The Gift of Snow

Boston has had record snowfall this year. At this point, we’ve already had 6 snow days (and now 2 more for this week!), the city is running out of places to put all of the snow, and people fight over parking spots. I haven’t had a full of week of teaching in weeks and I feel worried about how this inconsistency has impacted my teaching and the learning of my students.

There is a gift that snow brings.

After indoor recess and lunch, my students come back to the classroom and start their independent reading. It is magical to watch young, new readers get invested in their books. Some of my kids are reading aloud and I have to remind them to make their voices quieter. Some of my kids are reading with an adult, talking about what they see in the pictures of the book. Some of my kids are enthralled in their chapter books that they don’t even look up when another kid tips off of his chair. Some kids are making letters with play dough. We are all reading. 

It is evident that my students are all different. Sometimes the differences seem to be screaming out. There are interruptions in teaching. Things get thrown. Pauses in speech seem to be everlasting. Bodies run out of the classroom. Learning seems to be forgotten. Unkind words are exchanged.

I have an inclusive classroom. I have students with and without disabilities in the same classroom. I have students who represent the economic, racial, and linguistic diversity of Boston. It is a practice I believe in and feel committed to. It is also something that can stress me out, make me feel inadequate, and make me worry about the learning of all of my kids.

I’m all about honoring differences and helping children (and adults) learn how to talk about what they notice and how to support each other given our differences.

And there are moments where sameness is beautiful too.

After independent reading, we have outside time. I believe that kids need many opportunities to play, especially outside. Our district and school has policies about what the temperature has to be in order for kids to go outside. There is no policy for the amount of snowfall, though. Even with indoor recess, I took my kids outside. It was warm enough.

They all pile outside of the classroom. Putting on snow boots. Borrowing gloves from the lost and found. Zipping up snow pants and coats. Soon the kids say, “I’m hot!” while they wait in line for their classmates to join them. I even change my shoes to boots. Our playground has practically 3 feet of snow on it.

We walk down the stairs and as I open the door, the kids start running out. Smiles consume their faces. All of them.

I hold one kid’s hand who says, “Emma help!” as she puts one hand on the railing to walk down additional stairs to the playground.  Our feet and legs slide deep down into the snow. We laugh. Soon she starts running and slipping deep into the snow. Just like her classmates.

All of them slip deep into the snow and laugh. All of them. Right now, no one is different for how they walk or the speed of their bodies.

I look across the playground and they are crawling on their knees. Eating snow and licking icicles. I tell them, “It’s dirty!” They keep eating snow. That’s what kids do. All of them. Right now, no one is different for putting something in their mouths.

The slides are a hit. Jumping is exciting. There is a safety snow seems to give my kids. If they fall, they fall into snow.

The kids take turns sliding down. I hear, “excuse me” and “watch out below” before they zoom down the slide. All of them. Right now, no one is working on their social skills in isolation.

They laugh as they land into the snow face first. All of them. Right now, no one is crying.

The differences in my students make me a better teacher, a better person. But right now when all my kids dive into the deep snow, and smile with satisfaction, I am loving their sameness. 

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First Grade

My kids are 6 and 7.

My kids work really hard to hear all the sounds in c-a-t. They work hard to rhyme cat with mat and not map. even though /t/ sounds a lot like /p/ when you’re just learning the language.

My kids like climbing on the stairs to gym or art or lunch like they are mountain lions. their hands reach far above them and their bodies slide all the way up. sometimes they’re like frogs jumping down 2 or 3 stairs. I always hope they don’t fall.

My kids moving their bodies makes stillness seem like a threat to their existence. they like stretching their uniform shirts…hiding their arms inside their shirts and pulling it over their knees. My kids cover their mouths when they talk. Do they not know that their words are magic? My kids tap pencils when I talk to them about their stories. My kids lean back in their chairs. I always hope they don’t fall. Sometimes they get really close to tipping. My kids wiggle, consistently. I think if there was a track in the classroom, they would run laps.

My kids count. They are learning that 100 is a big number and that means they can use 100 snap cubes to make a tower (well, after they count one by one to 100). Making towers are way cooler than writing 10+10=20. And they are just figuring out that 5=2+3 is the same as 2+3=5. How can just a simple equal sign and its placement be full of so many opportunities for learning?

My kids read. One kid learned the word “snowman” yesterday. She read the word once. Then she said, “Wait” as I walked away and read me it again. and again. Her face lit up. Today she found a book with snowman in the title.

My kids like reciting the poems in the morning. They learn to memorize them so quickly. They say them so loudly. I wonder why they feel the urge to scream some of the lines.

My kids like holding my hand, resting their heads in my lap, giving me hugs.

My kids make me laugh, tears fall down my face. Sometimes they don’t know why they make me laugh. They stare at me for a second and then they just start laughing.

My kids like telling us their birthdays. It doesn’t matter if it’s in December or May. They already have plans for what they’ll do on their birthday.

My kids want to be caught doing the right thing. Like when they’re helping a classmate and they look up to find a teacher. Their eyes saying, “Look! I’m being good.”