State College Friends School

Early in the year, I spend time getting to know our new students. One of the best ways to do that with the youngest newcomers is to go out for recess with them and wait. If I sit on a bench or hang around the sand pond, I can count on being engaged in conversation before too long, conversation that is relaxed, spontaneous, and often full of surprises.

 

 During these first weeks, both of our K/1 classes have been spending lots of time studying metamorphosis. Students have been observing caterpillars and chrysalises and cocoons, and staging great celebratory send-offs for butterflies. It’s such a rich area of study for young children… full of symbolism and science, lyrical literature, graceful art and music. Unfortunately, there’s also the life-threatening element, as I discovered today.

 

 It was morning recess time and a beautiful day. I was sitting on a bench near the playground when I was approached by a small group of kindergarten and first grade boys. One of them was holding a bug-catcher’s cage that held a brightly striped caterpillar. They spoke to me sternly. “Teacher Mary, do not ever touch the stripes on this caterpillar!” I asked what would happen if I ignored their advice and touched the stripes anyway. “Well, the stripes will stick to your fingers, your lungs will somehow disappear, and you will not be able to speak.” Whoa. I guess we know who’s going to be keeping her hands off striped caterpillars from now on, don’t we?

 

 At lunchtime recess on the very same day, I was eavesdropping as Teachers Lisa and Dorothy spoke to the K/1 children about playing around the pond. The teachers had told the children that only three people at a time could be on the small stone bridge that spans the water. Dorothy followed that by saying that of course the children could see that you couldn’t fit more than three people on that little bridge anyway. A small voice broke the thoughtful silence. “Teacher Dorothy, if there were really tiny people, we could fit many more of them on that bridge.” Dorothy agreed that we could change the rule if there were really tiny people, but said we’d keep the limit at three until the tiny people showed up. She then went on to talk about fishing for algae, but I think the kids were still thinking about the arrival of the tiny people and not listening to the algae rules because they’ve been talking about fishing for ‘allergy’ ever since.

 

 And then, on the very same day, one of our first graders came to me after school and asked if I wanted to learn his secret language. Now, who could possibly turn down an opportunity like that? So, I spent about a half-hour practicing a language that consisted mostly of grunts, snorts, sudden inhalations, noisy exhalations, and the occasional shriek for exclamatory purposes. I am far from fluent, but I could order lunch in a restaurant.

 

 As I drove home that evening, I thought about all of my friends who work in other professions, spending every moment with adults only. All those people who spend their days never thinking about when the tiny people might come, exactly how the caterpillar would make your lungs disappear, or how to get the perfect pitch in the tonal language of a first grade boy.

 

Mary Ziegler

 

 

Bowling for Learning

I have a collection of notes I've received from children over the years. They help me remember school history, they make me laugh, and they do wonders for my self-esteem. There's the little heart on which a 5-year old wrote, "You are the best prinsubl evr". (It took me several days to realize that I was his only 'prinsubl' ever.) And, there was the note from the sixth grader that said, "No person could be better than you." That remains a special favorite, even though it was followed immediately by a request to use iPods during class time. (It didn't work.)

Written communication from children is very different, and often goes much deeper, than verbal communication. The very act of writing requires a different kind of thought and engages young brains in special ways. So, I encourage it. When children have a request, I often ask them to put it in writing, using my fading memory as my excuse. The products are often priceless, precious treasures that go into my collection.

Recently, I was in a meeting in my office. The door was closed, and since most people see that as a sign that I'm occupied, I was surprised to hear a knock.several little knocks, in fact, that sounded as though they came from several little hands. I have trouble ignoring little knocks, so I excused myself, opened the door, and was immediately handed a note:

Dear Teacher Mary,
We would like to borrow $150.
Love, Teacher Dorothy & Teacher Abby's Class

This was unusual. I have shared money with students on occasion, but it's normally been limited to a dollar or two if someone was in a pinch on Pizza Friday. Now, Teachers Dorothy and Abby have a kindergarten and first grade class. These were 5- and 6-year olds asking me to loan them a sizeable amount of money. I love them, but did I trust them as partners on my first foray into venture capitalism? I needed more information, so I observed that $150 was a lot of money and I asked why they needed it.

