|Back when kids had it all.|
It was my day to help out in one of my grandsons’ classes.
A few hours spent with a group of 6-year-olds.
Inquisitive. Enthusiastic. Happy.
What could be more fun?
The teacher was bustling about the classroom as the kids gradually assembled. As they took off coats. Stowed backpacks and gear.
The bell rang.
The noise slowly subsided as the kids found their seats.
“Class!” she said again.
A few more sat down. Looked at her.
“Everyone’s eyes up here!”
This time, she managed to collect all but one.
Finally, all eyes were on her.
She proceeded with the day’s instruction.
I was suddenly remembering my own school days.
We assembled in an older building. Dark hallways. Tall ceilings. The smell of decades of chalk dust and wood varnish in the air. Creaky wood floors.
Our teacher, a larger woman, would always approach the classroom from the direction of the staff room. Because of the floors, she could be heard the moment she stepped from the stairwell.
Instantly, there was a commotion as kids found their seats and set out textbook and scribbler.
Because woe be unto anyone who didn’t have their book open and their mind obviously ready to learn when our teacher appeared in the doorway. We didn’t know exactly what would happen, but we knew it would be something earth-shattering. Even the class clown knew to sit down and shut up.
A few days ago, I asked my Dad what he did when he was in school. His reply? “We were expected to be sitting quietly with our hands folded together when the teacher appeared.”
Today’s kids have everything necessary to learning.
Why do I feel they are missing something?