I've begun my year's internship at a charter school (which I'll simply call "Charter") that practices inquiry-based learning and is inspired by the pedagogical ideas of Reggio Emilia, Italy. This internship will offer me the chance to observe and immerse myself in a school community that is the closest thing I have found to what I might call my "pedagogical home", so I begin with much enthusiasm and anticipation for learning.
These first few days have been mostly for observation, getting a sense of the routines, and simply getting my bearings for the work of my internship. I'm taking such pleasure in getting to know the different class communities, the kids as individuals, and the professional community of the teachers and staff.
More to come as the year unfolds!
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Anatomy of the first day of pre-school
This past week was the start to the school year at a German-immersion pre-school I substitute for. I was lucky enough to be there the first few days and remembering the rite of passage that beginning preschool truly is. Allow me to guide you through Day 1, focusing the camera on one particular boy, who I will call Jake.
Scene 1: 9:35a.m. Daddy has just left. Jake is inconsolable, his body rigid, laying face down on the floor, crying to the point of shrieking. A teacher approaches him to rub his back. He kicks her away.
Scene 2: 9:40a.m. Having observed that nothing has changed, the teacher returns and takes Jake into her lab, despite his protests. He continues to cry, but seems to appreciate the comfort.
Scene 3: 9:50a.m. The teacher comes to me: "Your turn?" Jake is not crying anymore, but is still visibly upset. He buries his head in my shoulder, crying "Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy..." continuously, breaking only the breathe. I make a bee-line to the train table.
Scene 4: 10:00a.m. The train table. Two other boys are playing there already. At first, Jake has no interest. I stay with him on my lap, talking to the other boys and laying out tracks with them. Jake quiets and watches for about thirty seconds. I pick up another piece of the train track and ask, "Jake, where do you think this train track should go?" He eyes me, and he eyes the track and he eyes the table with the larger track being built. Without saying anything, he takes the track from me, walks to the other side of the table, and places it down on the table. He comes back to the bucket, and I ask, "Do you want to add another one? Pick one out of the basket." And we're off.
Scene 5: 10:30a.m. Jake is still at the train table. I have checked in on him about every 5 minutes or so, and each time, I am more confident: Today is the first day of preschool. And we're ok.
Scene 1: 9:35a.m. Daddy has just left. Jake is inconsolable, his body rigid, laying face down on the floor, crying to the point of shrieking. A teacher approaches him to rub his back. He kicks her away.
Scene 2: 9:40a.m. Having observed that nothing has changed, the teacher returns and takes Jake into her lab, despite his protests. He continues to cry, but seems to appreciate the comfort.
Scene 3: 9:50a.m. The teacher comes to me: "Your turn?" Jake is not crying anymore, but is still visibly upset. He buries his head in my shoulder, crying "Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy..." continuously, breaking only the breathe. I make a bee-line to the train table.
Scene 4: 10:00a.m. The train table. Two other boys are playing there already. At first, Jake has no interest. I stay with him on my lap, talking to the other boys and laying out tracks with them. Jake quiets and watches for about thirty seconds. I pick up another piece of the train track and ask, "Jake, where do you think this train track should go?" He eyes me, and he eyes the track and he eyes the table with the larger track being built. Without saying anything, he takes the track from me, walks to the other side of the table, and places it down on the table. He comes back to the bucket, and I ask, "Do you want to add another one? Pick one out of the basket." And we're off.
Scene 5: 10:30a.m. Jake is still at the train table. I have checked in on him about every 5 minutes or so, and each time, I am more confident: Today is the first day of preschool. And we're ok.
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