Candy

I had begun to think that maybe I wouldn't be able to get back to this writing place. I have been distracted, at best, and at worst, distraught, over Sophie's transition to middle school. I've seen this kind of slow, sad recognition settle over children from time to time-- when things happen like parents divorce-- and the children are, at first, okay. There is novelty. The situation is new and somehow interesting. And weeks later, the sadness that has been lurking quietly behind the intrigue makes itself present, center stage. I have been stuck here myself for days now, shaking hands with this sadness. Trying to understand what it's doing here, and trying to find a way to ask it, politely or otherwise, to leave.

The truth is, the situation is ripe with writing inspiration. Especially for the kind of progressive public school teacher researcher writer that I am. But on the occasion of my own daughter's entrance into the decay that is our urban public school system, I'm not feeling all that inspired. I'm just terribly sad. 

And I have been eating an awful lot of that leftover Halloween candy that's been lying around and off limits to the kids.

But what it's been waiting for (aside from mood enhancement duty) is what finally did inspire me to write this evening. No school tomorrow meant no homework this afternoon. And no music lessons. And no soccer practice. No errands, appointments... we had time to play. And that Halloween candy became the subject of serious scientific inquiry. It was cut, sorted, boiled, baked, soaked, mixed, smelled and, well, okay, even tasted a little. It filled me up to see Sophie and Max plan together, challenge each other, put their heads together.

 

Did you know you can soak those little m's right off an m&m?

 

And for a few hours, I wasn't sad at all. And I wasn't even eating candy. Really. I was filled with the awe and inspiration that always comes of watching my children creatively engaged in the pursuit of their own curiosities. I was entangled in their joy.

Why do our schools neglect to fuel up on the power of children's natural curiosities? Each missed opportunity is a tragedy for the children, for the adults and for our communities. In the abstract, these problems fire me up and get me to work. But I'm not sure I can tolerate the impact of this tragedy on my own child. Her childhood wanes.

Comments

[Courtney]

Hi Susan,

I keep coming back to this page because I can so feel your hurt, disapointment and anguish with the public school system. As Maia transitioned from the coop in first grade I was filled with grief and loss. I kept asking myself, is this normal? Is it normal for a six year old to be swept up every day to a class where I don't even know the kids yet alone the teacher? Is it normal that I have no idea what she is doing in all those hours?
Before this we were surrounded by a very supportive community at a cooperative school where I was a part of her daily school life, but now was just collecting little remanants of her day that were strewn in her backpack.
I have to say gradually it did get easier, I was finally allowed into the classroom after the volunteer training. I slowly met like minded parents and we started up a garden club together as well as a garden and art cart that circulated around the classrooms. I came into the classroom and did Reggio-inspired projects, one in fact that came from your hands, a diversity unit with the very sweet story Feliciana Feydra LeRoux (thank you for making those boxes available because they did make a difference).
I applaud you in your efforts to continue to support public school, but am very familiar with the questions and concerns that come with that decision.

[Susan]

Thank you for writing, Courtney! It is such a comfort to hear your story. I know my issues are part shock and general confusion because of the transition. So much that we don't recognize... so hard to ask questions and be productive when you're in despair. But I'm beginning to see some light. I'm looking forward to a moment to share a new good story...