Oh, the joys of a fresh week! Just like getting a brand new journal in which to write! The possibilities are endless and the first words a delight to behold. So is it on this Monday morning as the sun is just peeking out of the East. The birds are singing outside my window as the week begins its journey onward.
I find comfort in the bustle of Monday morning. Commuters all leaving to head off to their jobs. Kids slowly finding their way back to classrooms. Teaching long ago, Monday morning meant different things to different kids. To some it meant saying goodbye to enriching experiences with their parents. A trip to the beach or snow. Immersion into a favorite book they had been waiting to begin. Or just time to rest their brains after a busy week. For a sad few it meant relief from a horrific home life and the promise of a hot breakfast while returning to a comforting routine.
For us all, it meant a week together as one functional Third Grade family. Room 20 was a place of safety and learning. First and foremost. It was a place in which we counted minutes as carefully as nuggets of gold, because they were that precious. It was there we all learned about time management. A day is a terrible thing to waste, because you can never get the minutes back. We made sure we spent them wisely.
As you can tell, I miss spending time with students. There is an amazing exchange that occurs between a wise and loving teacher and her kiddos. If your children or grandchildren are with such a person, please remember to thank them every day. When I taught, kids were with me more than with their parents, Monday through Friday. It was if I was their moon and the stars as they mine. Through that trust and friendship, I showed them the world of words, watching and learning as they became writers. Some would beg to write through lunch. True. Imagine my delight.
Never an athlete, I was a terrible PE teacher, unless it involved telling a story about injuries and how to avoid them. I wasn’t much better at math, carefully studying lessons the night before and hoping I didn’t misspeak, as the kids listened intently. Language Arts was my wheelhouse, and the kids spun into a kaleidoscope of verbs, nouns, adverbs, prepositional phrases and more. They spun ideas and stories into a vast array of thoughts we stapled proudly to the walls. They went on to do great things, one in a doctoral program learning to help disadvantaged children. Another surprising me as a pediatric nurse with her stethoscope hanging proudly over her scrubs. Hundreds more doing great things I can only imagine.
They came to me knowing letters and words, and in one school year flew away as writers. They always took a bit of my heart with them that last day, scooting out the door into summer. During 180 days together, they took memories of the time spent learning about important events and thoughts. They left me with my own memories of precious hours spent with golden children.
My teacher manuals rest on a shelf in the garage, long outdated for newer versions. Teaching strategies that worked well in the 1900’s have been replaced. Covid now tethers children to home computers where things might be great or not so great. “Teacher” has become a flat vision on a screen, not a sweet woman that could comb your hair for you before school because mom didn’t have time. Not the yard duty woman on the playground on a foggy morning giving out free hugs to whoever needed one. Not the whistle yielding ninja that could stop a running child from slipping on ice. Just a flat screen reciting the days lesson with no chance to see your reaction or watch your feet tapping softly because you really didn’t understand.
These days, my own time management is focused on personal writing as thoughts and words splashing up on the screen. My heart has waited patiently for years to tell its stories. Now it’s my time to practice grammar and spelling skills. A time to vent from my soul. Minutes now equal stories, weeks away from becoming my first book.
Monday. It is a fantastic day with possibilities for the week. Even retired, Mondays are special. A chance for re-dos while changing up a routine that isn’t productive into one that sizzles. Wake up! Day’s a wastin’! Have a great Monday!