"We want to go bowling."

At times, I have found children this age so irresistible that I've thought they could talk me into anything. That turns out not to be true. I was not particularly moved to grab my wallet when I heard the reason for the request. Not being a bowler myself, I was not convinced of the educational value of the activity, and my immediate reaction was that $150 seemed like an exorbitant amount to pay to do.that. (It turns out that it's a rather costly proposition because it requires special unattractive shoes. I don't know why.)

So, I thought that perhaps all was not as it seemed, and asked for time to deliberate. I needed to investigate further with Teacher Dorothy and I tracked her down at the end of the day.

Dorothy told me that it had all started with the expressed desire of one first grader to go on a field trip to a bowling alley with his class. The idea was well-received by his classmates, and quickly became not just a teachable moment for Dorothy, but a series of many teachable days. She was not going to make this easy. She asked the class how they would get there, and how they would pay for it. Their answer.fund raising!

The class decided that they would sell snacks to other students. In order to accomplish that, they would:

• Take orders for home-made trail mix
• Calculate the amount of ingredients they'd need and make their list
• Take a bus to Weis Market (known to some of them as 'Wife' Market, I noticed.)
• Locate and purchase ingredients
• Take the bus back to school
• Mix and package the trail mix
• Sell the trail mix to other students for morning snack
• Pay back the loan from Teacher Mary (without interest, she noticed)
• Use their proceeds for their bowling adventure

So, all they needed to get started was an interested investor, one who was willing to take a risk on the entrepreneurship of 5-year-olds.and they were quite astute in identifying a likely prospect.

From this simple wish came lessons in math, nutrition, environmental issues, public transportation, advertising, sequencing, team-building, and working together as a community to achieve a common goal.all before we even get to the unattractive shoes and the lessons in how one bowls. As I watched how much these young children were learning, all focused around this seemingly simple project, I thought about how glad I am that our incredibly creative teachers aren't so busy teaching to the next standardized test that they have no time for this. Our students were learning to do so much more than memorize answers ---they were learning how to make connections, how to get from here to there (both literally and figuratively), how to combine their efforts as a group, and a lot of concrete, practical skills, too. They even got to some human vs. nature issues when their bowling trip was postponed due to a snow day just before Spring Break.

So, later this week, we'll see this class off on their long-awaited adventure, knowing that they will see the event as so much more than just another field trip. Without a doubt, no child will be left behind, and every one of them will depart with an absolutely stellar credit rating.

Mary Ziegler

 

Traditions

There are rhythms to the school year. I can tell what month it is without the help of calendars, just by feeling the energy in the school building. The rhythms are sometimes tied to seasons and weather, sometimes to holidays, and sometimes just to the number of days we've been in session since our last vacation. All schools have their rhythms, similar in some ways, but also unique because they're closely tied to school traditions, too.

I'm reminded of the connection to tradition today because our school is full of song in young voices. Our middle school students are deep into rehearsals for our annual performance of King in Montgomery, and they're belting out civil rights era songs . I'm Gonna Sit at the Welcome Table.Certainly, Lord.Ain't Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me 'Round.I'm on My Way to Freedom Land.and We Shall Overcome. We are surrounded by joyful, powerful, meaningful, and beautiful noise. The words and meanings of those songs permeate everything as the sounds echo in the halls, sparking memories in the oldest among us and a beginning understanding in the youngest. It's a dynamic history lesson, but it also conveys the message that the work for human rights and social justice is not a thing of the past. This tradition connects us to who we are and what we're about in such a vibrant and exuberant way, and the entire school is caught up in the energy that swirls around the production.

Personal and family traditions are on my mind today, too. This is connected to my impending grandmotherhood which I'm dragging you all through right along with me. (The arrival is imminent, so I'm sure I'll move on to something new soon.) I've been thinking about how and why traditions and rituals begin, what makes the good ones stick around while others may fade away over time.

