look for signs of the kinetic energy they held. The flights of fancy are winding down, but none of us can figure out why. School was just different this year. The culture of kindness has been usurped by a culture of testing and scores and achievement gaps and empirical evidence that neglects the charmed, profound sense of community we enjoyed for so many years. The spirit has changed. The warmth gave way to a chill, and the tenor pulsed from upbeat to unhappy.

It makes me sad. I love our little school. I love the people who have taught us so much. I’ll spend my summer talking more with my sons to get a clearer perspective on what took the air out of their balloons this year. I’ll let them frolic in unstructured glee. Any talk of scores will be in regards to miniature golf, and the only testing will be that of my patience. 😉