MAKING CONNECTIONS

Claire Sutton

It's a beautiful spring morning, and we should be working on a math lesson, but the wind and the trees are calling out to us to join them, and so we happily pack away our pencils for this day, and venture out to the "far park" -- the park that sits just outside the boundary of our school yard. The children are ecstatic and to me this is the real sign that summer is on its way. Some of the children even forsake their shoes and socks and dig their toes into the sandbox. However, the main attraction, as usual, is the swings.

Gliding back and forth, a chorus of "look at me" and "we're double dating" greet me as I survey the scene. I am not overly surprised, however, to hear Martin and Justin, calling for me to push them. "I don't push," I announce in my "and that's final" voice.

Martin tries to coax me: "Why not? Oh come on, just a little push."
"I don't push," I proclaim once again.

Going over to the boys, I begin to try to explain to them the physics involved in getting a swing to work. I even demonstrate, slow motion style, pushing their swings up into a holding pattern, and letting them glide back, in order for them to get the general idea. I do give them a little push, and then try to cheer them on from the side.

"O.K., now bend your legs back, now stick them out straight. Lean back, now lean forward." The other kids close by join in with encouraging words, but it is pretty obvious that these two boys haven't developed the coordination that swinging requires just yet.

Apparently as I am dealing with this situation, Ramona has been calling me from the monkey bars. I didn't hear her, but she feels she should chastise me just the same.

"I was in the middle of the monkey bars and I couldn't make it across, and I was calling for you to come and catch me and you didn't come, so that lady ( a mother in the park with her small child) had to help me."

As I gather the children together to go back to class, I tell them one of my rules of the park: "If you want to go across the monkey bars, and you can't make it, then you have to jump down, because I don't lift kids off the monkey bars. And I don't push kids on the swings."

It seems like a small matter, really, pushing children on a swing. Later that night I wondered to myself "why didn't I just PUSH them?" I know that part of my reasoning has to do with self preservation -- I don't want to spend all my time at the park pushing kids, or catching them from the monkey bars. I also know that I don't want to injure myself doing these things. But the big issue for me really, is independence. I WANT these children to make decisions on their own, and look after themselves, in situations where this would be appropriate. I would think that a grade one child would want to know how to swing, and I guess I am impatient with those children who do not show signs of wanting independence. I think that is why Elysha at times drives me crazy, because she has been taught to play the helpless game, and if that doesn't work, then she plays the stubborn game. But what about the Justins and the Martins in my care who just don't have the skills? I think that Martin has probably not been on swings very much, or maybe his mother always pushes him. And Justin really seems to lack any coordination at all for swinging. But he, too, is the youngest child with much older siblings and parents who seem to DO everything for him. So how do I help these two boys?

As a grade one teacher , in my fifth year of teaching, it is a continuing challenge to know how to meet the needs of each of, what become, my very dear charges. Not only do I want these children to become independent learners, but I want them to value what they themselves bring to class; their own knowledge, their own ways of making sense of their world, and their own unique abilities. For me, this is much of what teaching is about; helping children to become engaged in their own learning, ask their own questions, make connections between their home life and their school life, and become independent learners.

It is not what I thought teaching was about when I first started down the road to this career.

My Own Learning

I went back to university almost without a plan. My children were growing up, and it was necessary for me to find a job. I had previously graduated with a BA and so I returned to begin a BEd. As I recall, my first year was rather difficult. I tried to remain anonymous at the back of the class, although my natural curiosity and question asking style made this impossible. It seemed, however that most of the instructors I worked with were not interested in young children; the emphasis in courses was always on high school issues. I had three young children of my own. I would bring my four year old into this wonderful nursery setting on campus. I did have LOTS of understanding about children, but when I entered my education classes, especially, I felt like a nobody with no knowledge. In my university world there was no one with whom to share my thoughts and questions. It never seemed like my education outside of school mattered, or that my education inside of school matched. What I knew of life and children was not valued.

In order to complete the B.Ed degree, I had to do a "certificate" year. Although students were discouraged from taking the "early years stream" at the organizational meeting, I knew that was what I wanted to take. "It means nothing except the fact that you will be taking a half a credit more than the people in the regular elementary program. And a half a credit doesn't mean anything to a principal" were the exact words of the man making that presentation. After only a few days in the early years group I knew that man was wrong.