One of my now-treasured personal traditions began as nothing more than a self-preservation measure. I had an overly-excited 3-year old son one Christmas Eve long ago. He'd been stimulated beyond his limits and mine, and he was a long way from being able to sleep. He was a child who was often relaxed by the outdoors, so we bundled up and ventured out. I carried him over the snow that night and we searched the December sky for some sign of a glow from Rudolph's nose. After spotting some hazy pink in the distance (light pollution, I'd guess, but who knows?), he thought it might be wise to turn in for the night. I had no idea then that we'd begun a Christmas Eve tradition that has lasted for 30 years.

Our tradition has always been kept by just the two of us. We haven't been hostilely exclusive, but we've never invited anyone one else to join us and no one has ever tried. I look back over a lifetime when I think about our Christmas Eves.from the first year when I carried him outside.to the year I could no longer lift him at all.to the year when I first had to look up to see his eyes.

Those nights have been our annual touchstones over the years. It remains our moment to connect on a level we touch only once a year, our ritual, and we've never missed it. We've ventured out in frigid weather and kept it very short sometimes. We've seen stunningly beautiful skies, and nights when clouds made the heavens so murky that we couldn't see a thing, but still knew what was up there. There have been years when we've almost forgotten and didn't slip out until after midnight. years when he delayed parties or dates in order to pull me outside for just a minute before departing.years of silent gazing and years of deep conversation. I recall the last Christmas Eve before he left home for college, and the year before his wedding. We've been out there after years when we'd lost beloved friends or family members, when we'd invariably spot an especially bright and twinkly star.

On the most recent Christmas Eve, we stood high in the mountains, under an Arizona sky full of stars. It had been an eventful year for both of us, but on this night we weren't looking back. Instead, I mentioned that this was the last year it would be just the two of us, knowing that we would include my granddaughter in our little bubble next December. And as I said that, I was struck by the fact that it will not be three of us forever either, that someday it will go back to being a twosome. A Christmas Eve will come when it will be my star those two look for.

That was not a maudlin thought. It was a grandmother thought, and a generational thought, and an eternity thought. For me, it was actually a very comforting thought. I think now that he will never stand under that night sky alone. There's an on-goingness that has come into being here and a lovely sense of peace that comes with it.

Our King in Montgomery tradition is similar. Created by former Head of School Larry Boggess, there was some concern that the production would end with Larry's departure. But, traditions that stand the test of time develop a life of their own that continues even though the participants may change. Those traditions aren't dependent on individual personalities, but continue because of their own depth and power and purpose. The faces may change, but the message and the magic of this particular tradition is timeless. It continues to touch the life of each new student who belts out those old songs, as they pass the tradition on to a new group of performers, as they continue to generously sprinkle our memories with their stars.

Mary Ziegler

Pajama Day

I can sometimes get overly-involved with the minutiae of running a school, sometimes to the point of forgetting that I do actually work with children. The world of paperwork can consume me some days, and I go home thinking that I've spent more of my time on budgets, bus schedules, and Board meetings than I have on kids, teachers, and classrooms. Days without children make me more tired than days with them.less satisfied, less content, and certainly less amused. So, I've learned to include a few reminders for myself in my weekly schedule and I occasionally write the words "Go look around" on my calendar.

Last Friday, I went and looked around and it was brilliant scheduling, if I do say so myself. It was Pajama Day, for one thing. This is a student-initiated tradition that's been going on for years. Each year, it normally begins with a group of second or third graders approaching me to ask if we can have Pajama Day again this year. Part of the tradition is that I ask them to make their case, and then I take the request under advisement, deliberating and consulting for days before finally approving, which I always do. I'm not sure how or why that piece of the tradition started. Do I want them to realize that they shouldn't expect immediate and predictable approval of everything they request? Do I want to keep them on their toes? Is it a lesson in delayed gratification? Do they just seem happier if they've had to wait with their uncertainty a bit? I'm not entirely sure, but it's part of the tradition.

