Joy, Learning, Normalcy and Gratitude
Life in a Pandemic Year Kindergarten Class.
March 2021
If you had asked me at the end of August what I thought about returning to school five days a week in person with a class of five- and six-year-olds who would be masked, required to keep a “reasonable” six feet apart from each other, all the while washing their hands at a somewhat compulsive pace, you would not have heard me use the word “joyful.” Add into the mix online students and their families watching the day unfold in real time, and the words “impossible” with a few “disasters” sprinkled in for good measure came more easily to mind.
Yet as I lie on the couch with my daughter watching her eight millionth episode of My Little Pony while eating a Happy Meal (#parentinggoals) after declaring she was “done” for the day with her own remote kindergarten class (it was definitely not done) that I am reflecting on four words to describe this year: joy, laughter, normalcy, and gratitude.
In the face of adversity, l go to my default, which for those who know me well is laughter and a tremendous sense of wonder at the absurd way humor and joy can reveal themselves in even the most dire days. Here are a few snapshots of the joy, laughter, normalcy, and gratitude I have experienced teaching at Browning this year.
“Joy is having first and second graders show up at my door everyday to 'just check in' and tell the kindergarteners what a great job they are doing at 'practicing their power of self-control.' ”
Joy is walking into the warmth of a new school day surrounded by colleagues and friends in a united front to support the boys and families to whom we make a commitment as professionals. Joy is having first and second graders show up at my door everyday to “just check in” and tell the kindergarteners what a great job they are doing at “practicing their power of self-control”. (Joy and humor is seeing those same boys’ confidence that those skills never needed a bit of tweaking in their own kindergarten journey not so long ago). Joy is (for the first year ever) feeling emboldened enough as a teacher to play a game of Uno with both the in- class learners while their remote classmates looked on in real time. Extra joy is that only two boys cried when they didn’t win and only one threw his cards at the winner when he shouted with the greatest bravado “Uno!”
Laughter tinged with a bit of disbelief is having a Star Wars stormtrooper and Chewbacca show up at the same morning meeting on Zoom from different households in uncoordinated efforts to be “funny.” Laughter mixed with horror is teaching from my daughter’s bedroom while overhearing her Zoom classmates share what they want to be when they grow-up (doctors, veterinarians, paleontologists) as Ella says with great confidence, “I’d like to be a Dunkin’ Donuts girl so I can hand people donuts with pretty sprinkles.” Laughter is hearing a colleague telling a five-year-old student fearful of his COVID test, “Don’t worry, it doesn’t even go up as far as your finger when you pick your nose.” Joy is seeing the boy laugh, relax, and stop trying to wildly kick the tester.
Normalcy is stopping in my tracks as I hear one of my students reading. I am dumbfounded that something so extraordinary yet normal in any other year has happened. I can’t stop thinking, “How can this be? Did I have something to do with this?” which honestly seems unlikely. The normalcy of a wonderful goal achieved when I was convinced the only learning that would happen for boys this year was consistently remembering to truly wash their hands in a way that extends beyond passively allowing water to gently trickle over their fingers in a Zen-like state without remotely moving their hands.
“Here was the voice that encompassed all of our deepest wishes. A five-year-old boy expressing what we all want—that the people we love to be healthy and safe within a return to some kind of new normalcy.”
Normalcy is kindergarten reminders with a slight twist. Instead of repeatedly saying “Please take your fingers out of your nose,” I now say, “If your mask is not over your nose, you are basically not wearing a mask.” Normalcy is that every single day, every single boy wants to go out to the playdeck to play more than anything else. And, the normalcy that every day when it rains, the entire class collectively groans when I say it is indoor play centers instead.
And, then there is the gratitude. The gratitude for being healthy enough to come into work to do my job. The gratitude to work in a place that cares enough about our community to put incredibly well-thought out safety protocols in place to ensure that I can stay healthy enough at work to go home and take care of my own child. Gratitude is that I am a part of a community that grieves the losses of our families and colleagues in a way that is deeply and genuinely shared. Gratitude is knowing that we are teaching boys to be compassionate people who are kind and empathetic towards others.
Recently, I was putting together a birthday book that the boys had made for one of their teachers. Each boy wrote and illustrated one birthday wish for their teacher which we then collected and made into a class book to share at the end of the day. As I was flipping through the pages I stopped and stared with emotion at the birthday wish from my student to a teacher he loves. He wrote, “My happy birthday wish for you is to get your vaccines so you no longer have to wear a mask.” His words were surrounded by a circle of hearts and the word “love” written all over his paper. I couldn’t stop staring at the page because amongst all of the equally heartfelt messages of “I hope you get a one million billion layered birthday cake with fireworks on top” here was the voice that encompassed all of our deepest wishes. A five-year-old boy expressing what we all want—that the people we love to be healthy and safe within a return to some kind of new normalcy. It certainly reflects the hope I feel in my heart for all of us in the Browning community and beyond.
Katy Varughese is in her 16th year of teaching Kindergarten boys at Browning.