It's our first large group meeting. The woman addressing us is speaking in lofty terms about education. "What is your vision of children? How do children learn? How important is it to you that you respect children and value their questions?" I write at the top of my page "I'm too old for this," and nudge the person next to me. "I get this woman for social studies. I've heard it all before."The next day is the first in my "early years" class. Surprisingly, there are two professors in the room: a man and that social studies woman from yesterday. They tell us that they want to teach together and that they will both be present for all of our classes in early years, social studies, and language arts. They certainly seem excited about what they plan to do. Wayne asks us to consider a question: "How do children learn?" Hmmm. IS this a trick? What do they want me to say? I'm pretty good at playing the university game, but they are indicating that they want my own thoughts here. I'm doubtful. Later in the day, Wayne reads from Lucy Calkins' book -- a letter to parents, asking them to write to the teacher about their own child. It brings tears to my eyes, because as a parent, I have never been given such an invitation. It is a surprise to me that Wayne starts to talk about taking his own son to school, and what a traumatic time that was for him. A day later he reads My Grandson Lew (Zolotow, 1987). Tears from me again. I ask: "Gosh, is this always going to be a tear-jerker class?" It's the first of many questions I pose to these two professors.

During my final year as a preservice teacher I was part of a most remarkable project being developed by two wonderful professors, Dr. Wayne Serebrin (Early childhood stream coordinator) and Prof. Joan Irvine (Dept. of Humanities, and Social Sciences). That year made a huge difference for me. Five years later I can look back on that year and see it as a major turning point, not only in my career as a teacher, but probably in most areas of my life -- I was valued as a learner as I never had been before. They helped me make connections between my learning and my past life experiences, my background was valued as legitimate knowledge. Not only did Wayne and Joan elicit my questions, they helped me realize that I could explore the possibilities of MY OWN answers. For the first time in my education I began to discover my own voice, and I learned to respect that voice. Somehow they began a process within me that eventually caused me to view myself as a writer. They showed me that the values I held were cause for celebration, and that those values would make a difference in my own class. They compelled me to consider the theory behind teaching and they did not allow me to be satisfied with simple teacher tips.

As I began to envision the theory behind how young children learn I was challenged to consider the effect that theory would have on the way my class would look , and run. More than anything else, Wayne and Joan caused me to look at MYSELF as a learner , and the more I have investigated the ways in which I learn, the more I have thought about the ways in which I could best TEACH.

The Reading and Writing Connection

When I had majored in English at university in the 1970's , I had been encouraged to quote from "the critics," "the experts" in order to respond to a text. In fact I garnered my first "A" in a Shakespeare course, and the rather surprising praise from my prof at the time, by writing a paper about Hamlet that was simply full of quotes from other people. I knew nothing about Hamlet myself. In the late 1980's, when I returned to university, the professor that taught me a course in children's literature introduced me to what he called "reader response." The text we read at the time made a lot of sense to me; I had always loved literature, but hated the fact that any interpretation that I might put on a text was considered worthless in the academic community. The thinking of reader response was that I could bring myself to a text, and in my interaction with the text was the meaning. However, it was made very clear that we were only to use "reader response" mode IF THE PROF REQUESTED IT, as if my response to literature could be turned on or off at his command.

Tim and I have been sharing a book which he has chosen from the classroom to read to me. We have had a discussion about the amount of reading that is done in his home, and I now produce the "primary screen" test from Bonnie Campbell-Hill's book.

"Now Tim, don't get nervous about this, just look and see if you know any of these words… Do you know what that word is?"

Tim does look nervous. "No" he says.

"Well, what about that one?" He shakes his head. "No? Well, O.K., that's fine. That's the word cat and that's the word me."

Tim suddenly looks interested. "I think I know one of the words here -- time -- like Taco Time."

"Oh, good for you," I say, "great, and lots of times that's how you learn to read because you know one thing from something else, from a name like Taco Time or somebody else's name.

Tim continues: "Sometimes when it's a time word, I usually say, take off the ‘e' and it's Tim."

Totally surprised by the connection this boy is making I say "Of course, And that's another great way to learn how to read, because you recognize something that you know. Yea. Tim and Time.