So, it was Pajama Day. It was also Pizza Friday, the day after the Peace Choir Holiday Concert, a week from winter break, and that evening would be the first night of Hanukah. Everyone would spend a half-hour later that afternoon getting together with their reading buddies, and the fifth grade class had their 'Poetry in Pajamas' reading scheduled for that afternoon, too. The building was full of a lot of short and busy people in pajamas, nightgowns, robes, and slippers. They were excited and happy and their day was full of wonderful things. I was taken by surprise by my own sense of melancholy as I watched them.

People look fragile in pajamas. They look vulnerable. I am often overwhelmed by the beauty and the humor and the hope of children, but that day it was their fragility that struck me. Five-year old girls look very tiny in nightgowns, and even 13-year old boys who are taller than I am seem to soften around the edges when they're in flannel.

I was struck that day by what might be seen as my competing desires. There's part of me that just wants to protect them, from everything and forever. I don't want any one of them to ever experience heartbreak or hardship, disappointment or despair, rejection or regret. I don't want them to lose their lunchbox, not have a date for the prom, or not be accepted at the college of their choice. I don't want them to be sad. I want their lives to be eternally sunny.

At the same time, I acknowledge reluctantly that human existence doesn't come without its occasional dark times. And as much as I may want to believe otherwise, these fragile, pajama-clad people will need to be prepared for those times, as well as for the gloriously sunny days ahead of them. We need to help them develop strength that is deep and solid, and more than just a hard shell. We need to provide them with the guidance that will help them build deep wells full of their own wisdom and conscience and instincts to get them through the times when they will need to go to that well. We need to give them reason to hope, to encourage their resilience and resourcefulness. We need to help them develop the perspective that will help them to understand that the bad times are often temporary and usually survivable.

My first grandchild, a baby girl, is due to arrive in just a few weeks. My daughter-in-law called a few days ago to tell me that the crib had arrived and my son was busy assembling it. I wondered how this could have happened. How could that curly-haired little boy, who just moments ago was assembling Lego constructions in the middle of my living room, suddenly be putting together a bed for his own daughter? How can so much time have passed, how did he learn to assemble furniture, how can all the many moments of our lives seem now like little more than a minute? They do grow up, change out of their pajamas, and head off to make lives of their own. What an endlessly fascinating challenge it is to search for just the right balance of joy, awareness, and perspective to pack in their souls, hearts, and brains before they leave.along with just enough mechanical skill to be able to put together a place for a first baby to lay her head.

Mary Ziegler

Stories

I am fortunate in that people begin to gently nudge me when I haven't written something new for the web site in too long. It's interesting, too, how those nudges can so gracefully turn to into gentle shoves when I delay. I'm not sure what comes after the shoving, but have decided not to press my luck any longer. So, I will write an update for the web site, but not without a disclaimer. The constant activity around here this week has left a slide show of precious moments and life lessons running in my mind, but not a lot of time to reflect and integrate. So, I've decided just to tell you stories this month.

Because I've been Friends School's Assistant Head for so long, I'm used to a behind-the-scenes role. I'm most comfortable there and believe that spot was made for me. So, I struggle a bit this year with being Head. The title makes me slightly uneasy, maybe even a little embarrassed. (This may also have to do with being a middle child, and having an older brother who taught me the value of the low profile.) On a recent Friday, following our weekly Meeting for Worship, 6-year old Madison asked why I talk so much this year after Meeting. I explained that, as Head for the year, there were things I needed to tell people each week, so that's why she was hearing more from me. She looked slightly confused and I thought that perhaps the term 'Head' was new to her. So, I said, "Being the Head is like being the school's principal. So, this year, I'm sort of like a principal." Madison replied, "No, Teacher Mary, you're not 'sort of' like a principal. You are a principal. Get used to it"

Madison continued and said, "Teacher Mary, I also want you to know how much we appreciate the songs you teach us.and my parents and grandparents love them, too." The fact that I cannot recall ever teaching anyone a song in my entire life did not preclude me from graciously accepting the compliment. But, I was intrigued that the person who had been quite clear in helping me understand and accept my position in the school was the very same person who somehow thought that I'd been teaching people songs. It's one of the many reasons for my endless fascination with 5- and 6-year olds. One minute you're on the same plane of reality with them, and the next minute, you're really not. It always feels like an honor to be able to get a glimpse of both places.