As I think about this event that occurred at the beginning of this school year, I am reminded once again that the importance of children making connections in all of their learning is especially illustrated in their journey into reading and writing. As Karen Gallas comments:

When a child learns to read, we are awestruck -- not knowing absolutely that any one thing we did so systematically caused that outcome. … I speak of a child learning to read in magical terms (Gallas, 1994: 7).

I was amazed at my own insistence on using a "test," with which to evaluate Tim, and was delighted when HE showed ME the complexity of connections he was making , which no TEST could predict or capture.

I realize that there are many who would disagree with this view of learning. There are those who believe that children need to be filled up with knowledge, and then tested to make sure they "learned" what was "taught." As Linda Darling-Hammond (1993) states:

This model fits with a behavioristic view of learning as the management of stimulus and response, easily controlled from outside the classroom by identifying exactly what is to be learned and breaking it up into small, sequential bits (Darling-Hammond 1993: 754).

Michael Apple and Landon Beyer (1988) place a slightly different emphases on this behaviorist model of education; they sees a hidden agenda in much of mainstream curriculum:

We may also find that the categories and procedures we use in our curriculum organization and evaluation are also strongly related to unequal socioeconomic relations. Thus , we establish "remedial curricula" for "slow" learners and then find that being slow and being remediated is often related to the history of racial oppression and to poverty. Furthermore, we find that it is not unusual that once a student is placed in a remedial group, the objective chances of doing markedly better are very small. The label of "slow" sticks. For it seems that if we look at the macro level, when we establish "bluebird," "blackbird," and "buzzard" groups, once you are a buzzard you stay a buzzard (Apple & Beyer 1988: 343).

It's a big issue for me. As the grade one teacher I am supposed to single out those students that are most likely to need remedial help. It's a Catch-22 situation. I don't want to single out the "buzzards," and label them for their career in our school. On the other hand if I DON'T send them for resource help, I will bear the blame for not recognizing their need. As well, I am becoming increasingly aware of the agenda Apple addresses: "the increased pressures toward standardized outcomes, accountability and deskilling of teaching." So how DO I value the contribution that each child makes to our class, within the current political climate? How do I help children create the connections they need to create in order to make them lifelong learners? In what ways can I encourage ALL of them to become readers and writers?

Writing has become very important to me. I have always known that there is lots of power in writing. As a teen I can hear my mother admonishing me to be careful about "what I put into print." As a teacher I have been subpoenaed to testify in court regarding a child custody case. I was horrified to realize that anything I had ever written about that particular child was also a part of the subpoena. I was in a bind -- either I turned over what I had, or I lied and hid the notes admitting that I had very little evidence with which to evaluate this boy. It was a painful experience to turn over my notes.

I'm not really sure how, but in some way, Wayne and Joan helped me to see myself as a writer. Time and again Wayne would pull out a copy of "the authoring cycle" from Short and Burke. He saw it in a greater context than simply as a writing tool; it in fact became the symbol of inquiry in our class. As in everything else, it was not only what Wayne and Joan SAID, it was what they DID. Whenever I shared my writing with them, I was struck by the way it was handled. It may have seemed trivial to some, but the fact that Wayne and Joan never wrote on my formal paper, told me that they valued my ownership. And their comments were only thoughtful, encouraging words. When I got any "assignment" back from them, I would scour it many times over, and in fact I still look over my final paper from time to time.

I am sitting in the staffroom of my school, watching another teacher marking her students' journals. She is using a red pen and making big X's over the whole piece. I am cringing as I watch her, thinking about the student who will receive this very telling message -- "This is what you don't know." I don't own a red pen. Whenever I write on my student's work it is usually with a pencil (erasable), and usually it's only until I can speak to the child about the work. The messages we give to students. I hate to think about it. Messages of power and domination. Ideas of how inadequate they are.

In my year with Wayne and Joan, I began to keep a journal. It was the first time in my life that I ever CONSISTENTLY wrote down what I was thinking about, and I soon realized that it was an opening into a world that I should have known about far earlier in my life. Writing has become a way of thinking for me. I am empowered when I write in ways that only the writing can do. I want to empower my own students in the same way.