During the first week of the school year, I wait outside to meet school buses, welcome students as they arrive, and be sure that everyone gets to the correct classroom. I keep an eye on new kindergartners especially because they're managing so many new things and I want those early days to go smoothly for them. On our first day this year, I watched 5-year old Emmanuel descend the bus steps and my heart nearly stopped. I have rarely seen a look of such determination and strength on a 5-year old face. He was managing it all quite capably.backpack, first bus trip, first day of kindergarten.but, in addition to the determination, I also thought I saw some fear and uncertainty. I bent to greet him, he recognized me, and that sweet, determined face broke into the most glorious, glowing smile. His face was transformed and even though I knew it was due to relief that he'd gotten to the right place and saw a familiar face, it was a moment I'll never forget. I'm not sure anyone has ever looked quite so happy to see me!

Emmanuel and I formed a bond that day. Maybe he will always associate me with relief, and I will always associate his face with the sun's ability to break through the clouds when you least expect it. Whatever the reason, we formed one of those connections that make you wonder about old souls and previous lives. We're still working, though, on the fact that Emmanuel would like me to wait outside for him every day. When I explained that I can't always be there due to appointments and meetings, he suggested that he would just wait outside for me until I could get there. (I pictured Emmanuel leaning against a porch pillar for hours, tapping his foot and checking his watch.) We've agreed now that, when I'm free, I will pop into his classroom each day to say hello. He's often busy when I do that, and too involved to really talk. But, at some point in each day, we make eye contact and wave, and Emmanuel smiles. I don't think he needs our ritual anymore, but I do.

On Halloween, Emmanuel approached me with a large, orange, plastic spider ring. He quietly said, "Teacher Mary, I want you to have this", and, with that, he carefully slipped the ring onto my finger. I wasn't entirely clear about the meaning of this special token, but I considered the possibility that I was engaged. Emmanuel has since asked if he could wear the ring, and I think that's all for the best. We may be deeply connected, but we do not share similar taste in jewelry.

Our students were treated to a visit by a few members of the Pennsylvania Centre Orchestra this week. Conductor Douglas Meyer did a spellbinding job of presenting the idea of classical music as storytelling, and he held our students in the palm of his hand. The audience was rapt as they listened to pieces from Debussy's The Children's Corner and excerpts of the Orchestra's Bremen Town Musicians accompanied by cello, violin, and piano.

I was delighted by the response of our electronic-age kids to this beautiful music performed by real people. It's true that our youngest were often attempting to clap along, or rock to the rhythm of the cello, but they did it quite respectfully (if somewhat unsuccessfully) and I believe the musicians knew that it was a sign of a real connection with their audience. Our students may not be typical of today's classical music aficionados, but perhaps the classical music world needs the energy and enthusiasm of the younger crowd, too.

Our kindergarten and first grade students also took their first trip to Eisenhower Auditorium this week for a performance of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. (The show got rave reviews because there was, evidently, some mention of underwear in the script and that makes it a guaranteed hit with the K/1 set.) Due to the generosity of school donors, our students have been able to take advantage of the wonderful offerings of Penn State's Center for the Performing Arts several times each year. From theater for the very young to music and dance performances for our middle schoolers, the Center does a terrific job of introducing local students to the world of live performances. So much education happens outside of school walls and we believe in the importance of taking our show on the road every now and then.