It's choice time and the girls have begun to rearrange the blocks in that center. Grady, Tim, and Tyrone have left the blocks standing from yesterday, but today they have engaged in play in the sand table. Suddenly Grady sees the girls changing the blocks. He is enraged, and rushes over to stop them. When I arrive on the scene , he is pounding his fist into his other hand, and repeating over and over "We put up the sign. We put up the sign." No amount of talking from me will convince him that the girls are not trespassing on his structure, even though he has abandoned it. "We put up the sign!" "The sign" is actually two signs, left over relics from a bygone block era. One says "Caution" and the other says "No passing." When the signs are erected, everyone in our room knows that it means "Leave this alone."

The Structure of the Process

In one of my early years classes with Wayne we were discussing the topic of "process," and Wayne made a statement that grabbed my attention. He said" The structure of the process has to be very apparent." The "structure" issue became somewhat of an obsession, and a troublesome question for me during my last year in university. What WAS the structure of an early years classroom? Were we talking about steel and cement? Rigid timetables? Workbooks?

I have found that the word structure is often thrown around as a kind of panacea for any difficult child. It has already been suggested to me that my special needs child is going to need "a more structured reading program." More than once, I have been told that a child may need a "more structured classroom" than mine. I have come to realize, that in fact I value the kinds of structures that may not be immediately seen by an "outsider," yet to those of us on the "inside," they are a well known part of our lives.

The structures DO include such things as the way the classroom is set up. They involve all the little rules and responsibilities each of my students knows about. Some are mundane little details. Some are major class decisions. All involve what we, as a community, value. They are the fabric that make up who we are in room 14. Some of the structures are class decisions that involve what happens at project time, reading circle, and writing workshop. Some I have set in place because I have thought about what this group of children needs the most. They have been developed over the year so far, and they reflect THIS group of children. And they mirror from year to year, as well, my growth as a teacher. My hope is that the structures of the many processes we are involved in, support each child in his or her uniqueness.

Harlan, a special needs boy in my class, is visually impaired and developmentally delayed. He has a hard time with self control. When he entered my room this past fall, I was troubled by the huge load of rules under which Harlan had lived in the "special" kindergarten he had attended, and the amount of rote work he had been forced to do. He had developed many avoidance strategies. I have had many issues to deal with as I have sought to develop a relationship with this boy, and I am not pleased with my performance many, many times.

At the beginning of the year I told Harlan that he could have 3 choices only during our "free choice" time. I cringed under the load of having to make him stay at his third choice, when he would zip from first to second to third in less than 5 minutes; usually it meant that I would have to sit beside him for his entire 3rd choice, while he argued about his desire for a fourth choice. It was no small victory for me, when after about a month he began not only to monitor himself (and tell me "which choice number he was at"), but he began to engage with his activities, and would often stay at his first choice for the entire choice time.

Later this year, Harlan was followed up by a consultant from his previous placement. We have had some discussions about philosophy; this consultant knows that I do not agree with some of her views. However this time she came ONLY to watch. At the end of the morning she told me that she had observed many instances when Harlan cured into the social situations of which he was a part. When he started poking a girl in line, this girl turned and said "Harlan, I don't like that. Please stop." (It's the classic line. We rehearse it often) Harlan stopped. The consultant was amazed. Her own words were "There are some deep structures in this classroom that support Harlan."

I didn't gloat for long. There are many times when Harlan doesn't "stop" and many times when I react in negative ways towards him. It is a continuing struggle. My desire, however, is that ALL children will feel the security of the structures in our classroom, so that all CAN be a part of our room. It is my opinion that Harlan has as much right to be there, as any of the other children.

The Structures of Reading and Writing

Reading in grade one is, of course, an important issue. We have always talked about the different ways a child could make sense of a book, but this year, as part of my research, I began to look more closely at the ways children were constructing their knowledge of the reading and writing process. I determined to make reading strategies very public in my classroom. We began as a class to talk about what we did, when we were reading. The children's understanding astounded me, and after a particular break through day, we made a list of "What a good reader does." I took pictures of the children to accompany the list and posted it on the classroom wall.

Later that month Wayne and my friend Tannis visited my classroom and we began to talk about the writing process. Wayne wondered aloud, "Could you get the children to talk about what they are doing in their writing the same way as you have with the reading? And then help the other children find in their writing the examples that you list?" He suggested that by naming the strategies we would "hold them out" to the children. It excited me to think about going to school that Monday. I so wanted to interview some children! It turned out to be a long process of talking to individuals -- Noel even started to cry because , as he said "You're talking too much." I was just trying to get out of him what he's doing in his writing. Tim knows he says the words and writes down (as best he can) the letter sounds that he hears. Preety knows that she copies words from around the room… It's a start. Later in the week as we are all gathered on the carpet, I ask the children if they know of any other strategies. They pour out many more. And as their thinking about writing is "held out" for their peers to consider, many take hold, and begin to write as they have not done before. Raja, a shy, quiet boy has done nothing but sit through writing workshop before, making no more than a few scratches on the page. Today he takes a single piece of paper and begins to record the dates for the last two weeks, and copy down the words posted around the room at the various centers. It is an activity that I assumed he knew about, and one that he was supposed to be doing after choice time each day. He is extremely excited as he shows me each new line that he writes. When he passes by Noel, he first admires the "lift the flap" book that Noel is making , and then , with an incredulous look on his face, he asks me "Can we do ANYTHING in writing workshop? " "Yes, of course," I say. He grabs some paper and begins to make his own pop up book.

It is incredibly exciting to see these childrens' enthusiasm. It occurs to me that in making the structure of the process more visible, indeed we have held out to these young children the strategies that they need, and they are using them.

Because they guard and guide the process, the structures cannot become stagnant. And so today, we reviewed the strategies of "a good reader." When I asked the children if they thought they knew of any new strategies, Preety's hand shot up. She had a hard time articulating what she was thinking. She said "If you are having trouble with the new book you are working on, you should go back to the book you know." I question her because I want to be sure of what she is saying. Is she suggesting that a child could look for a WORD they knew in the other book? "No that's not it," she says, "you go back to the book you know, and that will help you with the book you are practicing." I never did figure out exactly what she meant, but I have two ideas. I think she may have been hinting at the fact that if you feel overwhelmed by a new book, go back to the book you are comfortable with, and get encouraged. OR maybe she was talking about making connections between what you know, and what you don't . It was obvious as she spoke that she was really turning this over in her head. She is a child that does not like to take big risks, and I HAVE seen her go back to a familiar book during reading circle. I think she feels the safety of a book she knows.

There is lots of excitement in my head as I consider the reflection my grade ones have been doing as THEY have been making apparent the structures of their processes. I wonder what other processes we could uncover on our journey this year. What other structures we could use to make learning more visible. How we could name the thinking we are doing and so hold it out for others. My thinking is indeed challenged as I consider the ponderings of my 6 year olds.

My Values

During that final year with Wayne and Joan, the word values was used for the first time in my education. Wayne and Joan talked a lot about thinking about what you valued. The convictions that I held about people were intricately tied to my personal faith, and in that year with Wayne and Joan, I saw a side to teaching that connected to my own values in a powerful way. I think that somehow in the past I had a vision of teaching as being a "control " issue. When Wayne and Joan talked about children they talked about trust and respect. Now this was more of what I knew as a parent, but had never seen in a school situation. I began to understand that teaching was not "just a job."

During my student teaching I was placed in an inner city school, and my eyes were opened to poverty issues that I had never faced before. The kindergarten class in which I was a student teacher was filled with a multi-ethnic group of lively children, many of whom lived, I was sure, under the poverty line. One boy, Ovide, became a lesson for me in how poverty could affect a child. Ovide was not an attractive child. He was born with a cleft palate, and as a result he was very difficult to understand when he spoke. His face was somewhat disfigured, and his nose ran constantly. He was always dirty. It seemed that the only time Ovide every really brightened was during our "snack time." I found that I had to distance myself from him during this group activity, because I just couldn't watch him eat.

Ovide had a sister in nursery, and I overheard some talk one day about her. She was so small and frail that her teacher was questioning the home visitor assigned to our school about the situation. The home visitor stunned me with her description of the home life those children endured. "Well, you know," she said, "it's not like these children sit down and eat three meals a day. Whenever there is food brought into the house, it is thrown on the table, and everyone just grabs for it. The smallest ones don't get much. They are starving." I went home and cried for those children that night. I could not, in my wildest imaginings, picture the scene that had been painted for me. I vowed to make Ovide my project for the year, and I pledged along with the other teachers in that group, to sneak raisins and snacks to those children whenever we could. Underneath the grime and the unattractiveness of Ovide, I discovered a little boy longing for some attention. I had just begun to give it to him, when his family moved away.