Once again, we immersed ourselves in the Great Friends School Halloween Tradition this year. It's a day when we let loose a little (no, actually a lot), let our hair down, and spend a day of fun together with our students. It is quite possible that not one child has ever learned to read at Friends School on Halloween, but we get back to business the next day. It may not be an academically rich day, but I believe that it's an educationally rich day.

Anthony, a most delicious kindergartner who has brought joy to everyone this year, had been a little worried about the approach of Halloween and the cast of characters that visits us on that day. He was especially apprehensive about the arrival of Baba Yaga, our legendary Friends School Halloween guest. He knew that he could choose to spend the day in the office of the Good Witch (that's me.the principal), and he'd been confirming that fact with me each time he saw me for at least a week. I continued to reassure him that I'd be waiting for him, and an assortment of others who preferred to opt out, and that we'd find alternative ways to spend our time. The day before Halloween, he reminded me of our plans one last time, and finished with, "Teacher Mary, if you're looking for me on Halloween and can't find me.I'll be the one who's a beautiful butterfly." He didn't need to worry. I'd know him anywhere. I hoped that Anthony would always have the ability to fly away from his fears, or at least be able to find his way to a friendly lap in an office down the hall. Like so many children who've come before him, though, Anthony confronted some fears that day and survived quite nicely. I watched him leave at the end of the day, and wondered if he was going home just a little stronger, a little more confident, a little more likely to test out those beautiful wings.

In the middle of our busy week, and as part of a kindergarten/first grade study of air and wind, we had a visit from a hot air balloon. The balloon was inflated in the middle of our soccer field, and that's a gorgeous sight all by itself. But, it happened on one of those perfect fall days when the sky is a brilliant blue and the autumn colors of the leaves seem especially vivid. The balloon itself was brightly colored, and the scene was so joyful and said so much about education at Friends School. "This is how children learn about air here," I thought to myself. It felt symbolic of the school as a whole.vibrant, hopeful, joyful, full of life and color. As I often do, I closed my eyes for a few seconds, whispered, "I love this place!" and felt a deep sense of gratitude for being part of it.

I must dash off now and get some work done. I'm the principal, you know.

Mary Ziegler

BUGS, PLUMBING, and WOLVES

You'll sometimes hear Friends School referred to as a 'community of learners'. I've always liked that term because I think it blurs the lines, quite appropriately, between the roles of student and teacher. There's no denying that the adults who are privileged enough to spend their days here are learning things from our students every day. We learn together, we discover things together, we create our community together. We have both students and teachers who are experts in certain areas, and we don't feel that age should be a barrier to being either a teacher or a learner. It's also good for adults to be reminded that learning can require stretching, delving into areas that may not be entirely comfortable, and that it can be really hard work.

I knew that spending a year as Interim Head would stretch the edges of my envelope. I knew that I'd learn new things and explore new areas, and I expected a year of surprises. And I guess that surprises are unpredictable by their very nature. Nevertheless, I've found myself doing things in this past week that surprised me a little, and would astound those who know and love me.

An old friend once told me that he was sure that someone had marinated me in estrogen before birth. I admit to never really having explored my male side.mostly because I just don't know where it is, and have never been terribly curious about locating it. I grew up with only brothers, and even though I was surrounded by traditionally male accoutrements, I quickly made them my own.wrapping footballs in baby blankets and rocking them to sleep, reading fairy tales to pet snakes, and building castles for princesses with wooden blocks.

So, it was in character for me to envision the Interim Head position as similar to the role of Fairy Godmother. I knew that budgets and staffing and curriculum matters would take brain power. I knew I couldn't be only fluff. But, when I imagined the role, the activities that came immediately to mind included reassuring frightened 5-year olds and their parents, sweetly encouraging new teachers, and gently guiding students onto sunny and positive paths of lightness and goodness. So, it came as a surprise to me that so much of my week has been spent on toilets, enormous bugs, and sweaty Wolves.