In my first year of teaching I had met occasionally with Wayne and Joan and a small group of other teachers, in order to continue our conversation from the year before. In my second year, however, I lost contact with them. I moved from teaching kindergarten part time, to a full time grade one job. The extra burden of working full time, along with the change of grade caused a fair bit of stress for me.

I had a very busy group of children, and in January of that year, a new student, Rhea, joined my class. She was in foster care -- the eighth home for her in the year. It was suspected that she had been sexually assaulted during the Christmas break. When she entered my class each morning she would either quietly sit on my lap and cling to me, or she would literally bound from the top of one desk to another. She took up all my time. One day I kept her in for recess because she had attacked another child. Exhausted with the pressure of caring for her, I snapped at her "What is your problem?" Calmly, in a monotone voice, she told me her problem: "My mom didn't come to the visit yesterday. There's a new foster kid in our house. I have to share my room. I might have to leave…" and there was more. I couldn't help it -- the tears started to stream down my face, unnoticed by this hurting child. I think as a teacher, something inside of me stirred that day. I made a connection with Rhea that I will not forget. I learned to value her as a person, no matter how annoying she was, or how much work she made for me. Her six year old shoulders were carrying burdens I had never known. She became "my mission" that year. I was far from being the perfect teacher, but I knew that I had to bring my values as a person into my class in order to meet, in some small way , the needs of this child.

As stated by Connelly and Clandinin, I have realized that "Indeed, the kind of teacher that we are reflects the kind of life that we lead." I know now , that my classroom, in fact, reflects ME. In many ways it is who I am. And likewise for my students, I see their education needs to be a preparation for life.

"We need to broaden our idea of education beyond that of schooling. Education, in this view, is a narrative of experience that grows and strengthens a person's capabilities to cope with life(Connelly & Clandinin, 1988: 27).

The Theory of Teaching

In my few years of teaching, I have come to realize how very important the consideration of THEORY was for me during my year with Wayne and Joan. Without theory, I would not be able to stand up to the pressures that surround me in the current political climate. I would have NO answers for parents who wonder about functional spelling, whole language and choice time. I would have long ago caved in and bought workbooks, not only because my parent community expects them, but because I would not have been able to justify for myself a better system. The truly joyful aspect of all of this to me is that, the longer I teach, the more I see for myself that the theory fits. The connections I make with the theory are right before me as I view the results in my students.

I guess I had been feeling some pressure about my language arts program, so I began to look through some of my notes from the reading and wring conference I had attended. I had gone to a session with Mary Ellen Giacobbe on mini-lessons for the writing workshop and in it she had referred to some basic sight words which she claimed we should teach to children. They are the words which Marie Clay apparently calls "key words." I was very dubious about teaching words in isolation, but parent and government pressure apparently got the better of me, and I decided to take one word per day and use it in my morning message. So as the days went by in January I made a list of these words, and we referred to them as our "key words."

When the list got to be about 10 words long I got totally bored with it, and hung it in the corner of the bulletin board. On one Thursday I dragged it out and said, "Well, maybe we should read through this list of key words again."

From her spot on the carpet, Theona said in a very annoyed voice, "Yes, yes, I know them all…is, in , are, at, something, something, something. And it doesn't make any sense at all."

I gasped, rebuked by a six year old. I said "You're right, these words are all by themselves and they don't make any sense." We read through the list anyway.

As I began to put the list back in its place, Theona again insisted that the words by themselves didn't make any sense. She said, "We could do those words like…She is going somewhere,"" implying the use of sentences for context.

Feeling totally humiliated, I mumbled "Well, you are certainly correct, Theona. You need to learn words in a meaningful context."

"So if it doesn't make any sense, why do we have to do this?" chimed in several of the other students.

"You're absolutely right" I said. "This is useless." I threw the offensive list in the garbage.

One of the big questions I had at the university developed around the issue of the difference between kindergarten and grade one. I told Wayne that in my mind there was a divide between these two, because I had come in to my last year with a very traditional view of what should happen in a grade one classroom. My two older children had suffered through a very traditional grade one, but since my youngest child was now really struggling in that grade, I had a lot of questions. As usual, my questions were greeted by other questions -- "Why does grade one have to be so different" How DO children learn in kindergarten? DOES that change in grade one?" I thought about it a long time.

I had been teaching half time in kindergarten for one year. There is a new position in our school, because our population is growing -- it's a full time grade one position. I want that job, even though I have had no practical experience in grade one. In order to get the job, the division will have to increase my contract time -- something that is unheard of in the Spring. All my friends with first year contracts are being laid off. For some reason, my principal seems to like me: it's an advantage I can ill afford to loose. He makes several trips to the division office to plead my case. In late June he announces that the job is mine! I am given $1000.00 to spend on that new classroom, and I make up my list: blocks $250.00, Play stove and fridge: $250.00, Math materials (cubes, pattern blocks, rods, dice), Lego, Water Table, $300;00, a few books $200.00. A few days after I place the order on the secretary's desk, the principal calls me into his office and closes the door. When I sit down across from him, I gaze into a stern face. He is holding my orders.

"Are you trying to turn the new grade one class into a kindergarten?" he demands, in a fearsome voice I have never heard before. I am only taken aback for a few seconds, and then I launch into a philosophical defense of my choice of classroom items. I know that I talk about the children's need to play, and to work with real materials. I hear myself quoting a line I know is from Wayne about play and imagining. I end up talking about the children's need to read real literature and tell him that in fact I will need more money for books. His face gradually relaxes as I talk, and at the end breaks into a smile. "It's good that you can explain," he says. "because you are going to have to be able to explain this to your parents." I can do it, I say.

What is Knowledge

As I read through the "Assumptions about Where Our Students are Coming From"(Serebrin 1995: 62), I see myself as I entered my last year of teacher education. I WAS in fact, a member of the group of students that is described in that particular article, and it describes me well. Except for a few rare courses, I had mostly been taught by transmission teachers. It had never been suggested to me that knowledge might be something other than "out there."

Our students accepted the view that knowledge was something outside of themselves; something to be absorbed. Many of our students would expect us to tell them what they needed to know to become "successful" early years teachers (Serebrin, 1995: 62).

I struggled with the issue of knowledge and whether it was "constructed" or "poured in" on and off throughout that final year. I began to realize that I myself was not allowing anything to be "poured" into me! I knew that I have always had to think through issues and talk to my friends and family in order to make sense of my world. I know that I had watched my own children figuring out THEIR world and as I began my teaching career it became entirely evident that the young children I encountered were very busy making connections in their heads with what they knew, and what they were actively involved in.

There has never been any doubt in my mind that children are all unique creations. As a parent, I know that all three of my own children are very different, and they each contribute something special to our family and to the world. When I was a student in Wayne and Joan's class I was valued as someone with gifts to bring to the community as a whole. I know that I was encouraged to construct my own knowledge and to draw from my understanding of my own learning. In my classroom, I want to give that same opportunity to each of the children I work with.

Two years ago, while taking a summer institute, I learned that I could draw. It was an amazing discovery, as I had lived all my life believing that drawing was one of those things that I just couldn't do. Drawing has become for me, in infant stages still, another way of knowing.

Noel is a child in my class this year. He was introduced to me by the kindergarten teacher as "very immature and kind of strange." His speech is somewhat delayed; as his mother tells me that he did not talk until he was two and a half. During my first few days with Noel I wondered if he would be one of those "buzzards" in the class, one I might have to refer to resource, because I could tell that he had very little interest in literacy issues, and, like the kindergarten teacher had suggested, he was a little different. However, my opinion of Noel soon began to change. I watched Noel playing with the building toys -Lego, big builder, and the blocks. He seemed to have a sense of spatial relationships that I had not seen before. Everything he made had attachments, removable and rotating parts, and he could draw in 2-D what he made in 3-D.

Last month Noel brought in a "guy" in a hang-glider. As he began to make similar hang-gliders for other children in the class, we observed that although Noel cut the holes for the "guy" to fit in, he never actually measured anything. He would draw the "guy" and then cut him out, usually cutting the head of the man smaller than he had drawn it, and incredibly, the riders ALWAYS fit into the hang-gliding cuts rather perfectly. The original hang-glider was dispensed with, but Noel has hung onto the first "guy" he brought, and he has outfitted him with a parachute (that worked), and currently is working to house him in a space station.