The toilet issue links directly back to the budget. I've learned to repair constantly running toilets because I worry about the school's water bill. There are interesting and surprisingly simple mechanisms hiding in those mysterious toilet tanks and if you know how they work (and now I do) you can adjust them so the water stops running once they're full. So, I'm beginning to develop plumbing skills, but I'm on the alert for signs of becoming overly confident because a little knowledge could be a dangerous thing in this instance. Dan Hendey has yet to grant me access to the wrenches.

My wild enthusiasm for Wolves is equally surprising to me. I've never enjoyed competitive sports. I'm aware of Penn State football only because I plan my Saturday trips to the library around the games so I can avoid traffic. But, when I was made an honorary Friends School Wolf and given a team shirt, I took the role seriously. I have become a rabid fan of Friends School's soccer team. In my mind, the team is magnificent and can do no wrong. As I sit on the sidelines, I grunt with every kick, groan with every mis-step, and would gloat with every victory if I weren't also learning the lessons of good sportsmanship. After this week's victory against Nittany Christian, which can only be described as resounding, I was invited into the huddle to howl with the team and I did! It was my first visit to a huddle and my blood runs silver and blue.

Now, to enormous bugs. A few days ago, a group of kindergarten students came to me and very excitedly showed me a huge praying mantis that had attached itself to a window screen inside the building. The children were worried about the creature.its family was missing it. where would it find dinner?... would it be afraid at night when the school was dark and it was all alone? It was clear that no one was going to be able to concentrate on school work until we'd made things right for the praying mantis.

I looked around for the person whose job includes bug removal, and then realized that we're a small school and that position is currently unfilled. No one is really responsible for removing enormous bugs from the premises.and when no one else is responsible, then the Interim Head becomes automatically responsible. But, I don't usually do bugs, you know, and especially not bugs that big. And, if given the choice, I'd probably prefer to just lop off their heads rather than be involved in catching and transporting them. But, there were kindergartners involved here.the world's most precious creatures, with furrowed brows and hopeful eyes. I was going to have to catch this bug and I was going to have to do it myself and I wasn't going to scream about it.

So, I found the perfect enormous container and I skillfully trapped the enormous creature inside, and I slid on a cover and I took that monster outside where it belonged, trailed by a parade of admiring 5-year olds. We released the creature onto an iris leaf and agreed that it looked much happier and not so worried anymore. A kindergarten girl said, "Teacher Mary, you're brave!" and we headed back to the classroom. There are few rewards quite so sweet.

Mary Ziegler

 

FIRST DAY/FIRST WEEK

Oh, what a beautiful morning it was! Well, actually our first day was gray and gloomy and frequently pouring, but it felt like a beautiful morning. How absolutely wonderful it was to have students streaming through the door again. I missed them, the rest of the staff missed them, and it felt like maybe even the building itself missed them. They have once again filled us up, and helped us to remember our purpose and the whole place feels like it's breathing again.

Standing at the front door during the arrival time on the first day of school is something I look forward to all summer. It's a fascinating half-hour. The kindergartners, such little people, are doing such a big thing, and their faces show it. They're excited and scared and unsure of themselves. I am so tempted to pick them up and carry them to their classrooms, whispering to them along the way that this is really going to be OK, just in case they're having some second thoughts. But, I'm encouraging independence around here, so I just welcome them, check to see if they remember where to go, and then watch them admiringly as they make their way to their classrooms on their own.

The eighth graders, on the other hand, stride through the door with great confidence, but also with an awareness that this is the last 'first day' they'll spend at Friends School. They have mixed feelings, too. They love their top-of-the-heap position, but they know that this will be a year of last times for them. I encourage them in that awareness.the fact that things don't last forever is still a fairly new discovery for some of them, and not a bad life lesson.

There were many hugs that first day. (In fact, I was even hugged by a few middle school boys who must have gotten carried away and probably spent the next hour thinking, "What have I done?") There were a few tears, too, but those came from the eyes of parents, not children. It was a big day for all of us, full of many emotions and high hopes. All in all, a delightful and inspiring way to start the year.

From all of us, thank you for sharing your decidedly wonderful children.

Mary Ziegler