Because I have experienced the value of art in my own life, I am very excited about what I see Noel doing. I fear that Noel will not always be valued for his wonderful abilities, but I am committed to helping him learn more about himself through his art. I believe that Noel's form of literacy is also to be valued, encouraged, and built upon. I don't want to push Noel to conform to some outside structure that has no relevance to his life. He needs to make the connections that his art can make for him.

A Community of Learners

As a student I was introduced to the idea of being a part of a community of learners. This too, was a new idea for me, as before "group work" had always been something I detested; in my opinion it didn't work. My earlier experiences involved being forced to get together with a group of strangers, and put something together to share with the rest of the group. In my past that meant doing a lot of the work myself, and having to spend time trying to piece together what I had done with what others, in isolation, had compiled as well. Wayne and Joan talked about the concept, but more importantly, they showed us, in a number of ways, what it meant to work and collaborate together. It really didn't mean that much to me, until I began to teach my own classroom. It soon became apparent to me that teaching could be a very lonely job. While I have friends within my school, I really longed for a like-minded teacher with which to have an "educational conversation." As a result, I returned to the University of Manitoba in July, 1995, to begin my M.Ed.

I had known Tannis Nishibata through other teacher groups, and always enjoyed her company, but it was not until the summer institute of 1995 that she began to be a true collaborator with me. We both began work on our masters program together, and have taken the same courses ever since. She invited me to have lunch with her and her friends one day early in the summer institute. I felt a little self conscious; after all, Tannis and her friends are much younger than me. It seemed such a welcome relief, however, to go to lunch with them. They were kind and gentle; much easier on themselves and me than the women my own age often seemed to be. From that simple lunch has sprung a very necessary and important part of my life. Tannis and I have found that our lives within our classrooms NEED each other. And of course, our lives outside of our classrooms have joined in. I NEED to talk and share ideas with her about my classroom, and my writing. She informs my research and she is often able to point out for me, where my thinking is going. I think that in Tannis, I have discovered for myself what Wayne and Joan exemplified in their relationship.

In my own classroom, I want my students to experience the joy of working with another. As a result, we talk a lot about helping one another and learning from each other. I thrill to watch and listen as the children approach their peers for help with reading and writing. We work very hard to build a sense of "community" in our room; we look out for each other and we take responsibility for each other. We often have discussions about what is hurtful, and how to use encouraging speech.

I end this reflection with many questions. I wonder about the children in my class that do NOT seem to be making very many connections between their home and our classroom. I question my own capacity to really honour and value abilities in children that I do not understand or share. I am currently struggling with Keith, a child in my class who, in many ways, controls the other children. He is an obvious leader, but very competitive, and so how do I help him use his abilities in positive ways? And how do I convince the others that they do not have to be under his authority.

Considering myself as a student has in many ways opened up my eyes to myself as a teacher. I realize that who I am as a learner is something that I need to be constantly monitoring, and thinking about. As I turn my gaze from myself to the children in my classroom, I think I am more aware of their needs, and I want to respect their differences. I long to give to each of them, what has been granted to me as a learner. Acceptance. Understanding. And lots of questions.

Apple, Michael W. & Landon E. Beyer 1988 Social Evaluation of Curriculum. In: Landon E. Beyer & Michael W. Apple (Eds.) The Curriculum: Problems, Politics, and Possibilities. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press: 334-349.

Connelly, Michael & Jean Clandinin 1988 Narrative: Your Personal Curriculum as a Metaphor for Curriculum and Teaching. In: Teachers as Curriculum Planners: Narratives of Experience. Toronto: OISE Press: 24-58.

Darling-Hammond, Linda 1993 Reframing the School Reform Agenda. Phi Delta Kappan, June: 753-761.

Gallas, Karen 1994 On Being an Aboriginal. In: The Languages of Learning: How Children Talk, Write, Dance, Draw and Sing Their Understanding of the World. New York: Teachers college Press: 1-11.

Serebrin, Wayne 1995 Chapter 3: Talking Our Way into Collaborative Inquiry. In: Empowering Ourselves to Inquire: Preservice Teacher Education as a Collaborative Enterprise. Doctoral Dissertation, Bloomington, IN: Indiana University: 59-94.

Zolotow, Charlotte 1987 My Grandson Lew. New York: HarperCollins Children's Book.